THE HAPPY MEDIUM

Elsie Fanwick removed the knitting needle from under each armpit, skewered the ends of each into a large pink ball of wool and placed it neatly onto the table beside her. The split second pause of the ‘knitter’s block’ as Elsie called it, when the mind is suddenly free from one project and is musing on the next, is all that was needed to allow thoughts of ‘that’ day to come drifting back into her head.

It had been exactly one year to the day since Harold, her husband, had drowned in a freak skydiving accident, and Harold’s lifelong friend, co- founder of the ‘Invincible Twins’ and sole survivor of their ill- fated charity jump, Fred Grimshaw’s harrowing account as to what had actually happened up there in the sky on that glorious, sunny summers afternoon immediately following his own dramatic splashdown seemed as unbelievable now as it did then.

‘It was like one minute we were going really fast downhill and the next we were going really fast downhill- but under water.’ Fred had spluttered, looking visibly soaked. ‘That thick black Nimbostratus cloud seemed to whip up out of nowhere. Why, if it hadn’t been for my wife, Maud, winning those snorkeling lessons in Morecambe last year on that ‘donkey derby’ then we’d both be in a soppy mess now, I’m sure of it.’

Elsie, along with other well- wishers, thrill seekers, anti-charity activists and local newspaper reporters, listened in stunned disbelief at Fred’s incredible explanation, before turning to a bewildered young autograph hunter who she mistook to be a reporter from the Evening Herald and made this heartbreaking comment into his pen.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief and refusing to accept that the flat soggy shape the paramedics were rolling up in front of her like a carpet was actually Harold at all.  ‘He had a very sound doggy paddle- my Harold did- and he was very good at holding his breath, too- especially when my ‘dickie tummy’ flared up.’  Elsie craned her neck towards the heavens and peered up into the clear blue sky once more.  ‘He’s probably decided to stay up there a bit longer and admire the view.  My Harold does like a good view.’

But despite her hopeful optimism and dogged determination to wait for her Harold to make a belated appearance, even Elsie had to finally admit 3 weeks later that there wasn’t a view in the world that could keep him up there any longer.  And so, after her release from hospital following corrective surgery to have her neck straightened, Elsie settled down to a life of somber mourning and compulsive knitting; a hobby that for the last 12 months had succeeded in keeping her mind and neck free from wandering… until now.

‘I still don’t believe it,’ sighed Elsie, glancing over towards Maud and shaking her head in disbelief.  ‘It just wasn’t my Harold’s time.’

‘Ahh… time,’ muttered Maud, feeling the very word sting her lips as it left her mouth and remembering how her own husband, Fred Grimshaw, co-founder and other half of the ‘Invincible twins’ had himself died tragically only 6 months earlier, run over by a wristwatch repairman who was late for his next appointment. ‘I used to think time was a great healer- now I’m not so sure.’

‘You should take up knitting,’ said Elsie, timing the subject change to perfection.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Maud, bluntly, as she glanced over to the corner of the room and then made a face at the life-sized statues of the Royal Family, leant up against the wall as if they were waiting for the number 25 bus and all made entirely out of wool. ‘I don’t think I could do anything on such a grand scale as that.  And besides, I wouldn’t be able to resist curtseying every time I saw them.’  Maud shuddered slightly and then turned her attention back towards Elsie.  ‘What you need,’ she added, giving herself an opportunity to finally broach the subject that had been nagging at her ever since she saw the advert in the local newspaper, ‘is to find a happy medium instead of knitting yourself into an early grave.  I’m sure if your Harold knew what you were doing he’d have something to say.’

‘Oh,’ said Elsie, her eyebrows rising slightly at the mention of her husband’s name. ‘And what would that be?’

Maud didn’t answer, instead she reached inside her cardigan pocket and pulled out a piece of folded up newspaper and handed it to Elsie.

‘I’ve already booked him- he’s going to be here at 7 o’clock sharp.’

Elsie opened the piece of newspaper and frowned deeply into it.

‘Mobile Medium,’ she read aloud.  ‘Want to find out what your loved one is doing in the here- after? If the answer is yes then have them come to visit in the comfort of your own home. No messy ectoplasm or grumpy old grandparents- just a good old fashioned family gets together. For more information or to book call Seymour Tings, and let him put the host into ghost. Please note: out of body experiences are solely at the deceased’s discretion.’

Elsie sat back in her chair, inhaled slowly and then held it.

‘If you won’t listen to anybody on this side,’ said Maud, matter of factly, ‘then maybe your Harold can talk some sense into you.’

It wasn’t the sound of Harold’s name being mentioned again that made Elsie’s eyebrows rise slightly this time, but a deep rumble of escaping air that seemed suddenly to shoot out from somewhere underneath her skirt. Elsie quickly fanned her embarrassment away with the advert and, remembering to breathe, she exhaled.

‘Do you think that’s a good ide-’ but before Elsie could protest any further, the clock struck 7pm and there was a knock at the door.

‘I’ll get that,’ said Maud, hurrying out the room and accidentally knocking over Prince Charles in her haste. A moment later she returned, and, pausing at the door she sniffed the air tentatively for any last lingering remnants of Elsie’s ‘dickie tummy’. Happy that there was none, Maud entered and, striding discreetly over a horizontal Prince Charles, she ushered in their guest.

