by Sophie Jaff
Lucas brightens considerably and waits for Katherine to nod her assent. As the tall man and the little boy head off in search of a treat, Katherine and Matthew sit on the bench for a moment or two longer.
“I’m really sorry,” Matthew repeats. “We both thought it was gorgeous. Why are the beautiful ones always the killers?”
“I’m just glad I got to you in time.”
“Who is Thomas?” Matthew still sounds shaky, but his voice has a tinge of curiosity.
“What?”
“You kept calling, ‘Thomas! Thomas!’ I think that’s why we were both so confused at first.”
“What do you mean?” She wonders with some new annoyance if this is a diversionary tactic.
“You were shouting, ‘Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.’ Who’s Thomas?”
“I was calling Lucas.”
“It really sounded like Thomas. It doesn’t matter, though.” He pauses for a second. “But how did you know?”
“How did I know?”
“About that plant—monk’s breath?”
“Monkshood,” she corrects, absentmindedly. She’s still thinking about calling out a stranger’s name. Why Thomas? She doesn’t know any Thomases.
“Yes, monkshood. I wouldn’t have thought you were into botany.”
“School project,” she lies. In truth, she doesn’t know how or why she knows that monkshood is poisonous. Or even what monkshood is. At that moment she just knew something terribly, terribly bad was about to happen, and she doesn’t want to dwell on it. But her mind needles her. Who is Thomas?
“Well, I have failed to kill your charge.” Matthew offers her an arm to help her up. “Shall we?”
Despite his crooked smile, Katherine can tell how bad he feels. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, “there’s always tomorrow.”
He laughs at this, and together they go to join the other two for ice cream.
They settle into a routine, and the routine is castles. Conwy and Criccieth and Caernarfon and Dolwyddelan.
“Those names sound like crickets having an orgasm,” says Matthew.
Castles on the craggy coast, defiant against the sea. Castles inland, rearing majestically amid fields filled with fat, complacent sheep. Castles that seem untouched by time; castles that are merely bleached skeletons, ghosts of their former glory. The bigger, better-preserved castles crawl with couples pushing strollers and old people pushing walkers, talking to one another, taking endless pictures. At Conwy Castle, a man dressed in a tunic and leggings teases the little kids, dolling out “fun facts” as patient parents stand in a circle around him, beaming when he interacts with their offspring. Lucas is shy but happy to listen. John tries not to roll his eyes at the generalized information.
These larger castles have exhibitions, displays with recorded sound, medieval songs or looping cries of battle that play to largely empty rooms. Katherine thinks that there’s something cheesy about this. It feels odd to watch outdated documentaries in these huge, historic cradles of death and life and defense. She collects all the pamphlets, but she doesn’t really read them. She much prefers to stride across the flagstone courtyards and climb the narrow spiral staircases, cold and gray and curving—she feels like she’s inside an ancient conch.
“Do be careful, Katherine,” John frets repeatedly.
“You’re like a mountain goat,” teases Matthew. “Up, up, up to the very top!”
She loves to look out over the countryside, feel the wind upon her cheeks and in her hair. She loves to think about how everything has changed, wonders if anything remains the same. She presses her palms against the stone, shuts her eyes and listens to the gulls. She breathes in. Here she is free. Here she is herself. Then she descends again and feels the better for it.
“Castles are clearly good for you,” John remarks, noting the glow in her face, in her eyes.
In between castles, they have tea in the local teashops. Crumbly scones, and real jam with fruit and pips, and clotted cream. No tea bags for them, only proper loose tea leaves.
“I’ll read you your fortune,” Matthew tells Lucas, before squinting at the dregs of his cups and predicting lots of adventures and good fortune ahead.
“The teapots have their own sweaters!” Lucas cries when encountering his first tea cozy.
On one afternoon they travel to a Tudor house, just to have a break from castles. It’s beautifully restored, with a steeply pitched gable roof, and dark curling decorative timber on the bright white walls to the low ceilings, and a steep dusty priest hole built into the fireplace. They chat with a small bird of a woman who is eager to share all she knows about the kitchens. She shows them the spits, explaining how the spit boys would have used them, and a totally preserved rack for meat.
In the hallway, another woman discusses the misconception of the words “rushes,” and “threshes,” and “threshold.” “People say that’s where the word ‘threshold’ came from, though this is actually not the case.”
John nods in approval, Matthew rolls his eyes, and Lucas and Katherine try not to giggle.
They also a visit a supposedly medieval-era house, but it has been ransacked to death over the years, and now it is only a shell, all the items in it dating only from the seventeenth century onward. Their guide, upon learning of John’s academic credentials, is so embarrassed that he can barely make eye contact and speaks through the side of his mouth. Afterward Matthew chides John for being snooty.
As the days wind down, they walk through the main streets of the villages and towns, eating huge newspaper messes of fish-and-chips and ice cream. Katherine discovers elderflower cordial, which she loves. They try one or two fine dining experiences, and while neither is bad, the simple fare is better, and so if they want a break from fish-and-chips they stick to pubs, where Katherine orders steak-and-kidney pies, loins of lamb and beef.
