The Perfect Fit - A Psychic Romance, Laney's Past Life & Love (3 page)

Yeh, maybe a romance is a good idea. I can include snatches of the things that have happened and then add in some of what I wish had happened. By the time I've finished my coffee I have the stirrings of a plan scribbled down in my notebook and feel much brighter. Rounding up my things, I get up to go in and pay for my coffee. Cath is at the till, her head cocked to one side, the phone jammed between her shoulder and ear. Nodding at me, multitasking effortlessly, she rings up the amount for the mocha, luckily I have the exact money.

"No, No... I want four dozen by Wednesday not Thursday!"

I mouth thanks and goodbye. She's too busy to try and casually ask about the waiter. I'll have to find out who the mystery guy is next time.

I almost skip home and there is a definite spring in my step. Now I have the threads of an idea and it feels good, I have somewhere to start from.

The sun has faded away and the wind has picked up even more. It's only early afternoon but suddenly it seems later. I'm glad to get back indoors. One of the things that made my mind up about this place was the cosy living room, with its bookshelves and best of all, the fireplace. I love a real fire. I know some people moan about the dust it makes but I love it. Although I've had to downsize, one of the things I did keep was my beloved log basket and outside there is a tiny store for my neatly stacked logs.

It doesn't take long to get the fire going and as I pick up a small round log from the basket I get a sudden sense of déjà vu. I've been getting these a lot lately. Often just tiny snatches that don't make much sense, especially as they don't seem to be from this lifetime.  The way I'm holding the log and bending over to put it on the fire is the same, but the fireplace is different and it seems a long time ago. I don’t think much of it and sit down to get comfy and to start writing in earnest. Then it occurs to me. That image of déjà vu, that fireplace I remember, I've seen one similar to it before.

A friend of mine had been doing some training a few months back. A hypnotherapist, she'd diversified into regression and wanted willing volunteers as case studies. Of course I volunteered and as such had several past life sessions. That fireplace was in one of them. Better than that, the lifetime I had seen was one of the clearest, even though it was sad too. But it's not the sad part that excites me now, it's the reason it was sad, the love there was between myself and my partner in that lifetime. We hadn't been married but the love we felt for each other was the stuff that melts your heart. That was it, I could write about that, write about that love and that time.

I'd been surprised at the time how strong it had felt and how real, luckily Heather had taken meticulous notes and recorded the sessions. I jumped up, I had them somewhere. They must be in with all the paperwork and books, most of which is here on the shelves, there's a small amount left in storage. Hopefully not those though.

A half hour of frantic rummaging and yep, here they are. A few sheets of A4 with details of love felt and lost, a heart elated and a heart broken. It had all seemed so real to me and if I can recall those feelings then that surely has got to help me evoke the very things I need for a decent romance. Immediately after the sessions I was always blown away by how strong they were and how real everything felt. I usually cried buckets, which apparently is all good. It certainly felt pretty good, although it is kind of bizarre watching your own death but once you get used to that idea it's all pretty cool after that.

Placing another log on the fire, I spend the afternoon reliving those memories, allowing the images to flood my mind and soon I'm frantically writing.

I have no idea how long ago it was, but it's definitely feels like France, probably about the twelfth or thirteenth century. I'm not particularly good at history but for some reason that sort of time period feels right. I'm a young woman in my late teens, early twenties. I'm wearing a light blue dress with a white apron. We live in busy town, which appears to be quite high up, as I can see tall peaks around me and below the skyline is a heavy forest of what looks like pine trees.

My father is an important man in the town and it feels like he is in a position of authority, I don't think they had mayors then but it was that kind of thing. I took an active part in town life and enjoyed teaching the younger children. Well it was more play than teaching but the kids were great fun. But all the time, I was aware of my attention being pulled towards the trees, to a place just beyond them.

