by David Haynes
Chapter 5
Chris stumbled onto the lane and started walking. He had no idea where he was going, nor did he care. This wasn’t about getting somewhere, this was about getting away from the house. It was about leaving that note behind. Rain lashed his face and exposed arms, and he was vaguely aware of the painful sensation of grit beneath his bare feet. He’d left the house without getting dressed but that wasn’t important, not after what he’d just been shown.
He could heard Joe’s voice shouting out to him, but as he marched on, the sound retreated into the background and then disappeared entirely. All that was left was the screaming noise of his own thoughts whipping around inside his head. It was deafening and incoherent but above all it was painful; almost too painful.
His dad, the man he had idolised, worshipped and wept over for so many nights and days it was impossible to count, had planned to leave him. The man had written his goodbyes and, if he had been allowed the chance, would have killed himself. And left him.
Like he had left Ollie back at home.
No, no, no, it wasn’t the same thing at all. His dad had wanted a permanence to his departure, while all he wanted was a few weeks to get straight so he could return. So he could be a better dad.
But why? Why? Why? Why?
He’d been a good boy, a good son. He’d never got into any trouble, not serious trouble anyway, and he was doing well at school, so why? Why would Dad want to leave him?
Chris stopped walking and looked down. Blood, diluted by the rain, was running off his big toe and onto the lane. He lifted his foot and saw a shard of glass sticking out of the sole. He took it between his fingers and pulled it slowly. Releasing the glass allowed more blood to run from the cut but he pushed his thumb over it and smeared the blood across his foot. The rain would wash it away. The rain was good at doing that.
There was no pain though, no sign that his flesh had been punctured or needed repair, just the faint sensation that walking wasn’t as comfortable as it should be. He turned his face to the falling rain. He felt numb all over.
“Dad!” He screamed it at the top of his voice, then he screamed it again and again and again.
*
“I need to know everything and I mean everything.” He stood on the doorstep of Joe’s cottage. He was soaking wet and cold but he wasn’t going in until Joe agreed.
“Come in and get dry, for God’s sake.”
“Everything.”
“Yes, everything. Please, son, come in.”
Chris stepped inside and before he could go any farther, Joe flung his arms around him and held him. The old boy was still wiry and strong. Fifty-odd years of mining and fishing did that to a man, but there weren’t many of his generation left and there were certainly none as fit as Joe. Nevertheless, his thick sweater couldn’t hide the passage of time entirely.
Chris hugged him back. There were questions, lots of questions. Some of them were going to be uncomfortable but for now it was enough that they were united again.
“I’ll go and get my bag from the car and get some dry clothes on. Then we’re going to talk, Granddad. Okay?”
Joe gently pushed him away. “Best put the kettle on then, eh? Shall we make the coffee Irish?”
Chris nodded. “It’s a bit early but I reckon we need it.” He turned and walked to the car. He had a feeling they might need everything they drank to be Irish if they were going to get through the next few hours.
Steam rose off the coffee with the familiar spicy scent of Bushmills. If it hadn’t been for the envelope which sat on the table between them, it would have been a pleasurable moment. Joe had folded the note back inside during Chris’s walk in the rain but the contents were no less obvious.
“So where do you want to start? You know Jack was born and raised down here...”
“The beginning, Granddad,” Chris interrupted. “I think I need to start at the beginning.” And he did. Being down here had already uncovered something unpleasant and unexpected. He needed to start where it all began.
“Well, your dad was a normal little lad, sometimes good and sometimes naughty but never bad. Good at school, and a pretty decent scrum-half. He had a group of mates and...” Joe paused. “But you’re not really interested in that, are you?”
Chris shook his head.
“You want to know what he was actually like, don’t you? Your dad was what most people would call shy. I didn’t think he was though. He was quiet, yes, but he had a confidence about him that not many people could see and that, at least to me, made him strong.” Joe took a drink. He was digging around in a place deep inside that probably hadn’t been touched for years.
“When he was a nipper, I used to take him down to Hawk’s and sit right at the top of the headland. We’d eat ham sandwiches with English mustard. Those were his favourite. He liked the way the mustard stung his nose and made his eyes water.” Joe paused and smiled at the memory. “One day, when we were staring out at the horizon, he asked me if we lived at the edge of the world. I remember it because I recall the look on his face when I told him we didn’t. It was as if I’d just taken something away from him. Not a toy or anything, just a bit of mystery, but it was enough to sting.”
Chris listened as Joe talked about Jack’s younger years. He didn’t interrupt him again because they were both lost in thought. Joe stopped periodically to have a drink and to smile or gesticulate about an event, but other than that, the words flowed and the stories weaved in and out of each other. In that hour, Chris heard more about his dad than he had ever done before.
“He missed having a mum of course, we both did, and some of the questions he asked were bloody awful but gradually he stopped asking about her.”
“I’m sorry, Granddad, but she left, right? When he was a little boy?”
