Haunted by Love

"Well, my family were from Cornwall, St Austell in fact, and I liked coming here on holiday. As to why I'm here, in this 'very run down farmhouse'," she gives me a hard stare of disapproval, "well I suppose my experience wasn't too different to yours: I got lost." she sighs. "It was last year and my life was not going well. I worked for a big finance company in the City of London, BJK Investments; a massive salary, true, but insane pressure, stupidly long hours and colleagues, mostly young blokes, who seemed to think sexism was obligatory. I was a big disappointment to my parents," she adds with a chuckle and I look at her in surprise. "They're very socialist in their outlook, hippies in most people's eyes probably, and to them, it was as if I'd sold my soul to the devil by choosing to work for BJK. I was good, though I say so myself, but the work, well, it wasn't exactly illegal but more and more it made me feel... dirty, d'you follow me?"

"Not exactly illegal but definitely immoral you mean?"

"That's it. Anyway, I was down here on holiday and I wanted to drive to Tintagel, on the north coast, and tried to get clever taking a short cut across Bodmin Moor. I'd planned it all on a map but then left the map in my room. That was daft of me but not as daft as thinking I could drive the route from memory."

"I'd have said not using a sat-nav was daft, but look how that worked out for me," I smile. "Not that I'm much good at map reading either."

"Anyway, I ended up here and it was like, I don't know... there was something about here, this house. I suddenly had the strongest feeling that this was where I belonged." To my surprise, she is blushing and she looks up at me awkwardly. "You're the first person I've ever admitted that to." I am touched by her confidence. "I did some searching and found the place was for sale, it had been for years but no one had ever wanted it, which amazed me. However, I did get told the place was haunted or possibly cursed, at least according to one old boy in the nearby village pub. It looks like the haunting bit is true, but I've never felt it's cursed; I always feel very safe here. That's strange, isn't it?"

"Well, I guess if you said you felt safe living in a haunted house to most people then they would think it a bit peculiar but you're right, it feels very safe in the house," I tell her, remembering how secure I felt earlier. "I'm sure when you've fixed it up it'll be a lovely place to live."

"Thank you, Bethany. It feels so nice to finally have someone who agrees with me! I've a local builder and his mate working on the rest of the house, the plumbing and electrics mainly but also general repairs and plastering and stuff, and they hate it, saying the house gives them the creeps."

"They've probably been listening too much to your old man in the pub," I tell her and she nods.

"You're probably right. I, on the other hand, didn't believe him, or maybe I didn't care if he was right because I'd already decided: I quit my job and bought this house. A crazy woman, right?"

"No, you're not crazy; hopelessly romantic and idealistic perhaps, but not crazy. I wish I had your courage just to follow a dream."

"What dream's that?" Ruth asks, intrigued, tucking her hair behind her ear as she looks up at me.

"Oh no," I chuckle, "I didn't say I had a dream but that if I did I'd want the same courage as you have to just go for it."

She nods as she pats the goat on its rump. "Right, that's Nancy done. Now it's your turn with Mabel." She looks at the apprehension on my face. "Don't worry, Mabel is very placid and I'll help."

Ruth does the cleaning and set up but before very long I'm sat squeezing a goat's udder with my unbandaged left hand. I get a real sense of achievement when, after many failed attempts, a thin stream of milk squirts out. "Wow, I did it!" I exclaim.

"Well done. Now next time see if you can get it in the bucket instead of down your trouser leg!"

"Oh, you're so fussy!" I complain. "You know, when I set off from London yesterday afternoon, sitting in a barn wearing -- what did you call it? -- 'Refugee Chic' and trying to milk a goat wasn't exactly what I had planned for today," I tell her, as this time the milk hits the inside of the bucket. "Mind you, getting lost, breaking down, nearly drowning in a bog and wandering in terror over Bodmin Moor, weren't on my to-do list either."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know: a lie in, a big cooked breakfast and starting my research, probably..." It occurs to me that I've not exactly made much effort to leave here so far this morning and return to normal life. I feel at ease here, almost as if I'm on holiday. "I'm sort of glad I'm here instead and I'm very happy to have met you."

"That's very sweet," she replies, "and I'm glad your getting lost brought you here."

