A mid-morning snack of tea and crumpets was certainly a diversion from Betty's normal Saturday routine, but she was happy to comply with Karen's suggestion that they sat together in the garden.
"Since when did you like tea, my poppet?"
"I don't believe coffee compliments crumpets as effectively as tea," replied Karen with an air of worldly preoccupation. "Betty my dear, or Mummy if you prefer, you have the pleasure of my company for the next thirty-six hours. I'd like to go window-shopping, but I want to do it locally, not in Rushbury. With luck we may meet some of my old friends."
"It's all very well for you, dear, but that's one thing I'm keen to avoid. I mean, what AM I going to say if anyone sees you? Your presence is difficult to explain, Karen!"
"Trust me. Trust that soul of yours, Betty, and stop crossing bridges before you come to them, or you'll develop an ulcer."
Against all promptings of commonsense, Betty found herself twenty minutes later parking the car in the centre of Allentown, and walking with her young companion through the Saturday morning crowds, praying that they wouldn't meet anyone they knew. And when they did, the last thing Betty needed was Karen's suddenly switch from placid wisdom to boisterous exhibitionism.
"Yoo-hoo!" she yelled to a girl across the street. "Look, there's Tracy Atkinson. Hi, Tracy!"
Tracy looked up to see who was calling. She saw Karen, and gave a spontaneous wave of recognition which gave way to a look of acute embarrassment.
"There!" Karen exclaimed. "Wasn't that fun? Did you see the look on her face? That gave her a jolt, the jealous little squirt!"
"That wasn't at all kind, dear. She must have thought she'd seen a ghost!"
"How true! Do her a bit of good though, and she's had it coming for a long time. She was always too snooty for my liking."
"All the same, it's bad enough the thought of explaining you to my friends, without you deliberately drawing attention to yourself. Try to think of others, Karen, besides having your own childish bit of fun."
Karen's laugh was almost satanic. "Wouldn't it be ironic if Tracy had dashed out into the road and got run over?"
Betty drew the child into a nearby doorway. "Stop that kind of talk at once, do you hear? One minute you're acting like a wise philosopher; the next you're behaving quite irresponsibly. Honestly, Karen, I can't make you out, and that's the truth."
"Well, while you're lecturing me on concepts you don't understand, decide what you're going to say to this next gentleman!"
Betty looked up as a tall dark figure loomed towards them. He stopped abruptly.
"Why, hallo, Mrs. er ..." He snapped his fingers a few times until a look of enlightenment produced a smile. "Betty Marsh, isn't it? I haven't seen you for months. How are you keeping?"
It was the Rev. Alan Barkworth, who had conducted the service at Karen's funeral, and whose church Betty had carefully avoided ever since.
"Much better now, thank you," she mumbled in total confusion.
"And you, my dear?" The minister beamed down at Karen.
"Like death warmed up!" the child responded with devilish glee.
"Don't take any notice, Mr. Barkworth. She's not herself today."
"Youthful spirits, eh? I sometimes wish we all had them, Mrs. Marsh, I really do! So glad you're feeling better. Well, good morning to you."
He raised his hat and left, and Betty glared disapprovingly at her companion. "Now if we'd been regular members of his congregation, that would have been very embarrassing. Thank God he didn't recognise you!"
"I'm quite sure he did, only he's getting old and he's slow in making connections. I'd love to see his face when it dawns on him!"
"All the same I feel guilty. I haven't spoken to him since January, and I never thanked him for the service."
"You know where he'll be at eleven tomorrow morning."
"You're not suggesting I go to church?"
"Not necessarily to St. Stephens, but I think you'll find an hour spent in church tomorrow well worth your while."
"Oh, Karen! I find church services so boring."
"Really? Ask yourself why!"
"Well, they just are, having to sit still, listening to some old twit churning out ancient prayers and readings, intoning dreary hymns..."
"And meeting dreary people? Then why do you suppose the other members of his flock turn up every Sunday?"
"Maybe they've nothing better to do? But I have. All I know is I've never felt it was something I really needed. Satisfied?"
"No. Would you take me tomorrow?"
"Not dressed like that?"
"Good God, no! No, I'd wear my best Sunday coat."
"I meant, dressed as Karen?"
"You'd prefer to disguise me as my brother and spare your blushes? Hide me behind false whiskers? What you fail to realise, Betty Marsh, is that I want my friends to know I still exist, just as I wanted you to know. Can't you understand that? Honestly, at times you are stupid!"
Betty was about to challenge this remark when Karen continued in a worldly-wise voice that was undeniably patronising.
"Have you never stopped to consider the plight of a certain poor soul who lives not far from here, someone still tormented every day by what happened to me in January? I think we ought to pay her a visit."
