‘OK. That’s fine. Some air will do us good. I just had such a need to see you, and to ask you about Joey’s last day.’
He looked evasive, I thought. But this couldn’t be easy for him.
We left the Blue Peter, down the steep stone steps, and turned left away from the harbour. I asked Ben where he was living, and he said at one of the Crumplehorn cottages up at the top of the village.
We walked, slowly and awkwardly. To break the silence that had descended upon us, I asked my first question: ‘Ben, why did Joey go out on his own that day? Why weren’t you with him?’
He snuffled slightly. ‘We weren’t joined at the hip. We were both competent sailors in our own right.’
‘I know. But still, it seems odd to me. Where did he tell you he was going?’
‘I have no idea. He just said he wanted to take the boat out on his own.’
‘Didn’t you mind? Weren’t you curious?’
Ben was ruffled. ‘No. We weren’t babies. We each had our own lives.’
‘Was he meeting someone? Did he want to be alone for a reason?’ I pressed on.
Ben looked truculent. ‘How should I know? Look, Molly, Joey told me he wanted to take the boat out and he’d meet me at lunchtime in the Blue Peter. What was I supposed to do? Throw a tantrum?’
I looked at him. This was strange. Why was this young man so defensive? I tried to mollify him.
‘It’s OK, Ben. I’m not implying anything, of course not. It’s just… I desperately need to know what happened. And I know you cared for Joey. I thought maybe you could give me some insight into how he was feeling that morning.’
‘Well I can’t, Molly. I’m sorry. I know how much you must miss him, how much you’ve grieved. Me too. I don’t think you understand how much.’ Ben swallowed hard. ‘He was my best friend. I knew him right from when we were little. Can’t you understand how horrible it all was for me as well as you? I’m sorry for your loss,’ and he said this almost formally, ‘but it was my loss too. I want to forget about it. I have a life to lead.’
And he turned and walked quickly away from me. Up the hill, towards the Crumplehorn Inn, with a youthful litheness I could not hope to follow.
I stared after him, then trudged back up the hill to the car park. Back in the Volvo I sat quietly, trying to work out what my abortive mission to Polperro had actually achieved. Very little, obviously, but something was wrong. I felt tired. I was desperate to get back to normality, to Adam’s comforting solidity, to Danny, Lola and above all little Edie. I needed to hold her in my arms, to feel her wriggle and chuckle, to experience her warm little life growing as intimations of death claimed my thoughts.
I drove back to Coombe. I’d had enough. Warmth and love was what I craved. Luckily my family was there to provide it.
Chapter Seventeen
When I got back Adam was still watching the cricket, but Danny, Lola and Edie were sitting in the garden. Edie was drinking milk, but her parents had opened a bottle of wine. Lola poured me a glass and looked at me closely.
‘What’s up, Molly? Is everything all right?’
‘Oh yes, of course. I didn’t go to Fowey though,’ I stumbled, as I remembered I hadn’t brought anything back for dinner. ‘Just didn’t feel like it, so sorry, I didn’t get the lamb. I went for a long walk instead.’
‘Don’t worry, Mum. We won’t starve,’ said Danny easily. ‘There’s spaghetti bolognaise in the fridge, and lasagne.’
‘Right, of course.’
‘Mum. Are you OK?’
‘Yes, of course. A bit tired, I guess.’
Lola’s lovely face softened. ‘Yes, I can tell. This is hard for you, isn’t it? Being back here?’
‘No, no. It’s lovely to be here in Cornwall, with you and Danny and Edie. A new start, just as Adam said it would be.’
Lola looked as if she didn’t believe me. She turned to Danny and said in a low voice, ‘I told you. I said it was too soon. I knew she’d be unhappy. We shouldn’t have come.’
Danny looked uncomfortable. ‘Lola, leave it, will you? Dad and I thought it was right, coming back here. And I still think—’
Lola interrupted. ‘I think your mum needs a break. Molly, why don’t you go upstairs for a nap? I’ll sort out supper. You go and have a rest. I’ll wake you up at dinner time.’
I felt hugely grateful to be given permission to disappear. To be off duty, allowed to be myself, and not pretend to be brave. I smiled at Lola. ‘Thank you, love. I would like a rest.’ Then I looked anxiously at Danny. ‘I’m fine, Danny, really I am. Just not a spring chicken any more. We older ladies need our naps.’
