‘It’s no use,’ the girl said.
‘You can’t hang onto the past. It’s let you go.’
Jay felt dizzy, trapped. The
house was closing in on her, dream reality or not. She pushed past
the girl and ran down the hall to the front door.
Outside, she went towards the
gate, her sight pulsing painfully with dark spots. Beyond the gate
was a lane, but she could see a cluster of buildings further down;
what looked like a pub, shops. She ran as in a nightmare; slowly,
hardly covering ground. Her feet slipped from beneath her and the
landscape around her was motionless, as if painted on reality.
She came to a staggering halt
next to a village green. People walked there, up and down, arms
linked. It looked like the lawn of a lunatic asylum. All her energy
leaked out of her, into the surroundings. She collapsed onto the
parched green, her sight occluded.
Then Jem’s paw-like hands were
upon her shoulders. ‘You mustn’t fight it,’ she said softly.
Jay clenched her fists against
the earth. ‘No! This is not my future; it’s not!’ A shiver of heat
passed through her.
Jem put her arms around her and
whispered close to her ear. ‘You were hurt and came to hide. You
were abused and came to heal. You took the step and the sky heard
you. In this place are your dreams, and dreamless sleep.’
Jay raised her head and opened
her eyes. She felt herself slipping, her will fading. Around the
edge of the green a crowd of people stood in a ring, staring at
her. Some faces were devoid of expression, others seemed concerned,
others still appeared faintly hostile. They were not a community
though; she could see that. They were freaks, misfits, the
creatures of nightmares. Dex was not among them.
‘You are one of us now,’ Jem
murmured.
No hotel. No
phones. Lestholme was truly a lost place, and a home of the lost.
Jay knew instinctively that Jem was wrong about her. She did not
belong there. But she had been drawn to it, allowed ingress, and
she was sure this was connected with her search for Dex.
Jay had run away from her life,
albeit without quite the same sense of leaving it forever that Dex
had felt. She was still not entirely convinced that Lestholme was
not a figment of her imagination. Although she’d been imaginative
as a child, she’d grown into a rational, practical person. The
peculiarities of the village and its inhabitants did not belong to
the world Jay had created for herself. For one, they seemed caught
in a sort of time loop, inhabiting a reality comprised of the
rosier aspects of the Fifties and Sixties. The air had the strange
feel of summers past. It was like continually being reminded of a
past event that perhaps had never actually happened. Kitchen
windows were thrown open to emit the fragrance of home cooking from
the redolent depths of the houses and cottages. Women hung out
cracking sails of pristine washing upon lawns where the grass was
the green of youth. Men strolled in the lanes with walking sticks,
cravats at their necks, dogs at their heels. Children romped
singing in circles upon the village green, and long skipping ropes
whipped the air, accompanied by rhythmic mantras. Radios all played
old tunes, and the broadcasters talked in the plummy accents of
earlier decades. The radios themselves were old-fashioned. Jay saw
them, because she began systematically to call on every household
in the village on her quest for information about Dex. Everyone
welcomed her in unreservedly, but did not respond favourably to
direct questions. They were vague, as if too enwrapped in their own
dreams to care much about hers. They were not a community as such,
but more like survivors of a disaster, brought together by the
camaraderie of troubles shared. And they’d all had troubles.
Jay had spent a fretful first
night in Ida’s house, unable to sleep. She’d finally drifted off at
dawn, only to be woken what seemed like minutes later by Jem
telling her breakfast was ready. Downstairs, Ida glided from cooker
to table to sink in repetitive motion, her face set in a beaming
smile. There was no sign of Arthur or the old woman, but Jay
suspected that if she should venture into the living room she’d
find them sitting there, just as she’d seen them the previous
evening.
Jem and Jay ate toast, spread
with home-made marmalade. Jay could sense that Lestholme might
close over her like a fleecy gloved fist. If she wanted to, she
could release her past into the air, let it float away from her.
She did not want that. She still wanted truth, to find Dex, and she
would begin by investigating. She was also determined to discover
what Lestholme actually was, and how its inhabitants had ended up
there. The mere decision to begin work in this way made her feel
more stable, more in control. Jem seemed willing to conspire in
Jay’s plans. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone trying to find a friend
here,’ she said, ‘but it should be easy to look.’
Jay sipped from a cup of Ida’s
strong tea. ‘So where do we start?’
