Lord took several more deep breaths, his eyes tightly closed. Then he began breathing shallowly and quickly.
‘This is Jack,’ said Nightingale.
Lord’s eyelids began to flutter. ‘Jack?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘You know who it is, Jack. It’s me. Sophie.’
Nightingale leaned forward and stared intently at Lord’s face. It was a blank mask. ‘How old are you, Sophie?’
‘I’m nine. Did you forget already, Jack?’
Nightingale frowned. Sophie Underwood was nine years old when she died, but she had been born eleven years ago. If it was Sophie, did that mean that she had no sense that two years had passed since she fell from the balcony in Chelsea Harbour?
‘Jack, can you hear me?’
‘I can hear you,’ said Nightingale. ‘Where are you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s dark here.’
‘Can you see me?’
‘I can now. Sometimes I can, but sometimes I can’t. I saw you at that place where you went before but the man who was talking couldn’t see me.’
‘The spiritualist association, you mean?’
Lord nodded, his eyes still closed. ‘I wanted to talk to you there but I couldn’t.’
‘You could see me?’
‘Yes. You were with a blonde lady. Jenny.’
‘That’s right.’
‘The man who was talking to you said that he could see us but really he couldn’t.’
‘Us? What do you mean?’
‘There are lots of us. We can’t talk to each other but we can see each other a bit.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s like we’re reflections in something. It feels strange, Jack. I don’t like it.’
‘What do you want, Sophie?’ asked Nightingale.
‘I want you to understand that it wasn’t your fault.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It wasn’t your fault what happened. I don’t want you to feel guilty.’
‘Okay,’ said Nightingale hesitantly.
‘You couldn’t have saved me. No one could. You tried your best, I know you did.’ Lord’s hands began to beat on the table and his eyelids were fluttering crazily.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Nightingale. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It’s like you’re fading, Jack,’ she said. ‘I can see you and then I can’t and it’s like you’re a long way away.’
‘What do you want from me, Sophie?’
‘I don’t want anything really. But I don’t want you to feel guilty because I died. You do feel guilty, don’t you? You think it was your fault?’
‘I wish I’d saved you, yes. I keep wondering what I should have done differently.’
‘You couldn’t do anything. But it was nice that you tried. You were the only person who wanted to help me, Jack.’
Lord went suddenly still and his head dropped so that his chin was against his chest again. He started to breathe heavily, as if he was in a deep sleep. Nightingale sat back in his chair and waited. The deep breathing continued for several minutes and Nightingale wondered if he should say something or try to wake the man up. Then Lord stiffened and slowly raised his head. His eyes opened and he stared at Nightingale.
‘I know what you did, Jack.’
Nightingale stared back at Lord. The man’s eyes were blank and lifeless.
‘I know what you did to my father, Jack. I know what you did. But you mustn’t feel bad about it because he was a bad man.’
Nightingale felt a chill run down his spine.
‘I’m glad that he’s dead, Jack. My mother too. She knew what he was doing and she didn’t stop him.’ Lord began to cry silently. Tears ran down his cheeks and plopped onto the table.
‘Sophie?’ said Nightingale.
Lord started to tremble and then his whole body went into spasm and he slumped forward. Nightingale stood up and hurried around the table. He grabbed Lord by the shoulders and pulled him back into a sitting position. Saliva was dribbling from one side of his mouth and as he sat up his head lolled back. Nightingale slapped him gently on the cheek.
‘Lordy, are you okay?’ asked Nightingale.
Lord groaned, then coughed. Nightingale stood back and looked down at him. The man coughed again, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He sighed and gazed up at Nightingale, blinking his eyes as if trying to focus. ‘What happened?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Did she come through?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
Lord rubbed his eyes again and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’m not normally aware of what happens when I’m channelling,’ he said. ‘She was here?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And did you hear what you wanted to hear?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Nightingale. He took out his pack of cigarettes. ‘It was.?.?.’ He shrugged without finishing the sentence. ‘I need a cigarette.’
Lord tried to get up but the strength seemed to have gone from his legs and he sat down heavily.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Nightingale.
‘It can be draining,’ said Lord. ‘The spirits seem to suck the energy from me while they’re talking through me. The longer they channel through me, the worse it is.’ He forced a smile. ‘I sometimes think that if I do it too long I won’t recover.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem,’ said Nightingale. He patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’m going to go.’
Lord looked up. ‘Did you hear everything you needed to hear?’
‘It was interesting.’
‘If you need to hear more we can try again another time. Generally I find that subsequent sessions are easier. You can call me.’
Nightingale tapped a cigarette out of the pack and slipped it between his lips. ‘I’ll do that,’ he said. He let himself out of the house and lit the cigarette as he walked towards his car. He reached the MGB and turned to look back at the house. ‘What a load of bollocks,’ he said, blowing smoke up at the clouds.
40
Nightingale was back in his Bayswater flat taking a bottle of Corona from the fridge when his mobile rang. It was Jenny.
‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘Complete waste of two hundred quid,’ he said.
‘Did Sophie talk to you?’
‘Couldn’t shut her up,’ said Nightingale, flopping down onto his sofa and pressing ‘mute’ on his TV remote control. ‘Except it wasn’t Sophie.’ Off in the distance he heard the wail of a police siren.
‘So he was cold reading? Telling you what you wanted to hear?’
‘No, I was careful not to give him anything,’ said Nightingale. ‘But she told me not to feel guilty, that there was nothing I could have done to stop her falling, and that she was happy about what I did to her father.’
