Читать книгу The Dream Weavers онлайн | страница 12

She could still be a healer of houses.

As long as no one knew about it.

He accepted the job.

Their daughters, Petra and Anna, viewed the change with tolerant good humour. They were both bright, serious, and remarkably level-headed, as they used to point out, considering their father was a vicar and their mother a psychic. Neither had inherited Bea’s gifts, though secretly she saw her own skills as a healer in Petra, who had from a small child wanted to become a vet. It was from Mark that Anna inherited her love of music which led her to want to make it her career. They had settled easily into their new bedrooms, loving the creaky floorboards and the beautiful little cast iron fireplaces and the views, one to the front and one to the back of the house. Both were at university now, Petra studying to be a vet in Edinburgh, Anna in her first year at the Royal Academy of Music in London.

The household had become suddenly very quiet.

Bea gave up her full-time job when they moved. She became a supply teacher instead. The spasmodic routine suited her second job perfectly. As promised, she pursued it with discretion.

Their lives settled down until that day when, a year ago, in an old house deep in the remote countryside of the Welsh Marches, she had encountered her first poltergeist and she and Mark had had their first major row.

The drive had been long and winding, the house at the end of it ancient, hung with creepers, and almost at once Bea felt a twinge of doubt. On the phone the problem had seemed textbook. Ghostly noises. Knocking. Items being moved about in the night.

As she parked her car and climbed out, she had realised at once that she shouldn’t have come alone. One of the rules was, if it looks in any way complicated, take someone with you; make sure there is someone there to cover your back There was something here and it was something bad. But it was too late to turn back. The front door had opened and the couple who had contacted her emerged. Mr and Mrs Hutton were elderly – perhaps late middle age – and they were clinging to one another, their fear and anxiety obvious.