Are You Sure You Want to Know?

By Alaine M. Neilson

A parapsychological mystery.

You only live once, right? Suppose you discover you lived a previous existence. Would you want to know? 

Morgan and Anton have been happy for five years in an apparently perfect marriage, but there is growing tension between them she cannot understand. While she questions her life choices she wonders

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sid Harta Publishers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9780645002065

Alaine M. Neilson

Alaine M Neilson is passionate about history, art, theatre, the sea, and our place in the Universe. She has a background in education and design, and degrees in Literature, Visual Communications and Writing. Are You Sure You Want to Know? is her debut novel. Born in Scotland, where she spent her early years, Alaine grew up in Australia and now lives on a bush property in South East Queensland with her husband and a family of wallabies.

Book preview

Chapter 1

‘I didn’t see Anton’s car go out this morning,’ Leeann said. ‘No, he stayed over at Steve’s last night. I did think of calling you up, but I got sucked into watching a movie,’ Morgan said. ‘So how are you settling in?’

‘Oh, it’s great. Thanks so much for letting me rent your gorgeous unit downstairs. I’m loving the air conditioning — what a lifesaver. And I love the smell of everything when it’s new. He’s a good builder, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah, he’s always pretty busy.’

Leeann gazed around Morgan’s house, noticing everything. Her eyes latched onto the photograph of Anton taken after he had won a go-kart race. He was grinning at the camera, displaying his perfect teeth.

With one arm he held his helmet, with the other he held Morgan, squashing her to him. His dark hair fell over one eye, and his olive skin glistened with the afterglow of adrenalin. Morgan’s mousey brown hair straggled to her shoulders; her eyes were watery and squinty from the wind. It wasn’t the best picture of her, but Anton liked it so he had it framed. Leeann stood up to have a better look.

‘Are you older than Anton?’

‘Thanks, Leeann. No, he’s thirty, only a few months older than me.’

‘Oh sorry! I didn’t mean you look old …’

‘Never mind, it happens a lot. People often think he’s younger than I am. He’s got good skin.’

Leeann pushed her blonde hair behind one ear. She picked up the photo and peered at it. ‘Looks like a conquering hero,’ she said, ‘and you’re his trophy. Is he Greek?’

‘No, but his mother is Italian. His father’s English. He’s really Robert — Robert Anton Shelford, but he uses his middle name instead. He thinks it sounds more exotic. Don’t tell him I told you.’

‘And you’re English, too aren’t you?’ Leeann asked. ‘You have a slight Pommy accent. Or is it Kiwi?’

‘Scottish, actually. I was born there but I’ve lived here all my life.’

‘Oh, really? I wouldn’t have thought that. Sounds Pommy to me.’

• • • •

Morgan had spent the afternoon cooking coq au vin with a lot more vin than the recipe specified. She had chosen the dish because it could be made in one pot, and it was hard to ruin. She was pleased with the rich taste and the delicious aroma of the sauce. Just as she was about to serve it, she heard a sharp click and instantly, the lights cut out, casting the house into sudden darkness.

She felt for candles and matches in the pantry while her eyes adjusted. Anton headed outside with a torch to see if the neighbours had lost power. They had; all the streetlights were off and every house was blacked out.

She set the candles on the table and dished out the meal. ‘At least it didn’t go off before dinner was ready.’

‘Yeah, just as well. I’m starving.’

They ate the meal by candlelight, sharing the rest of the Burgundy, just the two of them. This was actually pleasant; they could have a conversation. She smiled at him.

‘Was work busy?’

He looked up, frowning. ‘Hm? Work? I don’t want to talk about work.’

‘Oh, sure, I get it. Do you like the dinner?’

‘Yeah, pretty good. Better than usual. A bit winey. Do we have any beer?’

‘Of course,’ she said, taking a candle from the table. She opened and closed the fridge quickly, to conserve the cold air. There was no telling how long a power outage might last.

‘This is romantic isn’t it?’ she said, putting the beer in front of him. ‘We should sit out on the verandah and look at the stars. And watch the lightning.’

‘And get eaten alive by mozzies? No thanks.’

She blinked at him, waiting to see if he would offer a suggestion. His phone pinged with a new message. She reached to pick it up, but he snatched it out of her hand. ‘Don’t touch my phone.’

She immediately withdrew her hand. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think.’

He read the message and deleted it. ‘I’ll probably be late home tomorrow so I won’t need dinner.’

‘Okay.’

