A young boy comes down, step by step, looking around the room and walking past as if he does not see them. He moves to the schoolroom door and his body melts through it, leaving only the chanting of the children, too soft now for the words to be discerned. By the alcove, a woman turns towards them and taps her wooden spoon. It vanishes as she lays it down. She walks to the foot of the stairs, turns and smiles before ascending out of sight.
‘Look at the clock,’ says Triss. Lacey turns to the wall and sees that the hands have begun to move again, swiftly and steadily—but backwards. They can hear the opening and slamming of doors from the floor above. Again the woman turns from her task and lays down her spoon. She reaches the first stair when the schoolroom door flies open.
‘Ring a ring o’ roses, a pocket full of posies…’ The gate opens and shuts and they hear heavy footsteps along the garden path and whistling as a flashlight dances over the window…‘Atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down.’
Drew shouts across the table at Gideon: ‘Make it stop, can’t you!’
But Gideon’s eyes are closed.
No one hears Triss murmur Matthew’s name.
The woman turns from the alcove, lays down her spoon. The boy crosses to the schoolroom and opens the door…
Gideon has shifted his consciousness away from the room and is
desperately searching for that other place of blue-green leaves and cool, flowing water.
‘…a pocket full of posies…’
‘Make it stop, for God’s sake! Make it stop!’ Drew pulls away from Lacey and lurches to his feet, clamping his hands over his ears and backing into a corner. Lacey moves with him, trying to shield him from his own fear and from the children’s rhyme and the lamplight flashing on the window. Gideon can hear none of this…
But he can hear Cassandra’s voice. ‘You know what to do, Gideon. Feel the energy flow, feel it as a shape, a form. Imagine the lotus, Gideon. Imagine it to be the paper you have made into a flower. Take hold of it, Gideon, where it folds.’
And he does. His mind touches a line of stress in the energy field and seizes it.
‘That’s right. Take control. You can do it.’
He feels it turning from him, the torque squeezing and wrenching from his grasp.
‘You’ve done this before, Gideon, a hundred times. A sheet of folded paper, that’s all this is. Think of making the lotus and hold it, hold it fast.’
The paper tears against his mind as the aether around them bucks and heaves. He is determined not to let go. He is distantly aware of the others, he can hear their voices. Something is wrong, but he can do nothing. All his strength is focused on the folded line, the stress fault in the aether. He must trust to Lacey to take care of them.
‘Hold it, Gideon, now hold it steady.’ Gradually the turmoil slows and the pressure eases.
Unknown to Gideon, Triss is leaving her chair, seemingly oblivious to all that is happening. ‘Matthew?’ She utters his name. ‘Where?’ She looks around wildly, and then she is gone. While the woman turns from the stove and the schoolroom door swings and bangs and another cold blast rocks the house, Triss is running down the hall towards the garden.
And then it all stops.
‘It’s all right now, Gideon. Let go. You can rest.’ He pulls his mind
free. Like cool water, the air in the room washes over him. And there is silence.
He opens his eyes. Only he and Audrey are still seated. Lacey is with Drew, who is huddled in the corner, and Triss is nowhere to be seen.
‘Where is she?’
Lacey looks around. ‘Oh, thank God. Are you OK? I think Triss went through the hall.’
Gideon pulls himself to his feet and stumbles out in pursuit, Audrey close behind him. Lacey lays her hand on Drew’s face.
He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, I completely lost it.’
‘I know, I know. It’s all right now, that part is all over.’ She strokes his hair from his eyes. ‘But there is something happening out there. We must know. Can you get up?’
‘Yes, I think so. Why, what’s going on?’ Lacey helps him scramble to his feet. ‘I’m all right, really.’ He steadies himself. ‘I feel such an idiot.’ They head for the back door.
The garden is cold and still. Gideon and Audrey look around, not sure which way Triss went. ‘There she is.’ Audrey points to the shadow of a low tree. Beneath its trailing branches they can see the light silhouetting the curve of Triss’s back as she bends over something on the ground. Gideon runs across the grass.
Lacey watches from the back door. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’ she calls out, her arm around Drew, who is still trembling.