‘You’re not old, Mum. You’re only fifty. Far too young to be a glamorous granny, even. You’re the youngest grandmother I know.’
‘Yeah, well, I started young with you. Only twenty-two when you were born.’ I smiled at him affectionately.
‘Gosh. You really had Danny when you were only twenty-two?’ asked Lola in surprise.
‘Well, Adam and I met at university. It was love at first sight. We got married straight after graduation. It was a bit of a surprise when you came along so quickly, but we were delighted really.’
‘And then Joey came, just three years later?’
‘Yes.’ I stopped. ‘I’m going upstairs for a rest, pets. I’ll see you later.’
But I didn’t. I did go up to bed, took my clothes off and sank on to the comfortable mattress. I fell asleep immediately, but I didn’t go down to supper. When Adam came up to wake me, I felt ill. I had a raging temperature. My head ached and I felt totally sick. Whatever virus little Evie had had, I’d obviously got it.
I moaned apologetically to Adam. I felt so bad, like all mothers do when they’re not living up to their responsibilities. I was letting everyone down. I should be in the kitchen, helping to serve up, being the perfect grandmother.
But I couldn’t do it. I needed to rest. And when Adam left me, I drifted immediately into a feverish sleep. I got up twice during the night to throw up, retching into the toilet. I was vaguely aware of Adam coming to bed, settling down next to me, finding his way around the darkened room with the light from his phone. I was boiling hot; and when I finally managed to let go, I entered a world no mother should ever have to breach.
The island. What was this island? I did not know, but in my fevered dream it consumed me. He was there, my Joey, I knew he was there. Only I could find him, but why? How? What was there to discover? I dreamed of caves, raging seas and, as my feverish mouth craved water, I dreamed of him, my son, desperate with thirst.
Oh, Joey. Where are you? Let me find you, my love, let me rescue you.
Chapter Eighteen
Next morning I still felt very ill. I barely woke up, registering dimly the movement downstairs which meant the family was awake. But I was confused, surfing restlessly through a consciousness that phased in and out, dipping through awareness, and then retreating into the delicious warmth of a fever-induced sleep.
At some point mid-morning, Adam stuck his head round the door, a broad smile on his lips.
‘Molly, are you OK?’
No, I thought. I’m not OK. I groaned, to show him I was awake but wanted to be left alone.
It didn’t work. He was thrilled with himself, I could tell.
‘Molly, guess who’s here? It’s amazing, you’ll be so happy to see her.’
No, no, no, no, no, I thought. I’m not happy to see anyone. I don’t care who it is, I don’t care if it’s the Queen. I’m ill. I couldn’t give a stuff who wants to see me, all I want is to sleep.
‘Go away, Adam. Please go away.’
‘No, seriously, Moll, I know you’ll want to see Queenie.’
Queenie? Dear God, no. Had she told Adam I’d met her and Ben at the Blue Peter yesterday? I prayed not.
‘Adam,’ I croaked. ‘Really, I feel crap. I don’t want to see anyone today. Anyone.’
Too late. Queenie had already stuck her head through the door.
&n
bsp; ‘Hello, gorgeous. I heard through the grapevine that you were all back here at Coombe, and I couldn’t wait to see you again.’
I closed my eyes. ‘Sorry, Queenie, I’m not well.’
‘I know, darling. I’ve asked Lola to bring you up some honey and hot lemon. What a sweetheart she is, by the way. Imagine little Danny being married! And as for Edie, she’s gorgeous. You are so lucky, Molly, having a granddaughter. I still don’t have any grandkids, even though I’m older than you. My lot are so feckless and irresponsible, I doubt they’ll ever get round to it.’
Lucky? Queenie actually thought I was lucky? I held my tongue, but inwardly I was seething.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I thought perhaps we could have a little chat.’
I looked at her balefully. Adam disappeared downstairs.
‘What are you doing here, Queenie?’ I hissed. ‘I don’t want Adam to know I saw you in the Blue Peter yesterday.’
‘That’s all right, honey, I know. He thinks Linda and Bevis told me you were all at Treworgey again.’
