The house clearance was arranged for the following week. At first, Zoe had liked the idea – she imagined it as a kind of release, for her as well as Eleanor and Richard – but as the date got closer, she began to worry. Her nerves became more pronounced, until the feeling was actively unpleasant. She hadn’t told anyone that she was going to do it, because even colluding in something so irrational made her feel silly, but the secrecy made it darker. She didn’t seriously believe this woman would communicate with spirits in the house. So, what was she afraid of?
She remembered being thirteen or fourteen and doing Ouija boards with friends. It was always half-hearted – they used to do it in the girls’ changing rooms at break and someone would always accuse someone else of cheating and it would dissolve into an argument. It still scared her though. And when Natalie Flynn said they should do it ‘properly’, she never wanted to. She believed in it enough to want to leave it alone.
She wanted, many times, to tell Eleanor that she’d changed her mind. She’d given up on the idea of being happy at Litchfield Road. Since that awful night in the upstairs room, she’d been too afraid to sleep. Every time she remembered the humiliation of talking to Eleanor in her T-shirt and underwear, she grimaced and had to suppress a small moan. She purposely stayed up as late as she could and then slept lightly and fitfully for a few hours, jerking awake if she threatened to go under.
The day before the house clearance, Zoe’s mobile rang and she saw the word ‘Home’ on the screen. She kept meaning to change it to ‘Mum’, but she hadn’t. For the first time in weeks, she wanted to answer and all it took was her mother saying, ‘I was just wondering if you were all right,’ for her to start crying. She told her about the sleepwalking, and how her job bored her, and a little bit about Adam. She gave few details, but even telling the stories in the barest, most abstract form gave them a new power.
‘Are you missing Rob?’ her mother asked. Zoe was surprised; they hadn’t spoken about him since the separation. Her mother liked Rob – Zoe had always privately worried she’d let her down by breaking up with him – but she was possessed by honesty now.
‘Sometimes. Not as much as I thought I would. Sometimes I’m really happy.’ She started to cry again. ‘Actually, the worst thing is not understanding myself. I still don’t know why I didn’t marry him. I mean, apart from the fact I just didn’t really want to.’
‘Well, if that’s true, Zoe, I wouldn’t bother thinking about it any more,’ her mother said briskly. ‘Entering a marriage when one person doesn’t really want to is madness.’
Zoe felt something change inside her. The idea that not wanting to was enough had never occurred to her; nor had just not thinking about it. Later, she would look back on that conversation as the moment she’d finally let go.
‘And what about the house?’ her mother asked. ‘Is it working out for you there?’
‘No,’ Zoe said, with a clarity that surprised her. ‘It isn’t. I want to come home.’
They talked about how much notice she ought to give and when her mother could come and get her. She felt stupid, childish, a failure, but inordinately grateful. It wasn’t a real solution: she knew they would begin to irritate each other and she had only initiated the awful problem of finding somewhere else to live. But it was counteracted by the sheer, hungry joy at not having to live in Litchfield Road, as well as the possibility of starting again: something new.
There was no reason to go through with the house clearance now, except that she was afraid to let Eleanor down. They’d been warmer to each other since the sleepwalking; there was a quiet affinity between them now that made interactions in the house smoother and kinder. And certain details from that night wouldn’t leave her. Eleanor’s pyjamas were not how she would have imagined them; they were faded and stained, and her stomach showed through the missing buttons. When Eleanor had held her hand, Zoe had seen that the skin around her nails was red and raw. It was the first time she had thought of Eleanor as anything other than together, composed. When Eleanor knocked on her door later, to confirm the details of the house clearance the next day, she couldn’t bear to tell her that she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t even say she was planning to move out.
*
Eleanor told her that the medium would be arriving at nine, after it had got dark. Zoe came upstairs when she heard the doorbell ring. Rebecca didn’t look how she expected: she didn’t wear black or have long hair. She looked like a life coach or a lecturer in economics. The only sign that she had any connection to the supernatural world was the large crystal round her neck – in other circumstances, it might have passed for contemporary jewellery, though it was slightly too unwieldy and crude for that. Eleanor introduced her to Zoe and Richard, and Rebecca asked, ‘Are the children here?’
