I Do Not Sleep (14 page)

Jamie Torrance walked behind Queenie, handsome, tall and erect. And behind him, quiet and sad, were streams of people, young men and women. I knew them all. They were friends of Joey and Danny from school and university. Until I saw them, I’d thought the procession was short, but now the boys’ friends filled the churchyard, fanning out among the headstones. It seemed there were hundreds of them, and the sight filled me with joy.
 

At the very back, a small young woman not much more than a girl walked holding the hand of a little boy. She looked sad; the boy, like all the children gathered here in this mystical dreamland graveyard, skipped by her side, his face wreathed in smiles, unaffected by the solemnity of the woman by his side.
 

And then I too was among the mourners, and the darting white gusts of air joined me, lifting up my hair, caressing my cheek. They made me smile; they dried my tears. They made me happy. The coffin by now had been lowered into the grave and Adam and Danny stood beside me, holding my hands. And one by one, all these wonderful hushed people – not a sound had disturbed the silent hillside since I first opened my eyes – came to the graveside, smiled and gently dropped a white rose on top of the casket. Adam, Danny and I went last, and as we stood over the grave, my husband and my son stepped back, leaving me alone on the edge, but not before Adam handed me a bouquet of red roses. I kneeled down, and it seemed I could easily touch the coffin lid. I placed the roses carefully on top, and suddenly there was something else in my hands; also red. It was Joey’s favourite winter scarf. I turned the soft wool round and round, twisting it, knowing I had done this before, but unable to remember when. I kissed it, and laid it gently on the roses. I whispered goodbye, and looked up; the golden glow grew warmer, and the swift whispering ribbons of starlight darted into the grave, and wrapped around the two of us; to me they offered peace; to Joey, they promised eternal rest.
 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Someone was shaking me. I groaned, reluctant to leave the churchyard where I felt so tranquil. I didn’t want to wake up somewhere else, somewhere dark. I wanted to stay in the warm golden glow that filled me with love and peace. I struggled to stay on the hillside among the welcoming gravestones and my children’s friends, but the pale beckoning light was fading, and I opened my eyes. I was lying on the grass in Coombe’s back garden; the night was black and I was cold. Adam was kneeling next to me, grasping my shoulders and calling my name, his voice anxious.

I shivered. ‘Oh God, what happened?’ I moaned. ‘I’m freezing.’

Adam sighed with relief and pulled me roughly to my feet. ‘Let’s get you inside. You feel cold as death.’ He pushed me towards the kitchen door, his words puzzling me: cold as death? But death was warm, comforting. He propelled me through the kitchen and into the sitting room. A log fire blazed brightly in the grate. Surely I hadn’t lit it? It was a warm night.

I said so, and asked, ‘Who lit the fire?’

‘I did, before I realised you weren’t in bed,’ Adam said gruffly. ‘It may have been warm earlier, but it’s gone midnight, for Christ’s sake. What on earth were you doing out there? I was worried sick when I went upstairs and saw you weren’t in our room. I woke up Dan and Lola and they said you were here when they went upstairs to bed. And then of course the baby woke up and started screaming. Jesus, Molly, I nearly called the police. Then Lola looked out of their bedroom window and saw you lying in the garden. I thought you’d had a heart attack or something. God almighty, Molly, you don’t half put us all through it.’ He subsided, gave an exaggerated sigh, and disappeared into the kitchen.

I sat shivering in an armchair, seeing the fire but not feeling it yet. Lola came into the room wearing her dressing gown and carrying mine. She draped it round my shoulders, and then handed me a soft woollen throw from the sofa.

‘Oh, Lola, I’m so sorry I woke Edie up when you were going to have an early night,’ I said, my teeth chattering from the cold. She put her fingers to her lips and kissed me on the cheek. ‘It’s no big deal, Molly, honestly. Everything’s fine; stop worrying. Get yourself warm and go to bed. You just need a good night’s sleep.’ She sounded in charge, like a nurse, but I was grateful for a bit of well-meant bossiness. Adam came back with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He raised the bottle questioningly towards Lola when he saw her, but she shook her head. We heard her weary footsteps climbing the stairs.

Adam poured us both a brandy and sat down in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace.

‘We need to talk,’ he said.

‘You keep disappearing,’ I replied ungraciously.

‘
I
keep disappearing? What about you? And now you’re going to disappear into a strange house in Polperro for God knows how long. Jesus, Molly, the last time we talked, you were screaming at me, telling me all your bloody strange behaviour since we got to Cornwall was MY fault. I mean, you go charging off to Jamaica Inn and coming back with stories about being haunted by an evil scarecrow, and you blame ME? I’ve told you before, Molly, you need to see someone. I hoped Jamie Torrance would make you see sense, even if I can’t. But no, he said he couldn’t budge you. You’re determined to have your own way. Well, fine. On your own head be it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ He took a large gulp of brandy and angrily poured himself another glass.

I realised I didn’t want this. Anger would destroy everything good that had come to me in the graveyard. I took a sip of brandy, then leaned back into the chair and closed my eyes. I concentrated on the vision of peace and comfort I’d just had. I wanted to hang onto it. The fire and the throw had warmed me through, the brandy had made me calm. I held my glass out for a refill. Adam’s hands were shaking slightly as he poured it.

