by Lisa Hall
‘Mina … it’s Mummy. Come out, come to me. I’m right here.’ My feet don’t want to go into the woods, but I force myself on. I have to find her. I have to save her.
Mummy. Where are you? Mina’s voice is behind me now, and I whirl on the spot, dizziness making me squeeze my eyes shut. In that brief second there is a small splash from the pond, followed by the clear jangle of a bell and my eyes fly open to see ripples bouncing across the surface of the water. There is no sign of Mina.
‘Oh God, no, not the water.’ I am running before I have even finished processing the thought, my feet flying, my hair whipping across my face. At the edge of the pond I keep going, sinking into the mud beneath the surface. The shock of the water as it hits my thighs takes my breath away, and I strip off my jumper before diving under the water, groping blindly in the dark for any sign of her. My lungs bursting, I surface, gasping and shivering.
‘Mina!’ I shout, looking around wildly. There is still no sign of her. ‘Please,’ I whimper, before gulping in a huge breath and ducking back into the dark, weed-ridden water. I dive down and resurface again and again, my legs getting weaker and my voice hoarser with every try. My toes sink into the thick, claggy mud, weeds wrapping themselves around my legs as I reach out, swiping and groping, desperate for my fingers to snag on anything other than reeds. The pond isn’t anywhere near as deep as a lake, but it’s still over a metre and a half to the bottom, plenty deep enough to take Mina. I feel my nightshirt billowing around me, my lungs aching and stars starting to burst behind my eyelids. If I can’t find her, I think, what is the point of coming back up for air? I hear the bell of the rattle again, not understanding how. Didn’t I leave it in the pantry? How can it be under the water with me? I’m going to lose her. Agnes has taken her for her own, just like the others. I close my eyes, arms still outstretched and let myself sink further towards the bottom. Mina, I’m sorry.
A hand latches itself around my wrist and yanks me unceremoniously back to the surface. As my face breaks through the water, I gulp and then start to cough, dank, dark pond water scorching my throat as I cough it from my lungs.
‘Allie, Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?’ Rav has pulled me from the water and now sits behind me, his legs either side of my body as both arms snake around my waist, clutching me tightly.
‘Let go. Let me go!’ I wriggle, fighting back against him, but he holds me tighter. Panic overwhelms me and I claw and scratch, anything to get him to let me go, let me back into the water to find Mina. ‘She’s in there!’ I shriek finally, unable to fight him off. ‘Mina is in there! Agnes has her! In the water … please, Rav, let me go, I have to get to her, it’ll be too late …’ Sobs wrack my body, but still Rav doesn’t let me go.
‘Shhh, Allie, please, you have to calm down.’ He doesn’t relinquish his hold, drawing me even tighter to him if that’s possible. ‘She’s not in there. Listen to me – Mina isn’t in the water.’
‘What?’ I go still, my face still anxiously searching the body of water in front of us.
‘Mina isn’t in the water, Al,’ Rav says quietly. ‘She’s asleep in her bed.’
‘Did you …’ My teeth begin to chatter violently.
‘Did I check? Yes, of course. I just checked on her not five minutes ago – I heard you calling for her. She’s tucked up in bed, fast asleep.’ He rests his head against mine, and I soak up the warmth of his body behind me. I am cold, so cold. My arms and legs are aching as my muscles go into a shivering spasm. ‘I need to get you inside, Allie. If I let you go, will you follow me?’
I nod, tears starting to run down my cheeks, scalding hot after the icy water of the pond. Rav picks up the jumper I cast off earlier and tugs it gently over my head, and then I lean on him as we walk slowly back to the house. Once inside, Rav nudges the thermostat up in the kitchen and sets the kettle on to boil before he turns to face me. I sit at my spot at the kitchen table, still shivering, confused and exhausted.
‘Allie, what on earth were you doing? Were you … I mean, did you mean to …’ Rav sighs, his words thick in his throat.
‘I thought she was in the water,’ I say, forcing myself to blink. ‘I heard her calling for me, and I looked out the window and she was outside. In her nightie. She ran towards the trees and then there was a splash …’ I break off, wracked by shivering. Rav fills a hot water bottle and lays it gently in my lap before pouring more water for tea. ‘I thought she was in the water, Rav. I was trying to save her.’
