by Jane Cable
“This will all have to come up,” Bob explains. “Then I’ll put a plastic membrane underneath and inject a chemical damp proof course all round the walls.”
“It doesn’t seem that damp to me,” I venture.
“No, love, but the air can get through it now. You have it all cosy and sealed in, and you’ll soon have a problem. Just re-concreting the floor might make the place damp. Best do the job properly.”
I’m not completely convinced but Richard is nodding and I have to trust his judgment; anyway, I’m feeling particularly crabby so it’s better to keep my mouth shut.
It’s too hot for much in the way of lunch so William and I spend a few hours in the garden. The area destined to become the patio for the holiday let is out of the afternoon sun so I attack the weeds until my arms are raw with scratches from the brambles. One cut is quite deep and stings like hell. After a futile hunt for the Savlon I grab my keys and handbag and head for Boots in Northallerton.
On the way back to the car I find myself in the alleyway that passes Caffé Bianco. I have heard nothing from Owen since that wonderful kiss on the cheek last week – it seems beyond him to reply to a text – but even so I have half a mind to pop in to see him if he’s not too busy. When I peep through the door Owen is leaning on the counter, deep in conversation with a skinny blonde. I turn away before he notices me.
When I get back to the car I positively throw my handbag into the footwell and slam the gears into reverse. I am about to pull out when I catch sight of myself in the rear view mirror. The months of stress are taking their toll and I am confronted by a pair of sunken brown eyes peering miserably at the wrinkles forming around them. The rosiness in my cheeks has been replaced by an unhealthy pallor and there is a nasty spot on the side of my nose. No wonder Owen prefers talking to the skinny blonde.
I take my foot off the clutch and the car stalls. Hot tears well up behind my eyelids. But after a few moments I tell myself to get a grip; I only look so rubbish and feet so grotty and ratty and confused about everything because I am so tired. I make a split second decision; straight back to Boots to buy the most expensive face pack they have and a packet of Sleep-Eazee. And there’s no way I’m walking past Caffé Bianco.
Chapter Seventeen
The first time I wake it’s pitch black. The hours of true darkness are very few at this time of year and if I don’t go back to sleep then I’m in for a long one. For a while I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think of anything very much but focusing on my breathing. When that doesn’t work I indulge myself in a little fantasy of being held in someone’s (alright, Owen’s) arms. When that doesn’t work I remember the sleeping pills in my handbag.
They must have an effect because I doze off for a while, but then I wake with a jump, feeling completely disorientated. There is a noise which seems to be coming from somewhere inside the house, but after grappling with it for a few moments I realise it isn’t inside at all; it’s the crying I heard before but now it sounds very close.
Wide awake, I sit up and listen, but once again I can’t pinpoint the sound. It seems louder when I lean out of the open window, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. The sobs are truly heartbreaking; someone’s in real trouble somewhere and I hope they have someone to comfort them. Rather selfishly, I also hope that even if they haven’t they’ll shut up.
I close the window and crawl under the duvet. The crying doesn’t seem any quieter and I stick my head under the pillow, which works to a degree, but just as I am dropping off the weeping reaches a new crescendo. As if that isn’t enough it wakes William and he starts whining. I yell at him to pack it in. There is peace (from him at least) for about five minutes, and then he starts up again.
I fling back the duvet and stalk down the stairs, almost tripping over my handbag. I pick it up, march into the garden room and let William out. Daybreak is seeping into the sky and I watch him race across the lawn to cock his leg on a tree. He seems undisturbed by the crying now, but it sure is bothering me. I wonder if taking more sleeping tablets would block it out and I read the label on the packet; you can take up to eight pills so I down another six with alacrity.
I know they won’t work straight away so I follow William across the garden. He is sniffing around in the long flowerbed that stretches towards the pond. I can still hear the crying but it doesn’t seem to be coming from a neighbour’s house; if anything the sound is eddying around and I resolve to follow it.
William and I walk towards the little orchard, but the noise becomes fainter and we retrace our steps until we are standing between the garden room and the barn. Here the crying seems to be bouncing off the buildings and the noise intensifies until I can hardly bear it. William starts to whimper and I begin to feel uneasy – and then I begin to wonder if it can possibly be coming from inside the barn.
My desperate desire to make the noise stop is stronger than my growing fear. Keeping William to heel I walk up the side of the barn and open the small door. But inside all is quiet, just the peaceful munching of the two cattle as they chew the cud. No-one crying at all. Very gently, I close the door.
When I realise what I have seen I am rooted to the spot. But I don’t dare open the door again to check if the cows are still standing in their stalls, and if the sweet smell of fresh hay still permeates the air. My hand is locked onto the handle, but I am too scared to turn it, and still the crying goes on and on. Then William licks my bare leg and I am galvanised into action, running back into the garden room and slamming the door.
William flops onto his rug and looks at me expectantly; he’s after a biscuit. As I pull one from the box on the shelf I notice the sleeping tablets. I have to shut out that noise or I’ll go mad. I give William his treat, fling a few more pills down my throat, and curl up next to him. His fur is soft and warm. Under my hand his little heart beats solidly.
