halloween

Friday Flash Faction – Moving On

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Someone’s on the move, who is it this time?

Tom again, another investigation. If they had just listened to him this could all be avoided.

Yup, he has been trying for years to tell them what really happened.

When Mary sees all this activity we’ll have to hear for the umpteenth time how she was moved from Saint Pancras.

Do you remember last year, the whole evening spoilt when Judith’s family decided it was time she moved closer to them? Wonder how she’s getting on. The last thing she wanted was to be reunited with her husband. She was so glad to come here and have some peace.

So what are we going to do this year then? We never plan early enough then it creeps up on us.

We must do something to cheer Tom up. All this investigating is going to bring back the bad memories.

Hmmm just when he was coming to terms with his situation.

Let’s all go into town, Tom won’t have to leave till the morning hopefully.

Yes a change of scenery is what we all need. Wonder if there will be much going on in town this year?

There will be by the time we’ve stirred things up, giving that Danny Robins more than enough material for his next series.

But we’ll have to start off in Mary Junior’s pub…

…and have to listen to her going on about the year with no summer and how she got the inspiration for her novel?

Yes and then she’ll get all sentimental and beg Percy to recite one of his poems.

… and one will lead to a dozen.

…and he will drift into melancholy and declare his heart always belonged to Mary and England.

At which point we will move on and see what’s happening elsewhere in town.

‘I don’t think October 31st is a very good night for doing this Boss.’

‘It’s a perfect night for exhuming a body, the locals will be keeping away from the graveyard, even if they claim not to believe in all that stuff.’

‘Why are we digging him up?’

‘His family still want answers so he can rest in peace, though he’s not getting much peace if we keep digging him up. Poor chap, last time there was no DNA, not sure what they hope to find in his bones, but that’s not our job. Ah here comes the vicar, no cracking jokes, this is hallowed ground.

 ‘I’m not laughing I’m feeling sick.’

‘You will have to toughen up if you want to be a grave digger.’

‘I did not want to be a gravedigger, couldn’t find another job. And I thought I would be burying people, not unburying them.’

‘Half the people in this churchyard have been moved from elsewhere, someone has to do it. Evening Vicar.’

‘Boss, did you hear voices?’

‘Nah just get on with digging.’

‘Vicar, did you hear that voice?’

‘Well um, that’s why I am here, to pray for any unquiet spirits.’

‘Such as poor Tom who was viciously murdered?’

‘But at peace now…’

Footnotes

‘Mary Wollstonecraft was buried at St Pancras old churchyard with an epitaph reading ‘Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman: Born 27 April 1759: Died 10 September 1797.’

‘Famously, Mary Shelley spent many hours in the graveyard that held her mother’s remains and was said to have professed her love for Percy Shelley, her future husband, there.’

 ‘Wollstonecraft and her husband William Godwin’s remains were moved in 1851 upon the request of their grandson Percy Florence Shelley, thanks to the imminent railway works across St Pancras.’

‘Today, their remains can be visited at St Peter’s churchyard in Bournemouth, where the family tomb holds the remains of William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, grandson Percy Florence Shelley and his wife Jane Shelley (1820 -1899).’

Is this tale true?

 ‘Percy drowned while sailing his boat, the Don Juan, through a summer storm across the Gulf of Spezia in Italy. When his remains were found a few days later by friend and novelist Edward John Trelawny, a fire was built on the beach and he was cremated. To Trelawney’s surprise, however, Percy’s heart would not succumb to the flames. The hardened remains of Percy’s heart were plucked from the ashes and, after an argument over who would keep the remains, were eventually given over to Percy’s wife, Mary Shelley.’

Is his heart in the family tomb?

Back to the 21st century  Danny Robbins presents ‘Uncanny’  BBC radio series, TV series and podcasts investigating many strange occurrences…

Unhallowed Ground – part two

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Tonight’s tale follows on from yesterday’s.

