All This Change and 'Clive and Min' Goes Spooky

I wonder why Blogger has decided to change their format again? Every time they do, it incurs the wrath of many users, especially those of us who live by the maxim, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' It's making me edgy to move away from it as a publishing platform and build a new website to focus on the new and exciting 'Brand Me!' Except the edge of the edginess is being blunted by the thought of having to get to grips with the wrangling of my head around actually building a website. Oh, I know I can do it if I put my mind to it - it's just wondering how many dents in the wall can Damson Cottage absorb from my computer/ipad before I'll have to redecorate.

Anyway, whilst I ponder and flirt with the idea of a new website (many pages, expanded content, all that malarkey) here is another episode of 'Clive and Min.' It's a long 'un. Pop on the kettle, please. Mine's a strong white tea, no sugar, and a couple of ginger nuts. Thanks!  

Later that evening, the cliff-hanger ‘doof, doof, doofs’ ended yet another episode of Eastenders, and was echoed by the rapping of the nightingale knocker on the door of the home of Florence Bell. Florence, resplendent in a jade green jumpsuit, pink pashmina and a huge pink silk lotus flower tucked behind her right ear flung open the door. She inhaled a large breath that made her nostrils flare, and spread wide her arms in greeting.

 

‘Good evening, dear friends!’ she said, her voice deeper and more measured than during their previous encounter, post-jogging, when it was all a bit high-pitched and breathy. ‘Welcome! Come in, come in. The spirits are with us this evening.’

 

‘Good-o,’ said Min, leading the way into hall. ‘Where are we? Living room?’

 

‘Good heavens, no,’ said Florence, closing the door and making Clive jump nervously to one side, fearing he was going to be trapped outside and then remembering that even if he was, he could still walk through the closed door. Every closed door, in fact, except the one at Satis House, which was becoming increasingly irksome to him. ‘We are in the dining room,’ Florence continued. ‘A more suitable space for meeting the spirits by far.’

 

She led the way through the kitchen and into the little dining room from which the kitchen was separated by a pair of sliding doors made from rippled glass set in white, gloss painted frames. ‘Please, please – everyone sit,’ she said, waving her arm over the oval table which was set with a blue knitted table runner upon which sat a pair of ceramic candlesticks and a small vase containing burgundy dahlias. 

 

Min and Connie sat side by side, Amazing and Willow on the chairs directly opposite. Clive sat on the table itself.

 

‘You can’t sit there,’ hissed Willow, as Florence made a swishy show of drawing a set of curtains over the now closed sliding doors, and the pulling down the ruched blind at the dining room window.

 

‘Why not?’ said Clive. ‘I can’t see that any suitable seating provision has been made for the deceased amongst us.’

 

‘Can’t you just stand?’ suggested Willow. ‘It’s not like you’re going to develop achy legs, is it?’

 

‘Stand?’ said Clive, with mock effrontery. ‘That’s a bit…a bit…deadist, isn’t it?’

 

‘Stand?’ said Florence. ‘Oh no, dear. Whilst I appreciate your concern for the health of my poor old legs, I shall need to be sat firmly in my carver chair for other reasons. I could collapse at any moment if the spirits take over my mortal shell. I shall need all the support I can get.’

 

‘Pah!’ said Clive.

 

‘Deadist,’ huffed Willow.

 

Florence lit the two candles. Clive blew them out.

 

‘Oooh, draughty,’ said Florence, striking another match, whose flame went the same way as the candle flames causing Clive to laugh at the puerility of his party trick.

 

‘Stop it!’ whispered Willow. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself.’

 

‘I don’t think so,’ said Clive. ‘It’s a total waste of time being here.’

 

Florence looked at Willow. ‘Are you sure all right, young lady?’ she said. ‘You seem unsettled.’

 

Willow’s cheeks took on an uncharacteristic flush. ‘Yes, I’m fine thank you. Just ignore me.’

