by Aly Sidgwick
‘Fy faen,’ Magnus mutters.
His hand moves towards me and I prepare myself to be shaken, but instead I feel a warm palm on my head. I had not expected this. My body starts to wobble, and the tears bleed out until I almost forget where I am. When he starts to sing it takes me by surprise.
The tune falls from him quietly, and though I do not understand the words, I can tell it is some sort of lullaby.
‘My mother used to sing this,’ he says. The look in his eyes suggests he thinks he is being kind.
17
Sunday.
I watch the rising sun from my window. Blood red as it slides out of the mist. For one full minute the moor turns a dull, brooding pink.
After last night’s session I went straight to bed, so I haven’t yet seen Rhona or Joyce. I wonder what I said to Dr Harrison. She seemed pleased, but I don’t know what that means. Will they force me to do another session before she goes? Will they still expect me to read the Inverness stuff? I’m scared that the people around me might now know my thoughts better than I do. To take that advantage from them I might have to read the transcripts. The clock on the wall says five minutes to five. Sooner or later, someone will come up here and tell me what to do.
I remember small pieces from last night. Or rather, small feelings. They rush at me like waves onto a shore, but each time I grab for them they drain back through my fingers. The whole process makes me dizzy. Oslo keeps coming back to me. Just the word, by itself. An’ that scares me cos I know it means I was there. The atlas in the library was right. There’s something else too. A man. I can’t figure out who he is, but I do know he’s not Magnus. That bit is what scares me most.
The room is turning tangerine. Outside the window, a calm line of gulls crosses the sky and watching them I flood with the urge to feel the wind on my skin. I have to get out. Even just for a moment. I wrap my robe around myself and shuffle into my slippers. I go to the door and turn the handle.
I don’t believe it …
The door is locked.
My face grows hot. I look through the keyhole, but there’s no key on the other side. I can see right through, into the hallway. Again I try the handle. But it’s no good. I’m a prisoner.
Shit …
I stagger backwards onto the bed.
Joyce. I’ll bet anything it was Joyce. Why did she lock me in? Did I say something bad in my session?
I stare at the door for a long time. My head throbs.
What the hell could I have said?
#
Heavy limbs. I am lying on my belly. Around me, the dark, sweet-smelling dirt, and that glow on the horizon. The orange-lit house, my tomb, so close. Between it and me, two legs are planted. Magnus’s legs. I follow them to his face, and find it dead set. That alien side of him that was always underneath. How could I have been so blind? He tenses a fist, and gleaming metal draws my eye.
Bastard … you bastard … you bastard …
I am on my knees. When I shout his name it sounds different to how the others say it and this marks me as the outsider I truly am. The butcher’s knife glints, and I scream again. His name smacks off the trees, shatters, and comes back to me. I sob amongst the fragments. My fear laced irrevocably with love. Then darkness swallows me completely, and I am alone.
#
I wake drenched in sweat. Heart pulsing.
Curtains are bright.
I need to be with someone. Anyone.
I stumble out of bed. Up. Onto the landing. Breakfast sounds drift up from upstairs. I clatter towards them. But already my panic is ebbing. Magnus is not here. I’m at Gille Dubh. I’m safe.
Rhona and Caroline are nowhere to be found, but I check the sitting room instead, and to my relief Mrs Laird is back from her trip. I ask for aspirin, but she’s got none left. She tells me to ask Joyce, but there’s no way I’m doing that. Instead I go to the dining room and make a fresh cup of tea. There are people here an’ that is good. Dr Harrison is in the corner with Joyce, but neither of them sees me. I take my cup an’ retreat into my spot. I won’t stay here long. Just till this feeling passes. I press myself back in my chair, an’ this helps stop me shaking.
It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen. I’m safe. I’m safe …
I know this is important. That the stuff in my dream really happened. But my God … Would Magnus really hurt me that way? I’m scared to let the staff in on this. Visions slide through me as I sit here, of being on my knees behind a door. Trapped and confused, and afraid. Then I remember the door to my bedroom and how I thought it was locked last night. Did I dream that too? Am I going mad?
