Walking with Ghosts

1
     
    Sam had problems with insurance. You could only insure the things that didn’t matter. Houses and cars, the material trivia of life: things that could be replaced. New for old. You couldn’t insure people. Not really. The insurance companies said you could, but it wasn’t true. When you lost someone you loved they’d make a cash settlement. A bunch of fifties to replace flesh and blood. Courage, spirit, laughter. New fifties, though. Crisp, new ones, to replace an old love.
    Jill Sheridan opened the door of her office and came across the reception area towards him. Sam got to his feet and took her hand. She was thirty-seven, lean machine, dressed in a navy Hermes suit, classic cut, with a white silk blouse showing at throat and cuffs.
    ‘Jill. Looking good, as usual.’
    She stood back to frame him from a different angle. ‘You look like shit, Sam. Had a bad night?’
    He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. Followed her into her office. The brass plate on the door: JILL SHERIDAN -CLAIMS ASSESSOR. Behind her desk was a picture window that looked out over York. The skyline dominated by the Minster. In the distance the blue smudge of the North Yorkshire Moors.
    She stood close to him and they took in the view together.
    ‘Different to the last place,’ Sam said.
    ‘Yes. It felt strange at first, but I’m getting used to it. At least it’s not haunted.’
    Sam laughed. ‘There must be a ghost in every other building in this town. Romans, Vikings, Normans. They all had their day, and they’ve all left the odd strangler behind.’
    ‘There’s one in your office, isn’t there?’
    He laughed again. ‘Celia and Geordie keep bumping into a shady Victorian lady on the stairs. But I haven’t seen her since I gave up drinking.’
    She waved him into a chair and went behind a desk that housed only a telephone/fax/intercom gismo. No pen or pencil, no notepad. Polished wood and the box of technological tricks. ‘Thanks for coming. Can I get you something? Coffee, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yeah. Unless you’ve gone over to the powdered stuff.’ She punched a key on the intercom. ‘Holly, will you let us have a couple of filter coffees, please? Mr Turner’ll have his black and strong, no sugar.’
    ‘Your memory’s holding up,’ Sam told her. ‘But how do you work in here? No PC or terminal. What happens if I ring in with info? You can’t even take notes.’
    Jill smiled. ‘Always the practical Sam. Whatever happens on the telephone is recorded. Holly intercepts the tapes and does the necessary. If there’s something that needs my action, she prepares it and puts it in front of me.’
    Sam shook his head. The year before he married Dora, he’d been keen on Jill, and they’d had a brief affair. He could date the beginning of the end of that affair from the time he’d heard her say that she’d ‘actioned’ something. That, and the fact that his clothes never seemed to suit hers. Wherever they went he’d felt like a poor relation. Nice woman, though. When everything came to an end he’d missed her for days.
    ‘Why did you call?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve got a job for you.’ A hint of a smile passed over her face, as if a secondary thought had come to mind, unrelated to whatever it was she wanted to communicate to Sam. A memory of some kind? ‘It’s rather complicated.’ She hesitated, avoided eye contact for a moment. ‘But I’ve heard you’re having a bad time. If you don’t want to take this one on, I’ll understand.’
    ‘We need business, Jill. I’m not the only one in the office.’
    ‘What I’ve heard, Sam, you’re not in the office at all.’
    He shook his head. ‘Exaggeration. I can’t get in as much as I’d like. But everything’s covered. There’s Geordie and Marie, Celia, all raring to go.’
    Jill Sheridan looked over the desk at him. She looked into his eyes, and Sam looked back. ‘I mean at home. How is she, Sam?’
    He blinked a couple of times. Sighed. ‘She’s in pain some of the time. Other times she’s calm, coherent. We talk a lot. Talk through the night.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jill.
    ‘There’s nothing anyone can do. Sometimes it feels like we’re the only two people in the world. It’s a special time.’ There was a knock on the office door, and Jill’s PA entered with a tray, jug of coffee, cups and saucers. Sam watched her legs and behind as she served the coffee, wondered briefly how many legs and behinds he’d checked out in a long career.