‘And?’
‘And I think that’s not the only example of bleed-through I’ve recently seen. I think … I think while you were in a state of altered consciousness, you yourself were subject to – bleed through. I think your dreams may not necessarily be dreams after all. I think the reason it seemed so real to you, is that it was real. I think something bled though and that’s what you remember now. Imperfect blobby bits like the reverse side of this printing. You said …’
I took a deep breath and he tensed slightly.
‘You said – Scotland, long skirts, lights, glittering cloth. That’s quite a vivid description. I think you know more than you realise. I’d like you to relax, stop, think and tell me what you remember. If it turns out I’m wrong, then we’ll give you a cup of tea, our grateful thanks, and you can go on your way; no harm done.’
He stared at his feet for a while then said, ‘I’m not sure I remember very much any more.’
I wasn’t going to let this go. ‘Well, shall we give it a try?’
He sighed. ‘You’re like a terrier, aren’t you?’
I ignored this. ‘OK, just cast your mind back. Try and actually be in your dreams. What can you smell?’
The answer came immediately.
‘Horses. Wood smoke. Damp. Musty.’
‘What’s the weather doing?’
‘Rain. It’s chilly. Getting dark.’
‘Are you outside?’
‘Yes. I’m going home.’
That was interesting.
‘Where’s home?’
‘Just round the corner. Through the gates. The house with the gable. There are stone eagles over the door. One has a broken wing.’
That wasn’t what I expected. I’d been waiting for a location but I’d got something else. I tried to chuck all pre-conceived ideas out of my head and follow where he led.
‘What happens next?’
‘Across a small courtyard. Up the steps. Three steps. A wooden door. It’s warm inside. There’s a big fire.’
‘Who’s there with you?’
‘I see Guthrie. He’s wet and shaking out his coat. No, his cloak. Shaking his cloak. I see Peterson as well, sitting at a table. A long table. You and someone else are by the fire. Flickering shadows. Opening the door blows out a candle. Talking. You said … It’s gone.’ He shook his head.
‘No, that’s very good. See how much you knew. Is it always that room?’
‘No, there’s another. With beautiful panelling. Opulent. Many people. Glittering. There’s noise. Music. It’s hot. I can’t see faces, but there’s someone. It’s like a performance. Applause. Laughter. I’m …. uneasy. You’re standing with your back to the window. You’re tense. Everyone is looking at me.’
He stopped. ‘There’s no more.’
‘Do you know why you’re so uneasy?’
‘No.’
‘Anything else? A phrase? A picture in your mind? A feeling?’
He stirred again.
‘There’s one thing. This was a recurring dream. I’m waiting. In the dark. It’s black. I can’t see a thing. Rain is lashing down. I can’t see. I can’t hear. Something is really wrong. I’m waiting for … something. Someone. They’re not coming. Something’s wrong …’ He trailed off. ‘That’s it, I think.’
I switched off the machine. ‘Any thoughts?’
He sighed heavily, staring back into the past. ‘No, I’ve made a good job of forgetting it.’
I got up and switched on the kettle. ‘Do you want some tea and I’ll tell you what it’s all about?’
‘No, thank you. I’m rather busy at the moment.’
He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to be gone. I didn’t blame him.
I sighed. ‘Well, thanks anyway, Chief.’
He left. I switched off the red light and sat back to think. There was nothing there at all. Nothing tangible. Nothing I could point to and say, ‘ There.’ I was stumbling round in the dark. The only thing I had was a feeling. And Mrs Partridge and her bleed-through. I was convinced it was important, but was I reading too much into a sheet of messed-up print? I sat and scowled at my desk. The person I usually talked things over with had just left. I needed some perspective.
I called Peterson. ‘Hi. I can’t work, so I thought I’d stop you working too.’
‘I’m not working. I’m staring in dismay at the answers to this week’s exam, wondering whether to cut my losses and expel the whole bloody lot right now. Prentiss describes a closed timelike curve as a …’
‘Do you want some tea?’
‘Oh God, so much. I’m on my way.’
Arriving precipitately through the door, he flung himself into an armchair. ‘So, what’s up, Shorty?’
‘Where do I begin?’
‘At the beginning. Go on to the end and then stop.’
I sat back and told him everything, including assumptions, feelings, guesses, intuition, the lot.