Faster Than the Speed of Silence (3/5) By Leah Scarpati

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5).

On the wall facing me, is a key stand from Portugal that George and I brought back off our last holiday together. There's a small mirror on it and without my glasses I can just make out my reflection. God, I wouldn't want to see me clearly now anyway, who would? But I can make out the creases of skin and me white unruly hair and the sagging of me turkey neck-even from 'ere!

The pure horror of it is, apart from the ever present reminders of my increasing age; liver spots, arthritis, irregular hear rhythm, weak joints and memory loss to name a few culprits - I still feel as young as that young girl staring up at me, arm in arm with her new husband. Of course, I haven't forgotten. Tomorrow should be our wedding anniversary - it would have been fifty-one years together. Now it's also nearly five years since he was taken from me, another bench mark. I can hear my daughter's voice in my head, chastising me.

"Now you remember what the doctor said Mum, don't go getting yourself all agitated, it does nothing for your blood pressure." It'll take a while for the thudding in my chest to quieten down and for my breathing to steady. I concentrate on that for a while. In...and out. In...and out. The last thing I want is another funny turn. Speaking of funny turns - when George died I used to wish that I'd go next. 'Put me out of my misery God and let me live out eternity with my George, where ever he is.' I'd pray. I even paid my funeral expenses in advance - just in case. But six months after he passed, I nearly got me wish and it frightened the living daylights out of me.

All of a sudden I was worried about leaving me daughter and thought of a million and one things I wish I'd done. Turns out it wasn't my time, it was just a wake up call. Now there's a phrase me daughter's thrown at me all too often.

I take as deep a breath as my angina will allow and cough involuntarily. A woman of my advancing years couldn't risk spend her days angry. The only people I speak to are my daughter, weekly, and Hans more or less every day; I've blocked everyone else out, quite deliberately and to be honest I have been such a stroppy old mare, I'm surprised Hans has kept battling on to be heard over my enforced wall of silence. "Maybe," Hans said eventually, "this was his way of saying hello?" I look down at the phone and then back to the picture I'm cradling in my hands and all of a sudden I'm overwhelmingly sorry and want that phone to ring more than anything in the world.

I continue to sit there just staring at it, willing it to ring as if I could do it by sheer force of mind. Now I know how it feels. All those years I'd turned my back on my gift, refused to give others the readings they so desperately wanted and now I realise that that was all I ever wanted too.

After George died I tried to carry on as normal. I thought I could go back to doing this job; the bookings came in as often as they always had and I thought the work would be a welcome distraction. My first booking was a party of four in a house just 'round the corner actually. I had spent the whole afternoon preparing; meditating, talking it through with Hans, opening up to the higher spiritual plane, just me usual routine.

It had become second nature to me by now and I set off feeling relaxed and 'tuned in' as George used to put it. Halfway through the reading I felt my mind being taken over in a way I'd never experienced before. I can honestly say, hand on heart - it felt like the spirit had drifted into my body and just completely taken me over. My skin felt stretched and my hands felt larger and heavier, like I had a man squeezed into me!

Continued .... Next Page (4/5)

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