Whispers of a Lesser God Read online

  The wind rose again and began to howl through the trees. Telephone lines began to sing and zing, and aerials and satellite dishes began to whir, rattle and hum in rhythm with the fluctuating wind. Dorothy sang quietly to her cats, “Zing! Went the strings of my heart… You made me love you, I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to do it…”

  Just then both of her phones rang simultaneously; her landline and her mobile. Clemmie and Booby instantly became alarmed and jumped off the sofa. Dorothy thought that was strange, because the phones ringing had never bothered them before. Perhaps both phones ringing together had alarmed them. She thought that it was Duncan calling, just to ask how she was. She picked up her mobile because it was close to her, and instantly the landline fell silent. Only then did she realise that something was not quite right. She opened the mobile and put it to her ear. But what she heard was not Duncan’s voice, but another voice. It was a voice that she knew all too well, and her blood ran as cold as ice. Her knees turned to jelly as she tried to stand up and she fell back down onto the sofa. The voice was loud and clear, despite the wind roaring and grumbling in the background. Her hands were trembling as the voice spoke.

  “Hello, Dorothy. It’s me, Caroline. Can you hear me okay?”

  Caroline had never called her Dorothy before. So what in God’s name could be going on? Dorothy tried to compose herself and negotiate a whole spectrum of mixed emotions.

  “Caroline, where are you? Duncan and I have been desperate to contact you. Where are you, gal?”

  “Oh, I’m okay, Dorothy. I’ve been trying to get through to Duncan, but it has drained me completely, if you will. I will explain everything to you, but you will have to do what I say and follow my instructions if we are to meet again. You must do just as I tell you.”

  “Okay, Caroline, I’ll do what you tell me. What on earth happened to you? Please, we’re not angry with you, only worried and confused. Lord have mercy. We thought…We thought…”

  “Ha ha ha; you thought that I was dead. Well, that’s another matter that we need to clear up. It’s just that I have overstepped my mark and pushed things that you and Duncan cannot understand a little too far. But I had nearly completed my mission anyway. As you will find out.”

  Dorothy told herself that she must remain calm and collected and seize any chance that she could to get to the girl as soon as possible. She then spoke into her mobile, choosing her words carefully.

  “Okay, gal. Just tell me where you are and I’ll get there somehow. How far away are you?”

  “Ha ha ha! Oh, Dorothy, poor Dorothy, I’m so close yet so far. I should not poke fun at you, because I know that the truth could be simply too hard for you to understand.”

  “Please, Caroline, please. All I want to know is where you are and if you are all right. Tell me, gal.”

  “I’m on the end of the pier and I’m waiting for you to come for me. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  “End of the pier? What are you doing on the end of the pier in this bloody weather? Why didn’t you come to my house if you’re in a fix? Surely you must trust me, after all we’ve done together.”

  “Oh, I trust you implicitly, Dorothy. If only you knew how much I trust you. If only you knew.”

  “You’ll catch your death of cold, gal. Are you well wrapped up against this cold and wet?”

  “Ha ha ha. Don’t worry about that, I’m under the cover of a shelter. The one right at the end of the pier. All you have to do is come to me and we will be united again. Signed, sealed and delivered.”

  Dorothy didn’t have time to contemplate the bizarre implications of the situation. All of her attention was focused on getting to the girl. Dorothy… Dorothy. Caroline had always called her Daphne.

  “If you can’t come here, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t move from where you are, gal.”

  She put the mobile in her housecoat pocket, went to the coat hooks by the front door and put on a water- and windproof sailor-style coat. She then slipped on a pair of bright yellow rubber boots and grabbed a big umbrella. Her cats had followed her to the door, but now they had become very agitated and were making the most peculiar high-pitched meowing sound, the likes of which she had never heard before. She opened the front door and was blasted by the wind as the door crashed open, hitting the wall loudly. She thought that she had forgotten her mobile and only remembered that she had put it in her housecoat pocket when she went back into the sitting room to find it. By the time she headed back to the front door, Dora had come out of hers to see what all the racket was about. Dorothy opened the umbrella as she stepped through the door and was almost lifted clean into the air by a great gust of wind. She had to let go of the umbrella otherwise she would have literally taken off.

