Whit

'Are you all right, dear?'

I tried to talk, but couldn't.  I coughed, finding my mouth and throat quite dry.  Tears came to my eyes and I doubled up, coughing painfully but still trying to keep quiet.  Zhobelia tutted and clapped me on the back as my face lowered to the bedclothes.

'Great-aunt,' I spluttered eventually, wiping the tears from my eyes and still swallowing dryly with every few words. 'Are you telling me that you had visions, not Grandfather; that you saw-'

'The fire; I saw a disaster coming, from the money.  I didn't know it was going to be a fire, but I knew it was coming.  That was the last thing I saw.  Before that; oh, lots of things.' She laughed quietly. 'Your poor Grandfather.  He only ever had one real seeing; I think I must have loaned him the Gift for the time he was lying on the floor of the van, covered in all that tea and lard.  Poor dear; he thought it was this twenty-ninth of February thing that made people different.  There was something special about him, though.  There must have been.  The only thing that ever really surprised me in my whole life was him turning up like that; I hadn't any inkling of that.  None at all.  That was how we knew he was special.  But visions?  No, he had that one, and woke up with it and started babbling, trying to make something of it.  Just like a man; give them a toy and they have to play with it.  Never content.  All the rest though…' She set her mouth in a tight line, shaking her head.

'All the rest… what?' I asked, gulping.

'The visions.  The seaweed factory, the hammock, those Fossil people, Mrs Woodbean, your father being born, and then you, and the fire; I saw all that, not him.  And if I didn't actually see it every time, at least I knew what I wanted - what Aasni and I wanted, and got your Grandfather to do what we thought was right, what we thought was needed, for all of us.  That's the trouble with men, you see?  They think they know what they want, but they don't, not usually.  You have to tell them.  You have to give them a bit of a hand now and again.  So I told him.  You know; pillow-talk.  Well, suggested.  You can't be too careful.  But if it's a warning of a disaster, well, there you are; you see what happened with the money.'

'You foresaw the fire at the mansion house?' I whispered, and suddenly my eyes were filling with tears again, though this time not because my throat was sore.

'A disaster, dear,' Zhobelia said matter-of-factly, seeming not to notice the tears welling in my eyes. 'I saw a disaster, that was all.  If I'd seen it was going to be a fire then of course the last thing I'd have suggested doing with the money would have been burning it.  All I saw was a disaster, not exactly what sort.  Should have known it would still happen, of course.' She put on a sour face and shook her head.  'The Gift is like that, you see.  But you have to try.  Here, my dear,' she said, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve. 'Dry your eyes.'

'Thank you.' I dabbed at my tears.

'You're welcome.' She sighed, settling her cardigan about her. 'I was glad to see the back of it, no mistake.  Hope it hasn't been the burden to you it was to me, but if it is, well, there's nothing much to be done, I'm afraid.' She looked concernedly at me. 'How has it been for you, dear?  Are you bearing up?  Take my advice: let the men-folk deal with the consequences.  They'll take the credit for any good that comes from it, anyway.  But it's so nice when it goes; that's the blessing, you see; that only one person has it at a time.  It's such a relief to have surprises again.  It was a lovely surprise to see you this evening.  I had no idea you were going to appear.  Just lovely.'

I handed the handkerchief back to Zhobelia; she stuffed its sodden ball up her sleeve; it was the shape of the inside of my fist. 'How long has this… Gift… ?'

'What, dear?  How long will you have it?  I don't know.'

'How long has it existed?  Is it just in our family?'

'Just in the women; any of the women, but only ever one at a time.  How long?  I don't know.  There are some silly ideas… I've heard certain daftnesses…' She shook her head quickly, dismissively. 'But you don't want to concern yourself with them.  People are so credulous, you know.'

'Credulous,' I said, suppressing a laugh and a cough at the same time.

'Oh,' she said, tutting and shaking her head, 'you wouldn't believe.' She reached out and held my hand again, patting it absently and smiling at me.

I sat there, looking at her, feeling half hysterical with all the things she'd told me, wanting to howl with despair and rage at the madness of the world and burst out in screams of riotous laughter for exactly the same reason.

What was I to do?  What mattered most out of all I had discovered?  I tried to think, while Zhobelia sat blinking and smiling at me and patting my hand.

'Great-aunt,' I said eventually, putting my other hand on top of hers. 'Would you like to come back?'

'Back?'

'Back with me, to the Community, to the farm, to High Easter Offerance.  To stay; to live with us.'

'But her ghost!' she said quickly, eyes childishly wide.  Then she frowned and looked to one side. 'Though you weren't a ghost,' she muttered. 'Maybe it would be all right now.  I don't know…'

'I'm sure it would be all right,' I said. 'I think you belong back with us.'

'But if it isn't all right?  You weren't a ghost, but what if she is?'

'I'm sure she won't be.  Just try it, Great-aunt,' I said. 'Come back for a week or two and see if you like it.  If you don't, you could always come back here, or maybe stay somewhere nearer by us.'

'But I need looking after, dear.'

'We'll look after you,' I told her. 'I hope I'll be going back soon, too; I'll look after you.'

She seemed to think. 'No television?' she asked.

'Well, no,' I admitted.

'Huh.  Never mind,' she said. 'All the same, anyway.  Lose track, you know.' She stared at me vacantly for a moment. 'Are you sure they'd want to see me again?'

'Everybody would,' I said, and felt sure that it was true.

She stared at me. 'This isn't a dream, is it?'

I smiled. 'No, it isn't a dream, and I am not a ghost.'

'Good.  I'd hate it to be a dream, because I'd have to wake up.' She yawned.  I found myself yawning too, unable to stop myself.

'You're tired, dear,' she said, patting my hands. 'You sleep here.  That's what to do.' She looked over at the other bed. 'There; have the other bed.  You will stay, won't you?'

I looked round, trying to judge where I might sling my hammock.  The room didn't look promising.  In truth I was so tired I could have slept on the floor, and quite possibly might.

'Would it be all right if I stayed?' I asked.

'Of course,' she said. 'There.  Sleep there.'

* * *

And so I slept in Great-aunt Zhobelia's room.  I couldn't find anywhere to hang my hammock so I made a little nest for myself on the floor with bedclothes from the other bed and curled up there, in between Zhobelia and the empty bed.

My great-aunt wished me goodnight and switched off the light.  It was quite easy to go to sleep.  I think my brain had given up reeling by that point; it had gone back to being shocked.  The last thing I recall was my great-aunt whispering to herself, 'Little Isis.  Who'd have thought it?'

Then I fell asleep.

* * *

I was awakened by the noise of doors slamming and the rattle of tea cups.  Daylight lined the curtains.  My empty stomach was growling at me.  My head felt light.  I rolled over stiffly and looked up to see Great-aunt Zhobelia looking down at me from her bed, a soft smile on her face.

'Good morning,' she said. 'You're still real.'

'Good morning, Great-aunt,' I croaked. 'Yes; still real, still not a dream or a ghost.'