A presence grabs my attention. Mary. She peers at me through oily strands of hair. When I grab her she barely moves.
‘Mary,’ I hiss, ‘I’ve got to tell you something!’
Mary’s eyes remain slits. She floats there, kite-like, on the end of my hand, a blue vein bulging in her forehead. Dark lava, flowing dangerously close to the surface.
‘I’ve got to tell you something,’ I repeat. And as I say the words, I realise it’s the perfect solution. Mary is the perfect confidante. She won’t judge me, or betray me, or try to send me away from here. But her face shows no sign of understanding. I want to shake her. Make her listen. Has she gone deaf as well as dumb?
Mary’s eyes finally connect with mine. She teeters backwards, taking my hand with her. When I’m on my feet she drags again, and with several stumbling steps we find ourselves in the porch. Out here, the hollows round her eyes are darker.
‘What—’ I blurt, but Mary shakes her head. She glances over my shoulder, as if checking for something, and I look too but find nothing. We are leaning against the back door now. Mary’s mouth trembles into a smile. Falteringly, she blinks. She takes my hand, pushes something into it, and hugs me for a very long time. Her breath is shallow across my shoulder. Her spine like Lego. I blaze with the need to tell her about the knife. But this is clearly not the time.
Mary pulls away, opens the door and retreats. I watch from the doorway as she drifts towards the outhouses. She turns back once, waves, and is gone. When I open my hand I find a small, heart-shaped counter from the snakes and ladders set.
#
After lunch, Rhona comes to my room. She sits on the end of my bed while I sit on the fireside rug. Cold air sucks at my back, but I like this cos it makes me feel linked to the outside.
‘I’m surprised you’re still indoors,’ says Rhona. ‘Lovely day like this.’
‘I had a headache.’
‘Well, I’m glad I found you. I wanted to talk about your session.’
‘Am I in trouble?’
‘No! God, no. Quite the opposite. Dr Harrison had some interesting things to say.’
‘I’m sorry for the other night. For running away.’
Rhona comes to sit beside me.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asks. ‘Were you frightened?’
I nod.
Rhona pushes a bit of dirt with her foot. The fireplace whooshes at our backs.
‘Well … that’s understandable,’ she says.
‘Did Joyce burn my bedspread?’
‘No! Of course not! Why should she do that?’
‘I thought she might still be mad. Lockin’ me in an’ ev’rythin’.’
Rhona looks puzzled. ‘Locking you in where?’
‘In here. Last night.’
A pause.
‘Honey, no one locked you in.’
‘They did. I couldn’t open the door!’
‘You didn’t just dream it?’
I frown at the floor. Suddenly I’m not sure.
‘So,’ Rhona says, ‘Dr Harrison leaves tonight, and we’d like you to see her one last time.’
I sigh.
‘Do I have to read the transcripts?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But … It’s all written down already. Isn’t that all you need? Why do I have to read it?’
Rhona pulls my fringe out of my eye
s. Usually I’d find that comforting. But today I know her motives are different. I scowl an’ she pulls her hand away.
‘Sweetie … you’re the one who has to understand this. Not us. We’re only here to help you. If you never sort through all that information in your head, you’ll never get better.’
I don’t answer.
Rhona clasps her hands between her knees. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter.
‘I just want to help you move on.’
‘Then don’t make me go back. Don’t make me talk about … him.’
Rhona’s eyes sharpen.
‘You remember Magnus. Don’t you?’
Her eyes dig into my face. The fireplace sucks at us once more, and weakly I turn my head towards the window.
‘Bits.’
‘If he’s the one who hurt you,’ says Rhona. ‘I mean … There are people who can help us—’
‘No.’
‘People who can make him pay for wha—’
‘No.’
‘Anything, Kathy, it could be anything at all … If not his surname, then his nickname, or the colour of his hair, or—’
‘I don’t remember!’
