‘I’m afraid Spirit’ she replied. ‘I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, I’ll fade away and that my mind will drift back into my body in that hospital bed. I’m not ready to go Spirit. I’m just not ready. I want to stay with you.’ Spirit nodded.
‘I’ll watch over you he said. I’ll keep you safe. If you start to fade again or sink down in the water, I’ll wake you up straight away.’
‘I wish I could hug you Spirit’ she said, ‘or sleep on your back. I’d feel safer if I could.’
‘I wish you could too’ Spirit replied. Gradually, Lucy’s eyelids fluttered closed as sleep enveloped her. As her brain became clouded by sleep, she was vaguely aware of a girl in a bonnet who seemed to be looking at her with friendly concern. Try as she might though, Lucy couldn’t quite make out the girl’s face.
Dad looked at his watch. It was late afternoon. Lucy still hadn’t woken and lay there as serenely as ever. As good as her word, Dr Goodman arranged for Lucy to be taken down for a second scan. When the porter arrived and the nurse began to disconnect Lucy’s cables, Dad turned to speak to Bethany.
‘You look beat’ he said. ‘Here, take my keys. Go back to the house and have a rest.’
‘What about you?’ asked Bethany dubiously. ‘You’re not exactly looking bright eyed and bushy tailed yourself.’
‘I’ll be alright’ he smiled. ‘Go on. I’ll give you a call later.’ Reluctantly Bethany agreed and went off, leaving Dad alone. When Lucy was wheeled back up and her bed set in place again Dad sat holding her hand.
‘This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for you Lucy’ he said to his unconscious daughter. ‘So much has happened that I wish hadn’t. I’ve tried to protect you from harm, but here you are lying in a hospital ward with wires all over you. When I see you like this you remind me so much of your mother. You’re such a chip of the old block. Strong-willed, headstrong, determined, but faithful and true. You’re all of that and more.’ Dad sniffed.
‘You know they made me redundant yesterday’ he continued, changing the subject. ‘That’s right, I lost my job; just afterwards I got the call from your school. I was glad to get away from there really, though I was worried sick about you. To tell the truth I’m glad they gave me the boot. It’s about time I moved on from there anyway. This way I can spend a bit more time with you once you’re out of hospital. We’ll have a better Christmas than the last one.’ Dad smiled. ‘What do you say Luce?’
Lucy just lay there as still as ever.
‘I’m sorry I lied to you Lucy, about the car crash I mean.’ He paused. ‘Actually I pretty much lied to everyone. I haven’t even told Bethany how Mum really died. You and I were alone in the house when the policeman turned up at the door. You were upstairs listening to music in your room. The policeman looked so sorry for me he could barely get the words out. It was then I decided that I had to protect you from the same fate as your mother. I had to stop history from repeating itself. That’s why I didn’t tell you Luce. I thought at first everything was going to be okay. Now dolphins are your life and I think that maybe I should have told you what happened to Mum in the first place. I should have trusted you more Luce, I really should.’ Dad sighed. ‘I think I’ll just go and freshen up a bit.’
Dad went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and try to make himself feel a bit more human. It was his second night in the hospital. Maybe, he thought, he should go home and snatch a few hours’ sleep too. He couldn’t survive like this forever.
Just as he got back onto the ward he saw a middle aged, professional looking woman standing at the foot of Lucy’s bed studying her quietly. The woman had a note book and jotted something down as she stood there. For some reason he couldn’t put his finger on, Dad stopped and observed the woman. As if sensing that she was being watched, the woman slipped her notebook into her pocket and set off briskly towards the swing doors in the opposite direction.
Dad walked up to Lucy’s bed.
‘Are you alright there Mr Parr?’ called one of the friendly nurses. Dad nodded.
‘Nurse, could I ask you a question? Who was that doctor that was here just now?’
‘That lady? Oh, she’s not staff. I thought she was with you’ said the nurse as she walked back to the nursing station.
Chapter Nine
‘Oh hi there Megan. What are you up to then?’ asked Rachel curiously ‘You look lost in your own world sitting there on that bench.’ Megan was half dazzled by the sun as she looked up at the older girl standing there in front of her.