‘Adam,’ I began. ‘First of all, this – this – rift between us is my fault. You’re right, I did go a bit mad at Jamaica Inn. I had some kind of hallucination, a terrifying one, brought on by all the stress caused by the memories of this place. When we first got here, I thought I could handle all that. I even enjoyed myself at first, playing with Edie and feeling happy for Danny. But the feelings in my head started to build. The longer I was here, the more I felt – possessed by Joey. I know that sounds ridiculous, and it’s certainly irrational, but that’s the way it felt. And I got angry with you because I felt you didn’t understand how unhappy I was, and that trapped me into a cycle of “good” behaviour because I felt I had to pretend to everyone that I was having a good time. So that’s why I blew up at you the other day.’ I paused. ‘This sounds inadequate, but I’m sorry, Adam. I’m not myself.’

He huffed. ‘Well, that’s all too obvious,’ he muttered. He stood up and walked around the room, saying nothing for a while. He pulled the curtains apart at the front window. The courtyard was gently lit by carriage lamps mounted both on the house and on the old grey-stone wall separating the farmhouse from the lane. From where I sat, I could see the white climbing roses wreathing the window, and I thought of the flowers dropped gently onto Joey’s coffin by his multitude of friends. Was that part of a vision? Or was it all a dream?

Adam spoke with his back to me, still watching the front yard. His voice was gruff. I knew what he was about to say was difficult for him. ‘Does this mean that you won’t be moving out to that place in Polperro?’ he asked, then swiftly downed another swallow of brandy.

I hesitated. I thought of the feeling I’d had that afternoon in Talland church’s graveyard. Not the strange enveloping comfort of the – dream? – I’d just had, but the way I’d felt in broad daylight before I left the church. I’d felt I’d been sent a message that my instinct to find out what had happened to Joey was right. I’d also left with the absolute conviction that I was on the right track. And what track was I on? What had I done this morning? I’d rented a cottage by the sea in Polperro. And I’d been told, by some mystic messenger, that it was the right thing to do. I knew what Adam wanted me to say, but I couldn’t do it. I took a deep breath.

‘I’m sorry, Adam,’ I said for the second time. ‘I’m afraid I have to go through with it. I can’t explain. I only know I must. Please believe me. This is because of Joey, because I think if I concentrate on him, speak to Ben, find out exactly what happened that day, I might be able to find him.’

Adam had stiffened. ‘Speak to Ben? So that’s what you’re up to. I thought I’d forbidden you to talk to him again.’

‘
Forbidden
me? Do you really think you have the right to do that?’

I looked at him, then got up and walked to the coffee table before the fire. I picked up the bottle of brandy and poured a generous amount into my glass. I paused, and sloshed in another hefty slug for good measure. ‘Adam,’ I said, ‘this is impossible. I would have liked you to humour me by letting me go, knowing as you do how close to a breakdown I’ve been for so long. It’ll only be for a couple of weeks. I’ve already promised Jamie Torrance I’ll see a therapist after that, if… if I don’t feel better. I want your support with this. I’m going to bed.’

I left him in the sitting room, and went upstairs. I pulled the curtains, undressed and brushed my teeth in the en suite bathroom. Wearing a scruffy old T-shirt, I got into bed, listening tensely, waiting for Adam to come up. At last his footsteps sounded on the landing; I stiffened, dreading another confrontation, and then I heard him open and close the spare-room door. With a sigh of relief, I glugged down the enormous brandy I’d brought up with me, and almost instantly fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I felt terrible the next morning. I never drank brandy, except at Christmas lunch when I poured it onto the pudding so I could light it and triumphantly bear it, flaming festively, into the darkened dining room. Edie, at six months, had been too little to pay attention last Christmas, but I knew how excited she’d be this year as a real little toddler, utterly enchanted by fairy lights, glittering Christmas trees and gaudily wrapped gifts. But here I was, midsummer, no festive excuses, floored by a hangover of mega-dimensions, crippled by the worst headache I could remember. I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, wondering if I was going to be sick. I turned on the shower and stepped into it, swiftly switching the tap onto cold. I stood under the icy flow, gasping at first but then grateful for the power of the freezing needles sluicing down my back. I could feel my head, then my neck, relaxing as my nerves responded to the arctic onslaught.

Numb with cold, I staggered out of the shower, wrapped myself in towels, and brushed my teeth. In five minutes I was heading downstairs, toasty again in my dressing gown, headache much better but definitely in need of food.

In the kitchen, I realised the house was empty. On the table was a note from Danny.

Hi, Mum. Popped my head in to see you and realised you were dead to the world, so didn’t want to wake you. We’ve gone to St. Michael’s Mount; Lola’s always wanted to see it. It’s a bit of a way, so I guess we won’t be back ’til late afternoon. Dad wanted to come with us. He’s left the Volvo in case you need to shop or anything.

See you later, love Danny.

His note was an unpleasant surprise. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t abrupt, just practical, but it hurt that they’d gone to St Michael’s Mount without me; to the spectacular, awe-inspiring place where our two boys had spent so much time exploring the castle and steep hillsides. Where they’d been scared by the enormous silver spoon that was said to belong to the evil giant who lived there and terrorised the local people, until Jack the Giant-Killer climbed up the castle walls and managed to trick the fiend into throwing himself out of the window. Many hundreds of feet below, a huge grassy mound supposedly marked the spot where the giant had fallen to his death, slain by the doughty Jack. Danny and Joey had loved the legend. I would have given a lot to revisit the Mount with my son and his family, showing Edie the super-sized silver spoon that had so intrigued her daddy and uncle.