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Unhallowed Ground – part one

The next morning the team arrived early and the vicar and the robin watched with interest as slabs of rough grass were carefully removed to expose the soil, but then progress slowed as the team painstakingly marked out squares with string and appeared to be brushing soil away with toothbrushes. John Dee had to leave for his appointment at the local primary school. The head had been delighted when the vicar offered to visit the school. She welcomed fresh input to their school project ‘Layers of Time’ aligning with the interest in the dig. But if she was expecting him to talk about Romans she was soon disappointed. John didn’t like children much, however they were part of his calling and he found he soon had their interest when he started describing the more gruesome aspects of history. He ignored the expression on the teacher’s face as he moved onto public hangings and burials in unconsecrated ground. Before she could interrupt him he rounded off his talk with the politically correct plan to understand the wrongly accused of the past.

The vicar returned to the dig just in time to hear a cry of surprise and fear from a young woman and see other team members grab her before she was sucked into the sink hole that had suddenly appeared. It was not large, but wide enough that she could have slipped in. With great presence of mind the vicar had his camera out and leaned over the wall to take a picture before the leader of the dig ordered everyone to move right back. They joined the vicar on the safe side of the wall.

‘I saw a ladder’ gasped the girl.

 John brought the pictures up on his phone screen, a bit blurred, but they did seem to show a wooden ladder. There was excited chatter. Some were pragmatic and thought it must be an old sewer, while others suggested a secret tunnel to the church. Romans were forgotten about for the moment.

‘It is not safe for us to proceed at all, we need the council to send in their engineers’ said the dig’s leader.

John was disappointed, hoping a mystery tunnel would be of nearly as much interest as skeletons and they only had a short time to produce historical drama for the locals.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ piped up another young woman ‘my boyfriend’s a potholer and even better, he is on the potholing recue team. They could check this hole more safely than council workers.’

‘Yes let’s get this underway before the council gets involved,’ said John ‘after all, you have permission to dig, does it matter how it’s done?’

The emergency potholers treated the operation as a good training exercise. Within an hour all sorts of rigs and pulleys were set up so the volunteer could be lowered without stepping on the ladder. Initial shining of torches showed the ladder went down a long way. The ropes were played out and he disappeared out of sight to report back on his radio that the narrow passage down widened into some sort of cavern. His boss ordered him not to go any further, lest the whole lot came down on top of him.

They all heard his reports from down below ‘I’ll try and take photos, it’s a small space, oh my god, bring me up…’

He was helped off with his helmet and he looked pale and shocked.

‘Skeleton…’

‘A catacomb?

‘Just a small space and a skeleton laid on a slab of stone.’

‘A burial in unconsecrated ground, just as we expected,’ said the vicar ‘but why so deep and why the ladder?’

‘Whoever buried him would need a way to get back up, whatever the reason.’

‘Or he could have requested in his will that a ladder be installed in case he wasn’t really dead and then he could get out. People used to be scared of being buried alive.’

‘Still are’ said someone else.

‘He was definitely dead,’ said the potholer ‘he had a large wooden stake through his ribs.’

‘A vampire?’

‘Poor chap’ said the vicar ‘he probably had a disease which makes your mouth bleed and could have had mental health issues as well. We don’t have vampires in England.’

‘Yes we do’ piped up someone else ‘Count Dracula landed in Whitby.’

‘That is fiction’ sighed the vicar. ‘We will certainly pray for him at the All Hallows’ Eve Service tomorrow night, I trust you will all be there.’

Tuesday Tiny Tale – Unhallowed Ground – part one

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The Reverend John Dee had always dreamt of Salisbury Cathedral, striding across the green gazing up at the tall spire, pointing to a heaven he didn’t believe in. It was the beautiful setting that appealed to the vicar; he pictured himself as a new deacon cycling by the water meadows, smiling at other cyclists and walkers, enjoying a drink in the pub by the mill. Dining in the evening with fellow clergy interested in history and nature.

Instead, John Dee found himself in a bleak town in sole charge of Saint Justin’s parish church, a church under threat of being deconsecrated, its few remaining parishioners left to the ministrations of visiting lay clergy. But St. Justin’s was also an historic Saxon church which experts, who didn’t actually attend church themselves, felt should remain dedicated to Christian worship. No other clergy wanted to take it on and no other parish wanted John Dee. He only agreed because of his love of history and nature. The church was surrounded by a large graveyard, accidentally rewilded. Next to the grounds of the church was a nature reserve of a few acres, fields and a copse protected for eternity from the encroaching ugly town by a trust endowed by a local of great standing centuries ago.