‘I’ve been in the library trying to find out more about Jeremiah Smith’ Megan replied, pleased to be able to show a student like Rachel that she knew how to research things too.
‘Oh I see. Sounds impressive’ Rachel replied encouragingly. ‘Come on, let me buy you a cup of tea or something. I’ve been checking out a few things myself. Let’s sit down over a cuppa and compare notes.’
Five minutes later, they were both sitting at a table in the Clotted Cream Tea Rooms just a short distance down the street. It was quite an old fashioned establishment and Rachel grinned at Megan conspiratorially when an elderly waitress tottered over with a menu. The rest of the clientele were similarly grey-haired. Megan rested her arms on the formica-topped table and felt it wobble uncertainly on its uneven legs.
‘What do you fancy having?’ asked Rachel. ‘I like a good cup of coffee myself, but a decent bean is in short supply round here. Maybe I’ll just have a lemonade. How about you?’ Megan said that she’d like a lemonade too and Rachel asked for two cherry cupcakes as well.
‘So, tell me what you’ve found out’ said Rachel.
‘Well’ said Megan, ‘I couldn’t find anything in the local history section, but then I found this tray of old books they’re selling off for a few pennies. One of them was ‘A description of the Lives of the Inhabitants of the County of Cornwall’ by Jeremiah Smith although half of it was missing and the rest of it was falling apart.’
‘Does he say anything more about dolphin-children then?’ asked Rachel.
‘Yes and no’ replied Megan. ‘He goes on about this place called Coxcomb Reach where the locals used to cooperate with dolphins to catch fish.’
‘Oh yes, I know where that is’ said Rachel brightly.
‘He talks about several dolphin-children. One of them was called Arthur Trescothick and another one was called Gideon Belcher. It’s funny but I never imagined that boys could be dolphin-children too. He talks about this girl called Susan Penhaligon who led a group of kids out to their deaths in the sea.
‘Yes I’ve heard of her’ said Rachel. The local historical society wants to do something on her if they get enough money to open a local museum.’
‘He says that dolphin-children lose their gift by the age of twelve or thirteen or so. Then he said that he wanted to trace a dolphin-child himself but had not yet been successful.’
‘So obviously the book was written before his journal that we read in the bookshop’ concluded Rachel.
‘That’s right’ replied Megan. ‘Not much wiser at all really’ she added despondently.
‘Well not entirely’ said Rachel, a smile playing round the corners of her mouth. ‘It just so happens that I’ve found out something quite interesting from Mum. She tells me that the Reverend Jeremiah Smith’s great-grandson is alive and living right here in Merwater. There’s a good chance that he’s even got the next journal that we want to find. In fact Mum was thinking of trying to sell him the journal that I showed you in the shop.’ Megan sat up.
‘That sounds good’ she exclaimed. ‘Where does he live?’
‘Oh he lives in one of the big houses at the top of Queen Street’ replied Rachel, as though Megan should know exactly where that was.
‘And you think we can just go and see him?’ asked Megan optimistically.
‘Well we can certainly stroll up there and take a look at his house’ said Rachel. ‘Apparently he’s a bit reclusive, but there’s no harm in trying.’
‘Let’s go then!’ she said. Megan still felt self-conscious about being in the company of Rachel. She was years older than her and already at University. Megan worried that she would say something stupid and show herself up. Instead Rachel seemed positive and friendly, and not at all put out by the fact that Megan was so much younger than her. She seemed genuinely interested in Megan and her situation and didn’t seem to question the fact that Megan was a dolphin-child at all. Megan wondered why, but wasn’t ready to ask.
Queen Street was a broad, elegant road that turned off the High Street and which ran up towards the crest of the hill. The closely-packed dwellings at the bottom of the hill gave way to the broader merchants’ houses at the top. The pavements were more generous here and Megan could imagine sombre men in dark suits and top hats slowly parading along arm in arm with women in elegant hats and long dresses.
