Page 43 of Giving Up The Ghost
Simeon Greely’s house was a short drive to Upper Petely, east of Avesford and a bit north, tucked against the paltry River Hiz. The village looked like it should be rife with murders being solved by an elderly priest on a motorcycle.
“Hm, well, when I was helping Maman gather details about the family, I had come across some correspondence from Mr. Greely. With so many of your grandmother’s circle gone, I felt it important to reach out to him and introduce myself as a Fellowes and ensure the connection remained.”
“Ah.”Weird. So so weird.“Julian would be giving us a lecture about how, in previous centuries, it wasn’t unusual for distant family members to introduce themselves to family connections and pay calls. He’d likely throw in some information about the history of calling cards as well.”
Charlotte’s smile was tight and sour. “He is a very interesting man, your Julian. Very helpful when it comes to telling people what they do and don’t know, hm?”
Her tone did not invite further comment. She pulled up in front of a neat little white cottage with the promise of florid rosebushes come spring and summer. A few cars sat in the drive and a tired terrier lounged on the steps as we picked our way up the cracked concrete drive. At Charlotte’s knock, we were admitted by a petite, red-faced woman wearing a monogrammed polo shirt bearing the name of the hospice care facility she worked for. “He’s in the sunroom,” she informed us quietly. “Today’s a very chatty day for him.”
I followed Charlotte and the carer down a short corridor to a room with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, overlooking a tidy back garden and a glimpse of the chalky river. Simeon Greely was a wisp of a man, so thin as to be nearly translucent it seemed, his hair a colorless halo of dandelion fluff around a shining, liver-spotted pate. He was much older than grandfather would have been, I realized as we drew near. Simeon turned rheumy eyes in our direction and a small smile creaked into place. “Michel. Finally! I’ve been asking after you for days!”
I smiled at him, reaching to take his offered hand and let him pull me into an awkward embrace. He slapped my back with surprising strength and, giving Charlotte a confused glance, nodded at the chair by his bed. “Where’s Vi, then? You didn’t break things off with her, did you? You know I was just having a laugh suggesting that!”
“Ah, no. I didn’t break it off with her,” I murmured. “This is Charlotte. Vi is… otherwise occupied.”
He smiled wide, showing me terminally crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. “Good. That bird’s the best thing that’s happened to you. Really has it together, eh?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “She, um. She really does.”
Simeon fell into a one-sided chatter about people long dead, things he saw from the window that sounded daft to anyone but me, I’m sure. A legion of Romans, walking out of the river. A grim-faced man with a great beard, hunched over a fire and wearing ‘naught but some little skirt thing that showed his bollocks!’ Women in long dresses, hanging clothes on a line that wasn’t there.
And all the while he talked, he watched me carefully, gaze occasionally drifting to Charlotte. “You remind me of Michel,” he murmured, rheumy gaze moving over my face. “Spitting image, really. I met him when we were young men. Well, he was a young man,” Simeon chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been young.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” I began, but he waved me off.
“No, no. Michel preferred our visits to be, ah, private.” At my startled expression, he wheezed a laugh. “Lord, son, not like that! We just had much to talk about and none of it fit for little ears.” He glanced at Charlotte, his lips crimping into a wilted frown. “He never talked much about the family in France,” he said, and her expression froze. “How’d you find me again, lass?”
“Michel’s letters. He?—”
He sniffed. “Reading through a man’s mail? Invading his privacy even after death. Isn’t that a treat,” he muttered, wriggling down in his bed to get more comfortable. “If you read the letters, you know what we discussed then, don’t you lass?”
“I don’t,” I murmured. “Can you tell me?”
He sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Our dead, mostly. But also our living. We met through some mutual friends who were…” He trailed off, a cough catching him unawares for several harrowing moments, waving us off when we tried to help him get more comfortable. “Right,” he wheezed a bit later, once he’d caught his breath. “Michel worried about his son. Your da, that’d be.” He nodded at me. “An’ later he worried about you, Oscar. Ozzy though, weren’t you?”
“Yes,” I smiled softly. “He did call me that. At least out of Grandmere’s hearing.”
Simeon laughed, paper-thin and soft. “He loved that old bat, but she was a trial.”
He frowned then, seeing something we could not, shaking his head as his watery gaze moved around the room before settling on me again. “Michel,” he smiled. “You old fart. I haven’t seen you in ages. I s’pose you come to collect me then?”
“I…” I paused, then smiled, lowering myself to crouch beside the bed. “Do you think I am?”
“I wondered who it’d be. It’s nearly time, isn’t it? I can hear them talking. Whispers. Bird wings, you know. Whisper, whisper.” His gaze tracked over to Charlotte and he scowled, face crumpling.
“Who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “I don’t recognize you.”
“I’m Michel’s cousin, from France. I’ve come to visit for a while and learn from him. And from you, if you’re able.”
Simeon straightened, all traces of sleepiness gone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, young lady. I’m not a teacher of anything.”
“Charlotte,” I muttered. “What are you doing?”
“Michel is here, too. Perhaps you might like to talk with him about some of your experiences talking to the dead, yes? For old time’s sake.”
What the fuck. “I don’t think either of us would like that very much,” I said flatly. “Charlotte, we need to go.”
Simeon shifted his gaze back to me, something sharp and angry there. “Michel already knows all he needs to know about me. Don’t you?”
