Tim had promised himself he would visit his mother every month. It had been six months since his Dad died and he’d only been home twice. His mother lived alone now in the old house. She was fiercely independent and although in her seventies refused to move to a smaller place. Tim had made feeble excuses about his busy life, his work and his partner keeping him tied to his city life. He was feeling guilty that she had called to ask for him to visit. This particular call had him concerned. His mother seemed to be genuinely upset about some unusual events at the house.
The drive to Tim’s old home took around two hours. He enjoyed getting away from the city and he enjoyed the drive up the range to the Granite Belt. His partner Jackie stayed home this time. She had exams coming up and needed to study. Spending weekend with his Mum, just the two of them, was a consoling thought and it eased Tim’s conscience.
Tim pulled into the driveway and the memories swamped him. Almost everything he cast his eyes over had some poignant childhood or teenage memory attached. It was comforting to reminisce and it made him smile. The line of apple trees on his right was feeling the autumn bite and starting to drop their golden leaves. This property had been in Tim’s family for three generations and he knew that there was disappointment that he wouldn’t continue the dynasty. Some of his school friends had stayed on to be fruit farmers, most didn’t. Tim’s Dad had sold off most of the 95 acres under orchard when he retired. He kept the house and a small parcel of land. It was a large timber house with the usual veranda around three sides. The morning sun made the white timber railings and posts stand out from the shaded area behind. The tall charcoal coloured brick chimney sprouting from the grey roof reminded him of warm family evenings in front of a crackling fire. He saw his Mum standing, waiting on the veranda at the top of the front steps. She wore a floral dress and long sleeved pink pullover jumper. She looked smaller than the last time he saw her.
Tim was sitting with his arms folded on the kitchen table. His Mum was standing up at the bench pouring hot water into two cups.
“Do you want any cold water in this?” she asked.
“No thanks... when are you going to get a real coffee machine Mum? This stuff is not much good.”
“I like it. Those machines are too expensive,” she said, as she placed the cups on the table and sat opposite Tim.
“How have you been? Is your health okay?” Tim asked with a concerned look.
“Yes, I’m fine. Bit lonely since Dad’s gone. But I’ve got the ladies club,” she said.
So what’s this you say about hearing noises?” Tim asked, cocking his head to one side.
“Well I thought I was imagining things at first, but it kept happening,” she said clutching her cup with both hands.
“What kept happening?”
“I’ve been hearing noises after I go to bed. A door closes – doesn’t slam, just closes, sort of loudly – then opens and closes again. I know where it’s coming from. It’s Dad’s office door. I’m sure.”
“How do you know it’s Dad’s office?” Tim asked.
“When I’m in my room at night it sounds like the noise is coming from down the hall, from the office. After the first time it happened, I locked the office door the next morning. Then I heard it again that night. Next morning the door was open and unlocked again.”
“Mum... are you sure? That seems pretty weird,” Tim said.
“I’m glad you’re here with me - that’s all... I think it may be Dad’s spirit” she said sheepishly.
“Well, that would be surprising Mum,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to have a look at the office. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” Tim stood, looked across the room towards the office. “Is it locked?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll get you the key,” she jumped up and hurried down the hallway. She returned with the key in hand and gave it to Tim. She also had her bag over her shoulder “You have a look around Tim. I’m going to the markets to get some things for dinner.” Tim’s Mum still drove the old Toyota and she headed off back down the hallway and out the front door.
The office was on the other side of the kitchen and was originally part of the veranda. Tim’s Dad had closed it off for use as a room for doing his accounts and office work. Tim tried the round brass door-knob to confirm it was locked. He then unlocked the door with the brass skeleton key and opened the door. Tim wasn’t sure what he was looking for but decided to give the room a close examination. He was confident that the reason for his mother’s experience was one of two things. The door was closing due to the breeze through the hallway - this would need some windows open or, his Mum imagined it. She was anxious, or perhaps depressed since Dad’s death. This was the most likely explanation.
The office was neat and well ordered. Tim’s Mum had tidied up and put most books and papers away. Tim could almost see his father sitting at the old teak desk – telling him to “Piss off Tim I’m busy,” when he opened the office door. He gazed around the shelves. There was no evidence of any disturbance that he could see. He opened the top right-hand drawer of the desk without knowing why and immediately noticed a heavy bound leather book. It was one of those books with a leather flap and metal catch. He had not seen it before and be undid the latch and opened the book. It was filled with his father’s handwriting. It was a diary. Tim knew how important it was to have records of family history and was excited by the find. He flicked through the pages. The entries were succinct, just brief sentences. There was not an entry for every day and some long periods of silence but he was chuffed to see his name mentioned a number of times. He flicked to the first entries of the book to see how far back in time he might see a glimpse of his Dad’s past. One particular entry struck him.
Dated the 3rd September 1965 it read – “I know Janine loves him. I can’t bear to watch them together now. The time has come. I’m going to kill him tomorrow. Orchard lane RGA9”
The entry was sinister, to say the least. Could his father have killed someone? Did his mother, Janine, have an affair? She had been an attractive young woman. He would ask about it later. Tim left the office, locked the door and took the diary to his bedroom.
Tim had skilfully avoided discussing the nightly disturbances during dinner and promised his Mum they would have a chat and a drink later. He had the fire going nicely and the two of them settled into separate lounge chairs with a glass of port. Janine was clearly enjoying this personal time with her son. They sat seemingly mesmerised by the crackling fire when Tim spoke.
“Did you know Dad kept a diary?” he asked
Janine was surprised by the question and looked at Tim. “Yes, he’s had a diary since I first met him, a big old book. Why do you ask that?”
