Whispers of the Past

Hello, sorry it\'s been a while. I hope you still like reading. I am still writing this story with my hands using good old fashioned pen and paper.



Bee - Well, carry on reading and see what happens next. I haven\'t got any more typed up yet, but I have LOADS written so its just a matter of time.



Conscience’s and Coincidences



An uneasy truce had developed between Hank and Ralph. Hank had begun reading Ralph’s present. Ralph had also begun reading Hank’s present. They were talking to each other without Hank shouting at Ralph and without Ralph causing any slip ups. Gertrude had found out what the root of the problem truly was and watched the two boys – after half a day she seemed satisfied that they had sorted out the spat.



Ralph was mildly troubled though. He had hugged Rachel in his arms and rocked her gently as she was crying. He wanted to kiss her mouth to clean out that bastard that had invaded her mouth. He also realised that he hadn’t given her his present yet. He got up and walked out of the living room. He had to talk to Rachel.



He went to his old room and picked his present up and walked down the stairs. Gertie was at the bottom of the stairs and her brown eyes shone:



“Thank you for keeping him out of the way.”



“I had to.”



“I know,” she sighed.



“Are you all right?” he asked. “You seem a little …”



She looked at the living room and then looked back at Ralph. “I just wish Harry could be like this throughout the whole of the year.”



“He may improve.”



Gertie smiled. “I hope so,” she sighed.



“Anyway I am going to give Rachel her present; I didn’t give it to her yesterday.”



“Okay,” she said. “Just be careful.”



“Will do,” he replied.



He kissed Gertie on the cheek and walked out of the door. Gertrude had been thinking about the kiss Mark had given her under the mistletoe. She had never been kissed like that before in her life. Sarah was one lucky woman. Harry hadn’t kissed her like that for years. Even the times they did make love it felt perfunctory, like he felt he had to.



She walked out into the front garden; she was unaware that she was being watched. The man watching her in the shadows dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his toe.



“You poor, lonely, solitary creature,” he whispered under his breath. “I only wish that now was the right time to show myself to you. Unfortunately it isn’t, but you’re almost ready for me.”



He kept his gaze on Gertrude and smirked. She bent down and he licked his lips. He watched for a few moments longer and sighed. It wouldn’t do to mess with the plan, no matter how sweet the temptation may be. He had other fish to fry.



*^*^*^*



“Rachel!” George exclaimed. “Can you please get that?”



Rachel came down the stairs and opened the door. Ralph was standing in the doorframe holding a thin squarish object.



“I didn’t give you my present,” he said.



“I was too concerned with making things up with Hank to give you yours.”



“No worries,” Ralph replied.



She opened the door wider and he stepped inside. “How are you?”



She had that dream again and now she was visualizing him in black armour.



“I’m fine,” he said. God, this girl is so hot! She gazed into his eyes, he wished she wouldn’t.



“I’ll just get your present,” she said in a husky voice. She backed away slowly before turning around and running up the stairs to get her friends gift.



Heidi shuffled out of the room. She smiled slightly; this was the boy her daughter was once determined to hate for the rest of her life. She looked him up and down and was surprised that he was still single.



“I’ve got it,” Rachel said. She walked up to him knocking her mother over absentmindedly. She handed him his present and he handed hers over. “Kylie Minogue?” she asked.



“Thought you might like it! The songs are cheery enough.”



Rachel sighed. He opened his up. “Terry Pratchett? Cool!”



“You said you like fantasy and humour, and when I asked the bookshop owner what good humourous fantasy author’s there were he suggested this guy. I must admit I flipped through the pages and some of it had me going.”



“I don’t mind,” he said. He was almost tempted to ask what page numbers particularly grabbed her attention so that he could mark them. “I actually listened to the LP. I needed cheering up, besides she’s not bad looking.”