‘It was a dream, Allie. A nightmare. You were sleepwalking.’ Rav pauses. ‘I think you need to go back to the doctor, Allie. This isn’t normal, even after having a baby. Something isn’t right. Your dreams, and now sleepwalking. I don’t think that’s normal.’
‘It wasn’t a dream,’ I say flatly. ‘I saw her out there. And the other dream … it wasn’t a dream either, it was something else, something more.’ A memory. A memory of something awful that happened in this house. Rav’s expression changes and he turns his back to me, using the tea as a pretence to hide his face. When he turns back, his face is neutral.
‘Here, drink this.’ He hands me the cup, but I don’t drink from it. ‘It was a dream, Allie,’ he says firmly.
Neither of us sleep much the rest of the night. I check on Mina myself as Rav follows me up the stairs towards bed, needing to see her with my own eyes before I can settle. As I step past the mirror that hangs in the hallway, I see her, a dark shape behind Rav, her face pale, half covered with her hair. Agnes. I shiver again and deliberately turn my back, my heart hammering hard in my chest as I walk into the bedroom and slide beneath the covers next to Rav, both of us careful not to move too close to each other for the rest of the night.
The door slams somewhere below, and I freeze, my entire body tensing. I wait for a moment before the panic kicks in fully, my breath rasping in my ears, my heart pounding as the blood courses through my veins. Quickly, quickly. I have to finish this, before it is too late. They are coming for the children, for me. My steps are silent across the floorboards, as I hurry across the room towards the bed, towards the humped mound beneath the duvet. Her shoulders rise and fall with every breath and I stand for a moment, mesmerized, knowing that that rise and fall will soon stop, that the body will become still and the light will go out for good. And with no light, there is no threat, no fear, no pain. There is silence now, no sound of footsteps, no more slamming of doors. I imagined it, I think, blinking slowly, feeling as if I am underwater, fighting against a tide that no one else knows is there. The smell in the air is thicker now, heavier, and my temples throb, a wave of nausea rising in my stomach. I am so tired. My eyelids are heavy, my limbs like lead. I just want to sleep, the image of my bed in my mother’s house rising to the front of my mind, the thick blankets, the soft, downy pillow, the way it feels to sink into that bed. But I can’t sleep. Not yet. There is still too much to be done. Once I am finished, when this is finally over then I can sleep, for the first time in so long. As my hands reach for the pillow, cast aside at the end of the bed, it’s as if my arms are moving independently of my body. I am not really there, my body just a shell. I pick up the pillow, hold it to my chest, digging my fingers into the soft feathers, feeling the sharp press of a stray quill against my palm. Will they fight? I wonder, as I draw the pillow to my own face, gently pressing it against my nose. I can still breathe, for now. Will they scratch and bite? Will they struggle and try to push me away? Or will it be peaceful, a tiny movement beneath my hands before the breath runs out and there is only stillness? Clouds thicken and gather across the moon and the room is pitched into darkness once more. I let out a breath, my throat sore, my chest restricted. It’s better in the dark – I can’t see their faces in the dark. I lean down over her dark head, sleeping soundly, the pillow gripped tightly in my hands and I begin to lower it, my arms rigid to stop the trembling. They shouldn’t have cast me out. It’s time for all of this to be over.
Chapter Thirty
Rav is gone wh
en I open my eyes. My entire body aches and for a moment I wonder why before remembering the events of just a few hours before. A thick, purple bruise has formed around my wrist where Rav yanked me from the water, a sore, twisted bracelet made of finger marks. I push myself up the bed, the dent of Rav’s head still on the pillow next to me, and from the bathroom I can hear water running. The remnants of the dream still swirl in my mind, so real I can almost feel the fabric of the pillow in my hands. I feel sick and my head throbs, just as it did in the dream, and I swallow down the bile that seems to creep up my throat. Rav has left his phone on the bedside table. With a stealthy glance towards the still sleeping baby, as if worried he’ll see me, I reach over and pick it up. I flick quickly to his WhatsApp messages. Sure enough, there is another exchange between him and Naomi.
