A Hint of Hyacinth

A Hint of Hyacinth

If a breeze could have been coloured purple and have the scent of hyacinths, then that was what brushed against the skin on my forearms. My arm hairs, barely visible normally, but shocked awake, all stood to attention.

There should be no air movement, strong enough yet with such delicacy, to do this. I was standing, alone in the funeral home. The viewing room was empty of all but the podium and a bunch of stacked chairs. Soon, the staff would bring in the latest coffin and the flowers.

Whatever was causing the disruption in the air had no physical explanation.

The most likely culprit was one of the dearly departed, who had not fully departed. In other words, a ghost.

I took my time, searching the quiet room for other signs of a ghostly visit. This is what I do. Mostly there is nothing. Over-vivid imaginations of those who struggle to let go, can conjure up apparitions. Some of the bereaved are so emotional they actually create disturbances.

This was not one of them. The odd thing I was picking up was that whoever haunted in here, had passed away decades ago.

As this room was regularly cleansed, by mainstream clergy as well as myself, no unhappy spirits should still linger here. How had this one sneaked in? I was certain she had not stayed behind since the last funeral.

“Cindy.” Hearing my name called made me jump.

I turned. Mr Crighton, owner of the funeral home, was standing at the doorway.

OMG. It you want the perfect undertaker, meet Mr Crighton. From his greased-down, steel-grey hair, down to his shiny black shoes, he’s six foot six of beanpole. He has a pale complexion and favours pastel shirts. Some people feel he carries the look too far, but men especially, find him excellent to work with. Younger people relax more around him, too. They want to giggle and that lifts the sombre feel of the funerals.

Mrs Crighton stood behind her husband. She came up to his armpit, but made up for the size difference with her girth. Their daughter, Caroline, was on the front desk. She was very sweet and possibly the closest friend I had ever had. She also had a recipe for lime wine. She doled the end result out sparingly.

“Is there anyone?” Mr Crighton asked.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“How? Um, more importantly, can you send them on?”

The first question would answer how easily the second could be done.

“Sorry, I don’t know how she got in. Give me a couple of hours.”

I hoped there was that much time before they wanted to use the room.

“Very well. We do need this sorted before tomorrow.”

No pressure. Not that I was likely to need that long. The presence felt benign. Yet, they had found their way in through blessings and bindings. That smacked of assistance. Someone brought the spirit here.

While it might also be my job to find out how the spirit got in, my main task was to move it on. I had been doing this job for coming up to ten years now. It was not on my resume lodged with the employment agency. It was unnecessary for me to advertise. All the funeral homes in the district had my number. I was very discreet.

The nature of my job suggested I dressed like a rep selling stationery. Which meant, I got to wear super tight trousers and heels that my mother said were impossible to walk in. After all, selling staplers did not involve crawling around on the carpet or climbing on chairs to check out light fittings. I do not know why, but ghosts like lights.

I topped my attire off with a peasant blouse and a very shapely waistcoat.

Once the Crightons left me to get on with my job, I resumed my search. This spirit had to have a reason to be here. They did not, could not, stay where there was no link for them.

The simplest thing to link with was a piece of jewellery. I already could guess this ghost was a woman, so the most likely jewellery for her to have lost was an earring.

One thing I have learned, doing this job, is that I need stretchy fabric in my pants. It felt like I crawled across every inch of that carpet. It had been well vacuumed, but there were still dust and bizarre things like staples. I did not find a wealth of small change. The cleaners got to that first.

The dust made me sneeze. I sat up and rocked back onto my heels. My eyes filled with tears from the nose explosion.

That’s when I saw it.

Oh. This was, without a doubt, deliberate. No one would ever have seen it unless they were doing a thorough search.

Not on the floor, but perched on the lower bracket holding the radiator in place. It was summer, the radiators would not be used again for months. Gold glinted but it did not shine brightly enough to attract attention.

Damn, it had been hidden well. I had to wriggle my fingers into a gap only a centimetre wide. I ended up pushing the item further into the space. Fortunately, it hooked on a piece of the bracket and I was able to flick it onto the floor.

An earring, rose gold and enamel. I held it in my hand and the tears from earlier returned. I knew exactly where this one’s partner was. A scent of hyacinth blossomed around me and a zephyr patted my face.

