I Do Not Sleep (25 page)

Annie was looking thoughtful. She glanced up at Jamie. ‘Do you think we could get her back to my house?’ she asked. ‘She needs some sweet tea and a rest.’

Hooking an arm under mine she pulled me up. Jamie did the same, and the three of us walked unsteadily back to Jamaica House.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Annie’s living room, or ‘drawing room’ as she called it, was delightful: big, with enormous bay windows looking out to the sea, and, at the back, to her beautiful garden. Light streamed in, illuminating the polished wood floor and shimmering on the huge cut-glass vases filled with flowers on every surface. The house smelled of roses and beeswax. She made me lie down on a red sofa. There was another, this time midnight blue, on the opposite side of the fireplace, and deep armchairs upholstered in white and pale grey scattered around in the window recesses. She plumped cushions behind my head, and covered me with a silver-grey fur throw. I protested, saying I was warm enough, but Jamie shook his head and said in fact I felt icy. It was the shock. It was the shock, too, which prompted Annie to make me drink a glass of brandy.
Brandy again
, I thought. I’ve never drunk so much of the stuff until I came to Cornwall. I’m always freezing or in shock here; I was tired of it. I wanted Adam. I wanted to go home.

Jamie pulled up a chair while Annie was out in the kitchen making tea. ‘Molly,’ he said quietly. ‘The scarecrow you told me about, the one you thought you saw at Jamaica Inn. Did you see it again in the allotments? Is that what made you faint?’

I closed my eyes. Tears welled up. I felt foolish, drained. How could I possibly make sense of what had just happened? I had had another episode of madness. I had no idea where it came from. What was happening to me? I felt wrecked, out of control. Jamie was right. I should see someone, perhaps that therapist he’d mentioned before. But right now I couldn’t bear to talk to him, or anyone. I’d had enough.

Annie came in with the tea. I sat up, and drank her very sweet hot brew. Together with the brandy, it worked. I stopped shivering, feeling warmth steal through my body. My heart stopped thumping. I almost fell asleep.

Annie’s hesitant voice roused me. ‘My dear, Molly – it’s Mrs Gabriel, isn’t it?’ I opened my eyes. Annie was looking at me, gently and with profound sympathy. I saw Jamie’s head jerk up and he stared at Annie.

‘Yes, Molly Gabriel, that’s right,’ I said, wondering how she knew my full name. Perhaps Jamie had told her.

Annie continued, ignoring the doctor’s intense gaze. ‘I don’t want to be intrusive, Molly, or upset you, but I remember you now. You used to walk past this house every day; it was a few years ago. I was usually sitting in the front garden reading, and I watched you go past. I would always say hello, but you never replied. You seemed in a world of your own.’

‘Yes, I suppose I was. I’m sorry if I seemed rude but I don’t think I was aware of anything or anyone back then. People have told me I used to walk every day, but I have absolutely no memory of it. I’ve blanked that whole period out. I don’t remember you at all, I’m afraid.’

‘But you remembered the allotments?’

‘Not really.’

Annie looked puzzled. ‘But you stopped today and asked Jamie to get the keys. Surely you must remember that you’d been inside the gardens before?’

‘No – it’s just that Len told me to look for the padlocked gate. So when I saw it today I thought that must be what he meant.’

‘Len? Do you mean Len Tremethyk?’ she asked.

I nodded. ‘Yes. I went to see him in hospital yesterday, hours before he died. He was very ill, but he told me I must find the gate, and that it would be padlocked but it would open for me. He said I would find what I needed inside the area it guarded. He’d asked me about the scarecrow, you see…’ Weary, I trailed off. I was too tired to explain about Jamaica Inn, and too horrified to link what I’d seen there with what had happened in the allotments. Jamie leaned forward.

‘She’s very tired,’ he said to Annie. ‘I think I should get her home.’

‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I knew Len very well, and I think I can help her. She needs to know what’s going on.’

I burst into tears. ‘Yes. Oh yes. Christ, I need to know what’s going on, why I’m being driven mad with dreams and visions. It just happened again. I can’t bear it any more.’

Jamie looked reproachfully at Annie as he handed me a wad of tissues, but she carried on.

‘Len was a Charmer. Did you know that, and what it means?’

I nodded again. ‘He told me about it.’

‘How did you meet him?’ Annie asked.

I explained about Queenie and how she invited him to dinner at Hope’s cottage. Annie looked eager and interested to hear more, but my strength was exhausted. I looked pleadingly at Jamie.

‘Will you tell her everything, Jamie? Everything I’ve told you?’

‘Molly, I can’t. You’re my patient. It’s confidential.’

‘But I’m giving you permission. I want you to tell Annie everything. I think Len knew I’d meet her; that’s what he meant when he said the gate would be unlocked for me. He knew Annie would be the one with the key. He knew she would be the next link.’

‘Link to what?’ asked Jamie, worriedly.

‘I don’t know; the next link in the chain. Please, Jamie. I’m so tired, but I’m begging you to be my voice, to tell Annie everything I’ve told you.’

And so the story began again; Joey’s disappearance, the wrecked and empty boat. My anguished walks along the cliff that I’d obliterated from my memory. Our return to Cornwall after five years, and my reluctance to come back. My strange dreams since we got here, and my compulsion to visit Jamaica Inn, where I saw a foul vision of such evil that it unhinged me. My conviction that I must discover what had happened to my son, that I was being guided along a path. My move to Hope’s little house so I could be alone to concentrate on him; and finally our walk today, my behaviour when I saw the gate, and my odd drowsy demeanour inside the gardens.