Gideon steps softly to where Triss is crouching, as if approaching a frightened creature. But she looks up and he can see the joy in her face. Then the dark form she is bending over moves, and takes shape, and Gideon is immediately on his knees, checking temperature, searching for a pulse. He turns and shouts over his shoulder to Lacey: ‘Quick! Call an ambulance—he’s alive!’ Then, quietly, gently, to Triss: ‘He’s alive.’
It feels like hours have passed, but it is probably more like twenty minutes. Red and blue lights continue to flash from vehicles lined
up in the road as the paramedics prepare to move Matthew into the ambulance. Barely conscious, they said, and very confused, soaked to the skin. But his pulse is almost normal, blood pressure and temperature both a little low. Nothing to cause too much concern; still, better take him to the hospital and get him checked over.
D.I. Langthorn arrived while Matthew was still being worked on, and is trying to make sense of who all these people are and what happened prior to Matthew’s reappearance. Reluctantly, she decided her best source of information would be Lacey. But Lacey was too concerned with reassuring Drew about something that sounded as if it had more to do with his childhood than what was going on here. Triss was too involved with Matthew to communicate anything, and Gideon was being evasive about who he was, let alone what has happened. In the end she settled on Audrey, who appeared to be the most calm and collected. Fortunately, Audrey also had the sense to keep her mouth shut.
‘Are you coming with us?’ Lacey asks Gideon. ‘Triss is to go in the ambulance with Matthew. Drew and I will follow them in my car.’
‘No, I think not. I need to stay here and get a feel of things. I know he’s back, but we still don’t know what happened. What about you, Audrey? Are you going to the hospital?’
‘No, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day. As far as I’m concerned, he’s back and safe and that’s an end to it.’
‘I only wish it were, but I think this is far from over. Still, enough for now: you go and put your feet up and have a shot of that brandy.’ He gives her a sly wink and she can’t help smiling.
Sirens wail as the ambulance moves off, escorted by a police car, with Lacey’s Citroën following behind. Gideon is left standing by the schoolhouse gate, alone again. It’s almost dark. Clouds that had earlier blocked out the sunset now hide the stars, and, for all that the wind has dropped, it is as cold as midwinter. But there is a little light from the street lamps and the windows, enough for him to find his way back to the spot where Matthew appeared. The grass is damp with dew—it could even be edged with frost—but the place where Matthew lay is saturated. Gideon presses his hand into it, smells the
wetness, hesitates, then gingerly touches his tongue to his fingers. It tastes like water. Perhaps that’s what it is. Slightly brackish, maybe? But we are, what, eighty miles from the sea? He shakes his head.
Despite all that has happened this evening, he still knows nothing. No, not quite true. He does know that the natural forces that sustain and underpin this small area of the universe were on the point of disintegration. And he knows that he was able—no,
they
were able—to hold it together. And somehow, during this process, Matthew came through. But came through what? And from where?
Something touches his face, like a moth brushing his cheek. He flicks it away. Then it flutters again, on his forehead and on his hands. He looks up: the sky is falling like petals all around him. Impossible that it could be snow, not in mid-July. White, fluffy flakes, like wisps of cotton balls, drift through the air. They catch on his sleeve, where they cling and melt, shrinking to sharp crystals. There are no two alike, or so they say. A scientific deduction. But they can’t know that, not really. There’s so much that they don’t know, so much to life that can’t be measured and quantified. He lifts his face to the falling snow. Just another miracle in a long day of impossibilities. He turns to leave and make his way back to the warmth of the cottage where he will light the fire, brew tea and think.
Nearby, a lilac bush now bears an unexpected white blossom. It sighs and shivers as he passes. Or does it? There is a shadow beneath its boughs, a shadow not as tall as him, not as broad, but its outline suggests a human form. He stands still, not knowing what’s to come next. Eventually he calls out: ‘Is someone there?’
The shadow moves, as if stepping forward. Such a simple gesture, yet one so familiar to him that he would have recognized her from that alone. The sheet of dark hair, flecked with snowflakes, is all the confirmation he needs. He already knows the deep violet of her eyes, and, as she comes towards him, he can feel her laughter before he hears it in her voice.
‘Hello, Gideon Wakefield. Yes, I am Cassandra. I have come to help.’
What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed?
And what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand?
Ah, what then?
