THE HIGH LIFE [Part 2]

 THE HIGH LIFE    [Part 2[

By Richard Banks

So what happens now, I wonder, as the new clock strikes seven. Neville and Mildred won’t be up for at least an hour and when they are they’re unlikely to be saying anything about me. I really need to know what happened, but as I’m invisible and have no voice I can only wait until they talk about it between themselves.

         “And that could take some time,” says a voice, that although expressing my own gloomy thoughts is not my own. There’s a quivering in the air and a bubble arrives that bursts open to reveal my Guardian Angel. At least that’s who he says he is, and having no previous experience of Guardian Angels I can only take him at his word. However, he seems an amiable old chap who evidently only wants to help, and the first thing he does is to turn on my aura.

         “I thought it would be useful if we discussed your options,” he says. “For a start, are you wanting to go straight up, or is it your intention to linger awhile?”

         “Like in loitering?” I say in a frequency he has no difficulty in hearing but is scarcely audible to myself. “Isn’t that a crime?”

         “I mean, do you have any unfinished business you wish to attend to?”

         “Well, I was quite enjoying being Lady Frampton. Couldn’t I carry on with that?”

         The Angel gives a sad shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. It’s been over six earth months since your passing – that’s not the same as celestial time, of course, but you’ll soon get use to that. No, now you’re a spirit there can be no going back to how things were, but if there are any outstanding matters you wish to resolve, like righting a wrong or effecting a reconciliation you may remain here for a period no longer than an Earth week of seven days. During that time you will be expected to remain both silent and invisible revealing your spectral image only when necessary to achieve your purpose. Any good you do will, of course, be noted Up High but should you choose to become a malignant spirit exacting vengeance for past wrongs, that is, I must warn you, a most serious violation of the Celestial Code.”

          “Vengeance,” I say, “what do I have to be vengeful about?” He looks towards the sherry decanter and, when he raises his eyebrows in a way that suggests he knows something I should have worked out for myself, I tumble to the fact that my demise has everything to do with that final sherry, poured and handed to me by my wedded husband in the presence of my unusually silent sister. 

         “Yes, indeed so,” says the Angel who evidently feels that the least said the better. “So, what kind of a spirit are you going to be? Remember, forgiveness is a virtue that will benefit you greatly in the Big Upstairs.”

         “But what about Cassie? She’s Neville’s heir, the next in line to inherit Frampton; if he and Mildred have a boy what will there be for her and the rest of the girls?”

         The Angel’s expression indicates that this is indeed a concern but not one he is able or willing to resolve. “Perhaps,” he says, “it’s best to accept things as they are. After all the child your sister is expecting may be another girl.”

         “Mildred’s expecting!”

         “Yes. Well, you have been away six months.”

         “So, it’s definitely a girl? I say, thinking he knows more than he’s letting on, but he won’t be drawn. Even supposing he did know, he says he’s not allowed to say. Well that’s a fat lot of good I’m thinking, and, judging by the look on his face, he’s only too aware that I’m less than pleased. If he thinks I won’t be asking for extra time so I can do everything possible to help my girls he’s got another think coming. But then he probably knows that too, and that the rules I play by are mostly my own. But before this becomes too obvious I flood my head with thoughts about influencing Neville and Mildred in a nice, friendly way that will appeal to their better natures. I’m not sure the Angel buys this, but after giving me another warning about what I mustn’t do he wishes me well in a begrudging sort of way and disappears as abruptly as he came.

         So, what do I do now? What am I capable of doing? At least I have a spectral image and, after a bit of practice I find I can switch it on and off at will. I also have something resembling a voice. I want to ramp up the volume and scare the pants off the two of them but even if I could, how is that going to help my girls? I need a plan and until I have one it’s best I stay silent and out of sight.

         The sound of voices at the top of the stairs grows louder as Neville and Mildred descend the stairs before passing through the hall into the morning room where breakfast has been set out in the usual dishes. I turn myself off and follow them in. Mildred is indeed expectant, the size of her bump indicating that it was already a work in progress at the time of my passing. As if murder wasn’t enough!!  It’s ‘get even time’; the gloves are off!

         Neville and Mildred forgo the cereals on offer and remove the lids on the dishes containing hot food. Five columns of steam spiral up towards the ceiling along with a sixth that seems to be rising from my own fevered thoughts. This they are oblivious to as they fill their plates and discuss their plans for the day. He’s got a meeting with the Estate Manager while she thinks she will go into town to do some shopping. They look ill at ease. After a night together they seem more than ready to be going their separate ways.

          But where are my girls? What’s happened to them? I should be hearing their voices as Trudy, their nurse, gets them up and dressed, but apart from the steady tick of the carriage clock the house is silent as Neville reads The Times and Mildred stares languidly out of the window.

         Half an hour later they are both away and I whizz about the house looking for the girls only to find no trace of them, their beds not slept in, their cupboards empty. But Cassie’s only seven, I’m thinking, and the others little more than babes in arms. Where are they? And straight away I’m thinking of wicked stepmothers, babes in the woods and all the other fairytale stuff. 

        

        To Be Continued/...

Copyright Richard Banks