Heather guided me to a point in time where I could see more clearly, what was going on. It turned out that there on the outskirts of the wood was where the love of my life lived. He was an artisan, a musician and good with words. He lived a strange life, following the 'old ways'. He understood herbs and worked with nature's elements. Robust, with a strong physique able to provide for himself and his parents until they'd died. The town's people were aware of his abilities and when the medic couldn't solve their ailments, they would soon head off in Jeanne Pierre's direction.

The previous summer, the young daughter of a friend of mine had been taken ill and after several days there was no improvement. My father would not condone seeking outside help and especially not from someone who for all intents and purposes was practising a form of witchcraft. However I was not prepared to watch the child fade away. I secretly took my friend and her child to see Jeanne Pierre.

There was something about him, the moment I saw him. My heart leapt out towards him before we'd even spoken. I felt as if I'd loved him for years, even though I'd never seen him before. Putting his axe down and leaving the unsplit log he looked at me, smiled and then his attention went straight to the child.

In seconds he had her in his arms, listening to my friend and checking for symptoms. About an hour later, with mother and daughter seated comfortably indoors, he and I walked together outside. It turned out that regular visits were required, consequently over that summer we became close and I would often visit Jeanne Pierre on my own.

I arrived at his place late one afternoon, with a simple picnic for us both. He'd mentioned there was somewhere he wanted to show me and we set off straight away. We walked for some time, laughing and joking and then he told me to close my eyes.

Until that point, we'd never physically touched each other. As he took my hand gently in his own. My heart jumped. My senses seemed to explode so much so I was convinced he must be able to feel it. Swallowing deeply and silent now, I allowed him to lead me. Guiding me over bumps, around stumps and avoiding stray branches, it wasn't lost on me how considerate he was and how well he knew the territory.

The ground started to feel different under my feet and we soon came to a stop. Turning to me, he told me that this place was special to him and that he'd never shared it with anyone before.

When I opened my eyes, I could see why it was so special. The mountains seemed so close and framed the scene, one was strangely flat in several places forming plateaus, which looked like steps. We were standing at the edge of a small lake, with grassy banks in places and other areas were tiny concentrations of shale and small pebbles. It was the stuff of fairy tales and it was made all the more magical because it felt as if we were the only people who knew it was here.

We walked a little around the edge of the water, and chose a spot to sit down. Taking an apple from my basket, I reached out to hand it to Jeanne Pierre. For a second he hesitated, we were lost in each other's eyes. My heart was pounding and I could feel myself breathing faster, how could I feel like I was melting and yet be on fire at the same time? This wasn't just physical attraction, although that was definitely there, this was something deeper. My heart felt like it was talking to his, a silent but incredibly powerful language, one we both intimately understood.

He took the apple, putting it to the side. In one sweeping movement he gently brought his hand up to my face and traced his fingers slowly over my mouth, circling my chin and then so slowly from my neck to the edge of my dress. Thankfully he didn't stop there. I could feel his touch slightly firmer on the outside of my clothes. The contrast of his touch, first gentle and then firm creating an ecstasy inside of me, one which I had neither the hope nor desire to control.

As I lay back onto the grass his other hand, fingers spread wide and palm wonderfully firm, pressed down on my belly, downwards, slowly and purposefully. I briefly glimpsed the sky above before I surrendered to the blissful internal shivers, filled with a warmth I'd never encountered before. It was as if he was savouring me and my body, his touch brought my senses alive, my only intention to surrender and embrace the magic between us.

Unhurried, he pressed his muscular body against mine, kissing me gently at first and then with more pressure and urgency. God I wanted him so badly, and he wanted me. Moving my hands from his back, down to the strong muscles of his buttocks and thighs and then with an intake of breath I feel his firm excitement, throbbing in my hands.

Holding me close and firm, he expertly pushed into me. Gasping in pleasure, I held him closer. It's as if we both instinctively knew each other, moving in a perfect rhythm and harmony, each rise and fall a seamless flow into the next. We were the perfect fit.