‘Yeah, Steve wants me to look at the hydraulics on his go-kart so I’ll eat there.’

‘Okay, sure. I have a website I need to work on anyway.’

‘By the way, remember we’re going to the kart club Christmas party this Saturday night,’ he said. ‘So, can you make an effort to look nice?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘That would be good. Because you always look the same. Same hair, same clothes. Maybe you could just try to look more feminine. Jazz it up a bit.’

Suddenly the lights flickered and blazed on, dazzling them, stinging her eyes.

‘Oh, at last,’ he said, picking up the newspaper. ‘What’s on TV?’

He embedded himself on the couch in front of the television while she cleared away the dinner dishes. Happily, there was enough chicken left to freeze for another night. She would never serve him the same meal two nights in a row. But now she needn’t worry about what to cook tomorrow because he wouldn’t be home anyway.

Across the street, as if in protest against the last twenty minutes of imposed silence, the young guys living in the rental house played AC/DC’s High Voltage with the volume turned up to eleven. She started the dishwasher and sighed.

Chapter 2

Saturday morning. Morgan glanced at the clock and smiled: eleven minutes past eleven. Uncanny how often she noticed the time was eleven-eleven, either am or pm. Possibly because she was born on November eleventh, or maybe just because she liked the symmetry of it.

She slid the Anzac biscuits she had baked out of the oven. The aroma of fresh, hot, oaty biscuits filled the kitchen. Her cooking skills had not progressed much past year ten home economics, but Anzacs were easy. She transferred each biscuit onto a wire cooling rack. An image of Leeann flashed into her mind. At the same time she heard a knock on the door.

‘Hi, Leeann, come in. I’ve just made the best Anzac biscuits ever. Would you like tea or coffee? You’ll have a bickie, won’t you?’

Leeann smoothed her hands over her slim hips. ‘Maybe just tea please. Do you have green tea?’

‘Certainly do. Are you sure you won’t have an Anzac?’

Morgan and Leeann sat out on the back verandah drinking tea. ‘I have an assignment to write,’ Leeann said. ‘So I had this overwhelming urge to come up and chat to you,’ she giggled.

‘And, you know what else is funny?’ Morgan said. ‘I pictured a clear vision of you moments before you knocked.’

‘Yeah, that’s always weird isn’t it?’

Suddenly, an ear-splitting screech made them both jump.

‘Shit. I didn’t know you had a parrot,’ Leeann said, glancing around.

‘Not ours — he’s Anton’s mother’s pet cockatoo, Wilbur. We’re bird-sitting while they’re away on a cruise.’

‘Scrawny, isn’t he? Do you think he’d like an Anzac?’ Leeann broke off a tiny piece of biscuit and poked it into the cage. Wilbur just looked at it. ‘So why did you make these?’

‘Same reason as you, I guess. Procrastination. We’re going to a Christmas party with Anton’s kart club tonight and I’m under strict instructions to look great. So I baked. And now I’ve eaten five of them, so I’m going to feel like a fat pig.’

‘Gee, that’s a bit rough. You’ll look gorgeous. Do you have something nice to wear?’

She looked at Leeann, who really was gorgeous — tall with short, straight platinum blonde hair, a trim figure and a pretty face. She reminded Morgan of Naomi Watts. Had it been such a good idea to have let her rent their downstairs unit?

‘Probably just my usual black jeans. And I was going to wear my pink floaty top but I can’t find it. But it doesn’t matter what I wear, Anton will probably hate it.’

‘Really? How long have you guys been married?’

‘Five years now.’

‘And no plans for kids?’

‘No, Anton doesn’t want any. I think he’s too much of a kid himself. I mean, who races go-karts at thirty?’

‘He’s pretty hot though, Morgan. I mean, he’s like an Adonis or something. I can understand he wants to show you off in front of his mates. You know, I’ve got a lovely long chiffon top that would look fabulous on you. Would you like to borrow it? I think it’ll fit. It’s actually a bit big on me.’

‘Thanks Leeann, that’s kind of you to offer. Yes, I would, if you really don’t mind. I can’t seem to be bothered to go out and buy myself new clothes these days.’

‘Going to a party with the kart guys might be just what you need. Don’t worry about what Anton thinks, enjoy yourself and have a good time. Talk to someone you’ve never spoken to before, dance, and let your hair down a little.’

Morgan smiled at her. Leeann was being genuinely kind. But she didn’t know Anton at all.

