Audrey

I didn't believe in the supernatural until I met Dan. We worked in the same coffee shop at uni. I was studying English lit. He was in Fine Arts. There was something of the tragic poet in his dark good looks. His habitual melancholy fascinated me immediately, although he was so reserved that we never talked about anything other than work issues. I heard my late mother’s voice one evening when we were closing the shop.

“Be careful. He has a lot of trauma in his past. Stop trying to rescue all the wounded birds.”

I shook my head to clear it.

“He’s not a wounded bird,” I said.

“Are you talking to me?” Dan said, looking around as he mopped the floor. "What bird?"

“Oh, er, nothing. Just thinking out loud,” I muttered, my face red.

Looking equally awkward, he leaned on the mop, avoiding my gaze.

“I was wondering. Would you like to meet my family?”

My jaw dropped, something I had always thought was just a figure of speech.

“Use your head as well as your heart,” said my mother.

“Oh, hush,” I retorted under my breath. “You stay out of this.”

 “It sounds crazy, but I think of you as a friend,” he said. “Could you help me?”

I pushed my hair back and grinned.

“Sure, as long as you know that I’m not ready for any commitments.”

He looked flustered, and then relaxed and laughed.

“You can tell I don’t have the best social skills. Nothing like that. I’m overdue for a visit home. Full disclosure... I don’t exactly get along with my parents. I just go home now and then to keep the peace. It’s always easier if there’s a third-party present.”

“Sure,” I said. “May I ask what the problem is?”

He shrugged.

“It’s a long story. Let’s see how the visit goes, and you can decide if you want to be bothered with it.”

I sighed.

“That sounds like a sad situation. My mother and I were close. My dad died when I was a baby, so it was the two of us against the world. She died a year ago of breast cancer. I miss her tremendously, but somehow, she’s always with me. I even hear her voice loud and clear at times, so don’t worry if you hear me talking to myself. I’m just answering.”

He shook his head and gave a snort of laughter.

“My mother is very much alive. She certainly gets in my head at times, but I do my best to ignore her.”

A couple of days later, we set off to visit his parents. It had been like pulling teeth to get information from Dan about what the visit entailed or what I should wear.

"I dunno," he said. "We're just going to have lunch with them."

I finally put on my best thrift shop dress and earrings. He picked me up in his aged car. It wheezed and rattled as he started it.

“Are you sure we’re going to make it in this thing?” I asked.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said. “This is Esme. She has never let me down, unlike some other ladies in my life.”

He cranked up the radio which almost muffled the vehicle's creaks and groans. The A/C didn’t work, but luckily the weather was sunny and mild. We sang to the radio as we meandered along scenic country roads, but Dan fell silent as we turned between tall stone pillars onto a narrow driveway. Esme gallantly bumped and lurched over the potholes. I gasped as we turned the corner, and a large stone mansion came into view.

“Jeez, this looks like a miniature Downton Abbey. You didn’t tell me you came from the upper classes.”

“It’s not so impressive up close. In fact, it’s falling down around my parents’ ears because they can’t afford to fix anything, but they refuse to move. Stiff upper lip and keeping up appearances and all that sort of thing.”

He parked and I got out of the car and gazed around. In the forecourt, a forlorn stone cherub holding a water jug under his arm stood in the center of an ornamental pool which was full of scummy green water. We ascended a flight of stone steps which led up to an imposing set of wooden doors. Weeds were poking out of the crevices between the steps and the varnish of the door was peeling. He pulled on a brass chain hanging by the door. A bell clanged in the distance.

“Isn’t this your home? Don't you have a key?" I said, puzzled.

The door creaked open before he could reply. A plump lady with gray streaked auburn hair pulled back into a bun stood there. She exclaimed in delight as she saw Dan and swept him into a bear-hug.

“ Danny Boy! Let me look at you,” she said, gently holding him at arms’ length. “And who’s this?”

Dan disentangled himself.

“Moira, this is my friend Katy. She agreed to venture into the lion’s den with me.”

Moira cuffed him playfully.

“You’re full of nonsense. Come on in, Katy.”

We followed her down a long hallway lined with oil paintings of dyspeptic looking old men in stiff white collars and bushy mutton-chop whiskers.

“Those are the ancestors who made the money to build this pile by exploiting children in the cotton mills,” Dan said. “Moira is our chief cook, housekeeper and nanny all rolled into one. She is the best thing from my childhood.”

“Hush now with all your political speeches,” Moira said, glancing at me. “No need to get your parents worked up. In you go now, while I go and check on the food.”

I realized one of my earrings had fallen onto the floor. As I turned to pick it up, I saw a little girl peek at me from the end of the hallway. She was wearing an old-fashioned yellow smocked dress and had bouncy brown ringlets. She waved at me. I waved back and she giggled as she disappeared around the corner. Dan turned around to see what I was doing. I hastily put my earring back on and followed him into a large dining room with a bay window.

