Curse of the Stag’s Eye (Haunted Hearts)

25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

A fter my experience at the cliff edge, we all decided we needed a break. Dawn took herself off to the toilet to splash some water on her face while Rhys and I went back to the keeper’s cottage.

“You were right.” I sat on the sofa. I didn’t care if it was for display or vintage or whatever. I needed a proper sit-down. I kept my boots on the threadbare mat.

Rhys sat on the armchair facing me.

“You were right about it all,” I said again, more to myself than to him. “You weren’t lying.”

Rhys frowned. “Lying about what?”

I cleared my throat. It was time. I had to come clean. “I’m a friend of Rebecca’s.”

He studied my face, trying to remember. “Oh. Her from the pottery studio? In Birmingham?”

I nodded. “She moved into that studio and felt uneasy straight away. She told me about it and I told her she was being silly. It was just nerves. She’d left her husband, her old job. She was starting a new life, a new business— it’s scary, and her mind was just, you know, externalising it or whatever. Finding a way to cope with the stress of it all. Anyway, she didn’t believe me.”

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “Even with your definitely expert professional explanation?”

I glared at him. “She found you on Facebook and got you to come to the studio.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I spent the whole night there. I never actually saw anything, but I could feel a presence. The locals said it was haunted by the spirit of a butcher who’d died there in the early 1900s when the place was a flesh market. I spoke to him and helped him to move on. Or I tried to anyway.”

“You scared her.” I crossed my arms. “With all your talk of unhappy spirits lingering about.”

He held his hands open. “But... it's true. It's what I found. I did her up a proper report and everything. I took her through it all. She said she was fine with it.”

“Of course she did — She just wanted to get rid of you. But it was me she came crying to, saying she couldn't go back to her studio. That place was her dream, and you ruined it for her.”

He clambered up to his feet, tucking his shirt into the back of his waistband. “Hang on, I didn't ruin anything. I just told her what I found. It’s not my fault the place was haunted. I had to be honest with her, didn’t I?”

I exhaled, loudly. “I know that now, but I didn't then. I thought you’d made it all up to get some money out of her. Pretended to do an exorcism or whatever.”

“I don’t do bloody exorcisms, I’m not a bloody priest! And I don’t make things up to frighten vulnerable women.” He paced about, then suddenly stopped. “Hang on a bit. Is that why you came here tonight? To prove I was lying? To prove that I fake all this stuff for, what, financial gain? For kicks? Bloody hell, Gaz. I can't believe I was starting to...”

“To what?”

“To like you. To let myself like you.” He put his hands on his hips and paced the floor. “This is what I get for trusting my instinct over my brain. This is what I get for not sticking to the plan.” He took out his notepad. “Look. Look. Where does it say fall for a sexy, stocky Yorkshireman on this list? Where? Nowhere. And because I didn’t stick to the plan, look what’s happened.”

“Why, what did your instinct say about me?”

“That you were a decent person. That you and I could… That we might be good for each other. And this is why I don’t trust instinct. This is why I only trust”—he tapped the pad—“lists. Careful planning.”

My stomach dropped. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you.”

“But you did it anyway.” He rubbed his eyes. “I have notes. Lots of notes. I keep them all. I can show you the notes I made on the night. But you wouldn’t believe them, would you? You’d just say I made them up.” Rhys stormed out of the cottage and then immediately stormed back in, catching me by surprise. “Hang on. You’d better not be who I bloody well think you are!” He pointed his finger at me, his eyes fiery

“I… Just listen…” Oh God, I had wanted to tell him before he figured it out.

He squinted and got right up close to me. “You’re the Sheffield Sceptic. You are, aren’t you?” He stamped his feet. “Bloody hell. You have that podcast where you make fun of people like me. Call us fraudsters. Scammers. Liars. What, you put on a posh voice for the podcast, is that it?”

I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Unbelievable.” He hurried out again. “Un-be-bloody-lievable.”

My stomach now churned. As quickly and as gracefully as I could, I scrambled to my feet and took off after him. I found him in the museum, packing his rucksack.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not staying here with someone who thinks I’m a liar and a fraud.” He tried to swing the rucksack onto his back but kept missing the strap. He turned around and around, missing each time. I took the strap and held it out. He pushed his arm through and grabbed the other bag on the floor.

“Please wait.” I put my hand on the bag too. “I don’t think you’re a liar. I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t think this was real. I didn’t want to think it was real. I am the Sheffield Sceptic. I had a couple of bad experiences with people who faked being mediums and I wanted to warn people about them, so I started a little podcast.