We savoured that afternoon. After the first time we lay back, me in his arms. His fingers never stopped gently caressing me, as if he had found something precious. Later we swam naked in the lake, making love in the water.

Standing on the shore, we took in the scene and the wonderful afternoon. Behind me he wrapped me in his arms, kissing the base of my neck, his hands cupped across my belly. I felt safe and loved and so happy. I loved that way he held me, holding me safe that way, making me feel so treasured.

I think I might have embarrassed Heather with my honest revelations but they were so real and vivid, to be honest
I
was a bit embarrassed at sharing them but there was no way I wanted to stop what I was seeing and feeling. I remember being glad afterwards that I hadn't actually had an orgasm there on her therapists couch and that I was the only one who knew how close I was!

There were more sexual encounters but Heather moved the story on, to see how the life panned out and what if anything needed to be done as regards to life lessons and any unfinished business for my soul.

Jeanne Pierre and I had lived a happy life together, we had children of our own and he would stand behind me holding me in the same way, this time his hands preciously holding my pregnant belly. I don't know why that felt so special to me. Maybe it was because I felt secure, maybe it was feeling his strength and his frame behind me, maybe was it was how special it made me feel. In that embrace I could sense he really cared, he saw our love as a gift we were blessed to share and he always made me feel like a goddess. He was my wonderful god.

Unfortunately the rest of my family were not so pleased at our union and it transpired that he and I lived estranged from my family. They could not accept my love for such a person, they assumed he had bewitched me and tried in all sorts of ways to break us apart.

We moved away and I was never reunited with them. We lived happily for many years. Happily that was until we were caught up in the conflict that was gripping the country. Jeanne Pierre died that day and so did a part of me. The wound went from back to front, part of the spear was still in him, on his right hand side, just below the ribs broken off when I found him three days later. I didn't remarry. When the children were established in their own lives I simply faded away, unremarkable and unnoticed.

Re-reading these notes, stirred up all the emotions I had felt during and after the regression. They were as real as any I have ever felt. Of course my mind was desperately trying to work it all out, trying to prove or disprove it, but really there was no need, I felt it was true, even if I couldn't explain it.

Jeanne Pierre can be the basis for my love interest in the novel; it feels good to at least have some semblance of an idea of where to start. Remembering my feelings for him will breathe life into the whole project and once I start, hopefully the ideas and words will just keep coming.

"Morning Laney, Haven't seen you for a couple of days."

" Yeh I know Cath. I've been busy, I've managed to start my book at long last!"

"Oh, brilliant! What's it about? Can you share any details yet or is it all hush, hush? Joe's brother writes a bit and he won't let us anywhere near it until it's finished. Apparently we'd interrupt the creative flow. And he's probably right. Not that we'd mean to but you know how it is".

"Yeh, I think I might be the same. Now I've started I don't want to get sidetracked by other people's ideas and I'd be worried you might not like it, then end up changing something that might turn out to be the one good thing I've written!"

"Peas in a pod! Lawrence says he likes to get himself all out on paper before he starts letting other people in to it. You creative types! I'll have to introduce you when he's back down. You can compare notes or whatever it is you do."

"Yeh that'd be great" I didn't really relish the idea of swapping notes with Joe's brother. He was probably a middle aged intellectual or had been doing it for years and would no doubt frown at my not in the least bit challenging attempt at fiction. A critical eye was the last thing I needed. I shrugged it off as there had been no sign of relations staying in the past few months I'd been coming here and the next time he was down would probably not be until Christmas or New Year and then there'd be a lot going on, so it would be safe to assume Cath would have forgotten by then.

"Can I have a large mocha and a slice of flapjack Cath please? I'll take it outside if that's OK?"

"Yeh, sure love. You take a seat and I'll bring it out."

Choosing my table, I pulled my journal, notebook and pencil out of my rucksack. My trusty pencil sharpener was in my pocket, and as I got comfortable, I sharpened my pencil, ready for an hour or so of writing.