I Do Not Sleep

by Judy Finnigan

  Wren arrived at our table, and raised an eyebrow at Queenie. ‘Wren, I don’t know if you remember Molly Gabriel. She’s… well was, Joey’s mother.’

  I tried not to flinch. Even if he’d gone, even if I never saw him again, even if, God help me, he was dead, I would always be Joey’s mother; always and for ever. I made myself smile at Wren. He smiled back, his eyes softening in sympathy.

  ‘Molly needs to talk about the last time Joey was here, before his boat was wrecked,’ Queenie continued. ‘I remember you and Joey used to talk for hours.’

  Wren sat down at the table. ‘Yes, that’s right. He was a great bloke, Joey. I was a bit wild and miserable in those days, knowing I was never going to amount to much. I mean, the men in my family have been fishermen for generations. No one’s ever done anything else. And obviously that’s what was on the cards for me too. I’ve always helped my dad on his boat, and I enjoyed it all right, but back then I was feeling rebellious. I wanted to get away, move upcountry, see life. I really wanted to go to university.’ Wren laughed. ‘Ideas beyond my station, you see. I was useless at school, never worked. Well, why bother when you know your life’s been mapped out since you were born? So there’s no way I was bright enough to go to Uni, but I totally resented it back then. I spent hours asking Joey what it was like; we talked for ages.’

  He gave me a guilty look. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gabriel. This must be very upsetting for you.’

  ‘Molly,’ I said immediately. ‘Please call me Molly. And it’s not upsetting me. I need to know as much as I can about Joey’s last days. Thank you for talking to me.’

  Wren looked thoughtful. ‘He was very understanding, was Joey. He did tell me about Uni, and he said he enjoyed it, but that it wasn’t for everyone. He said that with his mum and dad being teachers and all, he was always expected to go, just like I’d always been told I was going to be a fisherman. He said he loved sailing, and that in some ways he envied me. Exams and stuff were stressful, and he thought he might prefer a quieter life. He made me feel a lot better about myself; he was clever that way. I told him he should have been a shrink, and he laughed. Oh, and he also said that if I really wanted to go to university, I could always go later. Try fishing first, he told me, and if you still want to study, you can always do A levels at night school and then go on to university as a mature student. He said he’d help me, gave me his phone number, and said if I fancied a trip to Manchester he’d put me up and show me round.’ Wren looked at me shyly. ‘He was a good lad. Very kind.’

  I smiled. Wren’s memories of Joey made me feel happy. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He was a smashing boy.’ My eyes filled up, and I turned my head apologetically. Queenie swiftly stepped in.

  ‘Molly was asking about Ben, too. You weren’t quite as close to him, were you?’

  The lanky young man frowned slightly. ‘Well, not in those days, but of course he lives here now and he’s completely changed. We’re friends now.’

  ‘But not then?’ I asked quickly.

  ‘No. He used to be kind of strange. Standoffish, a bit of a loner. Didn’t want to talk much to anyone, except those pricks who used to hang around here back then.’ Wren blushed. ‘Sorry for the language, but they really were arseholes.’ He blushed again.

  ‘What was wrong with them?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, they were gangsters, weren’t they? Manchester gangsters, up to their necks in very shady stuff. Drugs, was what everyone said.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘We didn’t, not for sure. It was just a rumour that was going round. Anyway, they were certainly up to something, and it wasn’t anything good.’ Wren looked at Queenie.

  ‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘There was something very threatening about them, but like I said, Moll, nobody ever caught them out.’

  ‘You didn’t call the police,’ I said.

  ‘What for? They never put a foot wrong. And anyway, we’ve got a couple of local coppers who drink in here. They used to keep an eye out, but you can’t arrest people for being ugly. They did look like brutes, though. In their thirties or forties, shaved heads, very big. Not fat, broad. And the way they stood; they were so intimidating.’

  ‘How many of them?’

  ‘Three usually, but sometimes another two would turn up, God knows where from.’

  ‘And you say Ben used to talk to them?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Queenie. ‘Thick as thieves, they were. They’d drink and mutter together for hours.’

  ‘Ben knew them,’ said Wren suddenly. ‘He knew their names and everything, right from the first night they came in. I assumed it was because they were all from Manchester.’

