by S. B. Hayes
His voice eventually brought me back to reality, an impatient hiss that came from outside the boot room. ‘Hurry up, Sinead. Let’s go before she comes back.’
You puckered your lips … you puckered you lips at him and he ran a mile.
Frantically pedalling, to get as far away from Benedict House as fast as possible, I alternated between growing hot and then cold thinking about it. I practically threw myself at him and he walked away. All I could imagine was how pathetic I must have looked, eyes closed, lips pursed, swaying towards him, ready to swoon into his arms. It would have been nice to crawl into a cave to hide. You puckered your lips! I silently screamed to a passing lorry, whose backdraught made me wobble dangerously. My face felt on fire, like a bad case of prickly heat.
This was why you never bothered dating, always kept guys at arm’s length or as friends. In the space of a week you’ve completely messed up with two guys – made a fool of yourself over one and unforgivably hurt the other.
I was so mortified I didn’t even answer my phone or update my mother. When I checked there were twelve missed calls. I couldn’t help but reflect on how badly everything was going. I hadn’t discovered any more of Patrick’s clues, and James had found out little about his past except that he was claustrophobic, like me. It was easy to avoid Harry’s calls, but my mother wouldn’t give up. Eventually I was forced to answer my phone, my stomach curdling.
‘Sorry, Mum. I lost signal.’
‘I had a dream about Patrick,’ she said tearfully. ‘He was a little boy again and we were in the city together, but I let go of his hand and couldn’t find him. It was devastating. I know what my subconscious is trying to tell me – I’ve let down my only son. He’s out there, alone and without protection, a sheep among wolves.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled again. ‘I think I’m getting closer. He wants to be found, Mum, I know that now. In a way he’s helping me.’
‘It’s his cry of despair,’ she went on. ‘Patrick’s so gifted – that’s part of his trouble. He can never be ordinary; we should never expect him to live a mundane life like other people. When he’s home we must find an outlet for his extraordinary talents.’
I spaced out as she listed his many talents, as if I didn’t already know them all off by heart. She finished with her usual refrain: ‘Don’t let me down, Sinead.’
I answered automatically. ‘I won’t.’
Twenty
Next morning I was given the privilege of cleaning the dark and gloomy study. My mood hadn’t improved and Sister Catherine always managed to get my back up. She couldn’t possibly know about my scary visions, but her manner was definitely meant to intimidate. I was determined to let her know she wouldn’t succeed.
‘Nothing about this place scares me,’ I said. ‘And I can survive any endurance tests you throw at me or any of the other weird things that go on here. I’ll see this through until I know where Patrick is.’
‘Nothing here can hurt you, Sinead,’ she answered. ‘I’m glad you’re not afraid. The only thing to fear is fear itself.’
‘Very profound,’ I muttered under my breath.
Sister Catherine must have heard. ‘Would you prefer it if I told you to face your demons? That this is the time?’
I glared to let her know how much she was annoying me, but a fleeting look of something almost like affection crossed her face. It quickly vanished. ‘I’ll leave you to your work,’ she said curtly.
I looked around the study. There was a collection of murky gold-framed oil paintings on the wall. One was a hunting scene, with lots of red-coated figures on horseback chasing a fox, the master blowing a horn. A smaller painting depicted a dog with a dead pheasant in its mouth and a hare lying on the ground, blood oozing from its wounds. I worked all morning, jittery at the thought of seeing James again, but the hours dragged and he didn’t appear. It hurt that he didn’t seek me out; he’d seemed so keen to help. But that was before I threw myself at him.
In my lunch break, I headed into the wood with a heavy heart, making for the temple. It was the last place I knew where Patrick had definitely been and I had no further ideas beyond going back to it. At first I’d been afraid of getting lost, but now I could see that the entire estate was circular, and if I doubted my sense of direction I had only to look for the wooded wall. As I walked I recognized markers, remembering how James had taken my hand here only two days ago, and it had felt so natural. I stopped abruptly when I came across a figure lying in the grass, the sun glinting off his blond hair. It had to be James, but he wasn’t moving. My heart froze. Filled with dry-mouthed dread I walked closer, but then I saw that his eyes were open and his chest was rising and falling. Relief flooded through me.
‘James, you gave me such a fright.’
‘Did I?’
His expression was utterly depressed, his eyes dull and his mouth turned down. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
He waved his arm. ‘Can’t you see? … It’s this place. There’s something … hidden that strangles all beauty.’
His words came completely out of the blue, but as I sat down by him and I looked around I could see what he meant; on the surface everything was alive and in full bloom, with the lush tracery of the trees protecting us, but a network of weeds lurked beneath, stealthily destroying everything in their path.
He directed his gaze towards a massive oak tree. ‘I’ve remembered something else, Sinead. I’ve remembered how deadly the estate can be.’ He held out his hands, and in each was an olive-green mushroom. He watched my face closely. ‘One’s edible, a common field mushroom, the other is a death cap, the most lethal of all fungi. Death can occur in less than twenty-four hours.’
‘You can’t be that certain.’
