THALIA - Bergotte (best book reader txt) 📗

takes thirteen minutes to Bristol Temple Meads. I do the journey quite often.”


CHAPTER VII

On Wednesday morning Thalia found herself in a tiny studio with a DJ, who had a pile of records in front of him. In between playing records he talked animatedly to Thalia, firing difficult questions at her. Some of the questions she had met before, others were quite new. Then suddenly, the DJ announced to his listeners, “After the next disc I will be talking to Thalia, a sixteen year old girl from Bath, about her experiences as a prophetess.” The music played and Thalia looked terror stricken as she looked across at the DJ and down at the microphone he had just placed in front of her, a frightening few inches from her mouth. So, it was going to be a live interview after all. She took a deep breath, the music stopped and she could hear this ebullient young man speaking to her.

“How did you become a prophetess?” he asked. Thalia struggled to make a reply. While she was speaking, she thought she was being quite incoherent, but the DJ seemed satisfied with her answer.
“Is this prophesying a full-time occupation?” he queried.
“It’s not an occupation at all and it certainly isn’t paid. I would describe it as a calling,” replied Thalia.
“And who has called you?” was the quick follow-up question to the beleaguered young girl in front of him.
“Nobody, as far as I know. It’s a calling or vocation, just as someone might have a vocation for teaching or nursing.”
“Okay, but teaching and nursing are recognised careers for females, but prophecy? Have there been other women called to prophesy?”
“In the Bible, Deborah was a prophetess.”
“Is it the end of the world that you foresee?”
“No, the end of our Western world of shared cultural and moral values. I can see a huge growth in the number of TV stations on planet earth, each producing a plethora of channels, promising people unlimited choice in what they watch, whilst in reality their choice will be limited to game-shows and quizzes, soap operas and sport, documentaries and D.I.Y. programmes with endless news bulletins but little or no news. There will be pointless discussion programmes featuring the opinions of people who know nothing, but have become famous for being famous.”
“And do you know anything, yourself, Thalia?”
“Only what I have been given to say.”
“Thank you very much for coming into the studio today Thalia and giving us your thoughts on being a prophetess,” said the DJ, as instantly the studio was filled once again with music.

An assistant producer entered the tiny room and led Thalia out to meet David, who was sitting in a waiting area.
“I heard you. You did very well,” he said to her, with a broad smile.
“I wasn’t expecting a live broadcast. I thought it would be recorded,” she replied, “anyway, I’m pleased with what I said.”
“And you included a prophetic message in it as well.”
“Yes, it just came to me, so I thought I had better say it.”
“Good for you. Let’s get lunch somewhere in the centre of Bristol and then take the train back home.”

On the way from Bath Spa railway station, when they were walking home, Thalia heard a West Indian voice calling to her, “Megan, Megan Phillips isn’t it?” David saw a girl who looked a bit older than his cousin standing next to them.
“Hello Millie, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages,” said Thalia.
“Fine thanks. I’ve been away in Jamaica, seeing my folks back home,” said the dark-skinned girl, “but I’ve come back to the mother country to train as a nurse. I work at the Royal United Hospital and live at the nurses’ home.”

Thalia introduced Millie to David, telling him that she had been her closest friend at school, but that they had rather lost touch with each other.
“Why don’t you come over to see me tonight? I’m not on duty until tomorrow evening. Are you free this evening?” asked Millie.
“Yes, I think I can manage it.”
“Come over at seven and we can have supper together.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later.

David and Thalia walked on as Thalia began to explain to David how she had formed a close friendship with the Jamaican girl. David listened in silence, as Thalia told him of the concern Millie had shown towards her when her parents had suddenly died. They were driving along the A4 London road towards Chippenham when their car was in a head-on collision with a lorry, emerging in the middle of the road from a dark, low bridge. The couple had been killed instantly.
“It was the end of the world for me,” she told him.
“And you’re still coming to terms with it?”
“Yes. It was so sudden. I don’t think I will ever completely recover from it.”
“Time is a great healer,” he observed, philosophically.