That night, Morgan wore Leeann’s soft, blue shimmery top over her black jeans. It enhanced the blue of her eyes and she was pleased with the effect. She was slightly overweight, but not much, and the long top covered her hips well. She took the time to wash and blow-dry her hair, and carefully applied more makeup than usual. She had misplaced her favourite pale pink lipstick so instead she applied a deeper cherry shade. It added the colour she needed, a vibrance.

She wished her appearance didn’t always matter so much to Anton. She could remember only one occasion when he had complimented her looks. It was in a photograph where she was staring, eyes half-closed, into the distance towards the low afternoon sun. He had admired the photo because he said it didn’t look like her at all.

Sometimes she wondered what he even saw in her, although when they first met, she had felt a real spark, an instant mutual attraction. Wouldn’t it be liberating if other people never judged you on your physical appearance? If they somehow could see and appreciate your essence without you having to resort to all this dressing up, this artifice. She was dreading a night with the go-kart group.

Anton shouted from the other bathroom, breaking into her thoughts. ‘What’s the time?’

‘It’s … no, it can’t be. This clock has stopped. Hang on!’

She found her watch and grabbed her handbag. ‘It’s six-thirty, time we were going.’

‘Are you going like that?’ he said.

‘Yes, why? Do you like it?’

‘Yep, it’s fine, let’s go.’

He stopped to study himself in the hall mirror near the front door and smoothed his hair.

‘Does this look okay? Or do you think I should wear my other shirt? The tighter one?’ He held his arms up in a body builder pose to check his muscles were visible.

‘It’s great. Very smart. I like the one you’re wearing. It emphasises your shoulders.’

‘Okay, well, it will have to do. Come on.’

The Christmas party was being held in a large steel shed on an acreage property belonging to Gary, one of the karters. The music grew louder as they walked up the path. Bamboo Bali lamps lit the way, and a bonfire made a feeble attempt to keep mosquitoes away. The air reeked of beer, cigarette smoke and burnt sausages. Most of the go-kart group were already there. She had met many of Anton’s mates before, but still she felt the eyes scrutinise her as they entered through the roller door.

‘Sorry we’re a bit late,’ Anton said. ‘All that titivating in front of the mirror takes time.’

Jodi, a skinny new girl she hadn’t met before, and who could have been no older than eighteen, looked her up and down. ‘You look lovely, Morgan.’

‘Yes, she does. You stop that Anton. I bet you’re the one who does the most titivating,’ said another woman, smirking, holding a beer can.

Empty tinnies, stubbies and wine bottles cluttered every bench top. The drinking had evidently started early.

‘Here you go, mate.’ Gary handed Morgan a chilled glass of Champagne which she held up to her cheek.

She tried to speak to Steve above the deafening music. ‘Did you get your hydraulics fixed okay?’

‘Eh?’

‘On your kart … Anton was helping you …’

‘Oh, yeah, yes,’ Steve said, nodding. ‘Thanks, all good now.’

Anton overheard and spun around. ‘Since when have you been interested in hydraulics?’ Then, to the group surrounding him: ‘She wouldn’t know what a hydraulic was if it slapped her on the arse.’ Muffled giggling.

The evening deteriorated to raucous karaoke and drunken dancing. Morgan sweated, feeling overdressed. Most people were wearing shorts with casual t-shirts or sleeveless tops. And now some of the men had changed into women’s wigs and frocks padded with enormous boobs which they thrust out as they minced around, puckering their lips, trying to slobber on everybody they could catch. She slipped outside for some fresh air and to escape the screaming. Douglas, another new member, stood outside in the shadows smoking a cigarette. Except it didn’t exactly smell like tobacco.

He slurred his words, ‘Will ye have a wee dance with me, Morrrgan?’

She spilled some of the wine from her glass. ‘I’m sorry, thanks, but no. Anton would … Anton doesn’t like me dancing.’

‘Och, tell him te away an’ bile his heid.’

She laughed. ‘Yeah, right. That’d put him in a real good mood if I told him to go away and boil his head. So what part of Scotland are you from?’

‘I’ve lived all over, but I grew up in wee place outside Aberdeen, on the banks of the bonnie River Dee.’

‘Really? My maiden name was Dee.’

‘Aye? Well, how about that.’ He took her wine glass and plonked it on an oil drum. Then he grabbed her waist and swung her round on the grass in a clumsy waltz, making her shriek with laughter.

‘What’s going on!’ Anton appeared, glowering. He gripped her arm roughly, wrenching her away from Douglas.