As John Dee stood leaning on the churchyard wall in the autumn sunshine, listening to the robin’s sweet song, he took some pleasure in his new little kingdom. But there was a difficult side to his new calling, the bishop expected him to revive the congregation and inspire locals to attend services and put money in the collection. He could rustle up a few stirring sermons on the internet, but how to get locals there in the first place, especially as he didn’t particularly like people.

He decided to turn his attention to the letter that had arrived that day. A team from the university in a neighbouring more interesting town, had been given permission to do a small test archaeological dig just the other side of the wall. They were hoping to find traces of a Roman Villa. The robin would be happy with a supply of juicy worms, but John did not want his peaceful sanctuary disturbed. Then he recalled a bizarre conversation with his oldest parishioner.

She told him this very field was the resting place of evil, where the wicked were buried in unconsecrated ground after being executed or struck down with nasty illnesses they deserved. John had been amused and tried to suggest modern thinking would no doubt consider they had been harshly treated for stealing a loaf of bread or having mental health issues. But the old lady had no truck with modern thinking and warned him that field must not be disturbed for fear of releasing evil.

John Dee was struck with a new idea. Halloween would soon be upon them and he would somehow spread rumours that the dig might come upon skeletons not Roman tiled floors. After all, it was traditional for those not worthy to enter the Kingdom of God to be buried on the other side of the wall. Before interest could wane he would hold a service on All Hallows’ Eve to pardon those poor souls and welcome them back into the family of the church; an excellent alternative to all the commercial rubbish and greed at Halloween. The bishop should approve.

Halloween Hijinks

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‘Have you found it yet?’

‘No, a box of paperbacks, destined to be Christmas presents I expect, at least we have avoided yet another new novel.’

‘So, what’s in that drawer?’

‘More folders full of writing.’

‘Oh goodness, she told me she was going to leave her intellectual property to me… and all her manuscripts!’

‘Ha ha Sis, have you seen what’s in the loft?’

‘Lucky you Sis, most authors are only successful after they have died, so maybe you’ll make some money.’

‘At least she went the way she would have liked, freak accident trying to take pictures for her blog.’

‘How do you know it was an accident, she could have been pushed.’

‘Ha ha, by another jealous blogger?’

‘However it happened at least it was dramatic, she did say to me one day ‘If I’m found dead I do not want headlines in the local news saying ‘Pensioner found dead’ make sure it’s ‘Mystery Death of Author.’

‘She was certainly intending to be home soon, her computer’s still logged in to WordPress, looks like she was in the middle of writing a blog… hmmm Halloween story. We could publish it and no one would be any the wiser that she was dead, that’s if anyone actually reads her blog.’

‘It would be a sort of tribute if her Halloween story still went out.’

‘Yup, the word document is open as well so it would be her genuine writing.’

‘And in the unlikely event that any reader had heard she had died, they would think her ghost had written it!’

‘Okay, you do the blog then and I’ll go on searching for her will.’

Tuesday Tale – Which Witch?

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I know all about witches, not the sort children dress up as for Halloween, white witches in tune with the seasons, the old ways, wheel of the year, Beltane etc. and of course it’s nearly Samhain now, Halloween. The white witches could help me with my new herb garden and I needed a new interest while Graham’s busy with his steam trains. I hoped there were still places left on the U3A Modern Witchcraft, beginners. ‘Ladies, as the nights draw in why not join your local Coven.’

I turned up at the new community centre, certainly nothing creepy about that brightly lit place. We were a mixed bunch, a lot of nervous chatter as we waited to see who was leading the session. There were no chairs so that eliminated the problem of where to sit.

‘Welcome Ladies.’

We were taken by surprise, we hadn’t seen anyone come in. We turned to see a motherly figure of indeterminate age.

‘People have all the wrong ideas about witches, not helped at this time of year with all the Halloween hype. And then there are the ones who think I can cure all their ills with a few herbs. The true witch wants to fine her true self, her other half, her doppelganger, perhaps you might say. We all have one, our repressed selves and we are going to find it. Close your eyes and recall what thoughts you had today. Did you let someone at work walk over you, cook what your husband wanted for dinner, not what you fancied, stopped yourself from swearing at that gormless teenager who nearly knocked you off the pavement, too busy looking at his phone?’

I could answer yes to all those and I saw others nodding.

