Watching the Dead Read online

  But she’d need a sewing machine and fabric. That could be difficult she reasoned. You can’t exactly steal a sewing machine. Pop it in your pocket or an in an oversized handbag. Easily defeated she returned the dog to its owner and slouched off to the kitchen to make a coffee. If she could find any that was.

  She was just about to open the kitchen door, when she saw something fluttering on the floor as though caught in a draught. It was a piece of paper. Hells bells, she thought, does no one pick up rubbish in this house? She stooped and grabbed the paper in her hand. She was astonished to find it wasn’t a flyer or unwanted mail, but was a £20 note. Bloody hell. She looked around, but there was no one there. She had no idea who had dropped it. She shouted out to see if anyone was in, but there were no replies. She lived with 4 other housemates and there was normally someone around. She didn’t want to take the money if it left someone else short. But maybe she could keep it and buy some food, or tobacco with it? She put it in her pocket, grabbed her coat from her room and went outside. Walking down the street she saw a couple of her housemates and she asked if they had dropped a £20 note. But they just shook their heads, said that Abbey had had a bit of luck and she should keep it. They would. Abbey kept fingering the note in her pocket. How strange the find was. But if no one was going to claim it, she may as well keep it. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before. Maybe her mates were right. What a piece of luck!

  Mooching along the street Abbey stopped outside her favourite charity shop, toying with the idea of buying some clothes that she could regenerate or make into something better. Or some pieces of vintage clothing she could repair and sell on eBay. Looking through the window, her gaze fell on a polished wooden cabinet. It looked well-made but well worn. She went in and reaching into the window, she ran her hand across the wood. It felt warm, comforting, it felt like home, or rather a Hallmark view of home, certainly not her childhood home. Banishing thoughts of her troubled past, Abbey wondered where it could go in her room. She glanced at the ticket.

  Oh goodness, it was a sewing machine. And the price? £20. It must be fate. It couldn’t be anything else. She had to have it. Rushing over to the desk, she started gabbling at the volunteer, wanting to know if the machine worked. If she could have it. She must have it. She needed to have it.

  ‘Oh yes it works, I tried it out this morning, see,’ said the woman behind the counter, in a much calmer voice than Abbey’s. The elderly assistant rummaged under the desk and pulled out a piece of cloth with machine stitching on it. ‘This is what I did and as you can see it definitely works.’

  ‘Could I have it please?’ pleaded Abbey. ‘I’ve just got £20. It’s the last of my money.’ Of course it was her only money, but she didn’t want to admit to that.

  ‘Sew, do you?’ the woman asked as she plucked the ticket off the cabinet and wrote ‘sold’ on it. ‘Sorry, what’s your name? I need to put it on the ticket.’

  ‘Oh hi, I’m Abbey and I’m trying to start a business, designing, and making, clothes. I studied that at Uni.’

  ‘So I guess you’re going to need material and threads?’

  Oh God, Abbey hadn’t thought of that. She immediately deflated. Then realised how stupid that was. She had to stop being a pessimist. Turn into an optimist. A machine was a great first step. ‘Yes, but I don’t have any more money on me.’

  ‘Hang on,’ and the volunteer left the desk and disappeared into the back room.

  All the time she was gone, Abbey was tapping her foot and trying to quell the worms of anxiety in her stomach. Was she sure she could do this? Really start a business and support herself? Or was she just dreaming. What was the saying? Pissing in the wind. That was it. She’d been told that all her life, why was it going to be any different this time?

  Then the volunteer emerged, clutching an oversized plastic bag, chasing Abbey’s bad vibes away. Looking closely, she appeared remarkably similar to the other volunteers who worked there, but Abbey hadn’t seen her before. She must be new, Abbey reasoned. The woman’s steel-grey hair looked like wire wool and didn’t move. At all. It looked very stiff and Abbey wondered how she ever got a brush through it. She had on an old-fashioned dress and an overall or what used to be called a pinny, over it. Her grandmother had worn one. Abbey hadn’t seen one since she’d died.