‘Ow! Nothing’s going on.’

‘We’re leaving. Now.’

‘Are we? Okay, I’ll just say goodbye to —’

‘Now!’ He dug his fingers deep into her arm giving it a painful hard squeeze.

Douglas leant on the oil drum looking bewildered.

‘My bag …’ She hastily retrieved her handbag from inside the roller door, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Anton seized her by the arm and dragged her, tripping, down the path to the car park. In the car, her eyes stung with tears. ‘There was no need to drag me away. That was really embarrassing.’

‘What were you playing at, dancing out there in the dark with Douglas McTwat? Flirting and leading him on.’

‘I was not. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like me dancing. I was standing there on my own, getting some air, and he came over. We weren’t doing any harm. He was just a bit drunk, or something … it wasn’t my fault.’

‘Well, you made me look stupid,’ he said.

‘What? That’s rubbish. No one probably even saw us. They were all too busy laughing at the blokes in drag routine. And you hurt my arm.’

She tasted salt; a familiar tight knot formed in her stomach. Her eyes overflowed involuntarily. Hydraulic eyes. Liquid under pressure.

Chapter 3

It was well after midnight. Something woke her, a noise outside, banging. She reached over to Anton’s side of the bed and he stirred in his sleep. ‘Anton,’ she whispered. ‘I can hear noises. Somebody’s out there.’

He jolted awake and sprang out of bed, naked, as he always slept. He grabbed a towel from the en suite. The front door opened and closed. She lay still, straining to hear. She listened for a while but fell asleep. She dreamt of a small boy calling to her, smiling and waving. It was always the same dream — he seemed to know her but she didn’t recognise him. He was trying to tell her something, to give her a message, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

She awoke sometime later when Anton’s cool body slid into bed beside her.

‘What was it? What was making the noise?’ she asked.

‘It was a burglar prowling around, but I scared him away. I’ve had a good look all over and he’s gone now.’

‘Did you go outside with nothing on?’

‘Yeah, I got the shit bitten out of me by mozzies. I’m okay. Go to sleep.’

A prowler — shouldn’t they be worried? Shouldn’t they call the police? But he didn’t seem bothered so she snuggled up to him and eventually fell asleep again.

• • • •

She awoke with the disturbing memory of another familiar dream. She was small, watching a woman in a red cape running down a long passage. She could smell a distinctive soapy scent she could never quite identify. Why the dream disturbed her she couldn’t say; its significance always eluded her. She wiped the tears from her eyes.

Anton had already gone out. She had no idea where — the gym, probably. But he had brought in the Sunday newspaper. She picked it up and turned to the horoscope section at the back to read hers. She did this every day.

Scorpio. Change is the name of the game for you, Scorpio. Now that the Mercury retrograde is complete you should start to see an improvement in your life. The Sun in Sagittarius, however, means that things might not go quite as smoothly as you would like. Mars enters your sign this month, blessing you with powerful energy. If you can harness this energy anything could be possible for you right now.

That all sounded fine and dandy. If only it were true. She turned on the television to watch a re-run of Oprah. Today’s show discussed ‘The Narcissism Epidemic’. Narcissists are a pleasure to be around. They’re wonderful and entertaining and the life of the party but God help you if you cross them.

It accurately described Anton, except he wasn’t wonderful to her, only to other people. Had he changed, or had she just never noticed before? She had been so thrilled someone had actually wanted to marry her she had overlooked his narcissism.

At the end of the show an advertisement appeared for a clairvoyant, with a website address and a phone number. She scribbled down the web address. Then she watched a recorded program about walking through the highlands in Scotland. The country looked so beautiful bathed in muted colours, atmospheric and ancient, she felt a physical longing to be there. She imagined herself wearing leather boots, a soft woolly jumper and a tartan scarf. She would stroll along winding country lanes with a dog, come across a little village, stop for a cup of tea in a charming tea shop.

Leeann knocked, rousing her out of her fantasy. She knew it was Leeann — she never used the doorbell.

‘How did your party with the karters go last night?’

Morgan tugged down the long sleeves of the shirt she was wearing to cover the bruises on her arm.

‘Yeah, it was good, thanks. Come in. The top worked really well — thank you so much for lending it. I’ll get it dry cleaned before I give it back to you.’

‘No need, it’s washable. I’ll just chuck it in when I do a load. So … how was it?’ Leeann wasn’t letting go.