My great-great-aunt had owned these earrings. I mean, how likely is it that there would be two pairs of screw-on earrings, cast in gold, with a blue and green enamel flower on them?

And my great-great-aunt, yeah, her name was Hyacinth.

After Keeping Up Appearances aired in 1990, Mum decided I could have the same name. Cindy is much easier to cope with.

I stood up, brushed my knees off, and walked to the corner where plastic chairs were stacked. Grabbing one from the pile, I pulled it down so I could sit.

Who could have done this? I hardly remembered Aunty Hy. Except for her flamboyance, that is. I could see her, at the rest home, wearing a feather boa, dyed purple. She left me her jewellery box, filled with gaudy trinkets and a few pieces that were actually made of gold and silver. I simply had not thought of her for years.

There had been only one hyacinth earring. I never saw its mate.

This felt like a setup. But for what purpose? I gripped the earring tight in my left hand.

Regardless of how she got here, I had a job to do, and that was to move Aunty Hy out.

Usually, this was relatively straight forward. The ghost, entity, whatever, was sticking around because of unfinished business. I showed them that the mortal bullshit was no longer worth wasting time on.

So many wanted to say, I love you, one more time, or they were sorry, or the money is hidden under the rock.

But what they were really doing was refusing to turn around. They were really afraid of what was ahead of them. Most had traditional church upbringings, and they thought they would be judged.

Aunty Hy was a whole different situation. As far as I knew, she had been happily doing whatever spirits do for the last twenty-five years. Someone had dragged her back and that was not good.

Still, only one way to sort it.

I use a careful ritual to capture the reluctant spirit. They can be tricky, slipping out of my net. Just because this was my great-great-aunt, did not mean I let my standards slip.

I had my kit with me. Salt, of course, a bottle of a very particular wine, (hint: lime) a large sheet of hefty grade cardboard, battery run candles, and a tambourine. These might not be in a standard ghost busters pack, but they work for me.

Oh, and a large square of chocolate fudge.

I had not even laid everything out when I felt Aunty Hy. Hahaha, She blew the salt all through the carpet. It was supposed to stay on the cardboard.

“Aunty Hy, why are you here?”

The voice that bounced in my head was not elderly. “To help you see what’s in front of your nose. Now, please get rid of the rubbish. Keep out the wine and fudge though.”

I did as I was instructed. My cardboard folded up for easy transporting, what salt was not spilt, I returned to the packet, and my tambourine slipped back into its suede bag.

“What’s this about Aunty Hy?”

I actually addressed the earring. My great-great-aunt did not have a corporeal form I could look at.

“You have an admirer who you don’t even know likes you.”

Dread filled me. Yep, not just my belly, all of me from my feet upward. Relationships have been a source of deep discomfort for me.

Aunty Hy continued. “They found the earring, and recognised it.”

“How could they? I’ve never taken its partner anywhere.”

Now I was frightened. Who could have gone through my jewellery box? That was beyond creepy, it was criminal.

“Breathe, little niece. No one is going to hurt you. They approached me because of my wild ways. They knew I would not go all moral on them.”

That was a strange way of putting things! Moral? Whoever set this up knew how strait-laced the town could be.

“Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to work out who this is myself?”

“You have enough brains,” Aunty Hy chortled.

Fact. This person recognised the earring. Where had they found it? Irrelevant. Fact. They knew I would be called in to remove the ghost. That meant someone in the industry. Fact. The earring had been hidden in one of the Crighton’s viewing rooms. They had to have access. Fact. Caroline had been in my bedroom often enough. She had seen my jewellery box. Fact. She was just about as uninterested in men as I was.

“What do I do?” I whispered.

I was not expecting a reply but it appeared Aunty Hy enjoyed having the last word. “Go on. She’s waiting at reception, chewing her nails to bits. Put her out of her misery.”

I stood up. You know you can’t stay here.”

“I’m going with you.”

So, with the great-great-aunt I had been named after, I walked out to reception. Caroline was not chewing her nails, she was crying. I felt uplifted as I reached across the desk and touched her chin.

“Wow, girl, what a way to get my attention. Shall I take you out for dinner tonight?”