Joe looked at him and grimaced. “She left when he was really little. She left on the day he was born.”
Chris shook his head. “Oh God.”
“It’s something else I should’ve told you, I know. She died giving birth to him.”
Chris rubbed his hands down his face. “Jesus, Granddad. I...” What could he say? What could he possibly say? The man had lost his wife and his son.
Joe held his hand up. “Old news to me so lets move on.”
Chris nodded. It was information which might be relevant later, he knew that, but there was no point in pushing it now.
“Growing up down here is idyllic but it isn’t the whole world and Jack wanted more, like most of the kids around here do. They don’t know what they’ve got, in my opinion, but there you go. He wandered off down the road to Exeter University and took his degree. That was a big, big thing back then but he was a clever bugger and he could run rings round the teachers at school. One of them saw it in him and helped him get in. I don’t even remember her name now, but we couldn’t have done it without her.”
Joe was smiling. It was clear how proud he was of his son.
“And that’s where he met Sue, your mum. Jack loved her from the moment he clapped eyes on her. Who was I to argue with that? Then they both came down here to live for a year or two after they finished studying. They worked at The Queen’s Head in the village for a time while they looked for proper jobs. Looking back on it, I could see all wasn’t well with him. I should’ve pushed them to move out, to get away from here, but I was happy to have him home again.” He stopped and looked into his empty cup. “He was thinking too much. I’d catch him sitting where you are now, just staring out of the window. I knew what he was thinking. I knew what he’d been thinking for years but neither of us wanted to say it. I should have, son. I should have said something.”
“What was it?”
Joe raised his eyes. “He was thinking something similar to what you’ve been thinking these past years. He was blaming himself for killing his mum.”
They both sat in silence for a while until Joe reached across the table and tapped the envelope. “And I think that was probably at the bottom of this.�
��
Chris looked at the note. “Guilt?”
Joe nodded. “Exactly how you’re feeling.”
Chris clamped his teeth together until he could feel the tension spread up his jaw and into his temples.
“So when did he write this? When did you find it?”
“I didn’t, your mum did. As for when he wrote it, well, it could’ve been anytime. She found it in his pocket on the day you and him went to Hawk’s and she showed it to me. It knocked me sideways, not so much Sue though. She looked like she was expecting it. We had a good heart-to-heart that day and she told me what your dad had been like for the last couple of years. Moody, distant, distracted and he was going missing from work. She thought he was having an affair at first but things started dropping into place. Insomnia, and when he could sleep he had terrible nightmares that left him and the sheets soaking wet. He was ill but he wouldn’t let her in, he wouldn’t listen to her. She didn’t know how to cope with it.”
Chris listened with a growing sense of anxiety. He recognised himself in Joe’s words. He recognised the moods, the distraction and the insomnia.
“So we decided we were going to talk to him when you got back. We were going to...”
Joe stopped and buried his head in his hands. Chris could hear his breath coming in staggered heaves. He’d never forgotten how it had felt to hear his dad crying and this brought it back. He’d been powerless back then but he wasn’t now.
He stood up and walked around the table. Joe wasn’t afraid to show affection but he was a strong and proud man, of the generation where tears were not acceptable, particularly not in company. Chris knelt and put his arm around his granddad. There was no need to say a word but the next coffee would definitely need to be Irish again.
*
They both took a deep breath. Chris had made a fresh batch of coffee and laced it with sugar and Bushmills. There was still one last hurdle to jump before Chris had enough information, at least for the time being.
“So that day, whose idea was it for me and Dad to go off together?”
“Oh, that was your dad’s. Sue packed you up with sandwiches, ham and mustard because Jack had asked for them, and off you went. I remember the look on your face when you got in the car. You looked like you’d won the football pools. You’d got a couple of quid for ice cream in your pocket too. You were the cat who’d got the cream.”
“Dad let me ride in the front seat, I remember that.” Chris could almost see his reflection on the car window as he waved to Joe and his mum, grinning like a madman.
“We took the crab-lines down to Bunkers Bay. We never caught a thing but it didn’t matter.” Chris stopped and bit his lip. “I don’t remember Dad being...”
Joe stopped him. “Don’t try to put what you know now into that memory. It won’t work.”
Chris nodded and carried on. “We went to Hawk’s Cove and ate our sandwiches in the car. That was Dad’s idea but I didn’t mind. I was just happy sitting next to him. It wasn’t raining but there were grey clouds everywhere.” Chris was voicing a memory that was so familiar he could remember every single detail. He’d only ever spoken in such detail three times before though, and it had been several years since the last time. Once to the police, once to Joe and once to Lou. This would be Joe’s second time but it needed to be said in the context of all that had preceded it.
“Then we went for a walk along the top of the headland. The waves were incredible. They were frightening and exciting at the same time and I couldn’t take my eyes away from them. Dad was staring too but he was looking across the cove and out to the horizon. Before today, I thought he was thinking about what was happening with Mum, about the arguments and about me maybe, but now...” He remembered what Joe had said but ignored it this time. “He was thinking about himself and about the note and his mum. It was probably all going around and around in his head...”
