Excerpt from Transforming Pandora by Carolyn Mathews (Ch 1)

 

‘May I ask your name?’ said Reg, addressing me.

I hesitated because I hated answering that question.  People usually said something like, ‘You don’t look like a . . .’

‘Pandora,’ I answered, and someone in the room sniggered.

Reg cocked his head as if straining to hear.

‘That’s not the name I’m getting.  Did he call you something else?  Something like Sandy?’

My spine started to tingle slightly, all the way up to my neck.

‘He called me Suzy.’

Reg touched his forehead and looked into the middle distance. ‘That’s right.  He’s saying that’s what he preferred to call you. I’m getting a picture of you and him with your children.’

He glanced at me enquiringly, expecting confirmation, but without thinking, I gave my stock reply:  ‘I haven’t got any children.’

Bemused, Reg began tapping his forehead for further inspiration.  It was at that point that the chairwoman pointed to her watch and raised an outspread hand to signify that he had five minutes left.

As a result, Reg decided to quit while he was, just about, ahead.

‘He sends you his love, my dear. He says he didn’t suffer and he’s always with you.’

And then he moved on to a woman the other side of the aisle and began describing her dog. It was too late to call him back, but I was kicking myself for not answering yes to his last question, because although I didn’t have any offspring, Mike did. I felt a nudge.

‘He got the name thing right, didn’t he?’ whispered Margery.

‘Not really,’ I protested.

‘Well, as near as makes no difference. And he gave you a nice message. I told you it’d be worth coming.’

I smiled weakly, and dug my nails into the palms of my hands as all my grief at losing Mike flooded back. Coming here had made me feel worse, but I couldn’t tell Margery that. She was enjoying herself too much.

Becoming aware of Reg talking to a giant poodle called Spike, I started to worry about Oscar being on his own, especially as he was missing Mike so much himself.  I had an overwhelming desire to get out of the place and race home, but I couldn’t because of Margery and her lift.

While this was running through my head, I heard the chairwoman announcing that this reading would have to be the last.  Spike’s owner was now sobbing and being comforted by her friend, so it was with obvious relief that Reg returned to the lectern.  He was just reaching the end of his valedictory speech, however, when he stopped dead, pointed towards us and declared, ‘Hold on. We haven’t quite finished yet.’

Margery and I regarded each other, unsure who was being addressed. To my embarrassment he announced, in a sepulchral voice, ‘Pandora.  I have a High One here, whom you have called in.  He says contact between you is not possible yet, but if you meditate every day, your vibration will rise and you will eventually be able to connect with him.’

Reg paused, scanning my features for a sign of comprehension. But I sat immobile, still taking it in, so he continued.

‘He says try to bring to mind your previous practice.  Do you remember how to meditate?’

My brain creaked into life again, enough to remind me of an attempt I’d made years earlier.

‘Yes.  But . . .’

‘Good,’ said Reg, then slumped down in his chair, mopping his brow.

‘That was powerful,’ he puffed, as he swallowed half a glass of water.

I stood up, with the intention of approaching him for more details. Sensing this, Margery took my arm, gesturing towards the chairwoman who was rattling her keys.

‘She gives him a lift home, so I wouldn’t hold him up with questions if I was you.’

As we made our way out of the building with the rest of the congregation, it dawned on me that my message – to me so mystifying and portentous – to them would probably have seemed par for the course.  Margery’s words confirmed it.

‘I shouldn’t worry too much about that last bit, dear,’ she said, in the tones of an old hand at the game. ‘If the evening hasn’t gone so well, they often do something like that at the end. For effect. You know, a bit of a show so’s people won’t be disappointed.’

After dropping her off, I put my foot down and got home in record time.  As I pulled into the drive, passing The Cedars and turning right on to the small road leading to my cottage, I wondered if what Reg had said really had been all hot air – something to impress the punters so the evening ended on a high note.

I let myself in, expecting Oscar’s usual exuberant greeting, but there was no sign of him.  I eventually found him upstairs, on my bed.  He’d only started doing this since Mike had died – maybe there was still a trace of Mike’s scent in the room.  He raised his head when he saw me and looked mournful, but wagged his tail weakly and followed me down to the kitchen where I made some tea for both of us.

Later, as I lay in bed, I went over the evening in my mind. Had Mike really communicated with Reg?  If so, why hadn’t he chosen to talk about something more meaningful than my name? Maybe it was my fault for stalling at the word ‘children’.  If I’d kept quiet, Mike might have dropped some pearls of wisdom from the astral plane.  Like how I could go on living without him.

I had a little weep on my pillow and considered what else Reg had said about Mike.  I wasn’t too happy with the promise that he was always with me.  Not in the bathroom, surely?

As if in response to this thought, an image of Mike’s amused blue eyes popped into my head.  My heart seemed to squeeze in on itself, it missed him so much.  I closed my eyes and flicked back through my internal photo album, to the very first print of him.

 

Transforming Pandora is published by Roundfire Books

Categories:

0 comments on this article

This thread has been closed from taking new comments.