 

‘Some water, perhaps?’ said Florence. ‘I know the uninitiated can often be overwhelmed by experiences such as these. I was the same the first time I channelled Joan of Arc.’

 

‘Oh, it’s always someone famous, isn’t it?’ sneered Clive, who by now had adopted a casual pose atop the table and was making himself comfy. ‘Never someone common or ordinary like Maud who owned the corner shop in 1941 and was hit by shrapnel when she was running for the Anderson shelter one dark and bomb-ridden night.’

 

‘Honestly, I am fine,’ said Willow. She looked at Clive and narrowed her eyes in an ‘I’m going to ignore you forever unless you behave’ kind of way.

 

‘Good, good,’ said Florence. She re-lit the candles and settled herself in her carver chair at the end of the table, flapping out the folds of her pashmina around her like a flamboyant bat.

 

A silence of anticipation oozed across the room, each person present alone with their own thoughts – Amazing totally absorbed by the atmosphere, Connie wondering if the experience would change her approach to her job at the hospital, Willow reciting her thirteen times table to avoid listening to Clive, and Min wondering if they’d be home in time for her mix a bowl of dough so it could stand proving overnight ready for baking fresh rolls in the morning.

 

‘Hello!!’ Florence shouted, suddenly, making them all jump.

 

‘Hello!’ shouted Clive back, deciding to play the game and prove a point to Willow. ‘See,’ he said to Willow. ‘Not a sausage.’

 

‘Come forth, spirits!’ said Florence. ‘You are safe here. You are amongst friends. Come forth and tell us – is our departed brother, Clive Neville Chamberlain Thing, amongst you this evening?’

 

‘Yes, I am!’ said Clive. ‘In fact, it’s just me, here on my own. Clive No Mates. Dead Clive in person, live from beyond the grave.’

 

Florence’s chin fell dramatically to her chest and her breathing shuddered. The gathered ensemble watched her closely with a mix of fascination, mild tension and resignation, depending upon their individual viewpoint of the whole proceedings. Suddenly, Florence’s head whipped up and stared across the table.

 

‘Good evening, dear friends,’ she said, in a deep voice of gravelly tones. ‘It is I…Clive Neville Chamberlain Thing…who has come amongst you…’

 

‘Is that supposed to be me?’ said Clive. ‘I sound nothing like that…’

 

‘Oh, my goodness,’ whispered Amazing. ‘He is here!’

 

Florence turned to face Amazing. ‘Is that you, Minerva? Is that you, my dearest sister? My vision is yet unclear. The veil between our worlds remains cloudy…’

 

‘Why is she making me sound like a Dickensian ghost?’ said Clive. ‘There’s no grey and wispy veil. More a soft white mist with turquoisy lilac overtones, I’d say…’

 

‘No, Mr Thing…Clive….sir….’ said Amazing. ‘I am Amazing Hibiscus Park. Your sister, Minerva, is over there….’ And she pointed across the table to where Min was sitting rolling her eyes and supressing a sigh. Florence’s gaze slowly followed her finger.

 

‘Ah, yes…’ said Pseudo Clive. ‘I see her now. The mists are clearing. Minerva. My dear sister…’

 

Min couldn’t help but emit a cynical huff. ‘Are you sure you are Clive?’ she said. ‘You’ve never called me ‘dear sister’ in your life.’

 

‘Death is very forgiving,’ said Pseudo Clive. ‘Whatever passed between us as siblings in the mortal plane is all forgiven in the great beyond. I forgive you, dear sister…’

 

‘Is that right?’ said Min, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You forgive me, do you? In that case, in an act of sibling reciprocity, would you care to apologise for the complete and utter mess you’ve left behind for me to clear up since you died?’

 

‘Oooh,’ said Clive, looking at Willow. ‘She IS cross, isn’t she?’

 

‘Yes,’ said Willow. ‘She is. You have no idea.’

 

Another silence spread through the room. The look on Florence’s face suggested she was thinking hard about the next pronouncement from Pseudo Clive.