  ‘What about Joey? Did he seem to know them?’

  ‘No.’ Wren shook his head. ‘At least, I don’t think so. He didn’t like them, I could tell. He never drank with them, and he hated it when Ben did. He kept trying to pull him away. They had quite a few rows, but I never heard what they said to each other. There was a pretty bad atmosphere in the Blue Peter then.’

  ‘In the whole of Polperro, really,’ added Queenie. ‘There was a lot of tension around, as if people were waiting for something bad to happen.’

  ‘And it did,’ I said grimly. ‘Joey vanished.’

  Wren looked shocked. ‘Oh, I don’t think Queenie meant that. She meant… we all thought they were building up to something criminal. Some kind of big scam. But it never happened.’

  ‘What did happen? When Joey’s boat was found, what happened to these… gangsters?’

  Wren shrugged. ‘They hung around for a while, then they just disappeared. It was odd. They were very unsettled about Joey. Almost as if they’d had something to do with it.’

  ‘I bet they did,’ I said bitterly.

  Queenie looked at me sharply. ‘Molly, what are you thinking? Wren’s wrong. They couldn’t have had anything to do with Joey’s accident.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  ‘Because they were all in here the morning it happened. Joey had set off alone that morning–we saw him leave the harbour. We thought it was a bit strange because he and Ben always sailed together, but Joey was definitely on his own, and those gangster types were all here in the pub. They played cards all morning. Then Ben came in at lunchtime. Normally he’d have had a drink with them, but this time he ignored them and sat on his own. I remember the big bruiser went over and had a word with him, but Ben just looked miserable and refused to talk.’

  Wren chimed in. ‘And soon after that Ben started to look worried. There was a squall outside then; it blew up halfway through the morning. After a bit, Ben came up to me and said he was bothered because he was supposed to meet Joey here and he was more than an hour late. Well, I told him not to worry, but to be honest I was concerned. It’d got pretty rough out there. I wouldn’t have wanted to go out on a boat myself. We waited for another hour, and Ben was white as a sheet. I took him to see the harbourmaster, Dave, and he started the alert. The lads did a search and they eventually found Joe’s boat wrecked and stranded in an inlet just off Looe.’ He looked at me sorrowfully.

  ‘And when they found the boat there was no sign of Joey,’ I said heavily.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. They did a huge search though. They did look for him Mrs Gab—Molly. They were searching and trawling for days. But…’

  I knew the rest. They never found him. And they never found a body.

  I sighed and stood up. I thanked them both for their patience and said I was going home. Queenie looked worried. ‘I’ll come down later, shall I?’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own.’

  I said I was going to see Josie, and told Queenie I’d be fine. Then, with a heavy heart, I left the Blue Peter and walked home to Hope Cottage. Hopeless cottage. For both Josie and me.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  I went to bed that night feeling guilty about not visiting Josie at Emerald Point. But I also thought I needed a rest from sorrow, whether mine or someone else’s. There was a stack of DVDs on a shelf next to th
e widescreen television in the living room. Predictably, this being Hope’s private collection, there was a surfeit of Disney animations: Beauty and the Beast, Finding Nemo, The Little Mermaid. Lots of earlier archive stuff as well: Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Fantasia. But because Josie and Tony rented the cottage out to grown-ups from time to time, there were movies like Mamma Mia, Shakespeare in Love, Sleepless in Seattle, and, striking a bizarrely dark note, The Shawshank Redemption. I settled for Mamma Mia. I wanted ABBA to remind me of my youth, when life was all about guilty cigarettes and parties. And boyfriends, too. Just fun, really. I’d forgotten how to have fun.

  When I finally settled in my bed, I tried to keep that gorgeous, bouncy ABBA music in my head. Eventually I drifted off.

  In my dream, Len walked beside me. The sky was dark, but poised to take on the colour of the day. Dawn hid itself away, only revealing an early promise of light in the east, a hint of dusky blue. I could see well enough, though; I was aware we were treading on rough grass and I could smell the salt of the sea. We walked up a steep track, although our motion was effortless. We glided along the ground; to the left I saw a rocky cliff carving down to a jagged foreshore. The sea lay calm, still, as if waiting for something, reflecting occasional diamond glints of light as the dawn grew brighter. To our right, nestling in woods, was a small dwelling. This was Smugglers Cottage, I gathered from Len, but although his benign presence by my side felt companionable, I never heard him speak. I seemed to absorb his thoughts by osmosis.