‘They’re staying at their grandmother’s,’ Richard said, barely on the cusp of civility.
‘But Eleanor, we discussed this: everyone who lives in the house ought to be here, particularly if Rosie has some connection—’
‘I’m not having them here while this goes on,’ Richard said. ‘I’ll be here, I’ll give you the money, we’ll do whatever you need to do, but I’m not having our children mixed up in this.’
‘I’m sorry, Rebecca, we just thought it would be too much for them,’ Eleanor said. Rebecca and Richard were looking at each other intently.
‘Very well!’ Rebecca began to prepare the living room, lighting candles. She turned off the lights, opened all the doors, including the kitchen cabinets, and switched the toaster, the kettle and the television off at the wall. She lit bundles of white sage and placed them by the windows. Zoe asked her what she was doing, partly because she was curious and partly because she wanted to puncture the tense silence. Rebecca explained that the sage was a way of getting rid of negative energy and it was a ritual that had roots in Native American culture. She seemed pleased by Zoe’s interest: ‘You can do this yourself, in any space,’ she said encouragingly. ‘You can buy the sage sticks on Amazon.’
She sprinkled salt crystals in the doorways. Zoe couldn’t help wondering how they were going to get it out of the carpets. Richard was watching Rebecca with a look of disgust; she guessed he was thinking the same thing.
Rebecca walked away from them and stood in the corner of the living room with her back to them, her head bowed. ‘I wish to take away negative energy,’ she announced and then said some words Zoe didn’t understand in a rhythmic chant. She repeated the ritual at every corner, and then at each window and door. Zoe stood in a line with Eleanor and Richard, watching, fidgeting. She couldn’t bear to make eye contact with them.
Rebecca turned to them. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘That will clear some of the energy at least. Let’s go upstairs and see if I can make contact with the spirits.’
‘Do we need to come?’ Richard asked. ‘I mean, can’t we just wait here while you talk to them or whatever it is you’re going to do?’
‘I need to show them that this is your house,’ Rebecca said. ‘They need to see that you’re the new inhabitants now.’ She turned to the doorway and Eleanor started to follow her.
‘Is it safe to leave these sticks burning down here?’ Richard asked.
Rebecca looked at him.
‘I really think it would be better if we put them out before we went upstairs,’ Richard said.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Eleanor said.
They processed up the stairs in the dark, carrying candles. They gathered in the upstairs room, in an unformed circle. In the flickering half-light, Emily’s drawings took on a new sinister form. Zoe thought she could see the faces moving, the letters enlarging and expanding; she was aware that her breath was getting short. She saw herself on the floor, with Adam on top of her, and remembered that she would not see him again. Rebecca lit more sage and sprinkled salt crystals in the corners. She repeated her ritual in each corner of the room and at the windows, silhouetted against the glass.
Rebecca asked them to hold hands. Zoe reached out reluctantly. She had to stretch to reach Richard and the unearned intimacy of his hand in hers made her deeply uncomfortable. Eleanor’s hand was cold. Zoe glanced at her face; her eyes were frightened. Rebecca gestured for them to draw slightly closer in. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Rebecca frowned slightly as if she were concentrating. Then she spoke and her voice was lower, more authoritative. ‘It’s safe to cross over now,’ she said. ‘It’s safe to go.’
Zoe felt Eleanor’s hand start to shake. They waited, watching. Rebecca spoke again, explaining that it was safe to leave the house.
She waited, then said, ‘I knew it! I’m sensing something! There’s a spirit here with us.’
She paused. ‘It’s a little girl.’
Zoe felt Eleanor’s hand twitch violently in hers. The face of the girl in her dreams appeared; she tried to shut it out. It was only a dream. She started to shake too.
Rebecca sounded intrigued. ‘She doesn’t want to move on, but she won’t say why.’
