Dead Medium: Not Your Average Ghost Story by Peter John

Author:Peter John [John, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-01-09T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Margaret got the usual Monday morning post, a few letters and a newspaper, from the doormat. She was dressed in her light blue, frilly dressing gown and matching slippers. The kettle boiled in the kitchen. She liked to read whatever fell through her letter box with a cup of tea and a bowl of over sweetened breakfast cereal. She placed the correspondence on her breakfast tray and filled a little tea pot with steaming water. With everything ready she carried the tray through the living room and into her small conservatory. It had been a retirement present from Alf. He knew how she liked to sit with a view of the garden. The cold morning air wreaked havoc on her joints so the heated conservatory was a perfect compromise. Alf had left early that morning for a golf competition a good four hours drive away. He always liked to get away early to avoid the traffic. His old Ford Cortina needed a free run just to warm up and would generally breakdown if it hit traffic with a cold engine. Margaret had told him on many occasions to trade it in for something more reliable but Alf had always refused. He said that the day his car was on the scrap heap, so would he be.

Margaret settled down in her favourite chair. She set the tray down on the matching table, next to the small portable television which she only used during breakfast or when Alf was watching golf on the big screen in the living room. She had opted for bamboo effect garden furniture in the conservatory, with large, blue cushions tied to the wicker frames. It was her way of trying to fool herself into believing she was on a Caribbean beach holiday. Alf had agreed to take her away to such a place as long as she could find one with a golf course close by. Margaret didn’t investigate any further, it was an unacceptable condition. She wanted to spend a holiday with her husband, not sitting on the beach with other golf widows. He had even suggested they brought her friend May along, so she wasn’t lonely while he was out on the course. She had met that remark with stern disapproval.

Margaret poured her tea and flicked through the letters. Disappointingly, the first was a gas bill. She put it to the side and opened another, it was a letter explaining how she had won a grand prize and needed to phone a high toll number to find out what it was. She scrunched it up and tossed it into a small, wicker bin. Looking at the pile in her hands a bright picture of a Spanish beach front caught her eye. It was a postcard from her friend and cousin Enid. She turned it over and read about how the weather was great and how the people were all so friendly. There was a short sentence about how cheap it was in comparison with home and how much they wished she was with them.

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