  On seeing her, Dora shouted above the howl of the wind, “Dorothy, what on earth are you doing? Not a good evening to go out for a stroll, in a blizzard!”

  “I’ve got an appointment, Dora. Can’t stop to talk to you now; catch you later. I’ll explain then!”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses, Dorothy? Can’t it wait till tomorrow? Who is it?”

  “No, I can’t wait, and she can’t wait. I must go, Dora. You’ve got a key to my door. If I don’t come back tonight, please look after my cats for me. You know where everything is!”

  With that, she pulled her front door shut, jogged down the garden path, took a quick left turn and disappeared into the night. Dora went back inside her own house and, after some weighing up of the odds not making any sense, picked up her phone and dialled 999. She may be a nosy neighbour, but at least she was a good one.

  Dorothy was running on pure adrenaline. Not the adrenaline triggered by fear; not the adrenaline triggered by ‘fight or flight’, but the adrenaline a boxer would feel on stepping into the ring, or a soldier about to engage in battle. She was geared up and ready for whatever might happen. She turned left into Carlisle Road and jogged along, keeping a steady pace. Then she took a sharp right turn into Durham Road and kept jogging. By now her heart was thumping, as if it was trying to punch its way out of her chest. Her lungs were trying to draw in as much breath as they could hold, and she felt as though they were going to burst like balloons. She took another sharp left turn and she was running along Queens Parade. Now the wind veered around behind her and she found herself bombing down the parade with her coat billowing out and pulling her along faster still.

  Then she saw the pier snaking out like a dark shadow, across a black, stormy North Sea. She turned left again and headed down the dark abyss of Pier Ramp. There was nobody out and about in this weather. Like all seaside towns, the whole town had gone into an early hibernation for the winter. Luckily for her, her rubber boots had good ground-gripping soles, otherwise she would have slipped on the wet paving and landed flat on her backside. The opening of the pier looked like a gaping black mouth that had been closed in by a tall iron gate and stout railings. However, there was an open turnstile that allowed access for any intrepid fishermen who were mad enough to be out in this weather. She slipped through the turnstile and started walking briskly across the wooden boards that ran parallel to the whole length of the pier. The sea was so rough, and the waves so massive and turbulent that they were sending spray shooting up through the gaps in the planking. Despite the spray bursting through the planking and soaking her from underneath, she carried on, half walking, half jogging. She was nearly there. It was only when she slowed down that she felt the nagging throb of arthritis in her knees. Every muscle in her legs ached, and her calf muscles were so pumped up that cramp was beginning to squeeze them. She stopped for a while to draw in desperate breaths through her mouth and nose. As she walked out towards the end of the pier, she watched in awe as the waves hit the pier head and rocketed high into the air, spray raining down with the ice-cold drizzle. The only light came from lamps fitted just inside the glass shelters, left on for the benefit of any fanatical f
ishermen, and a big street light close to the railings.

  Then she saw a shadow on the other side of the opaque glass of the end shelter, and she knew that she was looking at the silhouette of Caroline. Dorothy did not have to draw her attention to let her know that she had arrived, because Caroline came out from behind the shelter and stood facing her. Although they were only about twelve feet apart, Dorothy immediately noticed that something was different about Caroline. Her face looked even younger than it had the last time that Dorothy had seen her, and her eyes were sparkling in the dark. It could not be from the lamps, because they were all behind her. Dorothy was the first to speak.

  “Okay, gal, I’m here. I’m here. Please just tell me what’s goin’ on and where on earth have you been? Duncan and I have been at our wits’ end trying to find you. And what a peculiar time and place to arrange a rendezvous. Why didn’t you just knock on my door like you did fifteen months ago?”

