Chapter 1''I''ve lost my place.'' Patrice scowled at her manager, who was fussing about, rummaging through the wardrobe at the other side of the hotel room. Barney was always fussing. She could very well do without it. Georgios had never used to fuss, but Georgios was. the thought slowed and somehow slid away from her. Georgios was. Across the room, Barney slammed a drawer shut.
Georgios wasn''t here anymore. Of course. Patrice turned her attention back to the local newspaper and pack of index cards spread across the bed in front of her. ''I need to concentrate.'' ''If you''d wear an earpiece, you wouldn''t have to remember all that.''She shook her head. Earpieces were for amateurs. Patrice considered herself rather more gifted than that.
She glanced through the notes on the cards in front of her and then shuffled them into order. Dead certs went first and last. She''d risk a couple of cold reads if she had to, but not until the audience was warmed up. She''d seen too many people die on their feet because they''d tried to read an uncooperative punter. She turned back to the six-month-old local paper. It was a good story - the deaths were tragic, senseless and premature. For a second her fingertips lingered over the picture of the two mothers. ''You''re sure these two are coming?''Barney nodded.
''They picked up the tickets last night.'' He was still rifling, ineffectively, through the wardrobe. ''What am I actually looking for?''Patrice sighed. The man was an imbecile. ''The lilac jacket. It goes with this skirt.''He stopped. ''The jacket I picked up from the dry cleaner''s this afternoon?'' He strode over to the door and lifted the jacket, still wrapped in plastic, from the hook.
''I told you where I''d left it.''Patrice bundled her index cards together, stood and relieved him of the hanger. ''That will be all for now.''She waited until the door to the suite clicked closed before she slumped back down. The jacket, wrapped in its pristine cover, taunted her. According to the tag it had been sent to the cleaners two days ago and picked up today. Logically she must have taken it, or asked someone to take it, to be cleaned, and then told Barney to pick it up. She didn''t remember doing any of that.
Patrice took four deep breaths. It was what she always did before a performance. It calmed her, ''centred'' her she supposed the newer spiritualists on the circuit would say. It helped her to remember who she was right now, and all she needed was to keep hold of right now for a few weeks more. There was a sharp rap at the door. ''Miss Leigh! It''s time.''''I can''t find you.'' The girl on the box office desk flicked through her file of tickets.
Normally Leo would have charmed his way through this type of tiny mishap, but tonight was different. Tonight he was so close to finding what he''d been missing, and he was struggling to keep the tension out of his voice. Only his wife knew exactly why he was here, and she thought it was a dreadful idea. Leo forced a smile. ''Somebody called Barry. no, Barney something was supposed to have arranged it.''The girl frowned. ''Miss Leigh''s manager?''''Yes!''She sighed.
''Well you didn''t say that, did you? That''s guest list, innit?''Leo swallowed down the flippant answer he wanted to give, and accepted the newly discovered ticket. He took his seat was towards the back of the stalls and looked around. It was a traditional sort of theatre with red velvet chairs and not enough leg room. It was big though, and pretty much full. The ability to reunite lost souls with their loved ones must be a bankable skill. The woman to Leo''s left leaned towards him. ''Are you hoping to hear from anyone in particular?''The woman looked to be in her fifties, no more than five or six years older than Leo, but she could have been a different generation. Lank grey hair clung to the side of her face, and she was dressed in a too-small polo shirt, leggings and trainers, with a stripe of greying sock at her ankle.
She shifted her weight in the seat, spreading her coat over her knees, before turning to look at Leo.''So, anyone in particular?''''No. No one in particular.'' That was a lie, but what Leo was looking for was none of her business. He opened his notebook and tried to look engrossed.The woman failed to take the hint. ''I''m here for my Dennis.''Leo paused.
He was also supposed to be working. He swallowed. ''Right. And Dennis was your.''''What, love?''''Dennis? He was your.'' Leo waited, but the woman didn''t fill the gap. ''Your husband?''''No dear.'' The woman gave a big throaty chuckle that rippled with Benson & Hedges and good humour.
''Dennis was a Pekinese.''''A dog?''''He was with me sixteen years.''''Really?''''That''s a long time for a Peke. They have terrible problems with their insides. All the toy breeds do.''''Okay.'' Leo didn''t quite know what to ask next. He glanced at his watch.