‘Next door, with Sally
Olsen.’
Next door was actually around
fifty yards up the lane. As Jem and Jay strolled slowly along, Jem
told Sally’s story. When Sally was seven years old, she’d been
kidnapped by a woman whose own daughter had died. Sally had not
been ill-treated by her captor, and in fact had enjoyed the biggest
spoiling of her life. Not that she could really remember it. She
just knew. For a while, her picture had been in all the papers. Her
mother had believed her dead. Subsequently, after the police raid
that had resulted in Sally’s release, her mother had closed Sally
away from the world. She’d been a lonely child, because friends had
been discouraged. At an early age, she had been in the nation’s
spot-light. Photographers had come to take her picture, and women’s
magazines had run stories on her. Then the interest had gone away,
and Sally had been left with her neurotic mother and the
slowly-closing walls of a shrinking world.
‘I wouldn’t normally say these
things to a newcomer,’ Jem said, ‘because everyone’s story is their
own, but I feel it’s OK with you.’ She reached out and took Jay’s
hand. Jay was touched by Jem’s words and gesture. She wondered what
the girl’s own story was, but felt that now was not the time to
ask. They had reached the cottage gate.
Sally’s home was surrounded by a
well tended Old English garden, complete with spires of hollyhock
and foxglove, banks of climbing roses and dense purple tuffets of
lavender. The cottage was thatched, with overhanging eaves.
Wind-chimes tinkled in the shadowed porch, where muddied
Wellingtons lolled beneath a bench covered in gardening implements.
This might be a dream home, but it was real and immediate. Sally
worked in her garden; here was the evidence.
Jem went to the open door and
leaned into the house, calling Sally’s name. Almost immediately,
the occupant hurried out of the dim interior.
Sally was a bright and nervous
young woman, with long fair hair. She was dressed in jeans and a
T-shirt and her hands were scratched, and gritty with dried soil.
Jem introduced Jay, saying nothing of why they were calling.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ Sally said to Jay, wiping her right hand on
her jeans before offering it to shake. After the introductions, she
ushered her guests round the back of the cottage to a grey-flagged
patio where rustic furniture burned in the sun. Jay found herself
yearning to walk in the garden, investigate the tunnels of yew, the
briar-covered walkways. Even in the bright sunlight, Sally’s back
garden was a wonderland of shadows and hidden corners, starred by
flowers of glowing colours.
Jay and Jem sat down on a warm
bench, and presently Sally came out of the cottage with glasses of
home-made elderflower cordial on a tray.
‘Jay’s looking for someone,’ Jem
said, and Sally sat down, her expression alert, her attention fully
focused on Jay.
‘Oh, that’s different,’ she
said.
Jay smiled and sipped her drink.
It was ambrosial, slipping down her throat with refreshing
coolness. ‘I’m not quite sure how I ended up here,’ Jay began.
Sally interrupted her, nodding
earnestly. ‘Oh, believe me, I know how you feel. But don’t worry,
all the strange feelings will pass. When I got off the bus here, I
thought I was dead!’ She laughed.
Jay couldn’t help feeling
slightly chilled, despite the generous warmth of the day. ‘You got
off a bus?’
Sally nodded again. ‘Oh yes.
Some of us come by bus.’
‘How did you hear of
Lestholme?’
Sally shrugged. ‘Well, we don’t,
do we? Did you?’
‘Er - no. I didn’t intend to
come here at all.’
‘Nobody does. That’s the beauty
of it.’
Jay took another drink. ‘Happy
coincidence.’
Sally just laughed. ‘We are
lucky, very lucky, blessed by God, his mercy.’
Her last remark made Jay
uncomfortable. ‘So, anyway, as Jem told you, I’m looking for
someone. His name is Dex.’
Sally stuck out her lower lip.
‘Dex. I don’t know anyone of that name.’
Jay described him, and Sally
said she could think of a couple of people that might fit the
description, but that she’d not spoken to them. ‘You have to
realise that some of us are more - well -
private
than
others. We all have to respect that. Some people keep themselves to
themselves. That’s OK.’ She reached over the table and patted Jay’s
hand. ‘It’s important you know that you can speak to any of us at
any time,’ she said. ‘Most of us like to talk. It helps us.’ She
put her head on one side enquiringly, and Jay realised Sally was
waiting for her to start purging herself of whatever tragedies had
impelled her to find Lestholme. Perhaps Sally thought the queries
about Dex were merely a smoke-screen to cover distress.
