Little Eden Read online

“Now come on, old girl, that’s just superstition!” Jack chastised Sophie, as he approached the bench, having finally hauled Robert to his feet. “I may have been converted about the paranormal somewhat, tonight, but crows and witchcraft are going too far!”

  “Of course they are,” Sophie said sympathetically. “We can only accept that which we are ready and willing to accept. ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth’* as they say. Most of them you may never need to know about, but it doesn’t mean they are not out there!”

  “Not everyone understands the difference between Holy Spirit and just spirit,” Lucy told him.

  “Spirits are just ghosts aren’t they?” Jack asked. “Nothing holy about that!”

  “Aunt Lilly isn’t a ghost, she’s a guardian angel. There’s a huge difference!” Sophie replied.

  Jack smiled. “Go on then. Explain it to me. I know you want to!”

  “I don’t want to explain anything, if you don’t want to hear it,” Sophie replied, yawning. Her mind was becoming fuzzy, and her thought processes were slowing down to a crawl, as fatigue started to crush her body. She had pushed herself too far that day and should have gone for a lie down hours ago; but she was often stubborn and did not heed the signs in time. Besides, now she was past the point of no return and the adrenalin was taking over. She knew she would not sleep tonight due to sheer exhaustion.

  “I do want to hear it, old girl. Honestly. Go on. Tell me the difference between a ghost and a guardian angel!” Jack said, trying to hide an air of mild amusement.

  “Mmm, I don’t know!” Sophie replied. “You’re taking the piss now.”

  “I’m not, honest, old girl, please tell me!” Jack tried to stop his cynicism from creeping through. Part of him did want to know, but another part of him just thought it was all ridiculous.

  “Okay,” Sophie said half-heartedly, “A ghost is a residual part of a deceased person’s consciousness that did not pass over at death and is stuck in the astral realms. A spirit comes through a portal from another level of consciousness deliberately, and it will come and go when it needs to. A guardian angel is usually a spirit guide who only comes to help and do good. An ordinary spirit can act as a guide to humans but it can be anyone and they may even cause harm.

  Jack nodded as if he sort of understood, but he didn’t really.

  “So, what is this Melanie, Jack saw? And come to that, what is Alienor aka Lilly?” Robert asked.

  “I don’t know what Melanie is yet - she could be a ghost or a spirit,” Sophie replied. “I believe both Alienor and Aunt Lilly are spirit guides and that they are angels. She and Lilly are sending their consciousness as close to the human realm as possible, to be of help to us.”

  “Well, that makes perfect sense! Not!” Jack laughed.

  “Jimmy might be disappointed that he can’t add Lilly or Alienor to the local ghost walk!” Robert smiled.

  “Jimmy will have to be content with the headless highwaywoman, Genevieve Dumas, who rides her horse up and down Millicent Way, wailing over her lost lover, Henry Bashingbrooke, who disappeared one night without a trace!” Lucy giggled, and then in a hushed tone and with a dramatic turn of phrase she added, “She is said to walk the old castle walls looking for her stolen booty!”

  “Or, Mr Muggles’ grandfather who walks Daisy Place asking people what time it is!” Sophie laughed and then frowned. “Mind you, I don’t like ghost walks. They create fear and give the other worlds a bad name.”

  “You are starting to put me off this place!” Jack laughed. “I presumed the ghost walks were just a load of old hooey to attract the tourists.” Jack pondered some existential ideas for a few seconds, but he couldn’t quite get his thoughts in order. “Are you are telling me we have resident spirits? I mean, ghosts, or whatever they are? Have I been living with lots of people I can’t see?” He looked around but could see nothing but blankets of snow. “Can they see me?”

  Sophie smiled. “We are surrounded by spirits and ghosts all the time, nice and nasty. Like invisible txt messages flying through the air, or digital signals! Not just in Little Eden, but everywhere on the planet. I wouldn’t worry about it. If you’ve not noticed anything yet, in your mind these things do not exist for you, so why worry about them.”

  Lucy giggled and said, “If Genevieve can’t even find Henry or her booty after two hundred years, I reckon she won’t be finding you in a hurry!”

