The Case of the Haunted Cot

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Father Lenn answered the door to Sophie. She stared at him, trying to find the will to smile or at least show how pleased she was to see him. All she managed was a weak ‘hello’. He smiled at her, but it was forced and shaky; she knew from last time just how uncomfortable she made him.

‘Come on in.’ Father Lenn moved aside, fully opening the door for her.

Sophie expected him to tell her how troubled she looked. Didn’t they say that in the movies? And she couldn’t have looked worse. Her eyes were probably still red from all the crying she’d done on the way over. She knew she looked a mess and had done for some time. Sophie couldn’t even remember the last time she’d worn make-up.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have time to tidy herself up these days; she had nothing but time. But somehow spending time improving herself felt like an insult to Tia. Her daughter died — how could she just brush her hair and spend her mornings putting make-up on while the person she’d loved most was…

This was the second time she’d been inside the church within a week, and just like last time it was completely empty apart from Father Lenn. No, not quite like last time. Where was Miller? Had she missed him already? She wanted to be there the first time he listened to the tapes; she wanted to see his face so she could tell whether he believed her.

Father Lenn led her down the central aisle, stopping when they reached the front, almost exactly where she’d sat when speaking with Miller. She felt watched in here, even more so than at home. She felt judged, too. All those times she’d sworn at God, sworn at her faith, after Tia died. And then Tia came back. Was He punishing her, or reminding her that there was more to life than her grief, or something else entirely?

‘Would you like to sit down?’

‘Yes please,’ she mumbled.

Sophie could see the other questions behind his eyes. ‘Why are you here?’ no doubt the main one. But he was smart enough to give her time, and she appreciated that.

‘Tea? Coffee?’

‘Tea. Please. If you are.’

‘Of course I am. I live off the stuff, dear.’

Father Lenn left the hall to make their drinks. If she’d thought about it and realised he was going to leave her, she would have said no. Sophie looked around the room, at the few small stained-glass windows depicting various religious stories, only one of which she was certain of. She looked at the hymn books in the front of each pew, remembering those sung at Tia’s funeral.

No. She couldn’t remember that. Funerals were depressing, horrible and surreal at the best of times. But all the previous ones she’d been able to keep calm with memories of the deceased, she could celebrate the life led, and the afterlife they had moved on to. But how can you do that for a baby? Three weeks. Not even enough time to smile.

‘Come on through,’ Father Lenn called from around the corner. ‘You don’t want to sit and drink in there.’

Sophie went through the doorway. There was a small kitchen, and a table that could fit a maximum of four people around it, but there were only two chairs. Did Father Lenn actually live here? Surely not. Sophie took a seat at the table.

‘Here you go.’

As she accepted the cup, Sophie tried to smile at him, but it took more force than she was capable of and she dreaded how it must have actually appeared. The warmth of the cup entered her fingers but didn’t go anywhere else. Until that moment she hadn’t even realised how cold she was. She’d escaped so quickly she’d not even thought about a coat.

‘I need answers, Father.’

Sophie stared at her tea as she spoke, afraid of what his expression might have been.

‘So do many people that come to see me.’

‘And how many get them?’

‘That’s a matter of perspective,’ he said. ‘We can’t get all the answers, not in this life. But we do need to remember that God has a plan.’

Sophie took a sip of the tea. It wasn’t that hot; had Father Lenn been concerned she might burn herself? For some reason the thought of her insides burning felt acceptable, fair even.

‘So there’s a reason all this is happening to me? Care to fill me in?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said apologetically. ‘But I do know God is not mindlessly torturing you. You’re going to get through this. You and your husband.’

‘I’m not so sure, Father.’ She was remembering Keith’s harsh words. To throw her own grief in her face like that. The thought of going back to him now made her feel nauseous. But in that she had no choice. Tia was there, and Tia needed her.

Sophie turned to Father Lenn. Again the questions were clearly there, building up behind his pitying eyes.

‘Every time I look at Keith … I just keep thinking: he’s not upset enough.’

‘And do you want him to be in pain?’ Father Lenn said, as if he already knew the answer.

‘Of course not.’

She didn’t want to get into this now. She didn’t want to think about that fight, that wasn’t why she came here. She came here because she hoped to catch Joseph Miller before he left for her flat. But she was less sure why she’d stayed even after discovering that he was no longer here. She wasn’t interested in being consoled, that was impossible. Forgiven? Maybe. But she’d failed in her motherly duties, and no amount of ‘you couldn’t have prevented this’ or ‘nobody blames you’ could change that.

‘Have you known Joseph Miller long?’ Sophie asked, before her emotions took over and left her speechless.

‘A couple of years.’

‘He’s not been coming here that long.’ She didn’t usually pay much attention to who came and went at the church, but she’d noticed him the first time he came. He was a good-looking young man.

‘No,’ said Father Lenn. ‘He’s … relatively new to the area.’

Something drew Sophie’s eyes back to Father Lenn, but she wasn’t sure what. Was he purposely being evasive?

‘Does he write about the supernatural full time?’

‘No. He hardly gets anything out of it. Actually, he officially works here,’ said Father Lenn. ‘He’s our caretaker.’

Really? He seemed far too intelligent and kind to be just a caretaker. Not that a caretaker couldn’t be any of those things, it just seemed like a waste of all Miller had to offer.

‘So how did you meet?’ Sophie asked.

Father Lenn was noticeably uncomfortable now.

‘Why are you so interested in Joseph Miller?’

‘Right now he’s the closest thing I have to answers. I can’t talk to my friends and family — it’s bad enough my husband thinks I’m crazy.’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that.’

Sophie didn’t reply to that. She refused to talk about him and be dragged into a conversation about what had happened earlier.

‘Do you know how Joseph got into the paranormal?’ she asked.

‘He always had an interest, as far as I understand. Some experiences when he was younger. But it’s only recently become a passion.’

‘Why’s that?’

Father Lenn’s discomfort had increased. He took a deep swallow and, with difficulty, looked Sophie in the eyes.

‘I really think that’s a question for Joseph.’