The Ghostly Past

Chapter 30

The day after, Clara was released from hospital. Warren had called her, gave her a leave of absence from the school for a week under the doctor's orders. Mrs Barker had been quietly sympathetic since she came back, saying little about what happened, which Clara appreciated.

She had a cold, and her leg was very painful, using a crutch to move around the cottage. She didn't leave the house, unable to bear the stares. Everyone knew what had happened of course. No doubt everyone wanted to discuss it.

Instead she spent her days sealed in her room practising the piano. She steadily worked her way through a book of tricky Chopin waltzes, her fingers dancing over the keys, ignoring the pain in her head and her body.

"You need fresh air." Mrs Barker said finally on the Friday morning. "It's not good for you to hole up here."

"I can't walk on my leg." Clara said immediately.

"Then I'll take you for a drive." Mrs Barker responded. "Or Max can. Or one of your other friends. I know that Harriet girl calls you every day."

Clara gave her a long look. "I just...I just don't want to go out there." She shivered. Kim had dropped her a generic get well soon text, but Jess had obviously told the others to give her space. No one had been in touch since she'd gone into hospital. She was relieved by this, but oddly lonely.

"I know you're frightened." She sat down on Clara's bed, Clara facing the piano. "I was frightened too when I was young and this happened to me. The feelings of cold, the hallucinations. And what you went through with poor young Oliver was far more traumatic."

"I keep having dreams." She bowed her head over the keys. "How do I keep going?"

"You can do this." Mrs Barker said. "One day at a time."

The following Monday, she was due back at work, despite the bruises and the limp. Her landlady drove her in, promising to pick her up also. Clara had said it would be easier on the older woman if Clara just stayed on campus, but Mrs Barker would hear none of it.

So she climbed out of the car by the Academy, taking slow cautious steps up to the building, her limp increasing as she walked further than she had in a week. It was drizzling, the September air still warm.

Everyone stared at as she entered. Everyone would have their own version of the story. Warren was waiting by her classroom, his face somber. They'd spoken over the phone several times in the week before. "You need to take it slow." He told her sternly. "If you get tired, you come see me and you go home." Clara nodded. She was already feeling fatigued, but she couldn't admit it.

After her first two classes, she wandered out, hearing a gaggle of students talking. "I heard that it was her and her lover. They were running away together, must have been high or something and he died of exposure, and she went over a drop or something." One of the teenagers said.

"Miss Fitzroy doesn't seem the type to be getting high." Another remarked. One of their friends coughed loudly as Clara approached.

They all flushed and went silent as they turned, staring at one another. She said nothing, walking past them on her crutches.

"You're back." Harriet smiled, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright." She replied. "I'm tired."

"I called a few times." Harriet said, raising an eyebrow. "Mrs Barker was on guard duty."

"I'm sorry." Clara answered. "I just wasn't up for seeing anyone."

"Well you're not getting off so easily now." Harriet answered with a small smile. "Come on, let's go get some lunch."

She kept to herself mostly at the Academy, feeling tired. James had tried to speak with her a few times but she made a point of avoiding him. She wasn't ready to thrash things out with him. Not yet anyway

***

"Hey." James appeared in the Hall where she was laying scores out for an orchestra rehearsal. It had been a few weeks. She'd gone to the Academy every day, doing her work, sorting her students, and then would go home and practice. She couldn't handle anything else.

She and Harriet had been out a couple of times. Harriet was persistent in a way that it was impossible to be annoyed by. She knew that Clara was depressed, that she was struggling, but she didn't let her be conquered by it, by those grey feelings, those feelings of hopelessness.

Steadily, as her health improved, she'd started to feel a little bit stronger. She felt guilty for not being there for the others.

So this time, when James greeted her, she didn't leave or ignore him or make an excuse. "Hey." She said softly.

"I'm just moving the timpani in and then I'll be out of your hair." He promised, not looking at her, pushing the bulky kettle drums into the hall. "Warren thought you'd struggle moving equipment."

"He's right." Clara laughed, and then stopped, surprised at the sound.

James looked at her, sympathy in his expression. It was rare to see him like this, quiet and sad and serious. His head tilted to one side, no doubt wondering whether this was an overture of friendship. "How's the leg?" It was an easier question than asking how she was.

"I'm off the crutches." Clara answered, "The bruises are healing up everywhere else. I'll live." Not like Oliver. A shadow crossed both their faces.

"You want some help getting these chairs out?" James asked. "I've got time."

Clara smiled. "Sure, if you've got time." For a few minutes, they worked in companionable silence, setting up the hall, the only sound the chunk of chairs and stands.

"So I avoided asking before, but how are you?" He finally paused, giving her a frank, appraising look.

For a moment, she debated lying. "Not great." She finally said honestly. "My body is healing but I was really badly hurt. And that night...I can't get it out of my head."

"Do you want to talk about it?" James asked. The sincerity in his voice touched her.

"I can't." Her voice cracked. "Not yet. I know you probably all have questions but I can't..." The first tears slipped from her eyes. "I know you miss him." Clara said. "Probably a lot more than me." She paused. "I know you liked him."

"So did you." James replied. "You guys kissed."

"That wasn't. It was his idea. He needed to not talk to any of you for a while." She sighed. "Max kissed me that night."

James's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Then he gave me the brush off."

"And that explains why he's left you alone. We all did wonder." James shook his head. "It's for the best, with what's to come. You're better off keeping your distance now."

"So why are you talking to me?" Clara laid down a box of pencils.

"Because you're my friend and I miss you." James said honestly. "And because you're going through this alone. You could have died, because of us, because of our curse."

"The curse isn't your fault, James."

"No. But it feels that way sometimes. Max is right when he says everyone will be safer when we're dead."

The students started filing in, greeting the two teachers and setting up their instruments. Clara stared at him. "You don't think that do you? Surely?"

"I don't know." James said. "All I know is that I'm sad, Clara and I'm scared and I don't know what to do."

"Me neither."

"You need to process what happened to you." James told her, still oddly serious. "You can't talk to me, but you need to talk to someone."