Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) by David Gatward (best love novels of all time .txt) 📕

Ruth laughed then and Liz thought how perhaps this happy memory, however brief, might help the woman a little.

‘She even bought those night vision glasses,’ Ruth said. ‘You know, those massive, daft yellow things? Can’t see that they do anything other than make you look like a massive insect with these huge alien eyes staring out. She lost them anyway.’

‘So, this poor night vision was something that she had for years, then?’

‘I guess,’ Ruth said. ‘Maybe it was something, maybe it wasn’t, but she didn’t like driving at night, and if you were in the car with her when she was, and another car was coming the other way, she would always slow down, veer off a little away from it. It was never dangerous, just odd, like she’d just got used to being a bit scared of it all, driving in the dark, I mean.’

‘But she still did it?’

‘Only on special occasions,’ Ruth said. ‘Like Dad’s birthday. So, in some ways he’s probably right, you know? That she would be alive if he’d been driving. God, I feel awful thinking that. And now, with what Dad’s on about, it’s all just a bit too much.’

Liz let Ruth sit quietly for a moment, before gently prodding her again. ‘You were saying how your dad was talking about death.’

‘So, at the weekend,’ Ruth said, raising her hands then as though talking to a crowd, ‘this woman turned up at the door. Beverley Sanford, she’s called.’

‘Can’t say that I’ve heard of her.’

‘She’s from up Sedbergh way,’ Ruth said. ‘Anyway, turns out that Dad had given her a call and asked her to come over.’

‘Is she an old friend?’ Liz asked.

Ruth shook her head. ‘No, she’s a spiritualist or psychic medium or whatever it was she called herself.’

‘A what?’

‘Someone who can talk to the dead.’

Liz had her mug of tea halfway to her mouth and that’s where it remained for a moment before she placed it back down on the table. When she next spoke she had to work hard to keep her voice measured, to make sure she didn’t sound like she was dismissing what Ruth had just told her.

‘And your father, he believes in this, does he?’

‘Well, he never used to!’ Ruth said. ‘Mum used to like going to church a bit now and again, but it wasn’t Dad’s thing, not unless it was something he could attach some military significance to. Remembrance Sunday is always a good excuse for him to get his uniform out. Takes that very seriously.’

Liz wasn’t quite sure now what to do with what they were talking about. But she would keep Ruth occupied until Jen returned.

‘And what happened?’

‘She was actually very nice,’ Ruth said. ‘Not that Patricia was having anything to do with it. But then, I don’t really know why she and Dan are here at all, to be honest.’

‘And why’s that?’ Liz asked.

‘She hardly ever visits,’ Ruth said. ‘And she’s not the best when it comes to dealing with emotional stuff. And now, here she is, well, here both of them are, and they’re staying for two months! It’s not like they even asked, they just phoned, told us that was what was happening, and here we are!’

Liz sensed a little family tension.

‘It’s good to have family around though,’ she said.

‘Is it?’ Ruth replied. ‘They’re just worried Dad’s going to shuffle off this mortal coil and leave me more than them, that’s all. You’ve seen the place! It’s worth a packet.’

This was now turning into a conversation that Liz really didn’t want to be getting pulled in to. So she said, ‘And you live next door, right? Looks lovely.’

‘It is,’ Ruth said. ‘Mum and Dad used to rent it out as a holiday home, but me and Anthony, we’ve lived there for years, since Anthony’s dad buggered off actually. I could move, but it’s so nice here.’

For a moment, both women sat in silence. Liz didn’t really have much else to say, and she was silently hoping that Ruth was done. It had probably done her the world of good, Liz thought, to just get a few things off her chest. It wasn’t exactly in the job description, but she couldn’t help feel that this was a good deed done.

‘Do you think it’s something you ever get over?’ Ruth asked, finishing her tea. ‘Something like this? I don’t see how it’s possible. I really don’t.’

‘If it’s hard, then there’s support out there,’ Liz said. ‘But I think it’s probably not so much a case of getting over something, as it is a mix of acceptance and working out ways to live with it.’

‘Likes scars, you mean,’ Ruth said.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ Liz replied.

‘I’d like to think that’s possible,’ Ruth said. ‘But for Dad, I’m just not so sure. Mum died in his arms, you know?’

‘That’s awful,’ Liz said.

‘After the crash, he pulled her from the wreckage, just a split second before it burst into flames, apparently. And then she died while he was holding her. I can’t see him getting over that, can you? I don’t see how it’s possible. No wonder he’s always talking about it, about her, about wanting to see her again.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Liz said and reached out a hand for Ruth’s. Then, as their hands touched, Ruth shuddered and a sob broke from her so heartfelt and full of pain and exhaustion that it was all Liz could do to remain in her seat.

Liz said, ‘It’s a hugely traumatic experience. You need to be kind to yourself, to let yourself grieve. Look, there are support counsellors . . .’

‘I know,’ Ruth said. ‘But there’s only so much, you know?’

‘What about your dad?’

At this, Ruth laughed. ‘Dad? Counselling? Can you imagine? No, he’s dealing with it in his own weird way, I think, by refusing all the sensible help, and instead, seeing things and trying to talk to ghosts!’

‘About that,’ Liz said. ‘There really is every possibility that he did see someone outside.