  She caught Abbey looking at her clothes. ‘Sorry about the pinny but I’ve been clearing out the stock room and it’s very dusty back there. Anyway, look in here,’ she said and opened the bag so Abbey could peek inside. ‘We collected these, but never knew what to do with them.’

  It was fabric. Lots of it. And thread. Bobbins of cotton of every hue and thickness. There was thick wool, traces of gauze and netting and strips of ribbon. It was better than Abbey could have ever imagined.

  ‘Some of it is material that’s been donated,’ the volunteer continued. ‘The other stuff is clothes too damaged to sell but made of nice fabric. We just figured it would all find a good home eventually and it looks like that good home is you. Here, scribble down your address and the van can deliver your sewing machine later today. It’s already going out, so one extra stop isn’t going to matter to them.’

  ‘But, but, I can’t pay for delivery, I’ll have to try and carry it, or get a mate to help me.’

  ‘Nonsense, kindness costs nothing. Now off you go, take the bag with you and good luck. Maybe we’ll see some of your designs on the telly one day. You never know!’

  Abbey thanked the woman profusely and skipped out of the shop before the volunteer could change her mind.

  Once at home and while waiting for the sewing machine and cabinet to be delivered, Abbey pulled out a box she had with all her university stuff in it and found the designs she’d sketched. She also found a new sketch pad, pencils, pens, a few samples she’d made up for her exams and the end of year fashion show. How could she have forgotten all this stuff? Her pride in her work rushed back as she recaptured the buzz of University, lost so long ago. She had obtained a First-Class degree and several enthusiastic endorsements of her work. The waste of her achievements weighed heavily on her shoulders and Abbey wondered what had happened to her? But, of course, she knew, deep down. The parties, the drugs, the alcohol, had all taken over, became more important than getting a job or building a business. Being an entrepreneur was hard. Being a party animal was easy.

  Still, the endorsements were valid at the time and perhaps she could still use them in her advertising copy. Her theme had not been so much vintage 1950’s, more 1960’s mod, although that was vintage now wasn’t it? After all it was the 2020’s and the 1960’s was a lifetime ago. She remembered her interest in the era had been piqued after a visit to the Victoria and Albert museum in London. She needed to go back there. Checking the V&A website, it confirmed that admission was still free. She would go tomorrow, if she could borrow the train fare, or maybe try and dodge paying. She’d take her mobile phone with her to take pictures and her sketch pad to record ideas. Excitement fizzed in her blood. She might have lost the last 10 years to partying, but she was damned if she was going to waste the next 10.

  Chapter 5

  Present day…

  Jo threw her mobile onto the bed as tears of relief filled her eyes. At last she’d heard from Byrd. He wanted to arrange to meet up. The past few days had been beyond surreal. She still couldn’t make much sense of what had happened when she’d faced Odin and everyone who had died at his hand had begun to appear. No one at the station, apart from her and Byrd, knew what had happened at the warehouse that night. Jo just called it a meeting with Odin, who never showed up and unfortunately Alex Crook had suffered a suspected heart attack at the scene, probably brought on by the stress of going undercover in the British Nordic League. They’d called the emergency services, but he was dead by the time they got there.

  But the worst thing in all the debacle? She could lose Byrd. At work he’d been tight lipped, only speaking to her when absolutely necessary and then he’d disappeared. Said he
wasn’t well. Hadn’t been answering the telephone, nor his door. As the hours and days had gone by without a word or sign from him as to how he felt, Jo had become morose and defeated. She’d fought the battle with Odin and won, but now she had another battle to face. The battle to get Byrd to understand who, and what, she was. Hopefully that would be the last thing she’d have to face out of the whole disaster. Once Byrd was once more with her, life could return to normal. At least Jo’s normal.

  She fell back and rested on the pillows. Light was beginning to poke fingers from behind the curtains and the birds were signalling the start of a new day. With a bit of luck, a better day. She had dozed off again when her phone pinged with a message and woke her up.

  Grabbing her phone, she read the text from Byrd: Mid-day. Your place.