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE
,
(‘What if you slept’, 1817)
G
IDEON WAKES WITH A SUDDEN JOLT
and finds himself in his armchair. At first he can’t work out what time of day it is or how he came to fall asleep. Had he dreamed it was snowing? He remembers flakes of snow catching in Cassandra’s hair. It must have been one of the dreams, otherwise why would he be sitting here at—what? He glances at his watch: eight o’clock in the morning. Then disjointed pieces of memory begin to assemble into a picture of last evening: the lilac bush, heavy and white, and the long, frozen moment in which he had been unable to move or speak. Gradually, he comprehends that what he remembers did happen. It was not a dream.
It was she who broke the spell. ‘I realize my presence here must come as a surprise to you, Gideon, but I must tell you that I am very cold and rather wet.’
That brought him to his senses, and he switched into automatic action, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders and hurrying her across the road to his cottage, where he drew the curtains before turning on the lights and looking at her. Her cheeks were flecked with icy crystals, and there were dark, wet patches soaking through her clothes to her shoulders and legs. He took hold of her hands and found that they were freezing.
‘I’ll put the fire on.’ He pulled the armchair nearer the heat. ‘Here, sit down. I’ll get something for you to dry yourself.’ He left the room, even though afraid she might vanish if he looked away. But she was still there when he returned.
She watched as he unfolded towels, laying one on her lap and another over her shoulders. A smile danced in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Gideon. This must be a terrible shock for you. But it would have been pointless for me to warn you of what was going to happen. The conflict of anticipation and disbelief would have rendered you immobile at a time of crisis. As it happened, you coped excellently. Matthew is safe.’
He’d almost forgotten about Matthew. ‘What about the others? Are they all right?’
‘Yes, all is well. For the time being, at least. But our work is far from over.’ She shivers, holding her hands out to the heat of the gas flames.
‘Can I get you anything? A hot drink?’
‘Perhaps some tea, if that is possible.’
‘Tea? You know about tea?’
‘Yes, just plain tea. No milk or sugar.’
‘I’m beginning to think you’ve been here before.’
‘Later. I will explain everything later. Tomorrow, maybe, when I’ve had some sleep. What we did tonight was very exhausting. You will be feeling tired, too.’
Tomorrow.
Such a simple word, but it carried boundless promises.
Again he reluctantly left the room, and when he retuned he was relieved to find her drying her hair. It fell in long, damp ropes, almost to the floor, as she bent her head and squeezed it with a towel. They said little. He watched her drink, lifting the mug to her mouth, taking delicate sips and inhaling the fragrance of the scalded leaves. Was he hallucinating? Could it be an effect of the energy field? Eventually, she handed him the empty mug and then astounded him by asking for the bathroom. She said she would like to sleep, assuring him again that she would tell him everything when they had both rested. He had not expected to sleep at all, intending to keep guard downstairs while
Cassandra lay overhead on his makeshift bed. A dozen times during the night he crept up to make sure that she was safe, and could not believe it when he found her still there. Finally, he was overcome with exhaustion and drifted away.
And now it is eight o’clock on Thursday morning and the world outside his window has come to life without him. He recalls hearing Lacey’s car return sometime during the night. It must have been very late and his lights were out, so she and Drew would not have woken him with news from the hospital. He ought to find out what’s been happening. But first he’ll check on Cassandra and make sure she’s all right; be honest, he wants to make sure she still exists and was not a projection of his imagination. He creeps upstairs, wincing at every creaking floorboard. Yes, she is sleeping softly, her hair tracing a dark pattern across the white pillow. He returns downstairs, intending to make more tea in case she wakes, trying to resist the urge to double-back and check on her once more.
There is a tap on the door. He opens it a crack, glancing over his shoulder towards the stairs. It’s Lacey, huddled close to the wall. Last night’s freak snowstorm was obviously short-lived, and it’s now raining hard. Gideon hesitates for a moment, then realizes he must let her in. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘It was nearly three o’clock when we got back. I phoned in sick, which is actually true. I think I’m still in shock.’
‘How’s Matthew?’
‘Conscious, and more or less OK physically, but he can’t remember a thing. He was in his workshop fixing up a chair, then he was in the garden lying in a pool of water, with a long, blank space in between.’
‘But he’s not hurt?’
