turned out Karen was his pillion passenger – a friend from his early childhood. Caroline just nodded. I passed the vague message back to Gary, assuring him that Karen had made it.
‘I told him not to buy that motorbike,’ Caroline almost spat the words. She seemed angry now, angry that her loved one had been taken. I still wasn’t 100 per cent sure what the exact cause of death was, although I was fitting the pieces together. At this point I heard the screeching of tyres, then a sudden bang, several different types of screams and breaking glass. The sound of metal hitting metal made me cringe. Then everything went silent. I knew for sure now that Gary had been on his motorbike and had fatally crashed.
I then heard him ask about the van. As soon as he mentioned the van, two pictures came into my mind. I saw a small, red, rusty-looking van. I also saw a little girl wearing a turquoise dress and hat. She couldn’t have been more than four or five.
‘Did Gary hit a van?’ Caroline nodded. ‘Was there a little girl in the van wearing a turquoise dress?’ Again, Caroline nodded. ‘Do you know where they are now, Caroline?’ Caroline looked up, tears streaming down her pained face and spoke in a childlike voice, ‘The little girl escaped with only cuts and bruises.’
‘And her father?’ I blurted out, not knowing who was in the van with the little girl.
‘He broke a few bones but he’s alive.’
‘Is Gary in any pain?’ Caroline asked. I heard him reply that he was free of pain. He proceeded to tell me that he knew very little at the end – it had all happened so quickly. All he remembers was seeing the little girl as the van swerved into his path. He didn’t see the driver, and after that he only vaguely remembers lying at the side of the road, obviously very injured but feeling extremely calm and happy. ‘My gran was there at the accident,’ Gary told me. I passed this on to Caroline, who told me that Gary had been devastated by the death of his beloved gran a matter of only months before his own death.
I explained to Caroline that Gary did not have to make the journey to heaven alone, that his gran had come to take him personally.
As Gary began to fade, I heard Neil Diamond singing ‘Sweet Caroline’. But, I didn’t know whether to tell Caroline this for fear it was gimmicky – it was an obvious song for a girl named Caroline. However, I did decide to tell her, and she said that it wasn’t corny at all. She could relate to it entirely as Gary had sung that song many times since they met. It was his favourite karaoke song (even before meeting Caroline), and he sang it to her less than a week before he died.
So ‘Sweet Caroline’ did indeed have significant meaning for my client.
Dearly Loved David
Mother and daughter sat opposite me, both crying sorely for the son and brother they had lost. David had been murdered, his life cut short before he had even reached the age of 20.
The first time these two clients came to see me, I couldn’t get David at all but I did manage to make contact with another young boy who relayed messages of David’s arrival and how he was in the throes of his healing process. This explained why David himself couldn’t come through. At this point, I was unsure if my clients felt any comfort.
A few months later, however, they came back. This time David was as large as life (pardon the irony). I knew someone was there because I was met with the very strong aroma of men’s aftershave. This wasn’t just any old aftershave either – it was much stronger than your everyday aftershave. I asked the significance of this and was informed that David wore cologne imported from the Far East. And the two agreed that it was indeed very potent and powerful stuff!
I then began to relay various messages from David. He told me about the bike race, which my clients watched him compete in a matter of weeks before his untimely death. I almost laughed when David told me about his dental appointment and how he had gone to great lengths to avoid it!
This cryptic message was explained when David’s mum told me that David had a dental appointment, the first in over 10 years, on the very day of his funeral – the appointment was scheduled for 2pm. What did happen instead that day – and at exactly 2pm – was that David’s body was lowered into the ground. No matter how poignant that sounds, David’s mum and sister managed to smile at the thought. They told me how terrified David had been of the dentist and how he had agreed to go purely because one tooth had given up the fight. It had been neglected for so long that it had to be extracted.
I then began to see an image of a motorbike. Standing in front of the bike was a tall guy, not unlike David facially. He was older than David but there was a definite strong resemblance. I could see the man’s face quite clearly – he was speaking into a mobile phone and, for some reason, I just felt that the conversation he was having related in some way to the motorbike.
I then heard David speak again. This time he told me, ‘Colin has sold his motorbike.’ Again, I relayed this to my clients, but they shook their heads, telling me Colin, David’s best friend, wouldn’t sell his motorbike – he loved it. However, I was convinced and stuck to my guns. Colin had sold, or was in the process of selling, the bike. My clients were still unconvinced.
They telephoned me that same evening to tell me that Colin had sold his motorbike – that very afternoon in fact! Apparently, some of his friends were going on a biking holiday and Colin couldn’t go as his bike wasn’t fit for the long journey.
The buyer had begged Colin to sell his bike to him. When Colin refused, the guy was so desperate, he offered nearly double the bike’s value. And who could refuse such an offer?
The Not-so-holy Nun
One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how forgiving some people can be. I’d like to think I am the forgiving type, but as a Leo, I must admit I find it hard more often than not. However, I am often humbled by stories of forgiveness I read and hear, as well as by some of my direct experiences in my work. One such story has stuck in my mind for years. I remember this one vividly, as if it were only yesterday.
To protect her identity, I shall call my client Jane. I immediately felt Jane was sincere and genuinely nice. She was relaxed and easy to talk to. I felt instantly comfortable with her. And yet her eyes were sad, distant-looking. I suspected she was hiding a gruesome memory, probably from her childhood.
We talked a great deal about where Jane’s life should be going and which moves were necessary to ensure she stood a chance of finding the correct path fate intended for her. A number of spirits became clear and I duly passed on the messages they gave. Nothing startling – a great-grandmother who described herself and the circumstances around her death; an old friend from school saying she was happy, and so on.
Throughout all this, however, I was extremely interested in another spirit who was reluctant, I felt, to make his or her presence known. All I could hear at first were their footsteps – as they walked, one foot came down heavier than the other. And, for some reason, I felt this spirit not only had a bad leg but also wore a strange-looking boot. The boot seemed an important piece of the jigsaw but when I heard why, I was utterly horrified.
As the consultation drew near its end, I sensed the spirit was much closer. I was then met with an image of a nun’s habit, beneath which came into view the boot I’d been hearing. The nun began to cry – quite uncontrollably. I began to pass all of this on to Jane. The nun interrupted, repeatedly saying how sorry she was, and could Jane ever forgive her. ‘Please forgive me,’ were words spoken with real feeling.
When I put all of this to Jane, she too had tears in her eyes. In my naivety, I could not fathom why a nun would have any cause to plead for forgiveness. Nuns were good people, weren’t they? As it turned out, this particular nun had been anything but a good person while alive. She had, in fact, been a very cruel woman.
I asked Jane the significance of the foot and whether she knew of a nun or of someone with a club foot. She told me that she had been raised in an orphanage run by nuns. One nun in particular – this spirit – did have a club foot. In fact, it was by using her club foot to kick or hold the children down that she administered