"Isobel James, you mean? God, how I hate that woman's name! Or I used to. But no, Karen, she'd only think we were playing cruel games with her. It's all very well you having these noble ideas, but not everyone sees things as you do."
"So you'd rather let the woman suffer for years, than try to offer her some semblance of comfort? Think what it's been like for her, Betty, every time she gets into a car - every time she sees a little girl running across the road."
"Karen, my poppet, I honestly don't think she'd understand."
"What if the vicar stopped preaching sermons for fear some of his congregation might not understand? If you don't go and see Isobel, then I will. I mean it."
"You're a very stubborn girl, you know that?"
"An emotive word. On the contrary, I'm simply determined to make you do what is undoubtedly right. You, on the other hand, are an extremely stubborn mother - and I've already pointed out that we're equal, so don't pull rank on me!"
Later that afternoon, against her better judgement, Betty Marsh picked up the phone and dialled Isobel James's number. An elderly woman answered.
"Is that Mrs. James?" Betty enquired cautiously.
"It is, but I expect you want my daughter-in-law. I'll fetch her."
"No, wait!" Betty's response was immediate and instinctive. "Not yet. I'd better tell you first who I am, and why I'm calling. My name is Betty Marsh."
There was a short pause. "You were Karen's mother?"
"That's right. It's been on my conscience that I haven't spoken to Isobel since the funeral, and I'd like to make amends. How is she?"
Betty heard a deep sigh.
"She's not the same, not now. She doesn't drive any more - well, she couldn't bring herself to, not after what happened. Such dreadful feelings of guilt, you know, even though it was quite unavoidable. Terrible, it was. Just terrible."
"I'd no idea it was affecting her so badly - I am sorry. Do you think it would help if I came to see her?"
"This doesn't have anything to do with claims for compensation?"
Betty laughed. "No, I promise you. I'm simply concerned that Isobel gets over it in the easiest way possible, as I have. Everything's fine with me, and I'd like her to feel the same. If she's still troubled, I'd like to help her if I can."
"Perhaps you'd care to tell her that yourself?"
Isobel must have overheard her mother-in-law as she hovered near the phone.
"Hallo?" came a frail whisper.
"Isobel, this is Betty Marsh - Karen's mother! It seems I've been very remiss in not befriending you after that dreadful time we had back in January. How are you, and is there anything I can do to help? I thought at least we ought to meet up again and help each other pick up the pieces."
"Oh, Betty. I ... I don't know what to say..." There was a short silence while Isobel Marsh collected her wits. "Yes, please," she decided with a gulp. "I'd like that. It might help a lot. There's so much I need to tell you."
"And loads I want to tell you too, my dear, but most of all I think we should stick together, don't you? It's a tough old world if we each fight off demons on our own! When are you free?"
"Would you want to come here?" Isobel almost pleaded.
"I think, perhaps, if you could come to me, that might be more useful. I'll explain why when I see you. How about this evening?"
"All right. How can I best get there? I don't drive any more, not since ..."
"Ah! HYes, of course, then I'll come to you. And I'll bring someone with me, if I may. Say eight o'clock? That'll give you time to get your youngsters off to bed."
"Eight is fine. I look forward to that very much. And Betty ... thank you ..."
As Betty Marsh put down the phone, she felt a glow of goodness in her heart, and tears filled her eyes. Here was someone needing help, and it was a splendid feeling to know that she could provide it.
"There!" said Karen. "That wasn't so tough after all."
"You could hear what she said?"
"Of course. I was there!"
At precisely eight o'clock, Betty Marsh stood on Isobel James's doorstep and took a deep breath before ringing the bell. Beside her was the figure of an eleven-year-old child who might have been a tomboyish Karen or perhaps Kevin dressed more presentably than usual in blue jeans and a clean white tee-shirt.
As Isobel came to the door, Betty noticed at once how the poor woman found it hard to look her in the eye, as if afraid to face an accusing stare that had haunted her for six months. There was added poignance in that her visitor had come with one solitary child.
"Come on in," she said humbly, and led them through to the front room.
It was tidy but impersonal, no doubt set aside for entertaining formal visitors. The three of them sat down on leather upholstery and made polite conversation about the weather and the proposed pedestrianisation of the town centre, until Karen gave a significant cough, prompting her mother to broach the delicate subject.
"So you don't drive any more," Betty began. "I'm sorry - I hadn't realised. Some folk say you have to force yourself to get straight back behind the wheel as soon as you can."
Isobel screwed her eyes tightly and shook her head. "I couldn't. I sold the car that same week at a knock-down price." She winced visibly at her choice of words. "It meant giving up my job too, but ..."