  “You are not the type of person a ghost or a spirit would bother with much anyway,” Sophie reassured him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean, young lady?” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.

  “If they want to be seen or a message passed on they will chose someone who is likely to be able to see or hear them, it’s just common sense really,” Sophie said. “You are not overly sensitive to emotional and psychic energy in general, so they’ll leave you alone.”

  “Is that a compliment?” Jack smiled.

  “Built like a brick shit house, is what she means!” Lucy laughed and threw a huge snowball at the back of his head. Jack tried to grab hold of her, but she managed to get away from him. He caught up to her just outside the No.1 Daisy Place Café.

  The Café was lit gaily from within by twinkling crystal chandeliers which sprinkled speckles of light across the glistening snow outside; the sound of Jackie Wilson’s ‘Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher’* came dancing its way, joyously, through the door. As Lucy opened it, a warm blast of air rushed over them, and their friends greeted them effusively. They were met by a boundless sea of hot tea and half-eaten finger sandwiches; and many of their friends were gathered together around the piano, on which Tambo was playing with gusto! As he spotted his mum he stopped playing and jumped up shouting, “Mummy, look!”

  Tambo pointed to the long glass serving counter. “Look what Mrs B has made!” He gave his place at the piano to Ginger, who launched everyone into a rendition of ‘Love Train’ by the O’Jays.* Tambo led Lucy to the polished mirrored counter and there, on the marble top, stood a majestic and huge, five-tiered cake. It was enrobed in opulent white fondant and bejewelled with fresh roses and lilies. It towered above everyone and was crowned by a magnificent angel made of glimmering gold chocolate.

  “Wow!” Lucy exclaimed. She turned to see Sophie and Robert come through the door and waved them over to come and look at the delicious looking cake.

  “I made it for you, my loves,” a soft, kind voice said from the kitchen doorway. They turned to see their dear Mrs Bakewell, beaming at them. “Devlin made the Angel - bless him. There is a surprise inside too!”

  “That’s so lovely Mrs B!” Lucy said, giving her a huge hug.

  “What’s the surprise?” Tambo asked, trying his hardest not to touch the cake. “Can we cut it Mummy?”

  “Yes, of course, although it seems a shame to spoil it!” Lucy said. “Can I have a cup of tea and take my coat off first?” Tambo nudged Alice, who was standing eagerly next to him. He motioned for her to go and get a cup of tea, then he pulled his mum’s coat off for her as quickly as he could.

  “Okay! Okay!” Lucy giggled. “Come on then, tell everyone to come and see! Where’s the knife?”

  Robert dinged a spoon against his tea cup and called for the rest of the guests to watch the cutting of the cake. “Everyone! Everyone!” he announced. “Lucy and Sophie would like to cut their splendid cake, made by our very own celebrity baker Mrs B, in memory of our great friend Lilly.”

  Everyone was hushed, and watched in anticipation, as Lucy cut into the bottom tier. The icing gave way to reveal a stunning three layers of luxurious vanilla sponge and soft, fluffy, butter cream. Tambo stared at the slice and then peered into the tier. “What’s the surprise?” he said, a bit disappointed.

  “The surprise is in the Angel,” Mrs Bakewell said, with a magical twinkle in her eyes! “Get a chair, Tambo, so you can reach!”

  Tambo h
urriedly hopped up onto a chair so that he was as tall as the cake on the counter. “Should I just break it, Mummy?” he asked, unsure what to do.

  “Just lift it up!” Mrs Bakewell replied.

  With that, Tambo lifted up the chocolate angel, and hundreds of tiny pink sugared hearts and edible glitter cascaded down the cake, like a waterfall of confetti. The guests exclaimed in delight and spontaneously applauded!

  Alice picked one of the hearts up off the counter and licking it, she said, “Ooooo, they’re candy, you can eat them!”

  “The tiers are all different flavours, my loves, all of Lilly’s favourites,” Mrs B explained.

  “Can I have a slice of all of them, Mummy?” Tambo asked hopefully.

  “It’d be rude not to!” Lucy giggled. “Help me hand it out though, won’t you?”