Linda and Bevis Wright were the owners of this little holiday hamlet. They were discreet, lovely and totally trustworthy. But it didn’t alter the fact that I was ill, and the last person I wanted to see at my bedside was Queenie. Queenie was magnificent and larger than life, but gossip was her currency and her joy.
Lola brought up the lemon and honey drink, and with a worried look at Queenie went back downstairs.
I struggled up. ‘Look, it was really nice to see you again yesterday, but what do you want? I’m really not well.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. But the thing is, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.’
I sighed. ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Can’t you see I’m not up to it?’
‘Yes. Obviously you can’t talk at the moment. But in a couple of days, when you’re feeling better, you will really want to meet Len.’
‘Len? Who is Len?’
‘He’s a Charmer, Molly.’
‘A charmer? But who is he?’ Visions of George Clooney and Brad Pitt swam into my head.
‘You must have heard of Cornish Charmers, Molly. They’re white witches. They’ve been healing people and casting charms for centuries down here, especially on Bodmin Moor.’
I sighed. ‘Oh, Queenie, don’t go all mystic on me. Please, just go and let me sleep.’
And then, flooding into my mind, scaring me rigid again, came the terrifying image of the evil-eyed scarecrow at Jamaica Inn. Queenie had gone ‘all mystic’ on me? Who was I kidding? The idea of a white witch seemed quite tame, compared to the fiend I’d seen at the Inn; yes, on Bodmin, where Queenie claimed these so-called Charmers congregated. But I had no intention of cutting her any slack. I’m not prepared to make myself vulnerable to the village gossip, barmaid, I thought snobbishly, then flushed with shame as I considered how genuinely kind Queenie was. She didn’t notice my face had gone red, but she was insistent I listened to her.
‘I’m serious, Molly. It’s OK. I know you’re poorly. But you should talk to Len. He’s waiting for you. He’s got things he needs to tell you. About Joey.’
I stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not going to talk any more. You obviously need to rest. When you feel up to it, call me. I’ll leave my home number with Adam.’ She leaned down towards me. ‘Molly, I’m not being frivolous here. Len can help you, he really can. I totally believe in him, and what he can see.’
I turned over. Although I felt something, some faint echo of intuition fastening onto her words, I couldn’t take it in at the moment. I felt ill, nauseous. The room was swirling around my head; I had vertigo. I was desperate to sleep. Above all else, oblivion was what I craved. I felt, rather than heard, Queenie leaving. There were murmured voices on the landing. And then, mercifully, I was left alone. No one else disturbed my solitude. I was allowed to sink again into dreams, into the borne of peace I longed for above all else.
Later, much later, Adam crept into the room. ‘How are you, love?’ he murmured. ‘I think you should have something to eat. You must be starving.’
‘No, not now, Adam. I feel sick. I need to sleep.’
‘But you’ve been sleeping all day. Should I get a doctor?’
‘No. I’m just exhausted. I’ll be better tomorrow, I’m sure.’
He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Look, Molly. I know why you feel so bad, and it’s my fault for bringing you down here to Cornwall. I should have realised how much it would affect you. We’ll go back to Manchester, tomorrow if you like. Danny and Lola can stay on here. They’ll still have a good holiday.’
I closed my eyes. Should I take Adam at his word? I was tempted. Our house in Manchester felt like a beacon to me now, a haven of security and warmth. There, I was used to coping without Joey. I could resume my life. Here, I was beset at every turn with images of horror. Each time I looked at the sea I thought about Joey’s boat as I’d seen it when we hurtled down here in such a panic more than five years ago.
The little fishing vessel was a wreck, completely smashed up against the rocks. It spoke of violence, abandonment and death. There was nothing of my son still on board, not so much as a drink carton or a sandwich wrapper. The deck boards were splintered bones, the hull a gaping hole.
How could I possibly spend any more time here, pretending that I was on holiday, that I was somehow enjoying this time spent with my older son, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter, when every glimpse of the ocean made me nauseous?
My eyes were still squeezed shut. Adam stroked my forehead. ‘It’s all right, Moll. This is all my fault. We’ll go back home. You’ll wake up in bed there and think this was all just a terrible dream. I’m sorry, love. I really meant it for the best, thought you could cope, but I got it horribly wrong. We’ll leave tomorrow, after breakfast. I’ll go downstairs and tell Danny.’