"Even so, I need to find my car... and then get a new phone and call Rick, I suppose." I've started to get the knack of milking and work steadily in silence for a while until Ruth touches my shoulder and tells me to stop. She squats beside me and bumps the udder with her hand before milking it a little more and then stopping.

"That's it, all done," she says as she wipes the teats dry. We both stand and I pick up the half-full bucket of milk, anxious to do as much as I can to help, and we head back inside. "Here, come with me and we'll find a map to help locate your car," she says and, as we move from room to room, I suspect that this is in part an excuse to give me a tour of the house. The rest of the rooms are in various states of renovation, some just needing decorating and the completion of the electrical work as wires sprout from walls and ceilings. The bathrooms have a way to go, with no tiling and unfinished plumbing.

"You're not changing much are you," I observe. "Are you keeping a tight budget?"

"No, not really; as I said, my job paid silly money so I've plenty saved. I actually don't see any need to change much and, in fact, it's only the en-suite bathrooms upstairs and the cloakroom downstairs that are alterations."

"You needed your en-suite bathroom then?" I tease, wondering at the same time why she'd need one given she seemed to be on her own.

"Yes, absolutely!" she replies, a little defensively. "Anyway, I've thought of maybe offering Bed and Breakfast in the future, just a couple of rooms, so I'd really need it then, don't you agree?"

"Ruth, you don't have to justify your choice to me. Besides, I'd do the same in your position." She relaxes and we conclude the tour as we arrive back in the kitchen. "Um, weren't you supposed to find a map?" I ask.

"Oh yes!" She walks over to the dresser and pulls a couple of maps off a shelf and a pen. "I, er, just remembered they were here," she explains sheepishly. She spreads out the first map; it's an Ordnance Survey map that takes me back to school geography lessons with its colours and symbols (is that square with a cross on top a church with a tower of one with a spire?) and the faint pink contour lines winding and curling sinuously. "Right," Ruth says confidently, "Now we're... here." Her finger points to a spot on the map beside a narrow double black line: 'Other road, drive or track' my glance at the legend informs me and she uncaps the pen to mark the spot with a little blob. "So, Bethany, you came down the A30 and turned off where?"

"Oh god, I'm not sure. Let me think... Polyphant, the home of the elephant-headed parrot! I drove through a place called Polyphant."

"Okay." Ruth is laughing as she scans the map until her index finger stabs down. "There's Polyphant so, from the A30 you were probably coming along this road..." she traces a little yellow line. "Did you turn off?"

"Um... yes... the sat-nav made me turn left, but not immediately. It was, I don't know, maybe two or three miles on? I drove through another village I think, one with a pub" her finger tracks the road.

"Hmmm, that might have been Tregunnon... so left could be... here? No, you'd have ended up too far to have walked here. Hmm... was it much beyond Tregunnon you turned left?"

"I'm sorry, Ruth, but I'm not sure. I turned left and then it told me to turn right but I don't know if I got the right turn, you know, the right right turn."

"Okay, maybe we need to try something different. What do you remember about the road you broke down on?" This is getting harder because part of me doesn't want to remember the scary walk up the hill in the dark.

"Yes, there was that hill beside it. Fairly steep but not, like, mountainous. I climbed it to see if I could get a signal on my phone." Ruth pores over the map intently for a minute or two, eyes scanning.

"You said... Ahhh, there, look." She points and there is another 'other road drive or track' that's so 'other' that it becomes dotted and, as it follows the contour line of a hill, just stops. I nod, remembering what I'd seen. "And there, up the hill and if you came down this way," her finger moves, "you come to an area of marsh that I'm guessing you fell into, you poor girl. From there, in this direction for about, what, a mile and a half at least, more if you didn't follow a direct route... you come to here, Trehalow Farm. So I reckon your car must be roughly... here." She draws a neat little cross. "Do you want to go and get it?"

"I do, though I don't much fancy walking on the Moor again."

"Don't be daft, Bethany, Mr Bump can take us." She carefully refolds the map.

"Who is Mr Bump?"

"Oh, he'll be my car."

"And he has a big dent?" I ask smiling.

"We'll he did, and on the day I bought him too, though the accident weren't my fault!" she protests. "He's also bright blue, like the Mr Men character, so the name was inevitable really. You probably think I'm a bit soppy giving my car a name."