‘Then tell me what you do remember!’ she rasps.
I swing round. We stare at each other.
‘Why are you protecting him? I know you know something!’
‘I’m not!’
‘Do you want me to show you the pictures again?! Because I’ll go and get the file right now! I’ll show you the state you were in when they dragged you—’
‘He loved me!’
‘Did he throw you out of a boat? Were you trying to escape? What happened? Kathy, you’ve got to tell me!’
‘Stop it!’ I scream, and drop to the floor.
Silence holds for what feels like minutes. I keep expecting the floorboards to creak under Rhona’s feet. But no. Nothing. When my heart has slowed, I look up and see her standing in the same place.
‘Rhona?’ I tremble.
She looks up, weary-eyed, and studies my face. Finally she says, ‘I just want to help you. You know that, right?’
I break eye contact. Rhona sighs.
‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’
‘It’s in the past. We can’t change it …’
‘Hmm,’ she says, and flops into a chair. She looks like she has more to say, but I’m glad she doesn’t.
#
I lie on my bed, watching the sun go down. As my session with Dr Harrison draws closer, it gets harder to hold myself together. At one point the sound of singing puzzles me. Then I remember this is music therapy day and that the voices I hear belong to the other patients.
Now that I’m alone, strange things are settling back into my mind. Maybe they’re part of the fear. I don’t know. They feel like memories, or the kind of memories you have inside dreams. A whole life story, condensed and ready to go. Lights, cameras, action! It takes all my concentration not to get dragged into them. I’m scared of what I’ll see if I let my guard down. They brush past my skin. Making me wriggle.
Magnus, is that you?
Is this real?
Did these things really happen?
The field is the clearest memory of all. Hiding in the dark from something dreadful. Magnus was not there that time. He fits in somehow, but not there.
At one point someone knocks. My stomach twinges. They’ve come to take me down. I wait. But nothing happens.
Fucking Joyce.
I hold my breath. Seconds later, a shadow moves under the door. The floorboard on the landing creaks. Then nothing.
Time drags. As the room gets darker, bad feelings lurk back. I close my eyes in a bid to shut them out, but it’s no good. In this silence, they are all around. Nodding. Conspiring.
Snow closes in, streaking lines across me as wide and as white as the sun. I watch through the gaps. Overlapping in my wake, marking the places I have been. Outside, gusts carry the flakes to places I can no longer reach, and with every howl and gasp I feel my dreams scatter further away. All the hopeless wishes. Wishing he had stayed the man he pretended to be. Wishing he had meant the words he said.
We huddle in our seats as the wind rocks the van. Around us, the stink of hotdog meat. Filter coffee. Sweat. The chill against my back and the hard, tall sleeve of his arm. Magnus glares forwards as he drives. Hands clamped round the wheel. This is not how the first day should have been. Why isn’t this romantic? It should have been romantic. I try to make him smile, and cannot. The cold becomes unbearable. I ask him to turn the heating up, but he mutters something about the thickness of my blood.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
Magnus stays silent.
We pass another service station, and I persuade him to stop for fresh coffee. We troop inside and refill the travel mug. They have white-chocolate syrup here, which costs extra, but we tell the clerk we didn’t put any in and he believes us. We stand inside the doors to drink it, relishing the warmth of the floor against our feet. When we set off again, Magnus takes my hand, and my heart floods with relief.
‘I love you,’ I say loudly, and now his smile blooms back to greet me. Weak with relief, I allow Magnus to pull me close. He lowers his scarf, leans down to my height and kisses me. The gale gasps and tears at us. His lips are as cold as ice.
#
I swing into the headboard. Clang! goes my head. My hands fly out.
Wait … it’s the headboard … just the headboard …
I fumble around to make sure. Yes. It’s the bed. Idiot.
Rubbing my head, I lean forwards. The room is invisible. Every molecule of light gone. Someone has veiled the house like a birdcage, and now it is time to sleep. I can’t hear a single sound. For a moment I feel quite peaceful. Then I remember my session, and sit bolt upright.