  After we passed through the trees, glimpsing Looe Bay and the mainland to the left, we wandered through fields, flat and cultivated. Len murmured, and although I couldn’t hear him, my mind filled with daffodils, bright, glorious and nodding in the early dawn light. Ahead of us there was a large and pleasant building, and I learned wordlessly again from Len that this was Island House, the main dwelling on Lammana. I was here at last, walking in the place to which I had been mysteriously called, day after day, after Joey disappeared.

  Keeping the sea to our left, Len guided me uphill on a path that led past the house towards the island summit. Just before we reached the top I saw a seat and sank down upon it, Len, as always, by my side. I gazed out to sea, and watched the sun rise.

  And in my dream I saw the gathering light coalesce, throb, take shimmering shape and cohesion. A grotto of golden beauty formed before me, an iridescent cave bathed in translucent light. The radiance beckoned me. I felt a longing to walk into its brilliance and warmth; it was as if a candle flame drew me into the heart of its heat.

  I stood up and looked at Len. He knew I wanted to move into the grotto. He smiled and walked with me. We entered together, into a place of intense and joyous rapture. I felt strong, whole, reborn.

  Again Len spoke to me soundlessly, and I knew he was telling me about a divine presence. The infant Jesus had walked on Lammana, brought by his uncle, Joseph of Arimathea, a merchant who traded silks and spices from Phoenicia for Cornish tin. I had heard this legend already, but in this golden holy grotto, I felt its truth, and how it had touched the imagination of poets such as William Blake; the story of Christ’s sojourn on the island was said to have been the inspiration for his beautiful hymn Jerusalem:

  And did those feet in ancient time

  Walk upon England’s mountains green?

  And was the Holy Lamb of God

  On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

  I closed my eyes, revelling in the calmness of my heart. Len’s spirit prompted me to open them, and when I did I saw a lovely and familiar face. Her eyes smiled, her red hair streamed behind her, her sea-green robe rippled softly round her small body. Hope looked steadfastly at my face; she floated like the little mermaid she loved so much, she radiated joy. I heard her voice in my head: ‘It’s all right, Molly. Tell Mummy I’m happy. Tell her I’m happy, here. It’s nice; everyone is so kind.’

  There was a pause, a silence in my mind. I felt joy for Hope and an urgent wish to share this bliss with Josie. And then I heard Hope’s voice again, soft and encouraging.

  ‘Molly, look.’

  And Len’s face was suddenly before me, benign and happy. I felt his ghostly hands brush mine. ‘Yes, Molly, look. Look my dear, and you will see that all is well.’

  I lifted my head. Joey, ringed with brilliance, stood before me, his eyes wide with welcome. He was beautiful, perfect, untouched by the sea and the savage creatures of my nightmares. He looked as he did when I last saw him in my kitchen, healthy, happy and full of love. He held my gaze. My voice broke.

  ‘Joey, oh Joey, my Joey. I’ve finally found you, my love. Please stay, please stay with me. If I lose you again my heart will shatter.’

  And I moved towards him, my arms open wide, desperate to hold him at last. He let me fold my body around him. He felt insubstantial, but oh, I could smell him. That robust young man’s smell, the scent that had survived his absence. My soul feasted on the essence of my son. He stepped back and smiled at me. ‘Mother… Mum,’ he said softly, and it filled me with joy.

  ‘You’ll find me now,’ he breathed. ‘And all will be well. Now you’ve found me, you too will be well again, Mother. You’ll be healed, and I’ll always be with you. I will never leave you. I am at peace. I am happy. Don’t fret about me any more. Keep me in your heart. I love you.’