  Checking her watch, Jo realised she needed to hurry and get ready and then tidy up the flat. Not forgetting to go and buy the Sunday papers and some food. Perhaps Byrd would stay for brunch?

  Feeling better after a shower, Jo wrapped herself in a towel and wiped away the condensation on the bathroom mirror.

  There was Judith. Standing just behind Jo’s shoulder. Jo stilled, hardly believing her eyes. Judith should be at peace now, not appearing to her. She turned around and… nothing. There was no one there.

  Jo shrugged and turned back to the sink. It was more than likely that she was feeling lonely and missing her friend. What with all this business with Byrd. But that wouldn’t explain the unsettling feeling she was experiencing. A crawling of her skin. Cold breath caressing the back of her neck. She straightened up and though afraid, she glanced in the mirror once more. To see Judith peeking over her shoulder. Looking around, Jo found the bathroom was still empty. Turning back to the mirror, there was Judith.

  It seemed Judith wasn’t resting in peace after all. She must want something. To dispel the panic building inside her, Jo decided it was best just to have a conversation with Judith, no matter how weird it may seem. For what could happen? What was there to be frightened of? It was only her friend, after all.

  ‘Hey, Judith.’

  Judith smiled. So she’d heard Jo. Or perhaps Jo was hallucinating. Or still asleep and dreaming. There was that.

  But then Judith spoke. ‘You’re wondering what I’m doing here.’

  Jo wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified. She picked relieved and after a deep breath said, ‘You could say that. I thought this ghostly apparition thing was done and dusted. You know, since Odin. It should be all over by now.’

  ‘Not quite.’ Judith smiled. ‘It seems I’m going to be around for a while longer yet.’

  ‘But why? What the hell is going on?’ Jo was beginning to lose the battle with containing her emotions, her fear began to manifest itself in anger. She wasn’t happy about this. Not at all.

  ‘It seems that defeating evil is to be your destiny and mine is to help you and be your contact in the spirit world.’

  ‘Sod my destiny! Why do I need you? We face evil every day in the killers we chase. We do a good job. A worthwhile job.’ Jo closed her eyes. Perhaps Judith would go away if Jo wasn’t looking at her. She gripped the side of the sink with her hands, the cool porcelain reassuringly solid.

  ‘You’ll need me for guidance and help in future cases.’

  So much for that theory, Judith was still there. Defeated, Jo opened her eyes. ‘But I investigate murders.’

  ‘Yes, but from now on you’ll be faced with murders that involve the supernatural.’

  Jo thought of Anubis and Odin and shuddered. She didn’t want to go there again. Face creatures like them. She went weak at the thought and her voice shook as she said, ‘But what if I don’t want to? It isn’t fair!’ She could hear the plaintive tones in her voice. It was as though she were 10 years old, not 30. A child again, not a seasoned detective.

  ‘I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in the matter, Jo, and neither do I. We have been specially chosen. So, will you join me willingly?’

  But Jo wasn’t having any of it. She ignored Judith, dropped her towel on the floor and ran from the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She took refuge in her bedroom, where there weren’t any mirrors. Shaking the image of Judith in the glass from her mind, she concentrated on getting ready to meet Byrd. She was furious. How dare they invade her home! They, Judith, whoever they were. Taking liberties. She must have some say in the matter. Surely?

  Was this the price she had to pay for her recovery? If she’d known that at the time would she have wanted to live, or to die? Then she thought of her family, her father in particular. And then Byrd. If she’d had died after the riding accident, they would never have met. What was that quotation: It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all? Yeah, there was that. Okay so she wouldn’t have wanted to die. But that didn’t make this emotional blackmail stuff right. It was all wrong. But she was stuck in the middle, trying to walk the tightrope between her normal life and her job, and her supernatural life and the creatures she came up against. There was a lot of evil out there in the world and she’d only seen a small amount of it. Only scratched the surface. She knew there was only one answer that she could give to Judith’s question and with resignation in every step, Jo walked back to the bathroom to give Judith her decision.