What time is it?
I feel for the edge of the bed. Swing myself out. Three cold steps and I’m at the wall. Then, hand over hand over hand, I fumble for the light switch. The room flashes on, and I sneeze in the brightness.
Quarter past one.
What?
What about Dr Harrison?
I try the door knob.
Shit!
It’s locked again.
What the hell is going on?
I double check. Triple check.
Did Joyce do this to punish me? Would she really be such a bitch? But I didn’t mean to miss my session. I just fell asleep!
This is madness.
Why did no one wake me up?
18
Monday.
The dining room is packed when I go down for breakfast. Rhona and Joyce share a table by the kitchen. They look up as I walk in, and I’m pretty sure they see me, but they don’t come over to explain my missed session. Confused, I fill my plate. The bread seems tasteless today. At one point I notice Dr Harrison sitting amongst the staff. Am I going mad? Did I miss a day, somehow?
I sneak a second glance at Dr Harrison. She looks quite normal. Like nothing strange has happened at all. Maybe I did get the wrong day. I eat my toast quickly and leave the dining room before she has a chance to grab me. I really would have liked a cup of tea, but I daren’t hang around.
Outside, the weather is bad. I stay by my bedroom window, wrapped in a blanket, and worry about the upcoming session. What do I do? I haven’t the nerve to hide again. Water pours down the window, blurring my view of the moor.
At eleven o’clock I go to the Internet room, but Caroline’s not there so I sit on the shoe rack in the back porch and wait. After a while I hear a car. Caroline bursts through the door, laden with plastic bags, and jumps when she sees me. A pool of water forms around her as she takes off her wellington boots. She says she’s been buying wool in the village, for a weaving class this afternoon.
To my surprise, no one mentions Dr Harrison. Hours go by, but no one comes to take me to her, and no one comes to explain about yesterday. I don’t like this. It’s too weird. At six I pop my head in at the librar
y, but Rhona’s nowhere to be seen. Caroline tries to talk me into weaving.
‘I’m supposed to see Dr Harrison,’ I tell her.
‘Not that I heard.’
‘But … when’s she going home?’
‘I dunno. Come on now and join us. Here’s a nice blue one!’ She pushes a ball of wool into my hand.
Half-heartedly, I sit down. Caroline hands round cardboard squares cut from cereal packets, and everyone takes one. Mine is Shreddies. As we start cutting slits in our cereal packets, I think I hear Rhona’s voice outside. Then a door slams and the voice cuts off. Caroline is glaring at me, as if warning me not to get up, and I know by now it’s a bad idea to pick a fight with her. When the class is over everyone filters into the day room. I slip off in search of Rhona, but her office is deserted. The rest of the house is empty too, without a staff member in sight. The only sound comes from the television in the day room. It looks like we’ll be allowed a film today, and though this is a rare treat I can’t muster any enthusiasm. Instead of joining the others I sit in the darkened dining room and strain my ears for signs of life. Bit by bit, the electric voices of the television replace real ones, and I’m almost asleep when people filter through for dinner. Unusually, there is no hot food. Just a big plate of cling-wrapped sandwiches and a bowl of custard creams. I go to Caroline and ask, ‘Where is everyone?’
‘What do you mean? We’re all here.’
‘Where’s Mrs Laird? And Rhona, and everyone else?’
‘Oh right,’ says Caroline as she puts a sandwich into her mouth. ‘They went to the pub.’
‘But they’ve never—’
‘It’s Susan’s birthday,’ says Caroline as she takes another bite.
‘Dr Harrison?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that why we didn’t do my session?’
‘Must be.’
I nod. I suppose it makes sense.
Caroline takes her cling wrap and rolls it into a ball. I watch for a moment. Then I pull out a chair and sit beside her.
Caroline sighs. ‘What’s up? Not hungry?’
‘No.’
‘You should eat something. There won’t be any supper, you know.’