‘Now imagine what you would do if you had no inhibitions. Don’t voice out loud.’

She frowned at me, must have seen me whispering and giggling with one of the others.

‘Now go deeper and darker, admit to yourself, have you ever wondered what it would be like to kick that ridiculous yapping handbag dog who’s always snapping at you?  What if you pushed that cyclist off the pavement?’

I smiled to myself, yes…

‘Pushed that cyclist in front of a huge lorry…’

I felt a stab of guilt as if I really had killed someone. This class was not turning out as I expected.

‘But you still have within you the childish innocence, do you notice how children run and dance, wave their arms, totally at ease in their bodies. I want you to move around the room and allow yourself to be liberated, raise your arms, spin, sing your favourite song.’

We could not throw away our inhibitions that easily, we looked at each other waiting for someone else to start. But the leader swept round us with surprising grace for her size and somehow we all seemed to be humming the same tune. Then we were chanting, an ancient song, I felt weird, not sure who I was.

I could not believe two hours had passed, how did we get outside and where was our teacher? It was very dark, a fine night, the stars looked amazing.

‘I don’t feel like going home’ said one woman.

‘I think I’ll leave the car here and walk home, run perhaps’ said another.

 ’I’m going to dance home’ I trilled excitedly.

We floated past the pub where a few smokers were gathered outside. I have never even smoked, but I realised how much I had missed the scent of a newly lit cigarette. I grabbed the cigarette out of the hand of the surprised young man and took a long drag, what bliss; I decided I would take up smoking, hang the health risks.

I woke up the next morning pondering what a ridiculous evening it had been. No chance of me joining that coven, though I would look up doppelganger, I had no idea what it meant.

It was my turn to cook breakfast as Graham was going off to play with his steam trains. He liked a full English when he was on duty at the station, what he called his valuable volunteer work. As I slid the fried eggs onto the plate it suddenly dawned on me how easy it would be to smash the frying pan, hot fat and all, down on his head. Shocked by my thoughts I thrust the pan into the sink.

As I walked down the road to the day centre, where I volunteer, a young woman walked towards me with a take away coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, totally oblivious to my presence. Recalling the childish joy of raising my arms in the air I raised my arms under hers. The phone went flying into the gutter and the coffee poured down her front. Fancy having a bare midriff at this time of year, served her right. Her shocked scream rent the air and I marched on in satisfaction.   

On this busy road I was not surprised to see a cyclist on the pavement, helmet on, visor over his eyes and those stupid white things sticking out of his ears. If I didn’t dodge him he would mow me down. It was so easy to heft him off the pavement. There was a screech of brakes and a red faced middle aged man clambered out of his car.

‘Bloody woman, what the hell did you do that for?’

‘Don’t you ~~~~   ~~~~~  yell at me you ~~~~    ~~~~ .’

I let out a string or obscenities I must have picked up from the teenagers who walk and cycle past my house on the way to school.

‘I could have damaged my new car.’

‘He could have damaged me.’

He suddenly started laughing…’You have made my morning, but do you think we should check on him?’

‘No, don’t bother’ I said and marched on.

I felt exhilarated and certainly did not feel like going to the day centre, though I could stop by to tell that stupid cow  who runs it what I really think of her…

Well that certainly livened things up and gave the old folks a laugh, especially those with dementia.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go in a china shop and sweep all those delicate ornaments off the shelves? I was approaching that posh gift shop, the one with the snooty manager. Normally I am nervous of accidentally knocking something off. I was only going in to buy something for Graham’s mother’s birthday, another useless ornament to add to her ghastly collection. The manager was on the phone, didn’t even look at me, twittering on in that ridiculous voice of hers. My arms had never felt such freedom. She soon looked up from the phone with the wonderful sound of crashing and splintering, but I was already back out on the pavement.

I almost felt as if I could fly, I flew down the steps at the Broadway tube station. Where would I go? The rest of the day was mine, I would jump on the next train to come along. Blow shopping for tonight’s dinner.