Annie listened intently. When Jamie had finished she asked me to tell her exactly what I’d seen at Jamaica Inn that had so terrified me. I told her. She sat back in her chair and nodded to herself. She poured us all another cup of tea, and then began to talk:

‘Molly, the reason I know who you are is that I first saw you on your walks five years ago, the ones you have forgotten. Everyone in the village understood your terrible grief, and why you were so silent and self-absorbed. No one could get through to you. You wouldn’t talk to anyone.

‘I watched you walk past my house every day; then, one day, I was just coming out of the allotments, and the gate was wide open as you were passing. You stopped, and started to walk towards it. I was pleased, actually. I thought you wanted to speak to me at last. I thought you’d let me show you around the allotments and talk about the stuff we grow there. I thought a chat might do you good, take your mind off things for a moment.’

Annie sighed. ‘That was very silly of me, but I had no idea how deeply you were wrapped in grief. I held the gate open for you, and you walked right in past me. But you took absolutely no notice of me and began to walk through the gardens towards the sea. I followed you; I was frightened by your silence. You walked as if you were in a dream, straight on through the allotment strips. You were quite a bit ahead of me by then; I kept back because I didn’t want to intrude. Then, to my horror, I saw that you were making for the fence sealing off the headland. Someone had left the gate open, and you walked straight through it, and on towards the cliff edge. You got right up to it, and then you stood and swayed, backwards and forwards. I was petrified, convinced you were about to throw yourself off. I walked very quietly up behind you. I thought if I startled you, you might jump. And then, just before I could grab you, you turned round. I’ll never forget your face. You looked straight through me – I’m convinced you never even saw me – but you certainly saw something, and your eyes were full of terror. I swung round to find what had scared you so much, and I realised you were staring at the Ancient Mariner. I suppose he looked a bit more threatening in those days. We used to have annual competitions every Hallowe’en for the most terrifying scarecrow, and the previous year the local kids had gone to town; they gave him a really nasty mouth, and new eyes – pearlised silver buttons that reflected the light of the sky and sea, so they changed constantly. They were quite eerie. And you were walking late that day, it was early evening and the light was strange; the Mariner’s eyes looked like they were moving. I jumped myself when I saw them. And it was quite windy, and his arms were blowing about; I could hear the twigs snapping. Suddenly there was a big gust of wind and it pushed him forward. He sort of lunged towards us. I could have sworn he’d moved but it was only the wind. And I looked back at you and you’d gone white with terror. I thought you might faint, and that would have been so dangerous, you were so close to the edge. I managed to grab your shoulders, and I tried to get you to snap out of the state you were in. You looked like my little brother used to when he was sleepwalking. I spoke to you gently so as not to scare you, and I said something like: ‘It’s all right, it’s only a scarecrow, it’s only the Ancient Mariner.’ And you looked at me as if I was mad and pushed me away. And then you were sick; you vomited on the grass and before I could get to you, you started running. I chased after you but you ran so fast I couldn’t catch up. By the time I got to the main gate you were a long way up the path, still running, going back to where you were staying in the village I presumed. I didn’t go after you; I just went home. I’m an old lady, not used to running and scarecrows that look as if they’re moving.’

I stared at her. So that was it. I’d felt compelled to go to Jamaica Inn because I had subconsciously remembered the name of Annie’s house, opposite the allotments where I’d been so scared. And I had internalised the sight of the scarecrow I saw there, an experience that frightened me badly when I was in a hallucinatory state of mind. I’d remembered Annie calling him the Ancient Mariner, and that was why, when I thought I saw it again at Jamaica Inn, the words from Coleridge’s nightmare-like poem, already in my mind because I’d been teaching it to sixth formers, had sprung into my mind. My evil, doom-laden vision had been a chimera, nothing more than a half-remembered vivid dream of horror.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A couple of hours later I was back at Hope Cottage with Jamie. We sat down in the living room; Jamie kept asking me if I was all right. ‘I’m OK, I suppose,’ I replied shakily.

He looked thoughtful. ‘You know, Molly, Annie’s explanation about the scarecrow is actually the best thing that could have happened today. You say Len was telling you to go to the allotments. He meant you to realise just how the fright you had at Jamaica Inn came about. There was nothing supernatural about it; it was simply a repressed memory of what you saw at the allotments when you were in shock after Joey’s accident. You’re waking up, Molly. You’re beginning to remember what happened when you were so traumatised.’

I supposed Jamie was right. At least now I had a rational explanation for what I thought I’d seen at the Inn. But what about my walks to the island? Was there anything rational about that?

I felt exhausted. And very alone. Jamie was with me, but it was Adam I wanted.

The tears started again. I apologised to Jamie. He moved onto the sofa next to me and touched my hand. ‘Don’t apologise. Of course you’re upset, you’ve had a very emotional day. I don’t think you should go to the island today. Just rest for the time being, and perhaps Adam will take you there tomorrow.’

Would Adam do that? Would he even come back to Cornwall again?

Jamie got up and went over to his medicine bag. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs now. Get into bed and I’ll give you something to make you sleep. No, really,’ he insisted as I began to protest. ‘You must sleep, and I’m worried that if you don’t you’ll go haring off to the island by yourself and see something…’ He trailed off.

He was right. After he’d gone I knew I’d start obsessing again. I’d seen what Len wanted me to at the allotments. Convinced something else awaited me on Looe Island I would go there, impatient to get Len’s predictions over with. And, tired and upset as I was, God knows what I might have experienced there, with no one to help me.