‘Oh, you know, the usual — loud karaoke, dirty jokes, swearing and hard drinking. And that’s just the girls. They’re all keen racers but it’s not really my scene. I did try racing once — I crashed my kart into someone else who had also crashed and my helmet flew off and bounced over the track. I never got in another one.’

‘Sounds dangerous,’ Leeann said. ‘You’re not hot wearing long sleeves?’

‘No, I’m quite comfortable. I’m glad you’re here. I was going to come down and see you today, anyway. Did you hear the prowler last night?’

‘Shit, really? A prowler? That’s a worry. No I didn’t hear a sound.’

‘Anton went out in the middle of the night with nothing on and scared him away. Strange for a prowler to make so much noise; it sounded to me like someone banging at the door. It was probably just kids but still, you’d better be careful with locking up.’

‘Yeah, thanks, that’s creepy isn’t it. Makes you wonder if someone is watching the house. It’s weird though … why would they go up the stairs to your door instead of trying to get in through the windows downstairs? Then I definitely would have heard something.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I thought there was something odd. I might get Anton to install security cameras. That should frighten them off.’

‘Anton out?’ Leeann asked, looking around.

‘Yep, don’t know where. I’ve just been spending a pleasantly indulgent couch-potato morning in front of the TV.’

‘How delicious. Anything interesting?’

‘Yes, well, there was one thing — an advertisement for a clairvoyant. I thought I might try her.’

‘Oh my God, why would you want to do that? Blind Freddie can see you’ve got a great life. I reckon those so-called mediums are really just clever psychologists. They read your body language and tell you what you want to hear. Don’t waste your money, I reckon.’

‘You’re probably right, but I can’t help feeling like crying for no reason, even when I tell myself I should be grateful for what I have. And I have these persistent dreams that seem too real, not like dreams — more like memories. They drive me nuts.’

‘It sounds like you’re stuck in a rut. And it’s up to you, of course, but retail therapy always cheers me up — why don’t you go out and treat yourself to some nice things?’

Morgan smiled. ‘Not such a bad idea. I’m still interested in calling this psychic though, maybe just for guidance. I can’t shake off this nagging gut feeling I’m missing something, and you never know, it might give me some kind of insight, some kind of direction.’

‘Okay, well, if she turns out to be accurate … maybe I’ll visit her too and she can tell me when I’m going to meet my own gorgeous Greek god.’

Chapter 4

Morgan lounged on the back verandah of the house Anton had built for them, enjoying the cooling afternoon summer sea breeze faintly tinged with eucalyptus. She looked down at the garden edged with lilly-pillies, banksias and golden wattle, the seed pods of which were just beginning to open. Then her eyes travelled to the disfigured carcass of a gum tree. She slapped a mosquito that had landed on her forearm, smearing her skin with blood.

A strong gust blew straight into the house, catching newspapers off the dining table, strewing them around the room. As she collected the papers, she noticed the Escape travel magazine from yesterday’s Sunday Mail. Flipping it over she saw the flight specials. Brisbane to Edinburgh. The shrill front doorbell jolted her. Her godfather, Don Erskine, stood holding a bottle of mature Margaret River Cabernet.

‘Hey Don! Lovely to see you, come in. And you’ve brought wine!’

He was agile for his ninety years, and he still drove a car. He smiled at her with his deep brown eyes which Morgan always felt could see right into her. He glanced at the newspaper in her hand.

‘Everything all right, love?’

She swallowed. ‘Fine, Don, thank you, yes … great. And you?’

‘I’m pretty good for an old fella,’ he said. ‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’

‘No, not at all. Would you like to sit out on the verandah, or would you rather stay inside? I can turn on the air conditioning.’

‘Verandah sounds good. I prefer the fresh air.’

She brought out two wine glasses, cheese, crackers, and the last of the Anzac biscuits.

‘What happened to the tree?’ Don asked.

‘Anton was doing a bit of pruning. He was going to trim only a few small branches but he got carried away with the chainsaw. I hope it’ll recover.’

They stared at the stump of the gum tree; its hacked branches lying dead on the ground.

‘What a shame. Whenever I see a mutilated tree, it takes me right back to the war. I’ve seen forests of trees completely blackened, just miles and miles of stumps, no leaves. It’s a terrible sight — you never forget it.’

Wilbur screeched, startling Don.

‘Oh, sorry, that seems to be Wilbur’s favourite party trick.’

They turned to look at the cockatoo on its perch. Dark pink bald spots remained where it had plucked out its own feathers. It tilted its head to the side and stared back at them with