“I found it in his office. There’s an entry in it from before I was born that has me worried,” Tim said.
“Really, what’s it say?”
“I’ll show you.” Tim stood and went to his room and returned with the diary in his hand. He sat and opened it to the entry for 3rd September 1965 and read it out loud for his mother. “Does it mean anything to you. Could Dad have killed someone?” he asked.
“Oh my God, no, your father had a temper but he would never do anything like that.
“Do you remember around that time, 1965? Did you have other men friends?”
“In 1965 we were not long married. We would go to parties with other friends. I got on well with the men. I can remember Dad did get jealous at times. This one chap, Tony, always wanted to dance with me. One time Dad got really angry abused him and they went outside. They both came back all scuffed up, dirty with blood on their faces. I never saw Tony again after that night.” Janine paused and stared at Tim. “You don’t think he would have done anything to him do you?”
“I don’t know,” Tim replied.
Janine looked back at the fire. “Oh goodness, the noises, I think Dad’s troubled spirit may be looking for redemption.”
“C’mon now, you’re getting carried away.” Tim didn’t want to patronise his mother but he wasn’t going along with her supernatural view of events. “What about this Orchard Lane RGA9 in the diary. Is that an address?” he asked.
“Sort of... You remember how Dad knew exactly where his fruit came from. Orchard Lane was a pathway dividing our orchard trees, lines of apples off to one side and pear trees on the other. Each tree location had a row letter and position number. RGA9 was Royal Gala variety row A, tree location 9.” Janine explained.
“I’ll have a look there tomorrow morning,” Tim said, feeling uneasy about why his father would note that specific spot. “We should call it a night Mum. Don’t worry, there won’t be any noises tonight.” He added.
Janine nodded – they had finished their port and they took the glasses back to the kitchen. They exchanged goodnights before Tim checked that all the windows and doors were locked. The office was locked and he had the key. His bedroom was directly across the hallway from his Mum and he lay there thinking about the day’s events. When he arrived this morning he could not have believed that he would be investigating a murder and chasing a ghost.
“Tim wake up!” A voice shouted.
Tim sat bolt upright, his eyes trying focus in the gloom and his brain trying to register what he heard. He jumped out of bed and bounded into the hallway.
“Tim look, I heard a noise” Tim’s mother was standing in the hallway outside her room in her nightdress pointing down towards the office. Even in the darkness, it was clear the office door was wide open.
He switched the hall light on and walked carefully down to the office. Tim’s mind was a jumble – not a ghost – no, couldn’t be that. I’ve got the key. What’s going on? The hairs on his arms and back of his neck were trying to jump out of his skin. He could see some way into the office from the hall light but it was pitch black further in. He strained his eyes into the darkness as he reached inside the door for the light switch. He thought there was a tall dark shape. He flicked the switch and his heart jumped. There was nothing in the room. His head was swivelling from side to side as he confirmed the emptiness.
“Nothing here Mum,” he called to his mother who was still standing in the hallway.
There were no further disturbances that night. Tim was puzzled about the door being open when he had the key. He knew he’d locked it. It took some time for him to get back to sleep. His mother seemed less troubled. He heard her snoring soon after they returned to bed.
Tim was bleary-eyed when he awoke and he went straight for the coffee. Janine was already up and finished breakfast. He didn’t know what to do or say about last night so he decided to avoid it.
“I’m going out to the orchard to check that location,” Tim said as he drank the last of his black coffee and grimaced.
“You know that the land is not ours anymore. It belongs to the Davies now,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. They won’t mind me looking around,” Tim said. He had worked out that RGA9 was not that far from the house and was an easy walk into the neighbour’s property.
The walk reminded Tim of working with his Dad in the harvest season, picking and grading fruit. Within ten minutes he had reached the location RGA9. The Royal Gala apple tree looked like all the others. Tim noticed a granite stone near the base. He squatted down for a closer look. Something was scratched on the stone, a cross - no a ‘T’. “Shit, ‘T’ for Tony,” he thought. Tim stood with hands on hips and looked down. There was a patch of dirt in front of the stone where the grass was lush – greener than the surrounds. Tim felt ill. He was sure this was a burial plot.
“Tim, what are you doing?” Janine asked as her son grabbed a long handle shovel and garden fork from the tool shed.
“I think Dad has buried your friend Tony in the Orchard. I’m going back to check,” Tim said, looking over his shoulder at his mother.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
Tim started to dig as his mother watched from a few paces behind him. It was only a couple shovels full when he hit something – bones.
“Oh God, Oh God,” Janine blurted as she peered at the white fragments coming out of the dirt.
Tim was speechless and continued to dig. He unearthed a skull and placed it next to the excavated hole.
“Mum, it’s not a person. It’s an animal, a dog I think,” he said looking down at the remains.
Janine stood with a puzzled expression. “A dog - yes
Of course,” she said with a smile. “It’s poor old Toffy,” Tim stood transfixed by his mother’s words. “I loved that dog. He got sick and Dad had to take him away,” she added.
“Would this have been in 1965,” Tim asked, knowing the answer.
“Um, yes I think so,” she replied.
“Well that’s one mystery solved,” Tim said as he started to fill the hole. “Just the office door that opens itself now,” he added.
“Actually...that was me,” Janine said with a guilty look.
“What?” Tim shouted, stopping his shovelling, turning and looking squarely at his Mum.
“I made the story up and I opened the door last night with my spare key. I wanted to you to spend some time with me. Sons should spend time with their mothers. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing Mum,” Tim replied, slowly returning to the reburial of poor old Toffy. From that day Tim visited his mother regularly every month, sometimes more often.