Rachel laughed. She raised her hand and stroked his cheek in a show of friendliness; he leaned into her touch, he closed his eyes and sighed. He turned his head around and printed his lips on her palm. She closed her eyes and her heart thumped into her throat again, although in a nice way. He stroked down her arm and it caused a tingling sensation that went right down to her toes. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. She gasped as his huge hot hand spread down to her bottom.



“NO!” she screamed. “No! Let go off me!”



She pushed him away and she looked up with startled eyes, Ralph was not hurt. He understood.



Heidi ran up to Rachel and took her in her arms. “Thank you, Ralph.”



Ralph nodded and walked out of the house. Rachel cried on her mother. Heidi led her into the kitchen and soothed her.



*^*^*^*



Ralph walked down the road and dug his hands in his pockets. He scowled at her reaction; it wasn’t supposed to be like that. She was supposed to be young, and vibrant. He dug his hands in his pockets and kicked at some small stones that were strewn innocently across the path. He couldn’t believe he had almost kissed her properly.



“Great,” he muttered. “I go there to patch things up only to make matters worse.”



He didn’t care if people heard him talk to himself. Sometimes it was the only way to clear things in his head. He found an old bench sitting rather lopsidedly in the verge. He sat down on it and sighed. He couldn’t face Hank after what he had just done. He didn’t have many options. He drew his parka about him and tried to get warm. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. The only person he thought he could talk to was quite a few miles away. Mark had accepted him and asked him to call him Uncle the day they met. He just wished Charles would let him call him Grampy; that would have been the best Christmas present in the world. Still, right this moment in time Charles Harris was the only man he felt he could talk to. Even if he was such a temperamental bastard!



He got up and started to walk straight to the block of flats. He’d been there many a time with Hank as he grew up, but he never felt brave, (or perhaps foolish), enough to attempt it on his own. He reached them in half an hour and he looked up and squared his shoulders. Charles would just have to sit down and listen to him!



He pressed the Intercom and sighed with his mouth open and watched the steam come out of his mouth in a dwindling evanescent swirl.



“Yes?”



“Mr Harris, it’s me Ralph, I seriously need to talk to you.” Ralph hopped from foot to foot trying to keep warm. “Please?”



“All right you might as well come up.”



Ralph opened the door and walked up the stairs to give him time to sort himself out. He was extremely nervous as the old man always made him feel as if he didn’t have the right to exist. He stood outside the blood red door and Charles opened it up.



“Come in then,” he said gruffly.



“Thanks, Mr Harris.”



Charles stepped aside letting the young man in. He raised his eyes heavenward at the way young people carried themselves nowadays.



“Stand up straight for pities sake,” he snapped. “This is a high ceiling flat, there is no need to stoop low and look like a cave man!”

Ralph immediately stood up straight and for effect he straightened up his shirt.



“Yes sir,” he said.



“Good, now, what is it you want to talk about?”



“Rachel and Hank,” Ralph said. Charles narrowed his eyes.



“Okay,” he sighed. “I was about to get myself a turkey sandwich. What do you want?”



“Fried egg sandwich please, with ketchup.”



“Whatever,” the old man said. “Sit down, I’ll bring in your lunch and then we can chat.”



“Sure,” Ralph thought it best to do exactly as he was told.



Half an hour later they had eaten their sandwiches, drank their coffee and were ready to talk. Ralph was grateful for the break in the oppressive silence.



“So, what seems to be the problem?”



“Well,” Ralph spread his hands out. “Just now I went to give her, her present and to kind of tell Rachel that I’m off limits, only to almost kiss her and frighten her completely away from me.”



“Why would a kiss frighten her?” Charles asked. “Is she frigid?”



“Certainly not!” Ralph exclaimed indignantly. He then proceeded to tell Charles what had happened between Rachel and Simon Brace and why Hank was angry with him. “Now I seem to make matters worse.”



“It seems that you did the right thing,” Charles said. “As far as I can make out Hank and Rachel are not an item.”



“Well no,” Ralph said.



“Then she’s free, and there is nothing for you to feel guilty about.”



“I guess so,” Ralph said.



“Now,” Charles said. “I want to ask you a few questions.”