  Sophie was falling asleep on her feet, and Mrs B, seeing she needed to rest, said kindly, “Come in the kitchen, my love. Sit with me while I bag up the Arval bread for everyone to take home.”

  Sophie gladly put her slim arm through Mrs Bakewell’s large soft one. Mrs Bakewell always looked like a well-risen cob wearing an apron and a light dusting of flour! She bustled Sophie away from the party into the peacefulness of her culinary world. “Sit down there, my love,” Mrs B said, offering Sophie her comfy chair by the Aga, which she used during her tea breaks.

  Sophie closed her eyes and felt herself feeling calmer as Mrs Bakewell chattered on whilst she tied black ribbons around the parcels of Arval bread and made neat little bows. “It’s a shame your father is too ill to have come to the funeral.”

  “He isn’t too ill,” Sophie replied in a matter of fact way. “You know him! He doesn’t like gatherings and he doesn’t even like travelling further than his allotment or the local pub. To be fair, he thinks going out of East Yorkshire is going abroad.”

  “The simple life is often a happy one,” Mrs Bakewell mused, as she laid out the fruitcake parcels on a tea tray. “Families are not always made up of those who gave birth to you - that’s a fact and no mistake.”

  “That is very true,” Sophie said, yawning again. “Aunt Lil was our mother really, and you have always been like our granny!”

  “Get away with you!” Mrs Bakewell smiled. “That’s very nice of you to say so, my love! Although, I wasn’t old enough to be a granny when you first started coming here as babies. I was only in my thirties you know! Doesn’t time fly?”

  “I wish Aunt Lil could have seen your lovely cake,” Sophie said to Mrs B.

  “She’ll be looking down on us, my love,” Mrs B reassured her.

  Just then, Linnet popped her head round the kitchen door. “Lucy asked if you could come out - Tosha wants to make a speech.”

  “Right ho!” Mrs B said, wiping her sticky hands on her apron and carrying out the tray of breads with her.

  The Café had gone quiet. The rabble rousing and singing was put on hold as chilled glasses were filled with champagne for the toast. Tosha was standing on a table so that everyone could see her. “Dank you. Dank you!” Tosha said (in her soft Polish accent) as she gave a little bow and nearly fell off the table but was pushed back on by her sister Tonbee. “As da new manager of the notorious No.1 Daisy Place Café-Bookshop, the rest of staff ask me to say few words, or rather dey volunteer me to say few words! We would like to say huge dank you to Lucy and Sophie for all love and care they show us since Lilly passing. And, we dank Silvi Swan for offer of free grief counselling.” She raised her glass towards Silvi and fought back her tears. “We very grateful for extra pay, when Café closed last two weeks, and we want you know we are ‘all hands on deck’ for next few months.” Her voice was filled with emotion as she carried on. “We all start here as temporary staff and we stay so long we lose count of years. Daisy Place seem to get under skin, become part of us! We miss Lilly every day but we continue her vision into future. So, we raise glass to Lilly - our boss, our friend and our guardian angel!”

  “Hear, hear!” Everyone rejoined and drank the champagne.

  Tosha nearly got off the table but Tonbee pushed her back up. “The song!” she whispered.

  “Oh! I nearly forget!” Tosha giggled. “We would like to sing one of Lilly’s favourite songs, ‘One Love’.*” And with that, Ginger took to the piano again, and the Café was blessed by music and song which helped wash away the sadness and the grief they all felt at the loss of their friend Lilly.

  The party continued with more singing and a few more random speeches. The sugar rush from the cake was over and most of the kids were taken home to bed. Due to the champagne, there were some tears, but also lots of laughs; and about midnight even some of the adults started to crash.

  Everyone eventually left; braving the snow, which was now coming down in tiny, but slightly crazy, flakes. It was filling up the streets at a pace. It draped itself heavily over the trees and snuck into all the nooks and crannies between walls and eaves. It balanced precariously on window sills and clung to all it touched.

  Robert walked home with a small group of friends, and one by one, they reached their respective homes. He continued, alone, through Old Golden Square, from where he could see, albeit snow-covered, the very first mansion house built by his ancestors in 1242. The wattle and daub had been restored but most of the crooked wooden beams were original. In the other direction he could see his own house, a grand Georgian pile, standing majestically at the centre of Bartlett Crescent.