CHAPTER VII

Later, in the early evening, Thalia walked the short distance past St Mary's Bathwick to the Spa Nurses’ Home. She found Millie’s room and the pair sat down together to talk, over a meal the West Indian girl had prepared.
“This is a Jamaican dish,” announced Millie, “consisting of grilled red snapper, with pimento, black pepper, hand made jerk and spices, along with Jamaican mango and peach relish.”
“What on earth is jerk?” asked Thalia.
“A marinade used on the fish,” said Millie. “By the way, there was a Thalia on the radio this morning, talking about the end of the world and being a prophetess.”
“That was me. Didn’t you recognise me from the sound of my voice?”
“No. The reception in our rest room at hospital is very bad. It must be the hills round about.”
“Perhaps so. But I am not prophesying the end of the world.”
“Yes, I know, I remember what you said. It’s the end of our world, our civilisation and our shared value system.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Thalia, “what do you think of what I was saying?”
“You’re absolutely right, of course,” rejoined Millie warmly. “I’m sure many of my own black community would agree with you.”
“That’s good of you to say so. You might be right about them.”
“Have you any more interviews planned?”
“No. nothing at the moment.”

After several more hours of animated conversation and much laughter Thalia looked at her watch.
“It’s late,” she said “I’d better be getting back. David will wonder where I am.”

Thalia left Millie’s room to make her way to Bathwick Hill. She walked past the park, where she should have turned left to arrive at David’s flat. But, she didn’t do this. She gazed down the road she should have taken, the direct route which she took earlier in the evening, but now thought it too dark and forbidding, and so changed her mind. Instead, Thalia crossed into Pultney Street, the long, straight, very wide road that has changed little since the eighteenth century; the road that once resounded to carriages and footsteps in Jane Austen’s time.

As she walked, Thalia noticed that there was nobody else on the pavement, on either side of road. It seemed to be deserted. She then thought she could hear the sound of footsteps behind her: she stopped still, to listen. But the steady sound of footsteps had stopped also. She knew that every step she took was leading her out of her way. If the city centre was not crowded with people but a maze of empty streets she would be just as unsafe as taking the correct road. And she would be unsafe for longer. She began walking again and the sound of footsteps behind her started again. When she quickened her pace slightly she thought that the steps behind her had also quickened. Perhaps it was her imagination. Or was it? She stopped once more, as did the sound behind her. She realised that fear was causing her to take shallow breaths and cause her discomfort. She told herself to breathe deeply; it was difficult to obey her own instructions.

She tried to run, but her long Laura Ashley skirt, that reached well below her knees prevented her, added to which, her tight underskirt was making quick progress quite impossible. A blind panic seized her. She became afraid of losing her footing. It was then that Thalia stumbled, as she caught her foot on a flagstone jutting up from the pavement. She fell heavily to the ground. She was not hurt, but felt badly shaken and now, very, very frightened.

Once again she heard the menacing, steely clink of footsteps getting closer. She thought she might look up into the face of an evil-looking man with a twisted smile gazing down at her. It’s my imagination, she thought: I must calm down. There really is nothing to worry about, she told herself. She refused to look anywhere except directly in front of her. She began to struggle to her feet, as two cars and a high-sided van swept past her, but none of them stopped. She got to her feet, looking backwards to see the man but there was no-one. She started to walk once again, at a somewhat slower pace. Her steps were unsteady as she looked down at her shoes to make sure she did not trip once more.

Thalia reached Pultney Bridge, crossing over the River Avon and stopped once more. She looked round, but once again, could see no-one. She felt the butterflies of fear swirling in her stomach, and the cold sweat running down her body from under her arms. She felt sure that a man was following her because the sound of the footsteps had the sharp metallic ring of the metal toecaps of men’s shoes. The man must have hidden himself in a shop doorway on the bridge, she thought.

She started off again and heard the footsteps once more, but this time they seemed to be much closer to her. She turned the corner and walked towards the Abbey, hoping to find a taxi nearby. As she turned the next corner she spotted several taxis waiting in line for passengers. She opened the rear door of the vehicle nearest to her and climbed aboard. She quickly told the driver the address of David’s house, uttering a sigh of relief, as the car sped off into the night. She was safe at last.

When she arrived home Thalia hurriedly paid the taxi driver. “Cheerio,” she said to him, as she picked up her skirt above her knees and climbed the seventeen steps to her new home. She rang the front door bell but there was no answer. After a few minutes she fumbled in her handbag to find her door-key. She was trembling with fear as she tried to force the key into the lock, telling herself that she had nothing to fear. Once inside the house she stood in the hallway, leaned her back against the door and took a deep