‘This was where the rich people used to live’ said Rachel, ‘far above the stink and bustle of the town below them. Still do for that matter’ she joked. Black iron railings separated the mellow red bricks of the Georgian houses from the street.
‘Which one are we looking for?’ asked Megan.
‘It’s this one’ said Rachel, pointing towards a double-fronted house with a wisteria trailing luxuriantly up the wall, its green tendrils waving gently in the breeze.
‘The Old Vicarage’. Megan read the sign on the front. She looked up at the windows. She imagined it to be dark and forbidding inside, but instead from what she could see it looked quite light and airy. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Apparently he’s called Toby Smith’ replied Rachel. He wrote a best-seller called ‘The Room with No Windows’ a few years ago and has been living off the royalties ever since. Some sort of a thriller apparently. They made a film of it with Michael Caine. He keeps a low profile round here. I’d never even heard of him until after your visit to the shop the other day.’
‘Is he old?’ Megan wondered out loud.
‘Not as old as you might think. He’s probably about fifty I should imagine.’ They stood uncertainly on the pavement outside. For all her bright talk, Rachel suddenly seemed a little nervous about ringing the doorbell. There was nothing for it.
‘Well I’m going to knock on the door then’ announced Megan. She took a deep breath. She walked up the three heavy stone steps that led up to the front door and struck the knocker firmly against the door. Megan could hear the sound of jazz coming from somewhere inside the house, but it was turned down just after she knocked on the door. There was a long silence and then Megan heard footsteps approaching. She imagined that the door would be opened by a wizened old housekeeper, but instead a comfortably built middle-aged man opened it. Despite his advancing years he had a full head of brown hair and smiling eyes. He wore a crimson velvet jacket and brown suede shoes and was still half humming to himself as he looked down and saw Megan.
‘Oh I thought you were the postman’ he said. ‘I’m expecting a delivery of a Charlie Parker LP.’ He paused to examine Megan more closely ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Toby Smith?’ asked Megan nervously.
‘Yes? Oh, you must be a fan! Do you want me to autograph your copy of my book or something?’ he asked benignly. ‘I must say fans seem to be getting younger nowadays. They’re mostly thirty-something men you know.’ Megan was so non-plussed by this that she didn’t know what to say. Rachel stepped up behind her.
‘Mr Smith, we’re doing some research and we wondered if we might ask you some questions?’
‘You’re not writing for your college rag are you?’ he replied. ‘I don’t give interviews you know. It adds to the mystique and all that. Never talk about the book to the press. It’s a policy of mine.’
‘No, no’ replied Megan and Rachel at the same time. ‘It’s about your ancestor, the Reverend Jeremiah Smith.’
‘What, that old stuff-shirt?’ retorted Toby Smith with a chuckle of surprise. ‘Whatever do you want to know about him for? Well I suppose you’d better come in.’
He led them both in to a spacious sitting room at the back of the house, where big windows opened out on to a large walled garden. There was a grand piano on one side of the room and a record player on the other side, surrounded by stacks of jazz records. A cigar smoked in the ashtray where he’d left it to come and open the door. A glass of claret sat next to that.
‘I’d offer you both a glass of the red stuff’ he said, waving them in the direction of a couple of easy chairs, ‘but one of you at least seems a tad too young to imbibe. Pity though. Excellent vintage it is.’ They sat down. ‘Anyway what can I tell you about the Rev? Long gone he is. Died before I was born.’
‘Actually’ said Rachel. ‘We were wondering if you had any of his journals?’
‘Funny you should ask that’ replied Toby Smith. ‘I had someone round from the local history society just the other month trying to cadge a look at them. Said that they were an important historical source, or some such nonsense. Didn’t like the look of the woman so I sent her packing.’ He leant over, picked up his cigar, and took a puff before exhaling luxuriantly. ‘Why are you interested in the Rev then?’
‘It’s about dolphins’ replied Megan. ‘He wrote about the folklore of dolphins and the people in the area. It’s, well,…important for me to find out what he wrote.’