Can we meet?
This from Rav, sent at four o’clock this morning, just a couple of hours after he had pulled me from the pond.
Something has happened with Allie. It’s really serious this time.
Of course.
Naomi had replied at a little after five thirty this morning. She would have been on her way back from the flower market, I think.
Meet me at The Blue and White at 7.30 a.m.?
I’ll be there.
The Blue and White is a café around a twenty-minute drive from here – in the opposite direction to Rav’s office. Naomi and I used to make a point of meeting there at least once a week after Mina was born, leaving Rav to look after her while we caught up with each other. Naomi used to moan every week about the fact that I left Mina behind, but I needed that hour to just be Allie, not Mina’s mum or Rav’s wife. Now I wonder if she was planning this even then. Rav must be keen to cement his plans if he’s prepared to meet her there, and at that time, meaning he will be late for work. I glance at the time on the phone screen. It’s a little after six thirty. The shower turns off and I hurriedly lay the phone back on the bedside table, closing my eyes as if still sleeping.
‘Oh.’ I blink groggily as Rav enters the room, a towel around his waist. His face looks grey with exhaustion, despite the hot shower. ‘You’re up early. Meeting?’
‘Yeah.’ He reaches for a polo shirt, then changes his mind and swipes a white Ralph Lauren shirt off a hanger. Nearly, Rav, I think, you nearly slipped up. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’ He buttons the shirt, then perches on the side of the bed, taking my hand in his. I have to fight the urge to recoil.
‘Oh, better,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I frightened you, I scared myself if I’m honest. I’ve never sleepwalked before.’ And I haven’t. I remember the bitter taste of the tea; the way exhaustion had overwhelmed me. ‘I think maybe I’ll steer clear of the tea before bedtime in future.’
‘Might be an idea.’ Rav tries on a smile, but it doesn’t stick, his brows coming together in its place. ‘Will you be OK today? I was thinking I would go to the meeting this morning, and then come back here. Work from home. We could go for lunch after you pick Mina up. We need to talk about what happened last night, don’t you think?’
‘I’ll be fine, Rav. You’re busy, you won’t get anything done here and I know that case is important to you. Last night was a one-off. It won’t happen again.’
‘What about Naomi? Or Mum? She could come over and spend some time with you.’ A pulse flickers under his eye, a persistent twitch. He doesn’t want me to be alone with the children, I think. Maybe he’s worried I’ll take them before he does. I smother the urge to laugh at the idea that Rav has the same fears I do. I need things to be normal. I need Rav to believe me when I say I am OK.
‘Honestly, Rav, you don’t have anything to worry about. I sleepwalked – that’s all. If you call Avó she’ll only make you drive her over.’ I slide my hand out from under his, push back the duvet. ‘It was just a stupid nightmare, Rav. You go. You’ll be late if you don’t get a move on.’ Rav frowns and gets to his feet. I shouldn’t have said that about being late.
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Positive. See you tonight.’
The mirror. I stand in front of it now, waiting for that dark, sinister shape to appear in the reflection behind me. There is nothing. The air remains still, there is no breath on the back of my neck, no sign of Agnes on the stairs. The house is quiet, the baby fed and back to sleep, Mina still slumbering on in her bedroom, the duvet tugged right up to her dark curls. The mirror is where all this started – finding it in the attic and then discovering the feathers beneath the floorboards. Once the mirror was hung that’s when Agnes made her presence really known. I think of Lillian Sparks, of her baby and how they took her away, called her mad. Agnes is part of it all, I am sure, just like Elsie Sparks was sure. I don’t have the first idea of how to make a charm to protect the house, but I can get rid of the mirror. Taking a deep breath, I grip the frame on either side of the glass and lift it from where it hangs. It’s heavy, and I remember how Rav and I struggled to get it down the stairs, me laughing as he called out instructions. Was that the last time Rav and I laughed together? Somehow, I manage to manoeuvre the mirror out to the kitchen and through the back door, where I lean it against the house. It occurs to me that maybe I should smash it – would that stop her, or is it too late? I am still so cold, despite the warm sunshine that is beginning to peep through the trees, and I rub my hands over my arms. Maybe removing it from the house will be enough. Please, let removing it be enough.