The platform was crowded, everyone looking serious, as dull as the dreary October weather we have been having. People are so trusting, surging to the edge of the platform when they hear that rumble in the tunnel, see the lights coming round the bend. Never dreaming that anyone would push them. How easy it would be to push one person, domino effect…

Monday Monologue – Fabian’s Fantoms

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Fabian? It’s your mother. I know it comes up on your screen, but you do have to be careful who you’re talking to in your job. Yes, dead or alive and I am very much alive. Sorry I missed your Sunday night slot, but I was watching something good on television. But the good news is I have got the hang of BBC Sounds on my iPad and I managed to listen just now. Yes of course, I tell all my friends to listen in to Fabian’s Fantoms at midnight. Marcia wants to know if they’re all true, I told her you never fake the stories. Last night was true wasn’t it? I can’t believe they let you in to number ten…. Number Ten Downing Street… But you were, I listened to it.

Waterworks Cottage in Cumbria? My hearing’s not that bad, it was definitely you talking from Downing Street, nobody else could imitate your voice and I am hardly likely to forget you and the new Prime Minister in the Cabinet Room talking to all those dead Prime Ministers, Chancellors and Home Secretaries…. No not Richie Sunak, the one after that… hmm I was surprised we had yet another new PM, transgender too, or was it non-binary, what was their name, they had just changed it.

I am not playing a Halloween joke, the state of the planet is not a joke, no wonder those past great statesmen decided to manifest themselves and knock some sense into our leaders. Okay, if you don’t believe me look up BBC Sounds for yourself. I shall too, now I am beginning to wonder if I am going mad.

Here it is; episode 666 of Fabian’s Fantoms. Fabian joins the new Prime Minister to investigate their claims that 10 Downing Street is haunted by previous incumbents, broadcast live on Sunday night. Fabian, are you there, are you alright, you sound strange. Read further?

..Sunday night 29th October 2023, but that doesn’t make sense, just a mistake… Broadcast again on Tuesday midnight, 31st October 2023 as a tribute to Fabian Falstaff who died suddenly on Monday morning 30th October 2023.

Tuesday Tiny Tale -565 – Uncle Brian

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It didn’t help that Uncle Brian was six foot four and an ex rugby player. The fact that he had a glorious bass voice that sent ladies aflutter was a distinct disadvantage. Perhaps if it had not been the annual family Halloween party we would have taken Brian more seriously. Uncle Brian had always been a joker, so we were used to his larger than life pranks.

When we were young we always went to Uncle Brian and Aunty May’s summer barbeques, but when he and his rugby mates had had a good few bevvies and the ribald jokes started we were quickly rounded up for home time. Once, when we had Granny squashed in the back seat as well, I said ‘Mum, is Uncle Brian very rich?’

Dad laughed. ‘You must be joking.’

‘So why do his friends say he’s well endowed?’

Granny let out a sort of choking sound and Mum shushed me.

The Halloween party was one social occasion my husband did not try to avoid, he said you never knew what was going to happen when my family got together. He certainly wasn’t disappointed this year.

It wasn’t actually Halloween yet, but any time in October was good enough and it was my cousin’s turn to have it at their place. Just about everyone had turned up except Uncle Brian and Aunty May. The children ran around dressed as pumpkins and skeletons and the adults caught up with the gossip. We were just murmuring that Brian and May were a bit late when the door bell rang and we heard Brian’s loud voice in the hall. When he walked into the sitting room, strangely the first thing I noticed, he had shaved his beard off. The second thing I noticed, he was dressed as a woman; completely, from his high heels to his coiffured hair and perfect make up.

He stood poised elegantly as the room fell silent, we waited for him to laugh, then the children started giggling, but Brian wasn’t laughing. My cousin grinned. ‘Daad it’s not fancy dress, that was last year.’

‘It’s not fancy dress, from now on I’m Bryony.’

‘Ha ha,’ said his brother ‘next thing you’ll be telling us you’re gay.’

‘Not gay, just in the wrong body, always have been, now the real me has come out.’

‘You mean this isn’t one of your jokes…’ said his daughter tremulously.

‘Nope, no joke, but I’m still your Dad, nothing’s changed.’

I risked a glance at my husband who was relishing every moment and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Have you had it chop…’

I dug him in the ribs and jumped up before he could say any more. I had heard all the programmes, read the magazine articles, I was well up on the LGBTQ scene, I knew what to say. I clasped Uncle Brian’s hand.

‘Well done, if this is what you want, we can go shopping for clothes together and we’ll support you all the way.’