"Of course it's soppy," I tell her, "Anyway, I'm sure Mr Bump will be very happy to meet Gumdrop, when we find her."

"Gumdrop?" she asks, with a quizzically raised eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, really; and I'm not taking any teasing from a woman with a car called Mr Bump!" I check my clothes but my jeans are still too damp to wear so I fish my keys from the pocket. I also take my jacket, even though it too is still damp I know I'll need it. Hopefully, at the hotel, I can get it cleaned.

We leave through the hall and out by the front door. There is what might once have been a garden to one side, extremely overgrown, and a driveway in which sits a small, turquoise blue Peugeot: Mr Bump. Ruth leads the way to the car and before I get in I turn and look back at the house just as weak sunlight breaks through momentarily. I have a sudden vision of this house as it might once have looked, tended and cared for with bright white walls and flowers in the garden. For some reason, my imagination also furnishes the scene with a woman in a long, grey dress standing in the front doorway as another woman in a pale crinoline dress approaches holding the hand of a child.

I blink in surprise and the vision vanishes, even as the sunlight fades once more. A little confused I climb into the car, reluctantly taking my gaze from the house.

Chapter 4: Back to Reality

I had feared that Ruth was going to expect me to navigate but, mercifully, the map remains folded on the dashboard and she seems confident about where she's going. '

I try to concentrate on the route we're taking and memorise landmarks, something I've never been terribly good at, as Ruth points out places or sights. It's almost as if she's trying to convince me that Cornwall is a lovely place, something I can see for myself. However, I am apprehensive of returning to the hill that had scared me so badly.

We turn right and I'm surprised by a sense of déjà vu until I realise that we've arrived from the opposite direction and we're now on the road on which I broke down. Mr Bump bounces along the increasingly narrow and uneven road until, at last, there is my car looking very forlorn and abandoned with one wheel on the grass where I slewed on the track.

I look nervously up the hill as we pull up behind Gumdrop but it is just a hill, covered with grass and dotted with clumps of gorse, a stunted, wind-sculpted tree near the top that I hadn't seen in the darkness.

"It's just a hill, Bethany," Ruth's voice speaks my own thoughts but, somehow, the fact that she says it helps.

"I know, but it was so scary last night."

"Come on," she says, opening her door and climbing out. I do the same and she walks around the car and takes my hand. She starts to lead me up the hill but I hesitate. "Beth, it's okay, we'll be fine," she promises and, reluctantly, I allow her to lead me.

The climb is much easier in the light and as we reach the top the view is amazing: the Moor lies open and it falls away in front of us to rise again in hills and tors in the distance. Releasing Ruth's hand I step up onto a half buried boulder and take in the vista. The breeze is strong and cold but there is nothing scary, not now. "You're right, Ruth: this is just a hill and the Moor is just wild and lonely, not evil," I admit. "It was just that the shadowy shape seemed so real last night."

"Perhaps last night it was. You know, for a woman who works on a programme about ghosts and mysteries, you're very, I don't know, not cynical but... humdrum and prosaic." I look down to see her looking up at me and notice again the silver glitter of the pendant around her neck, hanging inside her jumper and the checked shirt she's wearing underneath. I hadn't paid much attention earlier, given she was sitting topless, but now, without thinking, I reach down to gently pull the jumper's neck opening a little wider to see the pendant better.

"A pentacle?" I exclaim, surprised. I wonder if it's just an ornament of if whether she wears it for a reason.

"You're wondering if I'm a witch or a pagan, aren't you?" she asks, an amused look in her eyes and I nod a little awkwardly, suddenly feeling that I might be trespassing in something very private and personal. "I suppose I am a bit," she admits, "but... not properly, not really. Mum is pagan so I grew up with it, though she never tried to indoctrinate me. She gave me this just after I started working at BJK and said it was to remind me never to forget that the important things in life weren't a career or money and that life in a big city wasn't real life. At the time I thought she was just finding another way to criticise my choice of career."

"But now you think differently?" I ask and she looks out over the wild moorland as the wind whips her hair.

"Yeah, she was right and you know living here, on the Moor, it's not difficult to feel the earth and sky and wind and rain as spiritual forces. I'm not a witch though!" she adds firmly.

"I never suggested it," I assure her, "though I'm sure you'd be stunningly brilliant at it if you chose to be one."