7.27pm. It was going to be a very long three minutes. ''Do you have dogs, dear?''Leo shook his head. The woman shook hers too. ''Oh.''This was a room full of believers. For most of his life Leo hadn''t really thought about what came after you died.
But these days he was sure. When people were gone, they were gone. You just had to find a way to accept it. Leo looked around the theatre again. He''d never been to anything like this before. Amongst the usual hum of pre-theatre chatter there was something else. Here and there he could see the odd person sitting alone, staring straight ahead. And there were couples, heads bent towards one another, waiting to see if tonight would be the night.
The house lights went down and an announcer''s voice filled the theatre. ''Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Patrice Leigh.''Applause. The curtains opened. The stage was empty apart from a stool and a small high table, with a jug of water and a glass. As Patrice Leigh walked onto the stage, some people in the crowd stood and cheered. For a moment the room took on the feel of an evangelical rally, but Leo''s eyes were fixed on the women on stage. He''d watched clips online, of course, and read interviews, but this was his first time seeing her in the flesh.
A breath caught in his throat, but his brain wouldn''t provide the language to make thoughts about the moment. He didn''t even know what word he ought to ascribe to her. What had he hoped to feel? Some sort of connection? Some spark of belonging? Leo forced himself to breathe. The idea was ridiculous, of course. The woman on the stage was a stranger. He tried to look at her like a journalist. What would he write in that all-important opening paragraph to a Sunday supplement interview? He was the king of the opening paragraph, the description of how the waiter''s head turned in recognition of the starlet approaching the table, or the summary of the superstar''s dressed down shirt and jeans combo. How would he describe Patrice Leigh?The woman on stage could easily pass for a decade younger than her sixty-seven years.
She''s stylish, but never threatening. She could be the mother of the bride at an elegant country wedding, or the wife of the mayor of any of a hundred market towns, but she''s not. She''s Patrice Leigh, the woman who''s built a fifty-year career on the claim that she can talk to the dead.Leo shook his head. Not claim that she can talk to the dead. This wasn''t going to be a job where doubt was encouraged, and it was a job. Whatever else it was going on, it was still a job.On the stage, Patrice bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the cheers and smiled at her audience before raising her hand for quiet.
''Good evening everyone.'' Her voice was warm and somehow homely, the kind of voice you''d expect to offer you a nice cup of tea. ''It''s really lovely to see so many of you here tonight. Now tell me, raise your hands, who''s come along this evening hoping to hear from someone in particular?''Hands shot up all over the room, including from the bereaved Pekinese owner next to Leo. The woman on stage nodded. ''Yes. Yes. I can feel that there are a lot of people in need here tonight''She stood silently for a minute.
''You know I can''t promise that everyone who''s hoping for contact will find exactly what they''re looking for, but there are already a lot of spirits trying to come through. There are some incredibly strong feelings there in the spirit world. And that''s why I do this.''The woman''s voice cracked ever so slightly, and she continued more quietly. Leo shifted forward in his seat. ''I do this to try to give people some peace, not just to all of you hoping to hear from a loved one tonight, but also to all the spirits who do me the honour of sharing themselves through me. It''s a real blessing to be able to bring these two worlds together.''The applause started again.
The woman smiled.''Shall we make a start? I can already feel spirits desperate to come through. This is where I''d be overwhelmed without my spirit guide. I made contact with Stanley the first time nearly fifty years ago now. He''s been my constant guide in the spirit world.''Another burst of applause, apparently, for the long-departed Stanley. ''I do need quiet though, just for a moment, whilst I establish my link with Stanley.''She closed her eyes.
The woman next to Leo nudged him hard in the ribs. ''He was killed at the Somme, you know.''Leo nodded and obediently noted Stanley - Somme on his pad. On the stage, the woman staggered slightly. Some members of the audience gasped, but she held up her hand for calm. ''Stanley is telling me there are so many people waiting to come through, but there is one that feels particularly urgent. I''m getting a name. Paul.
No. Sorry. Phil. Phillip. Is there anyone here who that name means anything to?'' There was quiet from the audience. Patrice turned slightly towards the wings. ''Can we have the house lights up a notch?''The lights came up. ''Thank you.
So I have a Phil or Phillip coming through very strongly. He''s right here bes.