"Oh, I leaned heavily on my job," Betty explained in a calm, relaxing voice. "At the time, I badly needed that outlet. I used it as emotional blotting paper to soak up the sorrows and wipe away tear-stains. We both needed a lot of that, didn't we? It's Nature's way of helping us readjust. My worst time was the twins' birthday last March."
"Yes," Karen chipped in, careful in her choice of words. "Poor Mum! She iced both our names on the cake, writing Karen in blue and Kevin in pink. But that was the turning point, wasn't it? After that, things got much better for us. You see, Mrs. James, as you probably know, we were twins. Now you might think that would cause me to miss my other half even more, but it's quite the opposite. We were always extremely close, and since the accident we've become even closer. I often feel I'm the Kevin half of us, but there are times when I feel quite Karenish. In other words, we both continue doing the same things as before."
"I felt I'd lost my little daughter for ever," Betty added before Isobel could comment. "And for a time it was ghastly. But not any more! I see beyond that now."
Isobel wasn't prepared for any of this. She gaped at her two visitors as if convinced they'd come to torment her. Betty reached out and grasped the troubled woman's hand.
"Isobel, listen! What's important to me now, my dear, is to find out how you're coping, and to see how best we can help. You really should get back to driving, you know. Would it help if we went out together in my car?"
Unwanted tears appeared in Isobel's eyes. "Betty, I feel so awful, so guilty, so responsible! It was entirely my fault, though no-one would let me say so. I wasn't concentrating. I'd glanced back to see that my two were safely strapped in - I never let my children travel in the front. And then Sarah started crying, goodness knows why ... and in that ghastly split second ..."
Betty gave a reassuring smile. "Well, if it helps, Isobel, I'm over it now, and so is Karen, I mean Kevin." She grinned self-consciously. "There, that slip of the tongue must have sounded odd, I'm sure. The simple fact is that I know - and I mean I KNOW that both my children are still with me. There may be only one body, one mouth to feed, but as God's my witness, it is shared by both my children. I can live with that, Isobel, and I'm happy. Believe me, I'm not a demented old bat. I'm not addle-brained or filled with self-delusion. I haven't called this evening to prove bereavement has turned me into a nut-case!"
She gave a disarming smile to Isobel who sat staring in a state of grim perplexity, unable to speak.
"We know our own children so well," Betty continued, "the different ways they have of saying something, of looking at you, of asking for things. Mothers know instinctively which child they're talking to, even if they stand behind you and have identical voices. Well, I assure you, Isobel - there in that chair sit both of my twins, sometimes Kevin, sometimes Karen. I'm sure you'd be sick with embarrassment if I'd brought the one you know as the survivor here in a dress, but I want you to know that what happened hasn't separated my twins - it's brought them closer together."
Karen decided this was her cue to clarify the position.
"Mrs. James, don't be scared. Don't imagine my mother's gone completely off her chump with grief, because she hasn't. She might have done if she hadn't realised what my twin and I realised as we stood together in that graveyard. We were both there, Karen and Kevin. You saw only Kevin because the spirit is invisible. But Kevin knew I was there, and he was the first to take comfort in our new relationship. Poor Mum didn't latch on till our birthday, but now you can't convince her otherwise - and you wouldn't want to, would you? Because we've made her happy again. All of us are happy now, believe me."
Karen leaned forward and took hold of Isobel James's limp hands.
"We want you to be happy too, dear Mrs. James. Your problem is two-fold, if you don't mind an eleven-year-old addressing you like a Dutch uncle. And this is Karen speaking, as you may have realised. You felt you had to help my mother with her grief by taking the whole load of it onto your shoulders. But there's no need - surely you can see that? You felt you did something wrong that day, yet what occurred was inevitable. I know! I was there! You just happened to be there too, at the same time - that's all. There's no question of blame or inattentiveness; there was ice on the road, and ice is slippery stuff. It was largely my fault - Karen's fault, that is - because she or I should have been more careful. We've solved the problem of that kind-hearted, grieving woman over there, and she's found peace. Now we've got to put peace back into your heart too, dear Isobel. What more can I say? We're not here this evening to scare you with some weird ghost story, please believe that. We've come simply because we love you, and we know it's time you started feeling better about what happened. It wasn't your fault, I repeat, and nobody's upset any more, least of all me, because a wonderful thing happened to me that day."
Isobel James made no reply, not at first. She couldn't find anything suitable to say. She sat still, holding her breath, digesting what her visitors had told her, staring first at one, then the other. Finally she gave a deep sigh, shook her head helplessly, smiled at the pair of them and said, "How about a cup of tea?"