“One woman I worked with was convinced a psychic knew everything about her and paid her a lot of money for readings, almost every week, for months. I had a hunch as to how the psychic was scamming her so I ran a little, well, sting operation, I suppose you’d call it. I got my colleague to plant false information on her Facebook page and sure enough during her next visit, the psychic relayed that information as a ‘message from the spirits’ . I told the story on my podcast, someone shared it in a local Facebook group, and next thing I knew I had hundreds of subscribers, then thousands.” I leaned back against the cushions. “Look, when you asked me earlier if I’ve ever had any ghostly encounters, I wasn’t entirely truthful.”

“Oh, there’s a shocker.”

I deserved that. “Now, let’s not forget which one of us rigged up speakers to fake a haunting this evening.”

He wobbled his head a bit from side to side.

I sighed and slumped against the wall. “My mother says she saw my grandad in our kitchen once.”

“That’s not so surprising, is it?” He took his keys from his pocket.

“It was a year after Grandad had died. My mum and my sister had this big row a few days earlier and weren’t talking to each other. They rowed a lot, so it wasn’t so strange. Grandad, or the ghost of Grandad, told Mum… He told her my sister was going to be with him soon. A couple of days later she died in a car crash.”

He let go of the bag. “Christ, mun. I’m sorry.”

I made a face. “It was years ago now, I was only a teenager when Jean died. Mum didn’t tell me anything about seeing Grandad’s ghost until years after.” I toyed with the gold watch around my wrist. “Grandad gave this to me the last time I saw him. He must have known he was dying but he never let on.” I had to really fight to stop the tears from flowing. “If ghosts are real, why didn’t Jeanie come to say goodbye to me? Why didn’t Grandad?” Despite myself, my eyes started to fill, and the back of my throat started to burn. I put my hands on my hips. I didn’t know what else to do with them.

Rhys reached over to touch my shoulder but caught himself and stopped.

I wiped my face and stopped the tears in their tracks. “Accepting that ghosts are real means accepting that they decide who to visit and who to ignore.” I sniffed hard and laughed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I haven’t told anyone about this before.”

Rhys smiled and it was a genuine smile. A kind smile. “I’m glad you told me. And look, we don’t know why they appear to some people and not others. Maybe you weren’t ready to see your grandad. Remember what I said about being in the right frame of mind for it? Maybe he couldn’t come to you because you wouldn’t have been able to see him.”

I couldn’t help but cry then. It might have been the lighthouse or it might have been the relief of getting it all off my chest but I heaved and sobbed in a way I hadn’t done in years.

Rhys dropped his rucksack and touched my arm, gently. Lightly. “You're angry with him,” he said. “Your grandad. And with your sister, I think? For not visiting you. Don't be. That isn't fair. To them or to you. We don't know the rules. I don't know the rules, not really. All I have is the evidence of my own experience but that might not be universal.” He pulled a tissue from his back pocket and handed it to me. “Whatever the case, it isn’t healthy to feel this way. Try not to be angry with them, Gaz.”

I wiped my eyes, blew my nose, and nodded. My hands trembled and if I hadn’t already been leaning I would have crumpled to the floor. It was as though I’d released a valve, somewhere deep, deep inside, and a lifetime of tension hissed out of my pores. “I’m sorry for not being honest. When I came here, I didn’t think any of this was real but after everything that’s happened tonight, I… I was scared to tell you who I was in case you… you might not…”

He was close to me. So close. And holding my gaze. I wanted him to hold me. More than anything else, right then and right there, I needed to feel his arms around me. My heart thumped like a jackhammer.

“Are you two going to kiss or not?” Dawn stood by the toilet door, clasping her hands together and hopping about. “The suspense is killing me!”

Rhys leaned in, just a little, and before I knew it, I’d leaned in too and kissed him. His beard was soft, his lips welcoming. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly.

Dawn squealed with delight and clapped. “I knew you two were right for each other!”

“Sorry,” Rhys said to me. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

I wiggled my fingers. “Maybe you were possessed.”

He blurted out a laugh. “Oh God, my breath must be awful.” He covered his mouth. “I wish I hadn’t eaten that Scotch egg, now.”

I laughed and assured him it was fine. “Please stay. We have to help Baines.”

“Help him how?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “And I think I’ve got a plan.”