He kissed my cheek and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.
I lay there for a long time. Tomorrow I could escape. And I would never come back. A chance to leave this sadness, this emptiness, behind me for ever.
I drifted off to sleep. Dreamed that we were packing the car, waving goodbye to Danny, Lola and Edie. The Volvo was out of the lane, heading back to Looe, to Plymouth and the Tamar Bridge. We crossed the estuary, the sun glinting on the water, the boats bobbing bright and sprightly on the tide, and suddenly we were out of Cornwall. We had crossed over into Devon. I would never have to enter the hell where my son had been lost ever again.
And in my dream, just as I smiled with pleasure and relief that I was on my way home, the skies darkened. There was an enormous, terrifying thunderclap, and behind us the River Tamar frothed and rolled. Forked lightning crackled down on our car, the heavens opened and beyond the tumultuous noise I heard an unmistakable voice: Mother. No. Don’t leave. Find me.
I woke in panic, convinced that I was on the road leading back to the north. Leaving my boy here behind me in Cornwall, unfound and unburied. And then the familiar room, the four-poster, the drapes, the chintzy armchairs showed me I was still here, still in Coombe, still only a couple of miles from the place where my son had been claimed by the sea.
And I realised I had a job to do.
Maybe I could only regain my peace of mind by being on my own, free of family obligations. Maybe I just needed to concentrate on me, and on Joey. Because it seemed to me that, after these five horrible years, I was the only one still suffering. Everyone else wanted to move on. I was the one stuck, still reliving that apocalyptic Easter when I was told my son had drowned.
Feverishly, I considered my options. I could move out, rent a holiday cottage in Polperro on my own. This was the way I would find peace; I knew it. Yes, that’s what I would do. Tomorrow. I would tell Adam in the morning.
And then I slept; peacefully and dreamlessly, at last.
Chapter Nineteen
I woke up the next morning feeling much better, my high tempe
rature gone. Adam’s side of the bed was empty. I looked at my watch and saw it was nearly ten o’clock. I’d slept through until the fever broke, leaving my head blessedly cool and lucid.
I remembered what I had decided last night. I was going to find a holiday rental in Polperro, and move there on my own. Adam, Danny, Lola and the baby would stay here. I would ask them to leave me alone while I got on with the business of finding out what happened the day Joey disappeared, to finding peace from this torment at last. I would feel much better without the family pressure on me to be happy. I wasn’t, and I was tired of pretending.
Adam pushed open the door with his backside. He was carrying a breakfast tray. I could smell toast, and realised I was ravenously hungry. He smiled at me and put the tray on the bed: tea, orange juice, a boiled egg, toast and marmalade. I fell on it as if I were starving–which of course I was.
Adam beamed as I wolfed it all down. He was so thoughtful I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. ‘Good girl!’ he said approvingly, as if I was about ten. ‘Now, if you’ll just get ready and pack your things, we can get away right now. With any luck we’ll be in Manchester by suppertime.’
He saw my face fall. ‘Hey, don’t worry, love. I’ve talked to Danny. He and Lola quite understand why we’re going home. Danny said he feels guilty that he so wanted you to come down here. He said he was being selfish. He was so desperate to get back down now he has a proper family and he genuinely thought enough time had passed for you to be happy again.’ Adam paused, and walked over to the window. Quietly, he continued. ‘He’s young, you see, Molly; full of hopes and dreams for the future. Too young to spend the rest of his life mourning for a brother lost so many years ago. Don’t blame him.’
Adam turned to face me. ‘Blame me, love. I’m not young and I should have known better than to put you through this.’ He coughed and turned back to the window. ‘Lola was quite firm with him. Told him to let you go with good grace. He’s got a good one there, Molly. She’s clever and kind. When she said that, she looked quite fierce. I think Danny even quailed a bit.’ He chuckled, then turned to me. ‘So Danny asked me to tell you that you should go home with no worries. He, Lola and Edie will stay on here and they promise you they’ll have a lovely holiday. So, it’s all fixed.’
I Do Not Sleep Page 6