‘No, apparently not. They want to keep him in for a couple of days’ observation, run some tests to do with the memory thing. I suppose they think he could have had a stroke or something.’
‘What about the police?’
‘Inspector Langthorn was hovering around, of course, but she didn’t say much. I think she was just relieved. After the way Fletcher handled the case, Matthew being alive and well lets the police off the
hook to a certain extent. By the way, I sent in a brief report of his being found for this evening’s paper. We’ll have to do a full story, of course—interview, photos and everything. It can’t be avoided after the coverage we gave his disappearance. But that can be done at the hospital.’
‘Has there been any mention of the snowstorm on the weather reports?’
‘Snowstorm?’
‘You haven’t heard anything then? That’s good.’
‘Something to do with whatever happened?’
‘Almost certainly. Let’s hope it was very localized. Good. I’m hoping the police and the press keep away from Gainsborough Street. And what about Triss?’
‘Like she’s won the Pulitzer Prize and the National Lottery all in one evening. I shouldn’t think we’ll see much of her for a few days: she’s Velcroed to Matthew’s bedside.’
‘That might not be a bad thing. I doubt they’ll find anything wrong or he’ll even remember where he’s been, but it’ll keep them both out of the way.’
‘So, where has he been? Do you know?’
‘Not exactly, no. I have some theories of course, but…’ Gideon shrugs his shoulders.
‘You don’t think it’s over yet, do you?’
‘For Triss and Matthew, maybe. But no, it’s far from over. And what about you and Drew? Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Still trying to take it all in. All those people. Ghosts, I suppose. And you know, Gideon, I found I was thinking things. It was as though thoughts were coming into my head and I knew about stuff without knowing it, if you see what I mean.’
‘Most people are psychic at some level; some more than others. Perhaps this environment is acting like a catalyst for you, bringing out a latent ability.’
‘Well, it was certainly weird.’
Gideon hesitates for a moment. At first he was hoping to get rid of Lacey as quickly as possible, but he realizes that she is deeply involved
in this and too valuable to be dismissed. Besides, if Cassandra is going to be present for a while, he can’t keep her hidden. ‘I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?’
‘Tea? I thought you were a morning-coffee man.’
‘I have a house guest. She drinks tea.’
Lacey’s eyes open wide, but she says nothing as she follows him into the kitchen.
‘What about Drew?’ Gideon flips the kettle switch and lines up three mugs. ‘He was pretty shaken up last night.’
‘He was still asleep when I left. He’s supposed to be fixing someone’s chimney, but it’s been raining stair-rods most of the night so there’s no chance of him working outside. Not today, anyway. But, yes, he really lost it there for a while. You see, that’s what I mean: I knew there was something he was scared of—I mean more than what was happening in the room. And I knew it was something to do with when he was young. It turns out his grandfather’s house was haunted. He stayed there one summer when he was a boy. There were ghosts walking in and out of his room all night. No one would believe him; his grandfather kept telling him it was his imagination. He kept threatening to punish him, but Drew was so scared he wouldn’t go to bed. In the end his grandfather gave him a good thrashing, something unheard of in that family. Sounds like the man himself was in denial about the whole thing and took his own fear out on the kid. Anyway, Drew’s mother went spare, and she and her father didn’t speak to each other for years, which left Drew to carry the guilt for that on top of being terrified. Seems he eventually buried the memory. Then, when people started appearing over at the schoolhouse, it all came back to him.’
‘Not an uncommon story, and it explains why his reaction was so hostile to anything associated with the supernatural. Here’s your tea. I’ll just take this upstairs.’
It seems such a normal thing to do, casual even, taking a drink upstairs to Cassandra.
She’s awake and smiles when he taps lightly on the open door. ‘Ah, Gideon, good morning. I could hear voices downstairs.’
‘It’s Lacey: you know, the little white horse you sent me.’
‘I didn’t actually send her; I simply knew that she would be there. Ah, is that more tea?’ She turns over and props herself up on one elbow to stretch out a bare arm. Her shoulders are as smooth and pale as Chinese porcelain. Gideon, finding himself unaccountably embarrassed, turns away and looks at the bedside chair over which are draped Cassandra’s clothes, a long skirt and top in cream and ochre silk. This brings to mind a problem and a possible solution.
‘I’ll leave you to drink your tea. I’ll be downstairs.’