  And I thought he’d fade away, that the golden grotto would shrink and disappear, that the dawn light would sink into the inkiness of night, and I would find myself alone on Lammana, without Len, without Hope and without my dear beloved son. But none of that happened. Instead I awoke and felt myself still bathed in shimmering brightness. All around the room white moonbeams darted, shining on my coverlet, glinting off the walls. Silvery starlight gathered at the undraped window and flew across the dark bedroom, touching my face, my hands, stroking me, coaxing me to be happy. And as I let the stars and moonbeams caress me, I felt again the peace and stillness I had found in Talland churchyard. I glimpsed the journey’s end, the rest granted to weary bodies, the gladness to be found in bowing one’s head, accepting one’s fate; and most of all the joy of knowing that I had found my son, and he was at peace, and all would be well.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  When I woke up again the sun was high in the sky. I stretched, completely relaxed, feeling as if I’d slept for days. The happiness of the night had stayed with me. I felt as if I’d completed a long quest; that I’d successfully reached the finishing line after an interminable marathon that had nearly killed me. I luxuriated in bed, allowing peaceful waves of pleasure to wash over me.

  Something, a strong instinct, was telling me my dream of the island was significant, that it was more than an attractive and restful fantasy. What had Len told me while he lay dying in his hospital bed? That I would first see the island when I was with Adam, and that it would mean nothing to me at the time. I would understand only later the place’s true purpose, what it really signified for me. And now he had sent me the dream. He meant me to understand something momentous. And was that something that Joey was dead? My son’s spirit had appeared to me and told me all was well, he was happy. Was that all that my dream had told me? Should I now give up the search, find Adam and go back home to a new life?

  But why, then, was Len’s ghost so eager to take me to Lammana? Why had I met my son in a dream on the very island that had compelled me to walk for miles to look at it?

  And why had I made that same daily journey, in some kind of trance, just after Joey’s empty boat was found wrecked? What was my subconscious trying to tell me?

  I leapt out of bed. I had to get back to the island straightaway. I had to walk on it once more, this time awake and aware. Because something was missing from my interpretation of last night’s dream. Where was my son, his physical remains? I had to find Joey.

  I dressed hurriedly and was rushing out of the front door when my mobile rang. I looked in my bag; it wasn’t there. Damn. What had I done with it? I ran upstairs to the bedroom, and there it was on the litt
le lamp table under the window. I picked it up and answered without looking at the caller ID.

  It was Adam. His voice was urgent. ‘Molly? Ben’s back in Polperro. I want to see him.’

  ‘How do you know he’s back?’ I asked.

  ‘I saw him,’ said Adam grimly. ‘I was coming to see you, and as I pulled into the top car park I saw him coming out of the Crumplehorn. I ran after him but by the time I reached the lane he’d disappeared. I don’t know where he lives, but I’m going to find him.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Still at the car park. I was thinking of going into the Crumplehorn and asking if anyone knows where he lives.’

  ‘No, Adam. Don’t do that. We need to call him first.’

  ‘Why? You said he ran away from you when you met him at the Blue Peter. Why give him the chance to refuse to see us? He’s obviously got something to hide. We need to confront him.’

  I remembered Ben’s scared face as we walked through the village that day. If we surprised him, ‘confronted’ him as Adam wanted to, Ben would see it as aggressive. I felt sure this was not the way to talk to Ben. He would respond best to gentleness–he would only open up if he felt we were not going to blame him for whatever had happened to Joey. And at the moment, Adam was looking to blame him.

  ‘No, Adam. Please listen to me. Can you and I meet and talk first? We need to plan this. I’ll walk up to the Crumplehorn now, and I’ll see you inside in about ten minutes.’

  Adam grumpily acquiesced, and I finally left the cottage to meet him. As I walked up through the village, I worried about my husband’s fury; not just with Ben, but also me. I dreaded a row, and it wouldn’t get us anywhere. I prayed that Adam would listen to me and accept we had to tread carefully with Ben. I was also frustrated at not being able to go back to the island straightaway, and wondered if Adam, not content with simply antagonising Ben, would stop me from doing that as well. He was in an uncompromising mood, my husband, a familiar stubborn cussedness I recognised from the occasions when things were not going well at his school. For a moment I thought of not going to the Crumplehorn. I could ring Adam and make some excuse, tell him I had a headache and needed to lie down. Then I could get a taxi to Looe harbour and find a boatman to take me to the island.