‘I can,’ he insisted. ‘It’s easy to confuse them, but the death cap has a distinctive smell, like rose petals.’
‘Rose petals,’ I repeated faintly.
‘Still don’t believe me?’ James brought one slowly towards his lips. I watched, mesmerized, certain that he was joking until he opened his mouth and the mushroom hovered above his furled tongue.
‘What are you doing,’ I yelled, knocking his hand and sending it tumbling. ‘I believe you – there’s no need to do something stupid.’
James rolled over on to his back and stared up at me, an unreadable smile on his face. ‘I could die in your arms, Sinead.’
‘I’d rather you stayed alive,’ I said, trying to sound normal. ‘It would be a horrible, drawn-out and agonizing death.’
He threaded his fingers together and put his hands behind his head. ‘I can think of worse ones … slower, infinitely more painful, until you beg never to see another sunrise.’
I was angry with him for him for talking like this. ‘I could never imagine wanting to cut short my life,’ I said. ‘It’s so precious – time is precious.’
James’s head lolled to one side and I noticed that even upside down he was still beautiful. ‘Time’s only precious when it’s running out, Sinead.’
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked again. ‘Did something happen in the village?’
He sighed. ‘Nothing happened in the village – that’s the point. Everyone I spoke to said my dad was some kind of saint that everyone loved, a great squire, friend and regular Santa Claus … oh, and he and my mum were blissfully happy together.’
‘Maybe that’s the truth then. Why would they lie?’
‘Because they don’t want to upset me. But I know they’re lying – they can’t look me in the eye.’ He screwed up his face. ‘You know … I came home expecting to find my hero, the white knight, and I’m scared of what’s happening. I’m scared of my mind, the dark places where bad things lurk.’
‘We all have those places,’ I tried to reassure him. ‘Maybe your mind is confused and is … kind of punishing your dad for leaving you?’
James took a shaky breath and I realized how difficult this was for him. ‘When I was locked in the priest’s hole … I was a little boy again a
nd I could smell something on my clothes that made my stomach turn … whisky and cigarettes … it was in my nostrils, choking me … I think it was his smell. I think he used to put me in there, shut me in the dark, and I gouged the wood until my fingers bled trying to get out.’
‘You don’t remember him doing that?’
James shook his head.
‘But … you could have been accidentally locked in there, by a friend playing a joke, like I did.’
His eyes were huge and haunted. ‘Something else … The other day, in the wood … when you covered my eyes … I was terrified of something … or someone … thrashing through the trees … The shadows are getting closer, and they’re frightening me.’ He looked so tragic that my heart constricted.
‘You must wish you’d never come back.’
He angled his head to look at me. ‘I could never wish that. I’m just beginning to realize why I did come back.’
I tore my eyes away. Don’t look at him, Sinead, he’s working his magic again. Remember why you’re here. Remember Patrick.
‘I’m going to the temple to look for more clues,’ I said abruptly.
I got to my feet and headed further into the wood. I didn’t wait to find out whether James was going to follow me but I could hear his footsteps behind me. I deliberately kept my pace brisk and walked in the centre of the path so we couldn’t walk side by side. As soon as we entered the temple I sensed the oppressive atmosphere. It felt as if the wood had come alive again, as if the climbers might break through the glass roof and choke me. I mooched about, talking through Patrick’s clues, keeping my face expressionless. I knocked his sticks off the plinth, annoyed because this had proved such a dead end.
‘Which statue used to stand here?’ I asked James casually.
He didn’t have to think. ‘Eurydice. She was my favourite.’
‘What does she look like?’
‘She’s gorgeous,’ James said, and I almost felt jealous. ‘Long dress, flowers in her hair, graceful … hand on her forehead –’
My heart missed a beat. ‘I saw a statue like that in the grounds when I first arrived.’
‘But … I’m sure they were all given to the museum.’
My forehead creased. ‘I don’t think I imagined it. She was luminously white and she had one hand on her brow. She really spooked me at first because I thought she was real.’
‘Could you find her again?’
‘I … think so. She wasn’t that far from the main gates.’
We set off together and I maintained a fast pace, annoyed with myself for missing something so obvious. Patrick had chosen that particular plinth for a reason, and I needed to find out why. After a while James was almost panting and I noticed again how exhausted he still was, beads of sweat shining on his upper lip. His lethargy and the marks on his arms still bothered me and I kept throwing him covert looks.
I tried to remember when I’d first noticed the marble lady. It was hard to be exact, but we reached the enormous gates without any sign of her.
‘She was definitely visible from the path,’ I said.
James looked at me sceptically, which made me wonder if I’d dreamed the whole thing. I ran forward, thinking back to when I was riding my bike and I saw her head shining through the greenery. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Puzzled, I delved into the undergrowth. It didn’t take me long to see the white marble form. My voice was high with excitement.
‘Here she is. She must have moved. No … that’s not possible. The bushes must have fanned out and covered her.’