“Bloodthirsty, aren’t you!” Matthew jokes. “Your child is going to be Attila the Hun!”
“Or maybe they’ll rebel and be a vegan?” John suggests with a faint smile.
“God forbid!” Matthew and Katherine say at the same time, and Lucas wants to know what a vegan is.
“It’s like a walking vegetable,” Matthew explains, and John laughs, and then they wander home, and Katherine is happy, and when she sleeps it is long and sweet and dreamless.
She tries to keep in contact with Sael, but it’s hard. The B&B doesn’t have the best Internet.
“Probably part of its rural charm,” sighs Matthew as he waves his iPhone through the air, determined to catch a signal, like a lepidopterist after a rare species of butterfly.
But Katherine has to admit that there’s a lot to be said for being out of the loop, no politics or reports of world disasters or corruption or more insane media coverage concerning Heaven’s True.
Still, she sends Sael little emails and pictures whenever she can. They call each other, but the connection is notoriously bad, calls dropped, lots of delayed feedback. The beauty of Wales, the joy of their everyday adventures, is somehow flattened through the distance. Katherine also tries to get ahold of Niamh, with even less success. She’s sent a lot of texts and messages but gets no response. She’s not sure what’s going on, and decides to go and visit her in person when she’s back. Maybe she should worry more, but it’s been so long since she’s felt so lighthearted and carefree.
It’s a real shock to realize that they’ve come to the end of the week. It’s their last day, and for the first time, it’s raining.
“I don’t want to leave,” Lucas says.
“Me neither.”
“Well, in a sense, it’s good because any more of these breakfasts would kill me. I must have gained a stone at least,” Matthew claims.
“No one’s forcing you!” snaps John.
Matthew and Katherine exchange glances. Unusual for him.
“You have a stone? Can I see it?” Lucas asks Matthew.
They all laugh and the tension is blown away.
Maybe go
ing back home is not so bad. Katherine thinks about the conversation she’d had with Sael before they left. There’s still hope. Maybe they can work it out, make a real home again.
“One more castle to go, or are we castled out?” John looks down at his map.
“Katherine?” Matthew side-eyes her with a knowing grin.
“Maybe just one more?” Katherine knows she will never be castled out.
By the time they arrive at their final castle, the rain is coming down in earnest. They huddle together in the reception–slash–gift shop–slash–office, undecided whether or not to venture out and explore. Apart from a glum-faced couple arguing in low hushed voices, they are the only ones here.
“I don’t know, should we do it?”
“It’s kind of miserable.”
“But on the other hand, we paid.”
“It’s not raining that hard, I guess.”
“Kat?” Lucas raises his voice above the rising debate.
“Yes, honey?” Katherine peers down, dreading the inevitable words.
“I need the bathroom.”
“I guess that settles it.” Katherine turns to John and Matthew.
“I’ll take him,” offers John. “You get your fix.”
“May as well, since we’re here. But we won’t stay long.” She is eager to reassure him. She turns to Matthew.
“Coming?”
Matthew has other plans. “I’ll check out the gift shop.”
Katherine and Matthew both know he’s really checking out the pretty boy behind the counter, the one who’s pretending not to notice his appreciative gaze but blushing nevertheless.
“Bad boy, behave,” she murmurs.
“Life is too short to behave.”
“Well, buy me some postcards at least. I’ll just stretch my legs.”
The courtyard is cool, the grass a brilliant green. It’s a mild rain, sprinkling and damp. Intimate, even, as if it has shut out the others and made this castle only hers. She feels like running and running, or turning a cartwheel.
She walks to the nearest tower, and climbs up and up and up the stone steps, right up to the parapets, where it’s wonderful, quiet, as if she has climbed away not only from the earth but from time. As if she is no longer in the twenty-first century but above it. She has an urge to go higher, as though it were possible for her to touch the sky. Standing against the battlement, the emerald wash of land beneath her, she closes her eyes, releases her thoughts into the wind as it blows raindrops across her face. Arms outstretched, she lets memories float over her brain. Horses’ hooves pummeling the turf, the clash of blade on armor, sparrow hawks circling and wheeling and crying and crying and screaming—
Screaming. Somebody is screaming!
Katherine opens her eyes. She is no longer safely behind the crenellated wall, but perilously perched out on a small ridge of stone. She gasps, shrinks back, trembling fingers scrabbling for a sure hold in the slippery rain. Only after easing herself backward until she is once again behind the wall does she allow herself to look down. She blinks once, twice, not taking it in.
On the ground below, John kneels, rocks Matthew’s broken body back and forth in his arms, weeping, his tears dissolving in the rain upon his face as he screams.
A little boy looks up at her. It’s hard to make out his expression through the blur of the rain, but she already knows. It is fear.
29
Katherine
The hospital is mercifully small. It doesn’t take her long to find where Matthew is. He cannot be moved yet.
It’s a wonder he’s still alive.