"Thank you," she smiles as we walk back down the hill. "Well, here's your car."

I reach into my pocket and draw out the keys. "I wonder if she'll start," I say as I open the door and slip into the driver's seat. I turn the key in the ignition expecting nothing and wondering how a breakdown truck will be able to retrieve it. To my surprise, it starts perfectly. "I really didn't expect that,"

"Hmm, it looks like your Gumdrop has been a mischievous girl!"

"I think you're right. Still, I won't tell her off too much."

"Good. Now, we'd better get going. I'll lead the way to the hotel and you follow, alright?" I agree and Ruth returns to her car. There is a distressingly long drive in reverse before the road broadens enough for us each to turn our car around.

I follow Ruth and Mr Bump and discover where I went wrong: at a junction on a bend, I went straight on instead of following the road around as it curved right. Ruth's navigation is faultless, however, and fifteen minutes later we pull into the Hotel's car park where I draw up alongside her and get out.

I look across at the hotel: a bleak, dark grey stone building that is, as Mum had said, rather down at heel and shabby. It also exudes an air of brooding malice, almost malevolence, which reminds me somewhat of the shadow on Moor and makes me shiver.

"God, what an unpleasant place!" Ruth exclaims, echoing my thoughts.

"Perhaps it's nicer inside," I reply, trying to convince myself. The look on Ruth's face shows that she too thinks that the unpleasant aura has nothing to do with the state of repair of the place. I'm rather disconcerted that the word 'aura' found its way into my thoughts as if I'm some kind of New Age spiritualist. This is a cheap, backwater hotel but one that has TV, phones, hot running water and Wi-Fi I remind myself. I feel a slight pang as I turn to Ruth. "Well, I guess it's time to say goodbye. Thank you so much for all you've done," I tell her. "For taking me in and warming me, for bandages and 'Refugee Chic', for tea and porridge and goat milking and... well, just everything."

"Bethany... Beth," she ventures the diminutive and I don't mind, not from her, "you're very welcome: it was all my pleasure. I feel very happy to have met you."

"Me too oooph!" I have the breath squeezed out of me as she wraps me in a startlingly firm hug that, once I recover from the surprise, I return. "If you ever get your bed and breakfast going then..." She pulls back, an offended look on her face.

"Don't you dare!" she says. "I'm not having you say you might come back as a paying guest one day." She relaxes slightly. "You're down here for a while so there should be time to drop into the farm again; you need to bring these clothes back at least."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean I didn't want to meet up again... I know, why don't you come over to the hotel here so I can treat you to dinner one evening? What about Monday or Tuesday? Or Sunday lunch tomorrow even." She looks at the Hotel warily but nods.

"Okay, let's say lunch tomorrow," she agrees. "Well, you probably want to get in and have a bath and get changed and log on and... whatever."

"Yes. I ought to contact Rick." I suddenly realize that some sixteen hours ago I was suddenly cut off mid-sentence; he'll be a little worried I should think. However, first I have to say goodbye to Ruth and there seems to be some awkwardness in doing this; perhaps it's the intense indebtedness I feel for her unstinting kindness and friendliness, not to mention probably saving my life. "I'll see you again tomorrow. I hope those builders of yours don't give you any hassles and get on with the work to your lovely house." It's such a feeble comment but I'm unsure what else to say.

"They're not coming over today but don't worry, I can keep them under control. I'm not such a hippy that I'm not looking forward to electricity and hot water! I'll see you tomorrow." She bends forward and kisses my cheek. "You be safe in there," she adds glancing at the Hotel.

"I'll be fine," I promise, returning her kiss before she returns to her car and, with a final wave, backs out of the parking space and drives away. I open the boot of my car and take out my suitcase, feeling somehow that a rucksack would have been more appropriate. I lock the car and make my way into the hotel. Crossing to the reception desk I hear a man's voice calls out, making me jump.

"Mornin' Madam. Can I help you?" he asks with distinct Cornish twang. He is in his fifties, dark hair turning grey and thinning on top.

"Oh, yes. I'm Bethany Cooper and I was supposed to be here last night but I, well, my car, broke down and I lost my phone."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Still, you're here now and you look... er..."

"I look a right state I know, but if you knew the night I've had you'd understand! What I really need is a hot bath and, yes, some food would be good. Do you serve lunch?"