Seymour Tings was a tall, slender man of about 60 years of age. His deep golden suntan was flawless, and matched only in perfection by his jet black hair which was swept up on top of his head in a magnificent bouffant and then freeze dried in place by the kind of stuff only middle aged game show hosts are likely to use. In fact, his snazzy black slacks, black polo neck jumper and tweed jacket confirmed to Elsie that she was indeed in the presence of one of these kings of light entertainment.

‘I’m not going to win anything, am I?’ asked Elsie, wincing slightly as he flashed her a brilliant whiter than white smile and then sat down beside her on the settee.

‘There’s no need to be nervous, my dear,’ whispered Seymour, his voice soft as silk. He took her hand in his long delicate fingers and held it, reassuringly. ‘I’m here to help.’

Elsie shuffled uneasily in her seat and tried hard not to hold her breath again.

‘Are you any good?’ she asked, ramming her spectacles up her nose with her free hand.

‘I have a gift if that’s what you mean,’ answered Seymour, looking deep and unblinking into her eyes as if he were trying to hypnotize her.

‘I knew it,’ muttered Elsie to herself, half expecting a young scantily clad blonde starlet to come traipsing in through the door at any moment, pushing a hostess trolley wrapped up in a big pink bow.

‘Er, excuse me, Mr. Tings,’ interrupted Maud, ‘but would you like a cup of tea?’

Seymour moved his hypnotic gaze away from Elsie and regarded Maud with the same unblinking look.

‘No thank you, my dear,’ he said, flashing the same brilliant whiter than white smile. ‘The spirits are strong tonight- I think we should get started.’

‘Ooohh,’ said Maud, feeling a rush of excitement shoot up her spine. ‘Did you hear that, Elsie, your Harold’s dying to get in touch.’

Seymour held out a long slender arm and beckoned Maud to place her hand in his. She did so automatically and then sat down beside him on the settee.

‘Look at that, Elsie, said Maud, peering around Seymour who had now closed his eyes and was facing straight ahead. ‘A rose between two thorns, eh?’

Elsie met her gaze and then frowned, unconvinced.

All at once a quick, sharp shhhh… shot out from between Seymour’s lips, signaling the start, and then he began to rock back and forth, ever so slightly at first, but as the long almost deafening silence drew on, Seymour’s movements became more noticeable.

‘Is there anybody there?’ he suddenly boomed, as his grip on the two startled women tightened. ‘Show yourself- speak!’

Elsie and Maud stared wide eyed as Seymour’s whole body then began to shake violently, as if a great electric current was being passed through it.

‘Is that you, Elsie?’ said Seymour, in a voice so unmistakable that it made Elsie’s tummy flare up like it had never flared up before.

‘Harold?’ blurted Elsie, hardly daring to believe that it was actually her Harold’s voice she had just heard come out of Seymour’s mouth. ‘Is that you Harold?’

‘Elsie, there’s something I have to say…’

The sense of urgency in his words made Elsie gasp and clutch at her throat fearfully.

‘Are you alright there, Harold- is anything the matter?’

Seymour’s whole body was shaking so violently now that the settee in which they were all sat upon actually began to move across the room with the sheer force of it.

‘Of course he’s alright,’ cried Maud, clenching her false teeth together to stop them from shooting out onto her lap. ‘Any minute now he’s going to tell you to stop doing things to excess and enjoy the time you have left.’

What happened next can only be described as breathtaking. Seymour, who was still shaking violently, opened his mouth and took a massive gulp of air into his lungs, causing his chest to expand so much that it actually popped the button on his tweed jacket, sending it flying across the room and hitting the life sized dummy of Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall, squarely between the eyebrows. The speed and accuracy of the shot was enough to knock the woolen Royal off balance and send her tumbling to the floor, landing face down into the lap of an already prone Prince Charles.

‘Elsie…’ came the sudden, unmistakable voice of Harold again. ‘…Are you there, Elsie?’

‘I’m here, Harold!’ cried Elsie as she watched Seymour’s chest deflate with every word spoken.

‘Elsie, don’t worry about me- I’m ok, and the view up here’s lovely. It’s Fred I need to talk to you about.’

‘Fred!’ cried both women at once, their mouths suddenly gaping in surprised unison.

‘The guy in charge up here is getting a bit impatient. Fred should’ve been here 6 months ago and nobody’s seen hide or hair of him. If you hear from him, Elsie, tell him he’s late.’

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the violent shaking stopped and it was all over. Seymour gave one last inaudible grunt and then collapsed back into the settee, exhausted.

Elsie, her mouth still gaping and with a dislodged set of dentures balancing precariously on her bottom lip turned and faced Seymour, who, only a few seconds earlier had been jumping about like a possessed tumble drier was sat quite motionless now. The flawless tan had drained clean away from his face leaving a pale, blotchy complexion and his deep blue hypnotic eyes were glazed over red and had a faraway look about them. In fact, all that remained of the old Seymour was his brilliant whiter than white teeth that still shone out through a fixed, almost surreal smile.

 Maud, who had fared little better, picked her own set of false teeth up from out her lap and then shook them dry.

‘Well at least we managed to find you a happy medium, Elsie,’ she gummed, sarcastically, before popping the set back into her mouth and reaching for a pair of knitting needles.