‘He says you’ve not been feeling well, that your energy levels are low, so eat fruit. Apples and oranges. Can you take that?’
The woman dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Bless you,’ she said.
Nightingale looked over at Jenny. ‘What does that mean? They keep saying “take”. I don’t get it.’
She put her lips close to his ear. ‘I think the idea is that the spirit is giving you the information or advice. You either take it or you don’t. I guess that’s what it means.’
Morgan looked across at the young couple holding the baby. ‘I see a woman looking at your baby. I think it’s the baby’s grandmother. Would that be right?’
‘My mother,’ said the woman.
‘She passed recently?’ asked the medium.
‘Two years ago,’ said the woman.
‘That’s right, before she even knew that you were pregnant,’ said the medium.
Nightingale leaned over to Jenny. ‘That’s just maths,’ he said. ‘The baby’s not even a year old so of course she died before the girl got pregnant.’
‘Jack, stop taking the piss, will you?’ hissed Jenny. ‘You’re the one who wanted to come.’
‘I didn’t realise it was going to be a snake-oil salesman we were going to see,’ whispered Nightingale. ‘He’s just telling them what they want to hear.’
The medium finished talking to the young couple. The woman was crying and her husband put his arm around her and said something to her as she hugged the baby tightly.
The medium pointed at Jenny. ‘I’m seeing a man near you, an old man. With a beard.’
Jenny swallowed nervously.
‘Does he sound familiar to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘He passed over recently, this man. And it was sudden.’
Jenny nodded. She was staring at the medium, her fingers interlinked in her lap.
‘He’s saying his name is Larry. Would it be Larry?’
Jenny shook her head.
‘No, not Larry,’ said the medium. ‘But something beginning with an L.’
‘Lachie,’ said Jenny and Nightingale winced. It was a big jump from Larry to Lachie.
The medium was smiling enthusiastically. ‘Lachie, yes, that’s it. Would he be your father or grandfather?’
‘No.’
‘But he knew your father?’
‘Yes.’
The medium smiled at Jenny. ‘He says he’s okay and that you’re not to worry about him. He’s at peace now.’
‘Can I ask him a question?’ asked Jenny.
Nightingale muttered under his breath that she was being conned but she didn’t hear him.
‘We can try,’ said the medium.
‘Can you ask him why he did it?’
The medium suddenly cocked his head to one side, his eyes focused several feet to Jenny’s right. Then he smiled and looked back at Jenny. ‘He was unhappy, he says. But he’s happy now. Lachie doesn’t want you to worry about him. He’s with his loved ones and he’s at peace.’ He rubbed his hands together as if he was feeling cold. ‘He took his own life, didn’t he?’
Jenny nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘When a spirit has passed over under those circumstances there’s sometimes a reluctance to discuss what happened,’ he said. ‘Can I ask you this: were you the one that found the body?’
Jenny looked over at Nightingale, and then back at the medium. ‘Sort of,’ she said.
‘And the gentleman sitting next to you, he was with you?’
Jenny nodded again.
The medium cocked his head again and stared off to Jenny’s right. He made several murmuring noises and then looked back at Jenny. ‘Lachie says that he’s sorry for any distress he caused you, and he doesn’t want you to feel any guilt about what happened. He takes full responsibility for what he did.’ He frowned, muttered to himself, then looked at Jack. ‘Lachie wants you to know that the problem you’re facing will be resolved shortly. Does that make sense to you?’
Nightingale didn’t answer. He felt that the medium was manipulating him, trying to get him to play a part, but he found himself wanting to agree with the man. Morgan was staring at him earnestly, nodding slowly. ‘I suppose so,’ said Nightingale reluctantly.
The medium opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything the James Bond theme echoed around the room. People twisted in their seats to see where the noise was coming from. Nightingale reached into his raincoat and took out his mobile phone. ‘Sorry,’ he said, to no one in particular. He switched off the phone and put it back into his pocket.
‘God bless,’ said the medium. He smiled benevolently at Nightingale, then looked over to the other side of his audience. ‘I’m seeing a woman with grey hair,’ he said. ‘She’s wearing reading glasses.’ Three men in the audience raised their hands tentatively. ‘I’m getting the name Alice. Or Anne. Does that mean anything to anyone? Anne? Or Alice? Or Amy, perhaps. She’s very faint.’
One of the men lowered his hand and bit down on his lower lip.
‘She says she has a message for David.’
‘That’s me,’ said one of the men, waving his hand in the air. ‘I’m David. Alice was my wife. She died last year.’
‘She died unexpectedly?’ said the medium.
The man frowned. ‘It was cancer,’ she said. ‘She had chemo and radiation therapy. She fought.’
‘But the end, when it came, was quick?’
The man forced a smile. ‘Yes. She was taken quickly.’
‘And you haven’t thrown out her clothes, have you?’
The man shook his head.
‘Alice has a message for you, David. She says it’s time for you to clear out her things. It’s time for you to let go. Do you understand?’
The man nodded and forced a smile. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
‘Alice is happy and she wants you to be happy. You have to move on with your life and part of that process is to get rid of her things. In the wardrobe. Does that make sense to you?’
The man wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes were welling up with tears. ‘Yes,’ he said, and sniffed.
‘You know that was nonsense, don’t you?’ Nightingale whispered to Jenny.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was reading you. Picking up on the cues you were giving him.’
The woman in the fur coat turned around in her seat and flashed Nightingale a withering look. He smiled apologetically.
The medium was pointing at a middle-aged woman in a cheap cloth coat and asking her if she knew a man called George. She took out a handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and then said that yes, George was her husband. The medium rubbed his chest. ‘I feel something here,’ he said. ‘A dull ache.’
‘His heart,’ she said.
‘Yes, his heart wasn’t good,’ said the medium. ‘But he is feeling no pain and says that he is waiting for you. He says you’re not to worry about him.’
The medium continued for another thirty minutes, throwing out names and initials and offering comfort and advice. It was, Nightingale realised, a sham. He’d seen magicians do a far better job of cold reading without any pretence of talking to the dead. Eventually Morgan complained that he was tired and the woman in the fur coat joined him at the lectern. She thanked him, announced that the medium would be available for private consult- ations when he returned from the States, and then led the audience in another prayer.
