‘Henry are you with us?’ asked Faye.
Henry turned his head to look at her. Her bold forehead was creased in concentration. Her lips, slightly apart, quivered as she spoke.
‘I’m here,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’m right beside you.’
‘Nothing,’ said Cynthia, sighing with disappointment.
Faye shushed her.
‘Be positive,’ she whispered.
Imogen’s hand was shaking so much that it was difficult to tell what was happening with the planchette.
‘Henry, are you with us?’ Faye asked again.
Henry reached out to the planchette. He watched in amazement as his fingers pushed it across to the circle marked YES. It was like pushing a heavy piece of furniture and it seemed to take an eternity, but he finally did it. He looked up triumphantly. Imogen’s hand shook violently under his.
‘Oh my God,’ uttered Cynthia.
‘Who did that?’ gasped Imogen scrambling backwards, colliding with the newly positioned coffee table.
‘Imogen …’ began Faye, reaching out a comforting hand.
‘Which one of you did it?’ Imogen screamed, her breath extinguishing the candle.
Ignoring Imogen, Faye asked, ‘Is that you Henry?’ Her breathing suddenly quickened.
Henry felt in control, finally.
‘I’m back,’ he said victoriously.
At last, he thought. I can get this business sorted.
*
Imogen looked as though she might faint.
‘We have to stop,’ she cried, jumping up. Her foot accidentally kicked the planchette sending it careening across the room.
‘Oh,’ cried Faye, rushing after it as though it were a much-loved cat that had just been stepped on.
‘Well …’ started Cynthia, looking appealingly at Faye.
‘It may have broken the connection,’ said Faye, clearly biting back her disappointment.
Imogen poured more wine and seemed disinterested in the state of the planchette while Henry wanted to punch the wall in frustration. He’d just begun to get somewhere.
‘I need some air,’ said Imogen.
Henry followed her into the garden. The rain had finally stopped but it was cold. The rain had soaked the garden. Good for the plants, he thought. One of Henry’s spades was still out. It sat alone in the mud, dirty and forlorn. Henry wanted to rescue it and return it to its rightful place in the shed.
‘It’s a bit nippy love,’ he said. ‘You should wear your coat.’
Imogen rubbed at her eyes and then drank from her wine glass.
In front of Henry’s eyes night turned miraculously into day. It reminded Henry of a biblical film he’d seen once, where the hand of God had wiped away the daylight and brought about darkness. He couldn’t recall why this had happened, but the cinematic effects were amazing. The chilly air turned to muggy suffocating warmth. Imogen was still there with her glass of wine but now Alice was with her. It was too hot, and Henry had to remove his raincoat. Imogen looked pretty. There were no lines on her face. She was relaxed. The strap of her sundress had slipped off her shoulder and Henry could just see the outline of her white lacy bra.
‘Shall I make us another sandwich?’ she asked Alice.