An elderly man with an upright military bearing and a bristly grey mustache advanced, extending a hand for Dan to shake.

“Hello, son. And this is…?”

Dan introduced me.

“Katy, this is my father, Brigadier Pendleton-White.”

The old man eyed me in a way I didn’t like and pulled me close for a hug. Although it was not even midday, his breath was boozy, and his clothes stank of stale tobacco.

“Call me Arthur, my dear,” he said as I squirmed. Dan stepped between us.

“That will do, Father.”

I had never heard him sound so assertive. His father shrugged and went to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of whisky.

“And this is my mother, Judith.”

He indicated a gaunt woman with grayish blonde hair and piercing pale blue eyes who was sitting at the table. She made no move to get up and greet her son.

“Nice to meet you, Katy. Dan, please sit down. Moira’s ready to bring the food in, I’m sure.”

Dan pulled the chairs out and sat down beside me. We were facing the bay window which looked out over what must once have been a beautiful garden. It now consisted of some scraggly shrubs and a neglected lawn. The table was set with beautiful china and I gazed apprehensively at the selection of silverware.

“Moira pulled out all the stops as usual,” Judith said. “I told her it’s not necessary, but she always acts as if you’re the prodigal son.”

At that moment, Moira entered bearing a steaming tureen of soup. She served us and excused herself. Dan and his parents made stilted conversation which mostly seemed to consist of Dan’s father berating him for his choice of studies and Dan replying in monosyllables. Moira removed the soup plates and served the main course. I stared out of the window. Suddenly the little girl popped up into view between the shrubs. She grinned at me, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Without thinking, I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes in return. I choked off a laugh, mortified as I realized that all talk had ceased, and that Dan and his parents were staring at me as if I had two heads.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s that little girl outside. Is she Moira’s daughter? She’s very pretty.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Dan turned pale. His father spluttered into his whisky and began to cough. Judith fixed me with an cold stare.

“What little girl?”

My stomach lurched and my mouth went dry. I pointed at the window.

“She was out there a moment ago. She’s wearing a yellow dress and has brown ringlets.”

Judith gasped, jumped to her feet and rushed for the door. She paused for a moment to glare at Dan.

“This isn’t funny. What have you told her? Did you say that it was all your fault? Get out of this house and take her with you.”

The door slammed behind her.

Arthur’s coughing fit had subsided. He patted his eyes with his napkin.

“Son, this isn’t quite the done thing, you know. Some things stay in the family. You shouldn’t come here and upset your mother.”

Dan stood up so abruptly that his chair fell over.

“As usual, you both assume the worst of me. I don’t know what Katy saw, but I know that she is not a liar. She has heard nothing about this so-called family from me. Audrey died in an accident. You hear me…an accident. I was seven years old at the time and I have been the scapegoat ever since. Enough. Katy, let’s go.”

He grabbed my hand and stormed out, almost pulling me behind him. Arthur’s protests followed us until the front door slammed, cutting him off. Sitting in the car, Dan rested his head on the steering wheel, trembling. I sat in a daze beside him, speechless. Finally, he raised his head and looked at me.

“Katy, what did you really see?”

“I told you. A little girl in a yellow dress. She was in the hallway and then outside in the garden. What’s the big deal about that? Who is she and what did I say wrong?”

He took a deep breath.

“I had a little sister called Audrey. When she was five and I was seven, we were playing out here around that pool. There was water in it then and the fountain worked. She was walking around the edge of the pool when she slipped and fell in. She was knocked unconscious when she hit her head on the fountain. I couldn’t pull her out, so I ran for help. By the time I came back with my mother, Audrey had drowned. My mother has never forgiven me.”

“I saw a child clear as day, but couldn't it have been some other little girl?” I said.

“Moira doesn’t have children and no one else comes here. Audrey was wearing a yellow dress when this happened. I still remember how bedraggled it was when they pulled her out of the water and how her ringlets had gone all straight and stringy.”

He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, his shoulders heaving. Finally regaining his composure, he wiped his eyes and looked at me.

“You said you hear your mother talking to you. Do you have some kind of extra sensory perception?”

I shook my head and shivered.

“ I hear my mother because we were close, and she could read me like a book. She always knew when I was about to do something stupid. Her advice comes to mind when I'm trying to make decisions. I’ve never had an experience like this before. I'm not sure I even believe in ghost or spirits or whatever. But now I know why you always look so sad and distant. It’s terrible that your mother blamed you all this time. I suppose she couldn’t deal with her own guilt. Let’s go.”

He nodded and started the car.

I gazed back at the dilapidated house as we left. I didn't tell Dan that a little figure in a yellow dress stood on the doorstep looking sadly after us. I tentatively gave a tiny wave. She raised her hand, turned and faded away.