Jay smiled. ‘That’s very kind of
you, but in some ways I feel like an intruder here. I don’t think
my troubles compare with yours. I’m really here to find Dex.’
Sally’s eyes narrowed slightly
in concentration. ‘This Dex is part of your story?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Then you might not find him in
quite the way you expect,’ Sally said.
‘Finding him in any way will do
fine,’ Jay answered. She noticed Sally exchange a glance with Jem.
They must think she was terribly damaged, unable to speak of the
pain that really filled her. Their pity annoyed her. She drained
her glass. ‘Well, if you don’t know Dex, I suppose I’d better move
on and try and find someone who does.’ She stood up.
Sally and Jem stared up at her.
Jem didn’t look as if she was about to move.
‘I can’t sit around, Jem,’ Jay
said, rather sharply.
Jem ducked her head. ‘Then keep
looking,’ she said. ‘Ida will call you when tea is ready.’
Jay turned away from them and
rolled her eyes in private contempt. Ida would call her! She shook
her head. ‘See you later, then.’
She walked round the side of the
cottage and out into the lane, slightly put out that Jem hadn’t
come with her. Ahead of her, the houses were closer together. She’d
just knock on doors. Why not?
It was easier than she imagined.
All she had to do was say ‘Hi, I’m new to Lestholme’ and she’d be
invited into to whatever house, bungalow or cottage she’d
approached. Everyone was welcoming and friendly. Many lived alone,
but others shared houses so that they appeared to be families,
although none of them were related. The children that Jay saw
playing in the gardens were lost children. Somewhere, parents must
be grieving for them. The thought sickened Jay. Her search for Dex
became almost eclipsed by her curiosity about Lestholme. How had
all these people come here? Although they answered her questions
with apparent sincerity, she noticed they were adept at skirting
facts. Some spoke of arriving by bus, as Sally had done, while
others murmured vaguely of walking into the village. No-one, it
seemed, had arrived by car. The village didn’t appear to have any
cars. That alone was bizarre enough. Everyone was able to recall
their past existences with ease, but not one of them was without a
murky patch of memory that involved the time immediately prior to
their arrival in Lestholme. If Jay pushed them on this subject,
they became slightly agitated, and would start blurting out their
‘stories’, as if to shout down the discomforting topic. Jay was
surprised that she recognised some of the people she visited. Once,
they had been fairly famous, or their painful stories, which should
have remained private perhaps, had been emblazoned across the
tabloids.
One example of this was Terry
Mortendale, who had been an infamous foot-ball star in the
Seventies. He had burnt himself out with booze and women, and after
being flayed by a gleeful and gloating media, had faded from public
view. He’d ended up in Lestholme.
At three years old, Lindy Trent
had pushed her own baby brother into a canal, where he’d drowned.
She was only nineteen now, and Jay could vaguely remember the case
that had dominated the papers for a while.
Father Bickery had run away with
one of his female parishioners and, allegedly, a certain amount of
parish funds. The Sunday papers had loved that story. His life had
been ruined.
There were many more people like
these: runaways, adulterers, embezzlers, failures, the bereaved,
the fuddled and the stars of five minutes of fame. Apart from the
common denominator of being traumatised by what had happened to
them, all the villagers shared another trait: they had been the
subject of intense, if sometimes brief, media interest and they
hadn’t been able to cope with it. Their lives had been invaded,
ripped apart, revealed to all, and some innate weakness within them
had made their realities crumble. They couldn’t deal with it
anymore, so they’d escaped. While some individuals might thrive on
media attention, to the villagers in Lestholme it had been a
scourging fire, a catalyst which had brought out deep-seated
frailties. Jay felt uncomfortable with how she could be seen as a
wolf in disguise amongst these sorry sheep, but she had to admit
that Lestholme, with its media casualties, was the place where
someone like Dex might end up. She had always known that in some
way Dex had craved attention, which was why he’d chosen the career
he had, but like the villagers he sometimes hadn’t been able to
handle it, hence the occasional attacks on photographers and cold
indifference to fans. But Jay would never have believed being a
celebrity had affected him so badly he’d had to jettison his entire
life. Was this simply another aspect of his personality she’d never
identified? Had he heard of Lestholme before and therefore found
his way to it?