by Lorna Gray
Then I saw the note.
For a nauseatingly terrifying moment I thought they had been in my room and the click of the door closing was what had woken me. My mind instantly turned the fear into truth by tracing the perfectly simple route they might take across that shallow stream and into the garden and from there easily into the house. Their climb would take them past his room, past her room and onwards up to mine. But then I noticed the untidy initials in the corner where the stamp should be.
The letter had been delivered today, by hand and by some harmless errand boy who, when traced, would doubtless be unable to remember their faces. It was addressed to me, or to be precise Mrs Williams, and somebody had quietly placed it on my bedside table to be there when I woke.
With less than steady fingers, I opened it and drew out the single sheet of paper. It was written by hand, so they hadn’t yet reached the extremes of using newspaper cuttings to form the words. The style was simple and every word crafted to strike the right undertone:
‘Dear Mrs Williams,
Your host was kind enough to take the trouble of telling us exactly where you’re staying now, seeing as we missed you the other day. The next meeting is arranged for 2 o’clock tomorrow afternoon at the gallery. Any later and it’ll risk ruining the little girl’s next family outing.’
And that was it. And I had just one thought in my mind. Adam.
Without so much as a pause to allow for the inevitable discomfort from moving so swiftly from horizontal to upright, I slipped across the room, opened the door and tiptoed silently down the stairs. The light in the bathroom had been left on, as a night-light for May I supposed, so the unfamiliar house was not as eerie as it might have been. But it was still very daunting when I found myself on the short landing between the open door of the child’s room and the partially closed door of his. It was another touching little indication of parenthood and a good deal of me wanted to find any means necessary to maintain the pretence that this latest assault on their lives had never happened. But the alternative was too hard. It was bitterly selfish, I knew, but I didn’t want to try blind flight again.
I reached out and touched the cold painted wood of his bedroom door. It swung a little wider, wide enough to admit me and I took a breath and stepped in. There he was, lying diagonally in a tangle of limbs and sheets on his front with his head to the wall. He was not, I noticed, wearing a shirt but at least he had on what appeared to be a respectable pair of pyjama trousers.
Dodging the noisy pitfalls of abandoned slippers, a small stuffed puppy which had to be May’s and a very well camouflaged chest of drawers, I moved a little closer. He didn’t stir. He also didn’t notice when I passed between him and the pale light cast from the street outside, and then I was standing by the side of his bed and finding myself left with no option but to cautiously reach out to lightly tap him on the shoulder.
For a moment I thought that hadn’t woken him either. But then with a funny little snoring breath he lifted his head and touched his face as if he did not know why he had stirred. He must have caught my wavering form out of the corner of his eye because he mumbled something about children waking people up at the oddest times and twisted round. And then stopped abruptly when he saw it was me.
I thought for a few humiliating seconds he was going to turn away again but then with a sigh – the sort of sigh someone makes when they’re still half asleep – he rolled completely onto his back and rubbed his face a second time. “What is it? Another nightmare?” His voice was blurred.
I shook my head and, after a few more seconds of stupidity, thrust the letter at him. He blinked at me and it, but then at last he took the paper from my hand and, half propped up on one elbow, tried to tilt it to catch the meagre light.
“What is it?” he asked again, peering at the brief lines with brows lowered from the effort. I saw his eye flick from the letter to me, still standing dumbly before him.
I fiddled mindlessly with my fingers before finally managing in a voice that squeaked with the strain of being quiet, “It’s … I … you need to read it.” Then I sat down abruptly on the edge of his wide bed.
I was, typically, wearing that ridiculous nightdress again. It was at least long enough to cover me nearly to my ankles but what it made up in length, it lost by having flimsy straps and a very deep ‘V’ at the back. He had moved his legs a little hastily to accommodate me and I suddenly realised he was probably afraid that this, the latest in a long line of social disasters, was a bizarrely excruciating attempt at a late-night seduction. I wrapped my arms about myself and turned my head away so that he wouldn’t think I was staring at his chest.
I felt the mattress dip as he climbed off the end and padded lightly to the door. He listened for a moment until he was satisfied his daughter was sleeping soundly, then he eased it shut. The bed tilted again as he moved past me to reclaim his place. He reached for his lamp and suddenly the room was filled with strong yellow light. I hugged myself a little tighter.
“Right then.” He sounded more bemused than anything. “Let’s see what all this is about.”
Then there was silence, a darkening silence. He had been on the verge of smiling but all that faded before he reached the end of the note. I saw the flutter of white as he turned it over to check the reverse and then he reached out a hand and took the envelope from me too.
“I didn’t write it,” I said hastily, seeing him examine the courier’s marks.
“No,” he agreed, reading the note through again. “And this arrived today?”
“Yes, well that is to say, I think so.”
“You think so?”
“It wasn’t there when I went to bed. But I woke up and saw it. I had a funny dream, or at least I think I did and I had to switch on my light. I probably wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise.” I was gabbling stupidly.