Chapter Eighteen
At first I can only feel, and hear. William wriggles out from under my arm and starts to bark; a corner of my brain realises he wants to go out but I am incapable of doing anything about it. So I am thankful when I hear the garden room door creak open. But I’m not grateful for long, because Margaret is calling my name and shaking me. I want to tell her to go away but for some reason I can’t speak. She must understand what I want though, because after a little while she leaves.
My peace isn’t meant to last. I am hauled into a sitting position but my head lolls forwards and I can’t lift it to see who’s holding my shoulders.
“Alice – Alice – how many of those bloody tablets did you take?” I register the fact that it is Owen’s voice, but I can’t answer. He holds me upright with one hand while his other finds my pulse. He swears – uses the f-word in fact, and then says something about mustard.
“Don’t like mustard,” I try to mumble, but I lose track of what’s going on, except that Margaret is holding me up and she won’t stop talking. “Had to stop the crying,” I tell her, “please let me sleep.” But she won’t, and the next thing I know Owen is forcing some disgusting liquid down my throat. I gag and spit it out.
He shakes me gently. “Alice, can you hear me? This is really, really important.” His voice is urgent so I try to concentrate. I also try to lift my head and open my eyes to look at him, but I only have a very narrow range of vision.
He is speaking again. “You’ve taken too many tablets and they’re making you ill. You have to drink this; it’ll make you very sick, but if you don’t I’ll need to call an ambulance and they’ll take you to hospital and pump your stomach out. You don’t want that to happen, Alice, do you?” I manage to shake my head.
“Good. Now come on, I’ll hold you up.” He shuffles to my side and props me against his shoulder. “Now drink.” He tips the glass into my mouth again and I take the liquid down. Then I am vomiting into a bucket I didn’t know was on my lap and William is barking and snarling.
“Get that bloody dog away from me!” Owen yells, then William’s claws drag along the floo
r and Margaret murmurs
“It’s OK, fella, Owen’s only trying to help her, ssshhh...”
Her remonstrations don’t work and I guess she takes him outside because the barking becomes quieter. I am exhausted by it all and lean against Owen.
“Come on Alice, talk to me, you must stay awake.”
“So tired…the crying...”
He drops a kiss onto the top of my head. “Oh, you poor angel, and I’ve been such a selfish shit, wrapped up in myself...” He reasserts himself. “Alice, talk to me. Do you know who I am?”
“Owen.”
“That’s right. And where do I live?”
“Next to Margaret.”
“And what’s my café called?”
He questions me relentlessly and after a while it becomes easier to answer. He feels my pulse again and I am aware of his body relaxing a little beside me.
“Margaret told me you’re a pharmacist.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute. But first I’m going to take you upstairs to bed, because you need to rest.”
I try to smile. “I thought I wasn’t meant to go to sleep.”
“There’s a difference between sleeping and falling unconscious. You chucked up a fair few of those pills, your pulse is normal, and you’re more with it now.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re asking me the questions.”
He wriggles around until he is kneeling beside me and puts his arms under my thighs and back. He lifts me easily for such a slightly built man and carries me through the dining room and up the stairs. He pauses at the top for a moment, then sees my unmade bed through the open door in front of him and puts me gently down on it, covering me with the duvet.
He sits on the edge of the bed and holds my hand. I open my eyes properly and look at him; his face is pinched and pale and there are dark circles under his eyes, but I still get lost in that incredible blue – it is almost as though I am hypnotised by it as I fall asleep.
From the moment of waking I am aware I am not alone in the room. I can’t work out why, but when I open my eyes and see Margaret sitting by the window reading I remember and inwardly cringe with embarrassment.
“Margaret,” I say, and she looks up from her book. “I am so sorry for all the trouble I put you and Owen to. Really I am.”
“That’s OK, Alice. We’re just kicking ourselves for not noticing how low you’d become. Some neighbours we turned out to be.”
I am puzzled for a moment but then the penny drops. “I didn’t take the tablets deliberately,” I explain. “At least, not for the reason you think. It’s just I haven’t been sleeping well and I was getting pretty desperate.” It doesn’t sound like a particularly convincing explanation.
“You said something about stopping crying – it made us think...”
“It wasn’t me crying, it was someone else.”
“Someone else?”
I haul myself into a sitting position. My mouth feels like a hedgehog has been sleeping in it, but there is some water by my bed and I take a sip.
“It’s someone nearby. I’ve heard them before, a few weeks ago, but last night they sounded really distraught. I got up and tried to trace where it was coming from but I couldn’t pin the sound down. It was weird.”
“It couldn’t have been an animal, could it?”
“I did wonder the first time I heard it – I had a friend who had a Siamese cat that cried like a baby – but last night it was a definite sobbing, and it never sounded like a child anyway.”
Margaret frowns. “How very odd.”
I wonder whether to tell her what I saw in the barn but decide against it. Instead I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
“I think I’ll go and clean my teeth and have a shower.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it? Owen said you’d feel very wobbly and you were to stay in bed until he got back.”