Lacey has found a packet of biscuits and is helping herself. ‘Hope you don’t mind. I haven’t got around to breakfast yet.’
‘No, not at all. Look, this is a bit difficult. I need to ask you a favour. My guest…’
‘Oh, yes? When did she arrive? I didn’t notice a car outside.’
‘No, well it’s complicated. She’s an expert in these things. What’s going on around here, I mean. Metaphysics and so forth. In a way. So I thought…you know, a second opinion…’
Oh, God,
he thinks,
I’m babbling.
Lacey looks at him with raised eyebrows, sensing his dilemma and deliberately not helping.
Gideon blunders on. ‘As I say, she arrived in the night. It was all a bit unexpected and there wasn’t time…’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘The thing is, she was dressed formally—evening wear—she brought nothing with her.’
‘Really?’
‘And with the weather and everything…’
‘…and you thought I could supply her with a change of clothes?’
‘It makes it difficult for her to go outside, you see. And I thought…’
‘What size is she?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps a little smaller than you, not so tall. She has long, dark hair and violet eyes.’
‘But does she have a toothbrush and some clean knickers?’ Lacey drains her cup and heads for the front door. ‘OK, I’ll see what I can do.’
Immediately Gideon returns to Cassandra, who asks how long it has been raining.
‘Most of the night, I think.’
She looks concerned. ‘That’s not good. I must get up.’
Gideon explains about the clothing. ‘And you must be hungry. I’ll fix you some breakfast. What do you eat?’
‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’
‘I usually just have toast. But I can easily cook something.’
‘No, toast is fine.’ Cassandra’s eyes light up as a thought crosses her mind. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any marmalade?’
The rain is relentless, and, despite running the few yards that separate the two cottage doors, Lacey is instantly soaked. She bursts in and shakes herself like a wet dog. ‘Ooh, what’s that I can smell?’
‘I thought, as neither of us is going anywhere, I might as well cook bacon and eggs.’
‘Wonderful. I’m starving. Then I’ve got to sort out some of my clothes for Gideon. He has an emergency.’
Drew pauses, spatula in midair, then shakes his head. ‘No, I’m not even going to think about that one, let alone ask.’
‘Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. He’s got a girlfriend in there.’
‘What, you mean…?’
‘Yes. She’s upstairs in bed.’
‘Well, I’ll be…’ Drew grins. ‘Good old Gideon.’
Breakfast is enlivened by speculation about the mystery woman. The events of last evening are allowed to slip, momentarily, into the background until a car draws up outside.
‘Oh, hell,’ says Lacey, ‘that’s D.I. Langthorn. Look, whatever she asks about, we know nothing.’
‘But I don’t,’ Drew protests as he goes to open the door. ‘I don’t understand any of it. Ah, good morning, Inspector, come in. Are you looking for Mrs Prentice?’
‘Yes. Mr Burrows, isn’t it?’ She shakes the rain from her hair and
shoulders. ‘I’d like a word with you, too. In fact, I need formal statements. You’re both required to call in at the station, preferably some time today. You see, I still don’t understand how you two and that writer chap happened to be there at exactly the time Mr Caxton chose to reappear.’
‘Yes, of course,’ says Lacey, ‘but I doubt we’ll be able to add anything to what we told you last night.’
Langthorn looks directly at Lacey. ‘No, I don’t suppose you will. Still, the quicker we tidy the ends up, the quicker the entire incident can be put away.’
Lacey stares back, unflinching. ‘What do you think happened?’
‘Strictly off the record?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Then, off the record, I’ve no idea. However, I think my report will state that, following some sort of mental seizure, Mr Caxton lost his memory and subsequently strayed into the fields. He must have wandered about undetected for several days before eventually finding his way home.’
Drew looks from one woman to the other, trying to follow the undercurrents. ‘That doesn’t sound very likely,’ he says.
‘Unless Mrs Prentice can come up with a better story—’
‘No,’ cuts in Lacey, ‘I think that version sounds perfectly adequate. I expect Matthew’s disappearance will become just another Fenland mystery. I intend to write a series for the paper, but not until all this has died down. Still, I don’t think there’ll be any need to mention anything about police involvement. Or Inspector Fletcher’s sudden illness.’