“Yes, yes,” was all he said. He was staring at the paper, not reading it any more, just staring and staring and his voice when he next spoke was tinged with disbelief. “They were watching us in the park. They were close enough to hear May’s questions about you as she collected hazelnuts for the squirrels.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”
He looked up at that. Then he reached out a hand and put it over mine where it had dropped to my lap.
His eyes narrowed to glare fiercely at my hand. “You’re freezing.”
I shook my head. “No, no. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re practically shivering.”
“Honestly, I’m fine.” For a brief terrifying second I saw his gaze drop to the rumpled blankets by his side and consider offering their warmth but then, I think to our joint relief, he spied his dressing gown hanging over the back of a nearby chair.
I didn’t contradict him again. The long robe was warm, made of flannel and it covered my hated nightdress perfectly. After a while, when all we had done was stare blankly at that sheet of paper some more, I said carefully, “Well, at least I’m keeping part of my promise.”
“Your promise?”
“To tell you. You’ll hardly hold me to the other half now they’re trying to intimidate May.”
“Kate?”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
“Just let me think for a minute, would you?”
I did let him think for a minute, and then I let him think for a few minutes more. I think it was a relief to finally let someone else do it. I was still loitering quietly on the edge of his bed when I woke some three hours later to the sudden tilt as he climbed out and padded softly to the door. Victim yet again of that overpowering urge to sleep, I was curled up in the comfortable warmth of his dressing gown and at some point he must have folded the corner of his blankets over my feet. I heard the creak as he opened the door.
“Good morning, little one.” The whisper had a smile in it.
“Your door was shut.” A pause, then, “Why is she on your bed? Did she have monsters in he
r room?”
“More like a bad dream.”
Ah, was that what it was?
“Did you get her some hot milk? That’s what you always get for me.”
The warmth of another smile. “No, I didn’t. But I will next time. Anyway, what do you want at this godforsaken hour? Is it time for school already?”
I heard May’s giggle. “It’s still dark, silly! It’s only six o’clock. I just thought you might like to play a game with me.”
“Right.” One simple word conveyed amusement and fatherly disapproval in equal measures.
“I thought Snap.” Then May added hopefully, “Will she want to play too?”
“No. I think we’ll let her sleep, she’s had a rough night. So shush.”
Another giggle. Then the happy clump of her feet skipping down the stairs followed by the soft whisper of the door being eased closed.
My face was concealed within the curve of my elbow. The warm fleece was soft where it pressed across my eyes and it smelt clean and crisp which meant disconcertingly that it presumably smelt of him. It also covered the fact that I was awake when he stepped quietly back across the room again to switch on the lamp. At some point while I’d been slumbering on the edge of his bed he must have reached across to switch it off and settled down beside me to wait for the morning.
He was standing there. I concentrated hard on keeping my breathing steady and regular, and it must have worked because after a few long seconds I heard him turn away and begin pulling at some drawers. I was still practicing my breathing when he left a few seconds later.
A few minutes after that, the door opened and he came back in again. There was a sharp pattern of footfalls, different now because every movement had the added texture of daytime clothing, and then silence. Then an impatient sigh very close to my head. “You know, there really is very little point in pretending to be asleep. We both know why you’re in here, regardless of what I choose to tell my nine-year-old daughter.”
I guiltily lifted my head. I saw him give a short nod of satisfaction and step away. He said, “You should get dressed. I’ve given my sister a call and she’s got a cab coming to collect May. I can’t deliver May to Cheltenham because if you recall the car was running on fumes by the time we got home the other night. My sister should be here in about fifteen minutes. Can you hold tight until then?”
I sat up and folded the dressing gown demurely across my knees. He was wearing his usual uniform of warm woollen jumper rolled back past his wrists and good trousers which had seen far too much walking, or mangling at the hands of Mrs Francis. I asked, “Will she be safe there?”
In the past a question like that would have been his cue to start telling me all the reasons why I was imagining things. It was disorientating when he only said mildly, “I think so.” Then, “Go on; get dressed. I’ll be the one in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. I really don’t think the world is going to come to an end before we’ve even had breakfast.” And on that unanswerable note of domestic calm, he left me alone in his room.
---
Adam’s sister was a little older and her light eyes were cautious, and very serious like his, though I suspected her face was generally more used to laughing. I descended the stairs just as she and her little charge were leaving. May was bounding about in the midst of the protective cluster of her father, her aunt and another man who was presumably the lady’s husband. May was, thank heavens, still completely oblivious of the reason why she should be being suddenly gifted another day off school. No one noticed me blending with the pale brown carpet of the stairs while they sorted their young charge into coats and accompanying bits and pieces including the kitten; that is no one noticed until Adam’s sister happened to look up and catch me there.
She greeted me carefully. I wished I’d been more of a coward and stayed hidden in my room until they’d gone. It wasn’t bravery that had made me do what was right but a sense of what I owed her brother.
Adam’s head snapped round as I made my reply; he had been rummaging in a cupboard for shoes but now he moved towards me. “Can you hang on a minute?” He was speaking to his sister.