“I’ll be careful, I promise. I don’t want to cause you any more grief.”
Owen was right; I do feel rather weak and feeble so I take the precaution of not locking the bathroom door. As I haul the long T-shirt I sleep in over my head realisation dawns that it was all I was wearing – no underwear, no nothing. I was in such a state too; the chances were that I was fairly indecent. I look down at my naked body in horror.
The shower exhausts me and afterwards I sit up in bed sipping my water, trying to chat to Margaret. Footsteps crunch on the gravel and she peeks out of the window.
“It’s Owen,” she tells me. “He said he’d be back as soon as the café quietened down.”
We hear William growl, and before I even have time to blush Owen’s head appears around the bedroom door. “Can I come in?” he asks.
I manage to smile and Margaret nods.
He sits down on the bed. “So, how are you feeling, Alice?”
I have to put on a show for him – just have to. “Better, much better, thanks. You and Margaret – you’ve been wonderful – I don’t know what would have happened without you.”
“Well I do, and I break out into a cold sweat every time I think of it.” He laughs but it sounds false. “William hasn’t forgiven me for making you sick yet, but it’s a small price to pay.” He indicates a bag in his hand. “Right – are you feeling hungry? Because Adam’s baked you some lavender shortbread which should be nice and gentle on your tummy.”
“Well isn’t that kind of him,” exclaims Margaret. “I’ll make some tea to go with it.”
Once she leaves there is a silence and as usual I feel I have to fill it.
“Owen – there’s something I need to explain. You both thought I took those tablets deliberately, didn’t you? Well that wasn’t the case. I was just desperate to get some sleep. I took a couple, but that didn’t work because…well…it just didn’t. Then William wanted to go out and I read the bottle and it said you could take eight so I...”
“No more than eight in a twenty-four hour period, probably.”
I feel about five years old. “Oh,” is all I manage to say, but then a thought strikes me. “Is there anything in them that could be hallucinogenic?”
“Perhaps. Those over the counter remedies aren’t sweeties after all. It really pisses me off that people think they can help you but can’t harm you – they can be very powerful and people just don’t realise.”
“I guess I thought that,” I mumble.
“Well don’t buy any more. If you have trouble sleeping then get up and make yourself a camomile tea or something.” He sounds quite grumpy.
I stretch out my hand and cover his. “Owen, I am so sorry. You don’t need this on top of everything else.”
I have the impression he’s about to say something, but Margaret comes in with a tray of tea and plates and instead he starts fussing with the shortbread.
Chapter Nineteen
Owen and Margaret clearly didn’t buy my explanation about the tablets and have decided I need watching. I am curiously ambivalent about their assumption; on the one hand it is acutely embarrassing, but on the other it’s quite nice to be made a fuss of for a change.
Margaret spends most of the next day working in my garden and popping in and out of the house, so I tell her I’m planning to go to Leeds so that she doesn’t feel she has to do it again. Of course, then I really do have to go, but apart from getting lost on the ring road, I actually enjoy my day in the big city and treat myself to a very expensive facial at Harvey Nichols.
In the evening Owen calls and we take the dogs for a walk to Scruton. He is cheerful, solicitous and charming; when he hears I’ve been to Leeds he makes me laugh with stories about his student days, but he can’t hide the black circles beneath his eyes.
On Friday they bring Adam into the campaign and he drops by for an hour on his way back from work to deliver a batch of pasties for my freezer and to ask me to supper the next night. It is he who tells me how busy the café has been and
asks if I’d mind helping out on Monday because Owen won’t be around. I have the feeling it’s another ploy to keep me occupied and under observation, but I am very happy to accept.
I dress up a little for supper on Saturday; nothing over the top, but it’s nice get out of my decorating gear and put on a skirt and a fancy T-shirt. Margaret is invited too and I can’t see her turning up in her gardening trousers. I’ve been hanging wallpaper in my bedroom all day, so it’s lovely to sink into the bath for an hour, dress in clean clothes, grab a bottle of wine from the rack and make my way up the village.
William is invited too but he instantly disgraces himself by emitting a low growl when Owen opens the door.
“You really must cut that out,” I tell him, “Owen was helping me, not hurting me. Can’t you get that into your thick head?” But I guess spaniels aren’t exactly noted for their intelligence.
Owen takes it in good part and leads me to a small patio at the back of the house, where the table is set and Margaret already has a glass in her hand. Kylie is lying in the shade half way up the lawn and I shoo William off to join her.
Owen disappears into the kitchen leaving Margaret and me alone. We wander up the garden to look at her flower bed and I am amazed at the array of scent and colour. Stocks, towering gladioli, gerberas in soft, muted colours. I have a strong suspicion she also knows how to arrange them properly.
Closer to the kitchen is a large border given completely over to herbs. I don’t pretend to recognise many of them, but the bed is neatly tended and each plant carefully labelled.
“Do you grow these as well?” I ask Margaret.
“No – this bit’s down to Owen.”
“I expect Adam finds them useful in the kitchen.”
“Actually, they’re nothing to do with Adam. They’ve been here as long as I can remember. Owen’s grandmother...”