I paused waiting for him to let out a loud guffaw and say ‘I really fooled you all this time’ but he didn’t.

Then someone else piped up.

‘So where’s Aunty May, just realised she isn’t here.’

‘Ah, erm, well she wasn’t feeling at all well and sends her apologies… Anyway isn’t it time for some food and I must sit down, my feet are killing me.’

Scary Saturday Short Story – Door Bell

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At least Covid 19 meant no children knocking at the door this year. My own ten year old had gone to her friends’ house to do Halloween and my husband was picking her up after his shift finished. We were still medium risk in our area and no one in Maya’s class had tested positive, but it might be the last time she could see friends if we were heading for a second lockdown. Anyway, I was going to leave the television and radio off and read my new book. I did not want to hear any Covid news.

Two pages in and I was startled by the door bell ringing frantically. How annoying, Maya and her friends must be playing a joke.

I opened the door to see a pale very solemn child standing there, peering from beneath a hood. Her costume and acting were rather good. I peered over her head; the street light by our front gate revealed no parent or older sibling looking out for her.

‘Are you out on your own?’

‘I’m always on my own.’

Her voice was faint. That’s all I needed on my evening off, some child from a dysfunctional family, probably one of those who needed food hand outs at half term. She looked like she needed feeding up, but I could hardly invite her in, I might be accused of kidnapping and anyway, I did not want to get involved.

‘Perhaps you had better run along now, I haven’t got any sweets, my daughter took them to her friends’ house.’

She remained silent.

‘How about a bag of crisps and a banana?’

She remained silent, so I turned to nip into the kitchen and see what we had in the fruit bowl. I grabbed a carrier bag and put in two bananas and a few satsumas; she probably never got any fruit at home. But before I could turn back to the kitchen door I sensed her behind me. There she was, standing in my kitchen, this was getting creepy.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Here.’

I didn’t like the way she looked through me, I felt a chill; despite her translucent pallor she looked familiar. Now we were in the light I noticed the ginger curls escaping from her hood were just like Maya’s bouncy hair and she was the same height.

‘Now don’t be silly, your parents will be worrying where you are.’

‘No they won’t, they don’t want me, why didn’t you want me? You love Maya, why didn’t you love me?’

I felt chilled to the core. I hadn’t mentioned Maya’s name and I was certain she wasn’t one of the neighbour’s children or in Maya’s class.

‘You have done your tricking and you have your treat. Now I want you to leave my house.’

‘Why can’t I live here?’

I felt sick, should I call the police… where had I left my mobile… I didn’t want to take my eyes off her, this could be a burglary attempt with a big brother waiting to slip in the front door… it was upstairs charging and the landline was in my husband’s office…

‘Why don’t you tell me your phone number and we could ring your home.’

‘This is my home Mummy, it took me a long time to find you.’

What kind of sick joke was this, could she really be… no that was ridiculous…

‘My daughter will be home soon and it’s time you left.’

‘She’s not coming home.’

‘Her Dad’s bringing her.’

‘Maya’s not coming home, so I can stay now.’

‘Of course you can’t.’

‘Why don’t you want me, you wanted Maya.’

I tried to think rationally, so why did I find myself trying to explain?

‘It wasn’t the right time, it wouldn’t have been fair to you.’

‘You should have given me a chance.’

Who or what was this strange child? What could she possibly know about… I tried not to let my imagination run wild, prayed that Maya and her Dad would be back soon… no, I prayed this frail creature would leave before they did return. I stepped back, nauseous as she held out her blue veined hand.

‘Please go’ my voice was shaking ‘I told you  my daughter will be back soon.’

‘I told you Mummy, she won’t be coming back.’

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to think. I heard a tread, felt the floor vibrate, they must be back. But when I opened my eyes a policeman was standing there.

‘Sorry Madam, the front door was wide open, didn’t you hear me calling?’

His voice was muffled behind his mask, but his eyes were darting around nervously.

‘Thanks for coming, were you looking for this lost child, will you call social services?’

He looked puzzled. I followed his gaze round the kitchen, the girl was not there.

‘Oh she must have crept upstairs, we better check.’

‘Madam, madam please, I need you to sit down. Is anyone else at home?’

‘No, my husband and daughter are out.’

‘I am very sorry, I have to tell you there has been a serious accident and we think… ‘

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