Mortal Ghost | Page 9

said as he hurried to the sink.
'Not a job,' Sarah's mother said. 'A refuge.'
He stared at her, cloth in hand. He could hear the loud ticking of the
ceramic clock on the wall.
She quoted quietly:
'Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.'

'You've been going through my things!' Jesse said.
Her smile was patient. 'I wouldn't do that. None of us would. The
Tempest is one of my favourite plays. I acted in it at university.'
'Sorry,' he muttered again, not entirely reassured. The very play that he
was reading now, and some of his own favourite lines. Experience had
taught him to mistrust coincidence.
She rose and began to clear the table.
'Thanks for lunch,' he said, moving to help her.
'Leave it,' she said. 'You and Sarah can do supper, if you're still here.'
She stopped, the jug in her hand.
'Think about it, Jesse. A few days of rest. I think you need it.'
Her words splashing over the rocky bed of his mind, Jesse dug his
hands into his pockets and walked out into the garden. Sarah's mother
watched him go, a troubled expression on her face.
Chapter 3
Sarah had bought the dog a sturdy leather collar and lead. 'He's going to
need a tag and chip, his shots. And what about his name?'
'I told you,' Jesse said. 'It's not my dog.'
'He is now,' she said. 'What do you want to call him?'
Jesse shrugged. There wasn't much point thinking up a name unless
Sarah's family would be willing to adopt the dog.
'How about Anubis? We did Egyptian mythology last year in school.'
No way, thought Jesse. Even if he named the animal -- temporarily,
mind you -- it would be Harry or Jinx. Simple, ordinary, doggy.

The dog tugged on the lead, anxious to keep moving. They'd walked
down the hill from Sarah's house and were now in another part of the
city. The townhouses were neat, upmarket, with little front gardens,
geranium-filled window boxes displayed like medals on a war hero's
chest, and brightly painted doors and window frames.
Sarah indicated a narrow lane almost hidden between two brick
dwellings. 'Come on, I want to show you something.'
She led him along the cobbled way towards a small stone chapel which
had been converted into a residence and workshop. A stone bench
curved round the base of a towering chestnut tree. Mounted on the
scrolls of the wrought iron gate was an exquisitely hand-lettered sign:
Sundials, it said. They stopped and leant on the fence while Jesse
studied the pieces, each bathed in the astringent green light. Once again
he could smell the flush of lavender on Sarah's skin.
'Brilliant, aren't they?' Sarah asked.
'They're wonderful,' Jesse said. 'Who makes them?'
'A friend of my mother's. She's not here at the moment, or we could say
hello.'
Jesse pointed to a gilded greenslate sundial mounted on a plinth and set
some distance from the others. 'That's the only one standing in the sun.'
'Ursula's partner wanted to remove the tree so visitors could appreciate
the sundials better, but Ursula wouldn't hear of it. Most of these are
only display pieces, though I think one or two might be current orders.'
'Sundials have to be calibrated for a specific site in order to be
accurate.'
'You do read a lot, don't you?'
He appeared not to hear. 'Isn't she afraid someone might steal them?'
'They're far too heavy.'

'Anyone could hop over this fence and vandalise them.'
'More tempting stuff to go after, I suppose.' She gave him a sideways
glance. 'Do you always expect the worst?'
'It's best to be prepared.'
Automatically he groped in his pocket for a cigarette, but came up only
with an empty matchbox.
'You smoke?' Sarah asked, more observant than Jesse was used to --
more, perhaps, than he cared for.
'Sometimes. Did Ursula make the one in your garden?'
'Yeah. My mother spent hours arguing with her about the design. She
can be a right pain in the you-know-what sometimes -- my mum, I
mean.'
'Your mother's a very interesting woman.'
'That's what everyone says,' Sarah said drily.
Jesse turned his gaze away from the sundials.
'There are many different kinds of gifts,' he said, then shook his head
and ran his hand back and forth over the scrollwork on the gate. 'Sorry,
that was really dumb of me. I hate such platitudes.' He continued to rub
at the metal with a fingertip, his whole attention concentrated on
erasing his words.
'It's OK. I genuinely admire her. Like her, too. It's just that ...'
'Yeah, I can imagine.'
Sarah studied his face for a moment without speaking. When he wasn't
frowning,