‘Well of course the Rev did go round persecuting his parishioners, squeezing them for nuggets of folklore and whatnot. I always reckoned they just made stuff up to keep the old codger happy.’ Rachel and Lucy smiled. ‘So this is research is it? Spill the beans then.’ Megan suddenly felt awkward and shy. She didn’t want to start telling him about her own connection with dolphins.
‘You know that there are local stories about one or two dolphin-children being born every generation?’ Megan asked.
‘Yes I seem to remember something about that’ replied Toby Smith, taking a swig of claret from his glass. ‘The Rev writes something about that in his book doesn’t he? Forced to read it, I was, as a child. Deathly boring stuff most of it.’
‘Well the thing is’ Rachel went on, ‘dolphin-children are supposed to lose their gift by about the age of twelve or thirteen or so. In his book, Jeremiah Smith says he wants to track down a real dolphin-child. In my mother’s bookshop, she has one of his actual journals. It must be written after he published his book. In it he says that he found a young woman who had not lost the gift when she turned thirteen. He says that she wouldn’t tell him anything and then the journal just ends.’
‘So you reckon the Rev’s next journal might continue the story?’
‘Exactly’ replied Megan and Rachel at the same time. Toby Smith turned his gaze from Rachel to Megan.
‘And you…?’ he asked, leaving his question unfinished. Megan nodded shyly. ‘Oh I see!’ he exclaimed. He stood up and strolled to the open window, trailing a plume of cigar smoke as he went.
‘So your mother has one of the Rev’s journals does she? Owl Books would that be? I wonder how she came across that?’
‘I think it was in a job lot of second hand books that she bought from someone who died about a year ago.’ Rachel replied.
‘Maybe my Aunt Dorothea’ he speculated. She popped her clogs about a year ago.’ He sucked in another mouthful of smoke before exhaling slowly. ‘Well I’ve got a heap of the Rev’s things in a chest in the loft’ he said. ‘Ghastly old reprobate. Never could stand that stuff myself. Been there for years it has. I’ve been meaning to rummage through it all but never got round to it.’
‘That would be fantastic’ exclaimed Megan, her eyes glinting with excitement. Toby Smith regarded her with quiet amusement.
‘I don’t give access to this stuff to just anyone you know. Like that local history woman I slung out. She’s not been the first one to come knocking on my door asking about the Rev. I’d give you two the cold shoulder as w
ell if you didn’t intrigue me so much.’ He glanced at Megan again.
‘We’re very grateful’ said Rachel.
‘But you’ll have to come back’ he continued. ‘Can’t be showing two young girls round the house without a chaperone. Would your mother bring you both back for a cup of coffee tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘I roast the beans myself you know. She can bring that journal of hers and maybe we can haggle over a price. I suppose I should try and keep the old devil’s journals together if I can. You two can rummage in the loft while I speak to your mother. How about that?’
‘It’s a deal’ replied Rachel with a big smile. Before long they were back outside the house. They stood on the wide pavement and from inside the house they could hear jazz being turned up loud on the record player again.
‘Well that’s a turn up for the books’ exclaimed Rachel, smiling at Megan with satisfaction.
As the woman walked briskly back down the corridor from Lucy’s hospital bed she wondered how she could lie there so perfectly still. It was more like looking at a photograph than a sleeping girl. She could barely make out the gentle rising and falling of Lucy’s chest as she breathed. It made her think of Sleeping Beauty, but Lucy was too young to have a handsome prince to kiss her and wake her up.
The woman had felt awkward about coming to the hospital that evening, yet she’d followed Lucy’s life from a distance ever since she’d been born. She felt as though she knew the girl well, though they’d never actually met. The woman wasn’t keen on bumping into Lucy’s father though, and knew that if she did he’d have too many difficult questions for her to answer. It was better all round if she could slip in and out unnoticed. She’d had a feeling that he might be near just before she slipped out again. Standing now in the chilly dark hospital car park, the woman glanced up at the second floor window where Lucy’s ward was. Her breathe condensed in a cloud in the cold night air. She worried for the girl, she really did. Maybe she shouldn’t have come to the hospital at all; it was a long drive, but this unfinished business really troubled her.
Midnight Dolphin Page 10
