'Twixt the Veil

Sorry I'm a bit late posting today - busy, busy, busy here. Lots happening this week and lots happening next week. I've had to make lists, for goodness sake, just to keep on top of all the progress and excitement! Anyway, here we go...thanks for waiting...

‘Well, that went well,’ said Harriet, carrying a pile of plates into the kitchen to where Audley was standing at the sink washing up.

 ‘It certainly weren’t what I expected,’ Audley agreed.

 ‘Sylvia wasn’t happy,’ said Harriet.

 ‘That she definitely weren’t,’ said Audley. He took the plates, scattered with crumbs of mince pies and Battenburg, from his wife and put them in the washing up bowl. ‘Never in a million years did I see that coming.’

 Harriet laughed. ‘Worth it, though, to see the look on Sylvia’s face.’

The meeting of the C.O.P.S had started well enough. The members were in good spirits, most having recently returned from summer breaks and all raring to commence the new performance season. Harriet handed around the mince pies and everyone spoke in hushed and reverent tones about Clive Thing and the generosity of his unexpected bequest. They shared fond memories of the man – of his quiet presence, his artistic talents with the scenery, his excitement at being cast in his first performance role.

 And then Sylvia had started. Her annoyance still piqued at the phone call with Minerva Thing, she was seething and boiling within, and her outburst was ill-timed. She ranted about the difficulties being imposed on the situation by Minerva Thing and it soon became clear to the gathered company that the situation was, in fact, all about Sylvia. When Harriet had tried to calm her, the atmosphere grew more heated.

 ‘No!’ shouted Sylvia. ‘I shall NOT calm down! The future of the C.O.P.S is at stake here. We have been given the opportunity to expand our company, to take on our own premises and put on productions the like of which Chelwood has never before seen. I propose we go to the courts immediately and challenge this caveat. Put a stop to the deliberate machinations of this awkward woman at once!’

 A quiet had settled on the room. A dread quiet. A foreboding quiet. Several of the company knew Minerva Thing and although they agreed she could be insular and prickly, a Machiavellian type she certainly was not. Voices began to share sympathies that the woman was newly bereaved, that she was in shock at the unexpected turn of events regarding the Will. How must she be feeling, they said, that she faced losing her family home so soon after losing her last living relative? What was all the rush, anyway? And then Audley, who until this point had been quiet on the subject, heard himself saying, ‘Perhaps, mebbe, we should consider suspending the C.O.P.S for six months? I don’t know ‘ow everyone else feels, but we’re on a sticky wicket already, ‘aving to come up with another performance in the space of ten weeks now ‘The Mikado’ isn’t ‘appening. P’raps, in light of….well, matters…we ought tek a break. Let dust settle, as it were.’

 And, it turned out, everyone else, with the exception of an apoplectic Sylvia, agreed!

 Harriet let out a delayed sigh of relief, one, no doubt, representative of the whole company. ‘It were best decision,’ she said, wrapping her arms around her husband’s waist and feeling the fruits of friskiness rise in her, because there is nothing like the sight of a man in Marigolds and pinny to excite the sensibilities of a Yorkshire woman. 

 Audley nodded. ‘Come next Spring, everything will ‘ave settled and we can re-launch the C.O.P.S anew.’

 It seemed the sensible solution to an awkward set of circumstances. Putting space between problem and outcome.

 Clive was beginning to lose faith in ever being able to communicate with Min. He’d tried leaving messages, he’d tried talking to everyone who went into Satis House – the woman in the uniform, the other woman who dressed in colourful attire and spent a lot of time carrying cakes. The cat was proving less than useless. And so his last hope was the young woman who had been spending the last month or more redecorating his childhood home. The one who had helped Min carry his collection of taxidermy pieces into the garage. Clive had been informed by Halliwell that this young woman had almost finished  her work in the house so if he was to try and use her as a conduit between himself and Min, then he had better get a move on. So he took a seat on top of her van, and pondered how he was going to try and break the veil.

 As it transpired, he needn’t have worried. The young woman approached the van and immediately looked at its roof upon which he sat waiting. She looked at him. Direct eye contact.

 Uncertain though, Clive glanced behind him. Maybe her eye had been caught by something across the road, or in the sky. But when he looked back, she was still staring directly at him, her eyes narrowed, her hands folded across her chest.

 ‘What do you think you are you doing?’ she said.

 Clive felt a rush of heat flood across his chest, neck and face. ‘You can see me,’ he said.

 ‘Of course I can see you,’ said the woman. ‘Do you want to tell me what you are doing on top of my van? You’d better not be causing any damage up there, because if you are…’

 ‘You can hear me!’ said Clive. ‘Oh my days! You can actually hear me.’

 Willow sighed. ‘’Look,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day. It’s hot and I am tired. I just want to get into my van and go home. Please get down…’

 But Clive had already jumped from the van and was standing in front of her.

 ‘This is brilliant!’ he said. ‘I was beginning to give up hope that I could communicate with anyone…’

 Willow took a small step back and raised her hands, palms outwards, in front of her. ‘Look,’ she began, glancing back to Satis House and wondering if she could shout loud enough for Min, Connie and Amazing to hear because if anyone could rescue her from this lunatic, it would be that team of three. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I don’t want any trouble and, I think I have to warn you that I am a….a… black belt in Tae Kwondo….’

 ‘Are you?’ said Clive. ‘Really? I’ve always been interested in martial arts…’

 ‘Yes,’ said Willow, firmly. (She wasn’t. But she adopted a stance, anyway.)

 Clive shook his head. ‘And how rude of me. I should introduce myself. I’m Clive. Clive Thing.’

 Willow opened her mouth, and closed it again. Clive tried again.

 ‘Clive,’ he said. ‘Minerva’s brother. And you are..?’ He held out a hand because even though he knew instinctively that they would be unlikely to make physical contact, old habits die hard.

 Willow took another step back. ‘But you can’t be,’ she stammered. ‘You’re…’

 ‘…dead,’ said Clive. ‘Yes, I know. It’s, well….complicated. But you can see me and…’

 He didn’t get any further with his introduction. Willow suddenly found her feet and she was inside the van and driving away up the road with remarkable speed. Halliwell appeared at Clive’s feet and delivered him a withering stare.

 ‘Buggeration,’ said Clive.

The next day, Clive was waiting at the gate of Satis House when Willow arrived for work. He had tried following Willow home, Pa having shown him that astral travel was far quicker, cheaper and more efficient than any travel system known to the physical plane. Yet despite his best and calmest efforts, every time he tried to speak with Willow her fingers went into her ears and she would sing very loudly a selection of hits of the Eighties. She had done everything in her power to convince herself she could neither hear nor see Clive Thing, finally putting his presence down to having spent so much time decorating Satis House and immersing herself in the life of Minerva Thing that it must all be some weird, stress-related hallucination and she was jolly glad the job was coming to an end and she could go back to doing ordinary, normal painting and decorating jobs for ordinary, normal people.

 ‘Never mind, son,’ said Pa, who had eventually persuaded Clive to give up for the evening. ‘You’ve got a few days left to try and get through to her. It can take a while. What you need to do is supply her with proof of existence. Find a dead relative of hers and pass evidence over that will convince her that she really is communicating with you.’

 ‘That easy, eh?’ said Clive, not even attempting to hide his sarcasm.

 ‘Yes,’ said Hector, missing the sarcasm completely.