She came as soon as she could. She had to get Lucas down, had to make sure he was sleeping. Sue will keep an eye out for him. Her normally composed mouth had trembled, her eyes were bloodshot, as she told Katherine to call her if there was anything, anything she could do . . . Katherine had wanted nothing more than to lay her head on Sue’s shoulder and cry, but she knew that she might never let go. She’s tried to call Sael, but she can’t get ahold of him—he’s probably already flying home. John asked her to come to the hospital, and she cannot refuse him anything now. He meets her at the nurse’s desk by the entrance to the ICU.
Katherine is shocked. In only a few hours, John has grown old. There are lines around his mouth. His eyes are shadowed; his skin is waxy and gray.
“Katherine.” He swallows.
“I came as soon as I could.”
“Yes,” he says. “Where’s Lucas?”
“In bed, asleep. Sue is looking after him.”
“Good, good.” But his speech is mechanical.
They walk together down the corridor. She pauses nervously at the door to Matthew’s room.
“Come in.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The man in the bed cannot be Matthew. He’s too small, too pale; his arms are snaked in tubes hooked up to an endless array of machines that bleep and beep.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes prick with tears and she moves toward the bed. “Oh, Matthew.”
John mutters something under his breath.
Katherine doesn’t even hear him at first. “What?”
“I said, I hope you’re happy.”
Her head whips up. She stares at him. “What do you mean?!”
His eyes never leave her face. His voice is low, but the words are sharp as nails. “It was raining, for fuck’s sake. Hadn’t you seen enough castles?”
She has never heard him swear before, and it scrapes her raw.
“He came to get you.” There is something in his eyes that she doesn’t understand, doesn’t like.
“I never saw him,” she stammers. “John, I swear I didn’t or I would have come back with him. John, you have to believe me.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he hisses slowly.
For a few moments she only watches him until the silence becomes unbearable. “John,” she whispers, “I promise I never saw him.”
“Stop crying.” He speaks quietly, without emotion. “He doesn’t need your tears.”
It is as though he has struck her.
“There’s only one thing he needs from you.” He pauses. “Heal him.”
“John, what are you talking about?” Her heart contracts, and her arms crawl with gooseflesh.
“You heard me.” His eyes blaze in his white face.
“I don’t understand!” Instinctively she raises her palms up.
“Heal him, heal him like you healed me.” It’s not John who stands before her but the construction worker, only far more dangerous.
“Like I healed you?” There’s a dangerous wobble in her throat. She takes a step back, trying to get to the door, but—
He’s next to her now, grabbing her wrist. He’s pulling her toward Matthew’s bed, his grip is horribly strong.
“John, let go! You’re hurting me!” She is squeaky with panic.
He isn’t listening. “Look at him.”
Katherine ceases to struggle and stares down at the lifeless figure.
“He’s a vegetable.”
The harshness of his tone makes her wince. “John, stop.”
“No. I won’t stop. The love of my life is a vegetable. He’ll never walk or talk or laugh or love again. He’ll never breathe without machines.” He closes his eyes. “Unless . . .”
“Unless?”
“Unless you heal him.”
Oh Jesus, he’s gone crazy with grief. He’s out of his mind.
“In my study, that day when I first met you . . .”
“What about it?” Keep him talking.
“Katherine, I had just been diagnosed with Stage III pancreatic cancer.”
“Oh my God! Matthew never said anything!”
“Matthew didn’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him yet. He just sensed something was wrong.”
“John, I—”
“We were in my study, and you became light-headed, and I grabbed you, and you . . . you did something to me.�
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“No, I didn’t—”
“You did, because afterward I felt . . . different. I went to the doctor and asked them to retest me. They thought I was in denial, but I insisted, and you know what?” He’s breathing hard, and his breath is sour.
The thought randomly comes to her that he needs to drink more water, that Matthew would have made him drink more water. “What?”
“It was gone, as though the tumor had never been there in the first place. The doctors couldn’t believe it. No one could.”
“John, please, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Yes, you do.”
“John, you have to stop this.” Any second now she’s going to lose it—She tries to pull away, but John’s grasp is iron.
“Look. At. Him.” With each word he jerks her arm. “The love of my life is a vegetable. They say that he’ll never walk, never breathe again without machines. You understand? Katherine? You get it?” He tugs her closer, his other hand clamped to the back of her neck.
“I don’t know what you are, and I don’t care. I know what you’re capable of. You fix him. Heal him.”
“John, stop it. Stop it! Let go!”
But now he’s pressing her face down toward Matthew, close toward his yellow-blue lips, bruises blooming stark against his white skin.
“I can’t! Let go! Let go!” Her voice rises to a shriek.
Suddenly, a nurse appears at the door. “What’s going on?”
“Please.” Tears stream down his face “Please, you can give me back the cancer, I don’t care, please, only save him!”
“Sir!” The nurse is by his side, trying to pry his hands off Katherine. “Sir, I understand you’re upset, but you need to let go! Sir! Excuse me!” she calls out. “Bryn! Bryn! Over here now! I need some help!”
“For God’s sake, heal him! Heal him!” But his grip is loosening. “Take me, take me instead. Don’t take my heart, don’t take my love.”
Katherine manages to pull away as a large orderly arrives. The nurse puts her arms protectively around John as he sags over Matthew’s bed.