James ducked his head through the leaves and joined me. He grinned broadly and ran his hands across the smooth marble. ‘Eurydice,’ he said proudly. He looked around. ‘But where’s Orpheus? They never should have been separated.’
‘Are they a couple?’
‘Of course. Don’t you know the myth?’
I shook my head.
‘Orpheus and Eurydice,’ James said. ‘Greek legend tells that she died on her wedding day. Orpheus was overwhelmed with grief and played such mournful songs on his lyre that the ferryman allowed him to cross the River Styx alive and descend to the underworld. The king and queen of the underworld were also moved by his music and allowed Eurydice to return to earth … but there was one condition. Orpheus should not look back at her until he reached the mortal world. But … he looked, and she was taken from him for the second time and he couldn’t see her again until he died.’
I couldn’t take my eyes from the statue. It had weathered with age and eroded in places, but was still beautiful, rust-coloured veins running through the almost white marble. I was transfixed by the curves and the fluid shapes, amazed that anyone could sculpt anything quite so lifelike, from the bloom of the flowers in her hair and the folds in her long dress, to her perfectly sculpted fingers and toes. Eurydice, lamenting, was already half turned as if she was about to be spirited away.
‘What’s that wrapped around the base?’ I asked suddenly.
James bent down to investigate. ‘It’s a grass snake. Don’t panic – it’s dead.’
I stared down with disgust at the scaly green skin with distinctive black bars.
‘What a weird coincidence,’ James said. ‘Eurydice died because she was bitten on the foot by a snake.’
My face darkened. ‘I don’t believe in coincidences any more. I bet Patrick’s left it there for me.’
‘Why would he do that?’
I scrunched my face. ‘Erm … Eurydice is another link to the underworld … Saint Patrick was supposed to have chased all the snakes from Ireland … the wall mural showed people with hair made of serpents … Patrick’s still showing me different images of the afterlife.’ I threw up my hands. ‘Or maybe I’m just clutching at straws.’
‘Orpheus spent his life mourning Eurydice,’ James said pensively, ‘just waiting to die. He should be here. They’re eternally linked.’
‘Orpheus could be Patrick’s next clue,’ I said hopefully.
I was glad the trail hadn’t gone completely cold, but Patrick was still testing my patience. I walked around in circles, trying to make my brain work, to slot the pieces into place. James tried to help but he was listless, picking daisies and making them into a chain. I walked over to him, unable to fathom his melancholia.
‘All this talk of the afterlife,’ he said quietly. ‘Do you ever wonder what happens … after you die?’
I shrugged. ‘Doesn’t everyone? But … it’s always going to stay a mystery.’
‘But what do you believe … really?’ he persisted.
I took a deep breath. ‘If I said I believe we’re just part of the nitrogen cycle and we rot in the earth to nourish the soil, would you believe me?’
‘No,’ he answered.
I stuck out my chin. ‘OK … I think something survives – memories or consciousness or … the soul if you have to call it something.’
‘And what about love? Can that survive death?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But what would be the point of love if it wasn’t everlasting?’ James took hold of my fingers and rubbed them.
‘You know I have a boyfriend,’ I reminded him, still smarting at his rejection and guilt-ridden over Harry.
‘He’s not right for you,’ James said simply.
‘What about those girls I saw you with?’
James winced. ‘They meant nothing. It’s been a long time since any girl looked at me and … I went a little crazy –’
I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Girls must hit on him all the time.
‘I’m not lying,’ he protested. ‘You know I’ve been ill. The truth is, I’ve never even had a steady girlfriend.’ He pressed his forehead against mine. ‘Yesterday … I was so scared … I’ve never felt this way before and I panicked. I spent all night wishing I’d kissed you and couldn’t sleep, thinking about you.’
My stomach flipped.
‘But I don’t want to hurt you, Sinead. You know I can’t stay –’
<
br /> These words suddenly hit home and I wrenched myself away. ‘You leave in … ten days.’
James’s shoulders stiffened and he looked at me with reproach. ‘Don’t remind me again. I can’t let you go, and I can’t be selfish enough to ask you to follow me –’ He closed his eyes in despair. ‘I promise you every moment I have left is yours. We could live a lifetime in ten days.’
I shook my head emphatically. ‘I’m sorry, James. That’s just not enough time.’
I turned on my heel and walked away.
Twenty-One
Harry was feeling hurt. I could tell by his reproachful eyes and the way he chopped the vegetables for our stir-fry; the sound of the knife against the wooden board was too quiet and precise – Harry normally attacked everything with gusto. I made an effort to compliment him on his cooking and to clear my plate, which wasn’t that difficult because he was a great cook. I, on the other hand, burnt everything, even toast.
‘Thought you were avoiding me,’ he said finally.
‘Course not. I’ve been wiped out, working in that creepy mausoleum, but … I have some news about Patrick.’
‘You’ve found him?’
‘Not exactly … but he’s still leaving me clues. I found a temple in the grounds of the house with the same Latin motto as the mission house. Inside are drawings of the underworld in Greek mythology and an SOS – save our souls – sign, exactly like the ones he used to put outside our house to warn me.’