“Fire away.”



“Who was your father?”



“I don’t know. All I know is he ran out on my mother and me when I was a toddler.”



“Your mother’s father?”



“Nope, my mother never spoke about her family. All I know is that she was American.”



“And she was murdered?”



“Yeah, bullet through the heart. That’s why I am with your family now.”



“No clue was found?”



Ralph shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Harris, but I can’t give you much detail on my family history. As far as I’m concerned there was only me and my mum.”



“Okay,” he said. “Now, I want my nap.”



Ralph cleared away the mugs and plates and waited until Charles was asleep. He looked at the sleeping old man and said:



“Thank you for listening to me and understanding today.”



He slipped out of the flat quietly and as soon as the door was shut Charles opened one eye and waited for five minutes to make sure he was completely gone before picking up the telephone. He rang up a number and waited until it was answered.



“Manfred that Green kid was here.”



“Yeah, what did he want?”



“He wanted to talk about his feelings for Rachel. I also took the opportunity to ask him about his family.”



“And?”



“And he say’s that outside what his mother has told him he knows nothing about his family. He doesn’t even know who his father is.”



“You’re not thinking that he could be HIS son?”



“Well, you married my daughter.”



“I suppose everyone does what I do?”



“No, but you know what I mean.”



“I still think you’re being paranoid about him Karl.”



“Like I said he doesn’t give me a good feeling.”



Mark sighed down the phone. “All right Karl, whatever, but I think he’s all right.”



“Then there’s that Rachel,” he sighed. “She gave me the shivers.”



“I know what you mean,” Mark replied. “She gave me the shivers to. She could pinpoint where I came from. That was scary.”



“And you grew up with her grandmother,” Charles replied.



“Doesn’t mean anything,” Mark said. “Anyways I got to go. I was going to phone John.”



“Okay,” Charles sighed, “I best call Alan.”



They both said goodbye and Charles sighed, he left it for a few minutes before he picked up the phone to talk to his other friend. His hand reached out for the receiver but his phone began ringing as his fingers closed around the plastic. He took a deep breath; the ring tone echoed around the flat and Charles gulped before answering it.



“He – Hello,” he stuttered. He was hoping to hear Alan’s voice. He didn’t. All he heard was a heavy breathing and a tapping sound. “Who are you?” Charles asked he was beginning to get a little frightened. “Listen if you don’t…”



“Charles Harris?” the voice asked.



“What is the meaning of this?”



“Are you Mr Charles Harris?” the cold suave American voice asked.



“I am,” he said. “But if you’re …”



The phone clicked and whirred. The other man had hung up; Charles glanced surreptitiously around the flat. He got out of his seat and went to his bedroom. He opened a cupboard he had not touched in years and brought down a box. He scrabbled around the box and eventually found what he was looking for; it was his gun, and he checked it for ammo, it was still full. He placed the box back in his cupboard and he walked back to his sitting room. He placed it on the table next to his chair and picked up the receiver again.



“Hello, Harold?” Charles asked.



“Who else could it be?” Harold said.



Charles sighed with relief. “How are you?”



“Fine, just spent Christmas with Ed, and his children,” Harold replied. “My little grandniece, Suzie, is really shining out. She’s got cute little blonde curls.”



Charles smiled. Edward was the only one aside from Charles and Mark to have a family. John’s son was born severely autistic and died at the age of forty, and Alan married but was found to be impotent, and neither wished to adopt. Harold was the only one to remain single. As far as they knew anyway!



“That’s sweet,” Charles said. “My little Julia sang the other day. It was so beautiful.”



“Speaking of that branch of the family, Mark told me about your paranoia.”



“It’s not paranoia!” Charles exclaimed indignantly. “Just before I rang you, someone rang me.”



“Who?”



“That’s just it, he wouldn’t give me a name. It seemed he only rang to ask me who I was. Once I confirmed it he rang off.”



Harold whistled. “That does sound scary.”



“Tell me about it, I brought my gun out.”