Betty burst out laughing from relief and rose to her feet. "Isobel, that's a great idea! Might I suggest we all three go and make it, if that's not imposing. It's much more cosy chatting in a kitchen, now that we've got that formal business out of the way. How's your mother-in-law, by the way? Is she still here?"
"No, she pops in on her way to the shops every Saturday, to see if I want anything."
"Well, next time maybe we two can go shopping together? And think seriously about driving again. We can't go through life denying our little ones Mum's taxi service, can we! How's Sarah getting on at dancing these days?"
There was a pause while Isobel filled the kettle. "She doesn't go any more. I couldn't go past that spot again, not in a million years."
"I haven't been back there either," said Betty, "but I think I'm ready to brave it if you'll come with me? Let's go next week, you and I together - it'll do us both good, you'll see. And Sarah was such a good little dancer, Karen assures me."
"A joy to watch," Karen confirmed, "so talented, and graceful too. She deserves the chance, Mrs. James. You owe it not only to her but to thousands who'll enjoy her performances in years to come. We can't always predict the future but we can spot a gifted dancer when we meet one!"
"I confess I'm finding this hard to take," Isobel admitted. "I expect I'll wake up soon and find your visit was all a dream."
"Persuade yourself it was, if that helps," Betty replied. "But please, wake up happier. And there's nothing supernatural about my offer of help. Dammit, Isobel, I'm going to make you do it, for your children's sake. If you feel you owe me something, then that's the price I want from you!"
"I appreciate that, Betty, but how can you be sure your lad here is really what you say, both your two in one? Aren't you maybe deluding yourself, just because that's what you'd like to believe? I'd hate to see you come to any harm over this."
Karen stepped directly in front of Mrs. James and looked her straight in the eye. "I don't think my brother Kevin could describe in detail how Sarah fell and banged her head on the piano stool on the last day I was there. Karen had no chance to tell anyone! But you ask Sarah - see what she says. See if she admits how Tracy Atkinson pushed her when she found out she wasn't picked for the carnival. That's why Sarah began crying as you drove off."
"Well, I'll admit one thing," Isobel conceded. "You've certainly given me something to think about, and no mistake."
"Have we made life any easier for you?"
"Yes, Betty, I think maybe you have. Something clearly made a tremendous difference to you. Oh, I couldn't get out of my mind the sight of you and your son, dressed in black on that awful day, looking so bewildered and forlorn. You'd recently lost your husband too, hadn't you?"
Betty grinned to herself. "Yes, and we've heard from him as well!"
"You know," Isobel confessed with an air of apology, "I've always been skeptical myself - all this business about life after death, and so on."
Karen came as before and stood with her hands on Isobel's forearms.
"I expect Shakespeare would have been sceptical about television and having his plays shown worldwide in cinemas. And who can blame him, when witchcraft was then such an unhealthy interest! Even today, people demand scientific proof before they'll believe in miracles. But this isn't witchcraft. It's merely the opening of another window onto the complexity of nature and the universe. I'll bet you can't explain to my mother how that electric kettle manages to heat the water merely by having a piece of wire connected to it, but we can all see it works!"
Later that evening, when her visitors had taken their leave, Isobel crept upstairs and had a quiet word with Sarah.
"Someone's been telling me today what a great little dancer you are. Why didn't you tell me before you were selected for the carnival last spring?"
"We were told to keep it a secret. Then they went and cancelled it."
"I know. Tell me something else, sweetheart. Do you know a girl called Tracy Atkinson?"
Sarah pulled a face. "Yes, she's a rotten dancer. She thought she should have been chosen too, but that's because she's vain. She thinks dancing means looking all posh with your hair tied up tight and wearing a shiny leotard."
"How did she react when she heard you'd been selected?"
"We weren't allowed to tell anyone. But everyone knew she didn't stand a chance."
"Was Karen Marsh selected too?"
"Yes. That's why they cancelled it for all of us. I liked Karen. She said I was good."
"But Tracy didn't think you were good."
"No, she was horrid. When she thought Miss Owens wasn't looking, she came up and pushed me and I banged my head."
"Oh, my poor darling. On the floor, was it?"
"No, over by the piano. I think it was the stool, I don't remember. Anyway, I haven't seen her since you stopped me going there!"
"And you never told anyone?"
As Sarah shook her head, Isobel took hold of her hands.
"Would you like to resume dancing next term?" she asked.
"Yes, but who's going to take me?"
"I'll take you, my love. I drive you there myself, and I promise I'll be very, very careful."
With tears in her eyes Isobel James kissed her daughter's forehead and tucked her into bed. Then she went and locked herself in the bathroom where she cried softly for a while, until a wonderful feeling of joy began to fill her soul.
"Whoever you are," she murmured to the ceiling, "whatever you are, wherever you are, thank you. Oh, thank you."
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