  The drizzle had petered out, but the gusty wind was still leaping in from the sea and across the pier. Then Caroline was right in front of her. She appeared to glide, because Dorothy had not seen her feet move underneath her long trench coat. She looked straight into Dorothy’s eyes and Dorothy became alarmed and very afraid. Only then did she realise something very strange was happening. She watched in awe, because what she was witnessing defied any laws of nature. Caroline had lost about two inches in height and the trench coat became about two sizes too big for her. Her eyes glinted in the dark. Her face had grown smaller and now the trench coat was touching the floor.

  “I’ve come for you, Dorothy. At last I’ve come for you. It’s been so hard for me to wait. So hard.”

  Although Dorothy was afraid, she had become galvanised and perplexed. She could not move.

  “What are you talkin’ about, gal? I’ve come for you, like you told me. What’s happening to you, gal? What’s happening to you? You’re changing. Let’s just go back home and have a nice cup of tea.”

  “Ha ha ha! Oh, Dorothy. I’m not changing; I’m just going back to my true self. But first you have to know the whole truth. The complete truth. I was sent many years ago to protect, guide and eventually bring you and Duncan together again. But it had to be the right time and the right place. Yes, it was me who deliberately and carefully drew you together. Because you parted on bad terms when you were both young, you hadn’t realised your full potential. Duncan was so right, so right when he felt from the bottom of his heart that project Daphne Devine had never finished. That’s why I was sent here to help you finish it and finally draw it to its fantastic and mysterious end. But I fouled up badly towards the end and I was drawn back very discretely.”

  “Okay, gal, I’m with you so far. But I can’t get my head around this. Who are you, gal, and where do you come from? I really don’t need stuff like this at my age. It’s like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. Let’s just go back home and I’ll put the kettle on. Come on, gal.”

  “Oh, Dorothy, you are going home. You’re going back to your true home, with me. It has been difficult for me to communicate with you and Duncan for a few weeks, because I broke the rules. My instructions were clear. I was not under any circumstances to get too attached to you and Duncan, but I did. I was not under any circumstances to key into your vibrational levels too strongly, but I did. I was not to let love, affection and adoration cloud my judgment, but I did. After all, I’m only a very young girl. I got sidelined from my mission when I tried to contact my family. Ha ha ha. I can even make rhubarb grow, creak and groan in the middle of December. But when I started getting too attached to Lorraine; that was when I really overstepped the mark. After all, I’m only a young girl. But fortunately, by then my mission was almost complete. Dorothy – oh, sweet, beautiful Dorothy – you never got the chance to be a young girl, because you had to live out your role as Daphne Devine, jazz singer extraordinaire. And you had to live the role to the bitter end, whatever it entailed. But plain old Dorothy Dodd was so strong, so defiant, she simply would not go away. Oh, Dorothy. You never got the chance to be a young girl, and I never got the chance to grow into an old woman. I was never given that grace, that dignity and that pride. Both of us have been cheated in our own ways. Both of us have been robbed, cheated and denied what was rightfully ours. That – that! – is why I was sent to bring you home. Project Daphne Devine and the Ghost Towns is now officially over!”

  By now the girl had shrunk so much in stature that her trench coat was hanging and draped over the boards beneath their feet. And inside that trench coat stood the figure of a little girl. Dorothy stood back in amazement, as small hands poked through the coat and undid the buttons. The coat fell down to the boards and there in front of her stood Caroline as a very young girl. She then burst into laughter.

  “Well, here I am, Dorothy. Catch me if you can!”

  She suddenly turned and bolted towards the railings at the head of the pier. Before Dorothy could even move, the girl had slipped under a chain that linked across some steps and disappeared down the steps. Only then could Dorothy move, and the nagging arthritis in her knees sharply turned into stabbing pains. She tried to unfasten the chain, but it was padlocked. So, with great difficulty, she slipped under it. Only then did she feel the sharp pains in her lungs and chest.