  Chapter 6

  Jo had made a lunch of cheeses, paté, freshly baked baguettes, and red wine. Very French. It was the best she could come up with at short notice. Her cookery skills were negligible. She’d texted her father to let him know that Byrd was coming to see her and that she wouldn’t make the short journey from her flat above the garage to the main house for lunch with the family. He’d understand. He knew what Byrd meant to her.

  Her doorbell rang. Oh God he’s here, she thought and looked down at her hands, which were shaking. She needed a glass of that rather nice Merlot breathing on the kitchen table.

  She lifted the handset of the intercom, but found she couldn’t speak, so she just pressed the door lock to let Byrd in.

  Within moments, he was there. There was a minute of social awkwardness as neither knew whether to kiss or not. Jo took a step back from him and said, ‘Good to see you, Byrd.’

  He nodded, ‘And you, ma’am.’

  Jo’s eyes blazed, but then realised he was smiling at her, maybe trying to break the ice by teasing her with the hated greeting for a senior officer. She thumped him on the arm good naturedly and they both smiled.

  ‘A drink?’ Jo indicated the table.

  ‘Please,’ and Byrd poured them a glass each. ‘Nice spread,’ he offered, indicating the table.

  ‘Just a little something I threw together.’

  ‘With the help of Messrs Marks and Spencer?’

  Jo smiled. ‘Of course. They’ve never let me down yet. Shall we sit?’

  Sitting at the table was better than being awkwardly thrown together on her small settee. And anyway, passing the bread, butter and cheese gave her hands something to do. The only problem was that Jo wasn’t sure if she could get food past the blockage in her throat.

  ‘Byrd,’ she began. ‘It’s about time I told you everything about me.’

  He nodded his agreement. ‘That would be a good idea. A good place to start.’

  Jo took a gulp of the water she’d placed on the table as well as the wine. ‘It all began with an accident.’

  ‘The riding accident?’

  ‘Yes, that one,’ and Jo began haltingly to tell him about her recovery and how the kick to her head from the horse had changed her.

  As she spoke, Byrd began to nibble on the food and he topped up their wine glasses. It appeared he was relaxing, thank goodness.

  ‘So during the Anubis investigation and the Odin one,’ Byrd said, ‘you were able to touch the dead and see what had happened to them.’

  ‘Yes, as far as the Anubis case went. But during the Odin one, I began to see what was happening to the living as well.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that must have bee
n pretty hairy.’

  Jo smiled. Encouraged by Byrd’s seeming acceptance of her gift, she talked to him about Judith and her role in past investigations and quite possibly future ones. By the time she’d finished, they’d eaten and drunk their fill.

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘Good idea.’

  Jo went into the kitchen and messed about with the coffee pot, ground coffee and water. Her hands had started shaking again. She’d not had much of a reaction out of Byrd so far and couldn’t imagine what was going to happen next.

  Then Byrd entered the kitchen. She froze. Not knowing what to do, she stayed facing the wall. He moved towards her. She could smell his aftershave and it made her go weak at the knees. Then he was standing behind her, his arms snaking around her waist. She leaned back against him as he lifted her hair and began to kiss her neck. Tingles ran up and down her spine. Then he turned her to face him…

  Sometime later, wrapped in his arms and tangled in the sheets on her bed, she asked, ‘Are you OK, Byrd. You know, with all of this?’

  ‘Honestly?’

  Jo thought that an odd thing to say, she leaned her head backwards so she could see his face. ‘Of course.’ But uncertainty was gnawing away at her. She suddenly didn’t feel so sure of Byrd anymore. Again.

  He looked down at her. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about all this. I… I have very strong feelings for you, you know that, Jo. But… Oh I don’t know. I appreciate your honesty, but I think I need a while to process it. You know?’

  Jo did. She’d had enough trouble coming to terms with it herself, so she had to give Byrd time to come to his own decision. But the disappointment she felt made her stomach drop, as though she’d been in a lift going too fast towards the ground floor. It seemed that in the cold light of day, Byrd still wasn’t sure about her gift. Or curse. Yes it was absolutely becoming a curse. If she lost Byrd because of it, she wouldn’t know what to do.