“Adam, I really think …”
He cut across her as he climbed a few steps with that easy authority of a sibling. “Just give me a minute. This won’t take long.” Then he approached and lightly took my arm to lead me back up into the doorway of the bathroom. We both heard May’s laugh. Guilt made me shiver.
His hand dropped from my arm. We were back in the tense distance of yesterday as he searched for the right way to put this. His voice was stern. “Listen, Kate, I’m just going out to the car to see them safely on their way and then—”
I interrupted him. I’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a relief to let someone else do the thinking. There was no thrill in finding myself not so wholly on my own. I mumbled incoherently and yet firmly about something to do with May and him going with her, and responsibility.
He actually gave an exasperated jerk of his head. “Look, I gathered long before this that certain parts of your past have tended to make you feel perpetually at fault – though I doubt you’d admit it if I asked you – but will you please stop apologising? You didn’t cause this, did you? You didn’t make them hound you. You didn’t create this … this fantasy. They did. They’re here, they’ve threatened May, and you definitely cannot control it by saying sorry or pretending you should tackle this alone again. Hell, you didn’t even ask to be brought here, did you?”
His manner was reserved, hard, and not at all like the gentleness I had grown to depend on in Aberystwyth. The bathroom was tiny with him in it too but there might as well have been miles between us. He was running a hand through his hair as he said, “Now listen, you interrupted me just now but this is important. I don’t want you to panic, but someone’s here to see you. I think he can help.” He caught my questioning look. “Jim.”
He didn’t need to feel my flinch, he saw it. I found the cold edge of the doorjamb hard at my back. But his voice followed me. He wasn’t using his blunt delivery to increase the distance between us. He wanted to curb it. His voice checked me as he said urgently, “Please don’t look like that any more. It’s the expression you were wearing on your first night in this house and I couldn’t decipher it at first, but then you began speaking to me and suddenly I could. It’s the look you have when you’re thinking the only thing left for you is to try harder to disappear. The hopelessness of it makes me afraid that one of these times you might succeed.” Then, while I stopped trying to make sense of things I could never understand and stared up at him, frozen except for heart and lungs which were pounding, he added in a lighter tone, “And besides, in this instance, it truly isn’t necessary. He’s a policeman.”
I suppose I really should have known.
Everything slowed down. And I mean everything. In the clean white space of the bathroom, the space between us contracted. By Adam’s side, his hand made a movement to touch me, then hesitated. No doubt his jaw was remembering what had happened the last time I’d been distressed and he’d taken hold of me. Then he deliberately defied the memory. Suddenly his hands were upon my shoulders. Then roughly, unexpectedly, that wasn’t enough and I was wrapped in his arms. It was a decisive sort of hug. Fierce. I was crushed into his chest. I was clinging to him too. My face was turned against the curve of his neck. His jumper was warm against my cheek, against my eyes where they were pressed tightly shut and beneath my hands where they knotted in the loose folds of woollen fabric behind his back. I felt his chin move against my hair. He was saying very softly, “You know, that’s the second time you’ve trusted my word without argument. Last night and now; I believe we have progress.”
He meant when I hadn’t taken the message in Clarke’s note as it was written and accused Adam of deliberately informing them that he had me.
After a moment more of intense stillness while humour faded to something far more complicated, he added, “And I’m sorry. This is the real apo
logy that is owing. I’ve known for certain about Jim since he called me yesterday morning and I’ve have told you if you’d stayed in any room with me long enough to let me speak. Or if you hadn’t looked like one more mention of that business might break you. I decided I shouldn’t force you to listen. I think I’ve done quite enough in the line of making assumptions about you one way or another, and I judged it better to let you rest and enjoy some peace and approach the subject in your own time. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me. But it … it has been a very difficult conversation to know how to begin, weighed down as it is by the knowledge I was unforgivably hard on you the other night and I could see it had made you shy of me.”
It felt safe, hidden away there in the warmth of his shoulder. The sort of place where nothing more could find me, not even emotion except for something very simple and understated. And the slowly dawning realisation that the reserve that had coloured his manner and the mistake he’d spent the past day trying to undo hadn’t been the fact he’d brought me into his home. The mistake had been in his manner of doing it.
Below, May was calling impatiently. Rather more briskly, he added, “I’d better go. Will you manage for a few minutes?”
I nodded into his jumper. After a moment more when I was supposed to let him go – but somehow didn’t and he didn’t either – I took a very deep breath. My voice surprised me by being remarkably normal as I finally confessed what I had known for some time, “I don’t know how to face this.”
It took him a few long seconds to formulate his answer. His hands adjusted their grip and then a second time. Then, with his mouth near my ear he said soothingly, “Of course you do. You’ve been doing brilliantly all this time. You’re just worn out, that’s all. And you’re forgetting that I really did mean what I said. I am here now. I’ll help you.”
His grip tightened further while my mind ran through everything he’d ever said to me and realised with a little bolt of shock that he was referring to a promise delivered in the hotel foyer which at the time I’d discarded as a lie.