Then she started speaking in a child’s voice. It was a high-pitched and clear voice and seemed entirely detached from her body.
‘I won’t leave,’ the voice said.
‘Can you hear me? Can you hear me?’ Rebecca said. ‘It’s time for you to cross over. It’s safe now, you can pass.’
The child’s voice again: ‘I won’t go!’
Rebecca spoke more gently. ‘Tell me why you can’t cross over. I may be able to help.’
There was a silence.
Rebecca’s tone became firm. ‘You are frightening the inhabitants of this house. This is their home now. I will ask you to leave.’
Zoe reminded herself that it was just Rebecca, just Rebecca speaking to herself. But the voices were so distinct. She couldn’t believe they were alone in the room.
Then Rebecca broke away from the circle, ducking slightly as if something had flown towards her. She held out her hand and opened her fingers. Zoe peered at her hand: a small stone sat in the centre of her palm.
‘An apport!’ she said happily. ‘The spirits have brought this to me! We’re getting somewhere.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Richard said.
Rebecca seemed visibly taken aback by something. The voice that came through her changed. It was still childish, but harsher, stronger, more determined.
‘You don’t live here,’ it said. ‘This is not your home.’
Zoe started to feel dizzy. Images were surfacing, too bright and sharp: she could see the blood clot pulling out of Adam’s nose, feel Kathryn’s hand on her arm. She saw Rob’s face at the bus stop. She didn’t care if this was real or not – she had to get out of this room.
Later, Zoe would try to remember what had happened: whether she actually saw it or whether it was just Rebecca ducking, this time faster and lower, crying out, her fear chillingly genuine. Rebecca said something about a bird; Zoe was frightened and distressed; in the flickering light, the whole room seemed animistic and unsafe. But the memory stayed with her, the image a distinct print on her mind: the dark shape swooping towards Rebecca’s face, wings outstretched. Rebecca cowering, hands covering her face; a muffled, chaotic collision. Eleanor in the candlelight, looking terrified.
Zoe turned her head away involuntarily. She was about to leave, when Eleanor bent over suddenly and vomited on the floor. Richard shouted ‘Oh, fuck!’ and Rebecca was saying, ‘It’s ectoplasm. The spirits have chosen to communicate through ectoplasm.’
Zoe started to feel dizzy, in a way that was familiar, but that she couldn’t quite identify. Her vision blurred; the room was getting darker. In a minute, she wouldn’t be able to see anything at all. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she managed to say, and then she was on the floor, and Rebecca and Richard were standing over her. She could feel something warm on her jeans, and realized that in the seconds she’d lost control of her body, she’d wet herself.
‘Right, that’s enough,’ Richard said and switched on the lights. He started to blow out the candles. Zoe sat up. There was no bird. Eleanor had gone over to the corner of the room where the suitcase had been and crouched there, her face down, her arms around her knees.
‘You’re breaking the communication!’ Rebecca said. ‘We have to finish the clearance!’
‘She’s ill! You’re preying on someone vulnerable. And look what you did to Zoe! You’re despicable. I’ll pay you whatever you need – just get out of my house.’
Rebecca gripped Richard’s arm, and there was a wildness in her face that Zoe hadn’t seen before.
‘Don’t you understand? This is dangerous! We’ve disturbed the spirits! If we don’t finish the clearance, this house will be unlivable.’
Zoe sat in the middle of the floor, paralysed. Richard and Rebecca were arguing above her. It was over; she could go now. She had a very clear sense of what needed to happen next: she must leave Litchfield Road immediately. She would get up, go downstairs and start packing. This was not her home. She would leave tonight.
She looked at Eleanor, hunched in the corner, and thought she might be crying. Richard was trying to hand Rebecca cash and she was resisting, telling him she would have to start again. Zoe stood up shakily and went to the door. This was nothing to do with her; she should get out as soon as possible. Then, just before she reached for the handle, she turned round and went over to Eleanor. She sat down next to her and put her arms around her.