An hour later, I have every intention of taking Mina to preschool, despite my sluggish tiredness, but everything changes on our walk to school. As we turn into the High Street, I see Tara, with the pushchair this time, talking to Evie outside The Daisy Chain. At first glance I don’t think too much of it, until Evie goes inside, and Naomi comes out. I can’t hear their conversation, but the way Tara kisses Naomi warmly on the cheek tells me that both of them have lied to me about how well they know each other. I freeze, pulling Mina close to me.
‘I need to tie my laces,’ I lie. ‘Hold on to the pram.’ As Mina wraps her tiny fingers around the handle of the pram, I crouch down and fiddle with my shoes, straining to hear what they are saying. I can’t make out the words, but I can read their body language easily enough. Naomi peers into the pram, cooing over Rufus who is clearly much better. Tara says something and they both laugh, in that comfortable way that confirms to me they aren’t simply acquaintances, they are more than that. Tara speaks again, and Naomi’s face grows serious. She looks towards the end of the road, towards our house, and she shrugs, shaking her head. She rubs the tops of her arms with both hands as if cold, and as Tara reaches out a hand as if to comfort her, I get the unmistakable feeling that they are talking about me.
‘Mummy, come on,’ Mina grumbles.
‘Just a sec.’ I keep crouching, watching, as Tara pulls Naomi in for a hug. They hold each other for a few seconds, and I feel a pang. Naomi and I would hug like that before, but I haven’t let her for weeks and I miss the feel of her arms around me, the scent of her perfume, before I remember that only a couple of hours ago, she was meeting my husband behind my back. Tara and Naomi say goodbye now, Naomi stepping back inside the dark, cool air of The Daisy Chain, while Tara turns towards the village, walking towards the preschool.
‘Shall we stay home today?’ I say to Mina, standing up. My lower back throbs where I have been crouching, my thighs burning. Everything feels too bright, too loud. ‘We can play in the garden, have a water fight.’
‘Yay!’ Mina cheers and starts running along the pavement in the direction of the house. I heave a sigh of relief to myself that she is so easily led and follow her, as fast as I can on my sore ankle. When I turn to look back, the street is empty.
I set Mina up in the garden with a plastic paddling pool and a tiny watering can. The sight of her sitting in just a couple of inches of water is enough to make my blood run cold after the previous evening, and I have to keep telling myself that it wasn’t real, that Mina was never in the pond. Even so, I drag the pool close to the edge of t
he border where I weed between the plants, close enough so that she is in my eyeline the entire time, and far away from the mirror that leans against the wall of the house. She sings as she plays, water sparkling in her hair, as I prune and weed, pausing only momentarily at the oleander tree, at the snipped ends of the stems where flowers have been cut. I shake away the memory of the scent of them on my skin, instead focusing on Tara. Clearly Tara and Naomi are more friendly than either of them cares to admit, and when I think of them standing together in the street earlier, I feel a crawling sensation like ants on my skin. Tara hasn’t asked me for the blue blanket back – it is still tucked away in the drawer of the spare bedroom. Why do I see that blanket in my dream? Is Tara the one who has put the idea in Naomi’s head that I am going mad? Everything feels as though it is connected but I can’t figure out how. I sit back on my haunches, my eyes going to the mirror at the other end of the garden, expecting to see Agnes’s face reflected back at me.
‘There you are, I was knocking and knocking, and you didn’t answer. I knew you must be home.’ My eyes fly open as Avó waddles into the garden, looking immaculate in a gold and red sari.
‘Avó!’ Mina jumps from the paddling pool and barrels into her, wrapping her arms around Avó’s knees and soaking the fabric of her sari.
‘Avó.’ I get creakily to my feet, dusting my hands over my shorts to hide my displeasure at Rav calling her behind my back. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. And how did you get here? Is Rav here?’ Avó doesn’t drive, can’t walk far and flat out refuses to take the bus, although she will occasionally deign to take a taxi. When Rav is home – and sometimes, even when he is not – he is summoned to drive Avó to the various places she wants to go to, while she phones through her shopping requirements to me to drop off on my way back from the supermarket.