“Stop,” Joe said firmly. “There’s no point.”
It was something he’d think about later but for now he had to leave it alone. “It started raining and Dad gave me a piggyback halfway to the car.” He paused and looked at Joe. They both knew where the next bit was heading.
“Then he saw her.” He saw Joe flinch but carried on anyway. “On the slipway with the waves crashing around her and on her. God, it was loud. He ran down there and I followed him. I tried to shout but he couldn’t hear me and by the time I caught up, he was trying to grab her and pull her out of the sea, back up the slipway. She was shouting at him but the waves were too loud and I couldn’t hear what she was saying.”
Chris could feel his heartbeat quickening word by word.
“Then Dad was in the sea and it was coming up over his head. She looked angry, really angry...”
Joe looked away.
“And where her eyes should’ve been, there was nothing. Nothing except for these great big holes.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “She looked at me, Granddad. She looked at me and said, ‘I can see you.’ Except it wasn’t friendly, it was hideous. How could she see me, though? How could she see me when she didn’t have any eyes? How?”
He wasn’t after an answer and Joe was looking into his cup anyway.
“I was frightened. She was so horrible that I didn’t want to be near her, I didn’t want Dad to be near her either so I stepped back and...”
Joe said something but his voice was distorted by the echo in his cup. Chris didn’t want to stop to ask what it was though, he needed to finish.
“I think Dad was reaching for me but it seemed I was miles away and he couldn’t get to me. And then I was in the water and it was cold. Jesus, it was cold.”
“She wasn’t there.” Joe lifted his head. His words were crystal clear this time. “There was no blind woman, Chris.”
The two men stared at each other. They had been through this conversation before.
“When they found you on the slipway, there was nobody there. You were barely alive. You were covered in cuts and bruises, your left arm was broken and you had hypothermia. Your mum screamed when she saw you. All of those things are true, all of those things happened but that woman did not exist. She wasn’t there, son.”
“I saw...”
“The police couldn’t find her and nobody in the village had ever seen a woman who looked like that. If you want to get yourself sorted out, you’ve got to stop. For Ollie, you have to stop. You have to stop feeling guilty and you have to stop talking about this blind woman. It was an accident, just a terrible, terrible accident and that’s what you’ve got to accept.”
That was what it boiled down to, at least according to the police – a terrible and unfortunate accident. Father and son in Hawk’s Cove, hit by a wave and dragged into the Atlantic. Son rescued by father who was unable to save himself. A terrible accident but case closed.
The police, his mum and Joe had told him the same thing over and over again. He even heard one of the officers tell his mum that he’d made it up as a coping mechanism. To help him come to terms with it and to assuage any guilt.
Well, if he had made her up, why did he still feel guilty? Why could he see her face clearer than he could see his dad’s? He was confused about a lot of things but he wasn’t confused about her. She had been there.
There was no way Joe would accept it though.
He dragged the note across the table. “Who else knows about this?” He hoped this would distract Joe.
“Just the three of us now.”
Chris nodded. “You didn’t show the police?”
“Why would we? What happened had nothing to do with what he’d written.”
“And you didn’t think it would be something I’d need to know about sooner?”
Joe shook his quickly. “No, of course not. I... we... decided there was no reason for you to ever know about it. What good would it have done?”
“Well...” Chris began and then stopped. He couldn’t think of a reason to argue.
“It wouldn’t have done any
good.” Joe looked down at the note. “I’m not sure I made the right decision now but with what Lou told me, it seemed like it was the right time.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“That you were becoming like your dad. She didn’t say that of course, but what she said was exactly what your mum went through with Jack.” He reached over and grabbed the note. “I don’t want you writing something like this to Ollie.” He stuffed the letter inside his pocket. “I’ll get rid of this later. There’s no reason to keep it now.”
Neither of them spoke for a while. The only sounds were the occasional click from the fridge and rain splashing against the window. The noises were hypnotic but they were quiet compared with the sound of the thoughts crashing about in Chris’s head. They smashed into each other like waves on the cliffs at Hawk’s Cove and it was deafening. Right in the centre of all of them was the immovable image of a woman. A blind woman with an ugly voice and terrifying dark holes where her eyes should have been.
She was there. Oh yes, she had always been there
Chapter 6
Chris said goodnight to Ollie and ended the call. Lou had managed a few words but she sounded tired, and although she was trying to sound positive, he could tell she didn’t feel that way. He hadn’t mentioned the note or his conversation with Joe. She hadn’t asked how he was doing, but he supposed she’d been asking that question for so long and received nothing but monosyllabic responses that she’d simply given up.
He thought about it for a moment. Maybe he should have offered the information without being asked? But then did she really need to know at this very moment? He knew the answer to that. Whatever came out of this time, down here with Joe, they would speak about it later when they were together again. Because they would be together again, he knew that too; all three of them.