 

‘Look beneath the toaster to find the key to the box of papers!’ she declared.

 

‘The toaster that blew up three weeks ago and was removed to the council tip small electrical appliance recycling bin, or the toaster newly purchased from the supermarket which replaced it?’ said Min.

 

The concentration immediately fell from Florence’s face. ‘Look,’ she snapped. ‘I’m trying my best here. You know how difficult Clive can be. Was. Is.’

 

‘Oh, well you’ve got that bit right,’ said Min. ‘Look, shall we call an end to this and have a cup of tea? Eh? I mean, thank you for trying, Florence, but I don’t think we are going to get anywhere with this. Do you? Honestly?’

 

Florence’s shoulders slumped. She knew Min, her dear friend, was being as kind as she knew how to be, given her generally brusque nature. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps a cup of tea would help, and then I can try again.’ She looked around the table hopefully, receiving an enthusiastic thumbs up from Amazing and kind nods from Connie and Willow.

 

This wasn’t what Min wanted to hear, of course, but she didn’t want to upset her friend, so she agreed and then accompanied her into the kitchen to make tea, leaving the others to talk in hushed tones about the evening that was fast becoming a non-event.

 

‘Is he here?’ said Amazing to Willow. ‘Clive?’

 

Willow sighed and nodded. ‘He’s sitting on the table. And not being very polite, I might add.’

 

‘How would you react to such a farce, eh?’ said Clive. ‘Seriously, the woman is a hopeless case of pointlessness. I’m going into the kitchen to earwig what they are saying.’

 

‘What’s he saying?’ said Connie, who was twice as confused now than she had ever been. The experience was bringing to the surface of her psyche a series of uncomfortable memories. Of the first child she had and lost. Of the empty space that was never filled by her second child.

 

‘Oh, he’s just being contrary,’ said Willow, crossly, watching Clive vanish through the wall into the kitchen, even though the sliding doors were wide open. ‘It was him messing around with blowing out the candles. He says we are wasting our time.’

 

‘This is most disappointing,’ said Amazing. ‘But you should just tell Minerva what Clive wants. Just tell her, straight and to the direct point.’

 

‘Yes, what does Clive actually want?’ said Connie, keen to divert her thoughts away from the uncomfortable feelings she was experiencing.

 

‘He won’t tell me,’ said Willow. ‘He says he has to tell Min herself. She has to listen to him directly, not to a message conveyed through someone else.’

 

Connie leaned back in her chair. ‘We could well be waiting until Hell freezes over for that to happen,’ she said.  ‘I rather get the impression she didn’t much listen to him when he was alive, let alone now he is dead.’

 

Min appeared just then, carrying a tea-tray. She was followed by a spaced-out looking Florence who was carrying a pile of biscuits balanced precariously on a small plate. Clive sauntered along behind performing a tuneless whistle.

 

‘Quick refreshments, then one more try, eh?’ said Min, brightly, plonking the tea-tray on the table and nimbly rescuing the plate of biscuits from Florence’s hands before she sent them sliding onto the carpet. Clive rolled his eyes, and made to climb back on the table, but a swift glare from Willow sent him to lean casually against the sideboard instead. Within fifteen minutes, tea quaffed and biscuits nibbled, it was curtains closed, lights out, candles lit and ‘Breaking Through the Veil - Take Two.’

 

‘Welcome, spirits,’ said Florence, adopting the pose. ‘Come forth. You are amongst friends here…’

 

‘I’ll say,’ said Hector.

 

The colour drained from Florence’s face.

 

‘Hector?’ she whispered. ‘Hector? Is that you?’

 

‘Sure is, doll face,’ said Hector, coming over all Humphrey Bogart.

 

‘Hector…’ said Florence, and then fainted.

 

Hector rolled his eyes. ‘Plus ca change, eh old girl?’ he said.

 

‘Pa?’ said Clive and Min, in unison.