“I believe you Karl,” Harold replied. “I just think Manfred may be too happy with glamour puss right now.”



“That’s my daughter you’re talking about there!”



“Sorry,” Harold said.



“So, you think I have a right to panic?”



“Well, I think it’s just a teensy bit strange that your grandson who looks just like you, minus scarred hands and broken nose, is best friends with someone who, Mark say’s, resembles HIM in almost every way! And to top it all off they’re both now fighting over a girl that seems to have the same spirit as HER!”



“When did you talk to Mark?”



“Last night,” Harold sighed. “He sounded a little edgy. Apparently this girl asked him what part of Austria he came from.”



“Her grandmother is Austrian, and Jewish.”



“That doesn’t mean a thing,” Harold said. “Besides if you’re that certain why don’t you ask her grandmother out?”



“Because what if it isn’t?”



“Don’t have hunches then,” his friend advised. “Especially if you’re not prepared to follow up on them.”



“I know, Harold.”



“What are you going to do now?”



“I don’t know, Harold,” Charles sighed. “I just don’t know.”



“Well, whatever you do, keep your temper. And I strongly advise you to ask this girls grandmother out; even if she isn’t her you could still get lucky!”



“I think I’m going to hang up now,” Charles said indignantly. Harold just laughed.



They put their phones down and Charles patted his pocket. “Be prepared, old friend, because I sure as hell am!”



^*^*^*^



Mary was sitting on her pink squashy sofa knitting a cardigan for Debbie. Her phone rang. She shrugged her shoulders; it was probably her son. She picked up the receiver and said hello. Instead of hearing her son, however, all she heard was a heavy breathing and tapping sound.



“Who is this?” she asked. She was beginning to get jumpy. “Listen, whoever you are please identify...”



“Mary Snow?” a suave American voice said.



“Yes, who are you?”



“Mrs Mary Snow? Married to Henry John Snow, the mother of George Snow and the grandmother of Rachel Snow?”



“How do you know all that?”



She heard the man take in a deep breath as if considering what he was going to say next; she felt her mouth go dry. She knew the sensible thing would be to put the phone back on the hook but she was transfixed by her own curiosity as to who the mystery caller was.



“Oh I know a lot of things about you;” he sneered. “It’s so good to hear your voice again Bitchfield! ”



Mary’s heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t heard that nickname in a long while. Yet she dreaded this moment for forty years.



“Who are you?” she asked. There were at least five people it could be.



“Let’s just say I’m your conscience.”



The phone clicked and whirred ominously. Mary heard her heart beat echo around her tiny hallway. She stayed a few moments trying to recollect herself before she ran to the kitchen and rifled through her kitchen draw and pulled out her sharpest knife. She ran her finger up the sharp side and nicked her finger. As three dark crimson droplets dripped down the metal of the knife she looked up out of the window and sighed. She rinsed her finger and cleaned the knife and placed in the belt of her trousers. Once she was satisfied with that she ran up her stairs and went into her bedroom. She picked up her favourite photograph of her husband and stared deeply into his sparkling green eyes.



“You were right, Henry,” she sighed, stroking his cheek. She missed him so much. “At least one of them is alive. And I think I know which one!”



^*^*^*^



He placed his phone back on the hook. He put the cigarette in the ash tray next to him and took a swig of cognac. He opened a draw and pulled out an A4 brown envelope. He tipped it on his desk and found the one he was looking for. It was the one with young Mrs Harris sitting on a chair in her front lawn with a tall glass of lemonade. She had her head laid back and she was in a tight black swimming costume.



“Hmm, well, you are certainly a sweet sight for a man to look upon aren’t you, young Mrs Harris. The time will come when you will wear that swimming costume for me!” He looked down at his groin and smirked. “See what you do to me young Mrs Harris? I may not be able to hold out much longer.”



He kissed the photograph where her breasts were and smiled as he placed it back in his envelope. “Now,” he sighed. “Let those two stew in their juices for a while.”