  Since 600, Little Eden had grown from a marsh land into a sanctuary hamlet. In the time of King Alfred its new stone walls had isolated it from the rest of the London area, keeping it safe from plague, fire and crime - the town, even today, keeping its own laws. It had developed into a thriving medieval place of pilgrimage, when a relic of St Hilda of Whitby was brought to the Abbey, and later it became an Elizabethan centre of printing and trade. It then grew into a Georgian masterpiece: home to political activists and social reformers. During Robert’s father’s time, Melbourne Bartlett-Hart, had moved out of the Chateau, and in the 1960’s gave it over to a Buddhist Centre. Since then the town had flourished with artists and artisans, and it had become a refuge for those who wanted to live in a community of peace, mutual respect and support. In recent years it had become a unique experiment in 21st century eco-technology and heritage preservation. The place was ever the same in essence, yet ever changing with the times.

  In the tranquillity of the midnight snow, not a soul was stirring, and it felt like a peaceful and very ancient sanctuary again. Robert paused for a few moments at the foot of the life size statue of King Arthur. He wiped the snow from the plaque which reads:

  ‘Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men.’*

  Robert sighed, his breath visible in the crisp English air, and he looked up at the grey, snow-filled sky. Robert didn’t think of Little Eden as an experiment - he thought of it simply as home.

  ~ * ~

  Back at Daisy Place, up on the roof terrace of the Café, Jack, Lucy and Sophie were all wrapped up warm, and sheltering under the wrought iron porch of the conservatory, watching some belated New Year fireworks, which had exploded into the sky just after midnight. The night before, on New Year’s Eve, London had been set alight by the pyrotechnics, wowing tourists and Londoners alike, who had gathered in their thousands, in Trafalgar Square and beside the Thames.

  “I wish Jimmy was here,” Lucy said. “It’s silly, I know, but I don’t like to sleep alone at the moment.”

  “I thought he was only filming in London?” Jack said. “Surely the tube is working, in spite of the snow?”

  “Well, it can’t be can it,” Lucy said, a little sharply in her frustration. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t think he can have a signal on his phone. I hope he’s alright.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Jimmy!” Jack told her. “He is big enough and ugly enough to look after himself. It’s you who needs takin
g care of. Why don’t I sleep on the sofa again tonight?”

  “Would you?” Lucy asked. “That would be a comfort to know you were here.” Jack put his arm around her. “I can stay as long as you need me,” he reassured her.

  Lucy looked out across London and sighed. “I used to love Little Eden at New Year. Everyone dancing and singing in the streets, going around to all the different parties! Do you remember that year when we went to ten different houses and Robert passed out in the park?”

  “I remember that!” Sophie giggled. “He woke up in the maze and couldn’t find his way out!”

  “And, what about that New Year we went down to the Thames and Sophie got arrested for trying to climb that lamp post!” Lucy reminisced.

  “And Robert had to pull his ‘diplomatic immunity act’ to get the constable to let you go!” Jack laughed.

  “I didn’t get arrested for climbing a lamp post!” Sophie protested, with a smile. “It was what I said to the policeman that got me arrested!”

  “And what about you?” Lucy said, turning to Jack. “You are not so innocent Jacky boy - with all your New Year’s shenanigans!”

  “Ah, New Year’s Eve is when anything goes!” Jack laughed. “A night of madness and mayhem - the usual rules do not apply! What can I say?”

  “We have had some laughs!” Lucy said. “Aunt Lilly said last year was the best New Year she had ever had. But now it will never be the same again. It will always be tinged with sadness.”

  They watched a few more fireworks and finished off the champagne. When the sky grew silent again Sophie said, “London looks amazing in the snow - eerie almost - as if everyone were contemplating what to do with the year to come. I wonder what this year will bring?”

  “With Aunt Lilly gone, it feels as if the world has lost its sparkle,” Lucy said sadly. At moments like this she felt dry and crackly inside, and she could feel her heart physically aching, as if part of herself had died along with her aunt. “It’s going to be a hard year without her.”