  “Caroline, wait! Don’t do this to me. Let’s just talk for a while. We must not part like this, gal!”

  As she tried to descend the steps, she slipped on some wet seaweed and landed on her backside. She stood up and grabbed the iron banister to steady herself. She tried to focus her vision down the steps, but the only light came from the street light above. Then she saw her, standing on the landing by the lower steps, looking up at her. Although the tide had begun to ebb, the waves and swell were still lapping over the landing. Caroline’s eyes were sparking with dazzling ultraviolet light.

  “Come, Dorothy! Catch me if you can!”

  Quite suddenly, the wind veered around in a sharp twirl of turbulence. Then Dorothy saw it: a huge dark shadow was sweeping in from behind the girl. It was a silent, gigantic wave.

  “Caroline! Watch out, gal!”

  “Catch me if you can, Dorothy!”

  The wave engulfed the girl. It did not pick her up and lift her. It did not smash her into the steps. She was simply swallowed up by it. Dorothy staggered down the steps, weeping and muttering.

  “Where are you, gal? Where are you?”

  The wave had swept up under the pier, rebounded off its concrete base and was returning even faster than it had rolled in. And Dorothy didn’t even see it coming. The wave was so big that it picked her up clean off the landing and thrust her violently down into the roaring depths. A mighty, thunderous crash erupted as two weather fronts collided high in the night sky, shaking and rattling every window in the town. Then three blinding flashes of sheet lightning lit up the sky, casting the whole town and sea in electric-blue light. Daphne Devine had finally left the stage.

  Duncan looked out from the clifftop, over the North Sea. It was a pleasant afternoon. The wind had dropped and the rain had finally petered out, leaving bright sunshine and a clear blue sky. The sea was now calm and had taken on a hue of deep bottle green. The breeze was chilly, but not yet the biting cold of the north wind that normally arrived in December. He had come here to get away from the press that had literally besieged Daphne’s house. He had given them the same statement again and again: in short, he simply did not know what had happened to her, and her disappearance was just as much a mystery to him as it was to everybody else.

  One thing was certain: it had made national news for over two weeks. Daphne Devine was already becoming a legend who would be talked about for many years to come. Even her disappearance was beginning to be spiced up with speculation, some of which was bordering on preposterous. She had gone to meet a spurned former lover from her youth, in the eye of a storm. She had crept out in the dead of night to pay off blackmailers
who had threatened to kidnap her band. The truth was that nobody would ever know, and Duncan speculated that it was probably better that way. If Daphne’s disappearance was meant to be the stuff of legend, then so be it.

  He had left a distraught and nigh on hysterical Dora to deal with the press. He was not without just a touch of vanity himself. He had achieved a lot in a mere fourteen months, and he had used his wits, without skulduggery and deception. Yes indeed, he had good reason to be proud. He had been a crucial player in project Daphne Devine, and he had done so without fear or favour. Should he have left Daphne to fade away as plain old Dorothy Dodd? No, she had been far too important for that. She was and always would be a star, a bright, shining star.

  He checked his watch and told himself that he had to rush. Rush to catch the last train from Ghost Town…

  Bouffant

  Bob Styles was sauntering along through the pleasant backstreets of Barrington Marshall. It was only a very small coastal town, but it had a character of its own. Although set back from the sea, the beaches and surrounding marshlands were a favourite spot for bird fanciers. (The feathered variety of course.) Because of the surrounding lowlands, the whole area was subject to flooding when heavy rain fell and the tides were high. Behind the stout sea wall, the marshland and its vast pattern of tributaries, the land was actually below sea level. This looked strange at high tide, because if somebody was walking along the sea wall then, they could clearly see that the land was a good six feet below sea level. Barrington Marshall sat on a prominence all by itself. The town had escaped being ‘seaside resorterised’ in the late ’40s because the surrounding land was nigh on impossible to build on, unless the local government spent millions just reclaiming the land before even trying to build anything at all.