While You Sleep

by Stephanie Merritt

  ‘Sure. I’ll drive over as soon as Bill’s been. You get that phone safely to Charles, OK?’

  He seemed reassured by this. He nodded and kissed her goodbye – tentatively, on the lips, though she pulled away before he was tempted to linger. As he braced himself against the storm, the sky was lit for the space of a heartbeat, by a flash of sickly, greenish light, and the roll of thunder that followed sounded like a threat.

  22

  Zoe closed and locked the cellar door, shutting out the image of that disturbing tombstone and its implications. She recalled Charles’s story of the labourers hired to take Ailsa’s coffin to the mainland, and their conviction that the box had been empty. What if she had never left? Suppose she had been buried, in secret; suppose she had remained here, in the house, all this time? And what did it mean that the boy’s name was engraved there too? Teàrlach Seosamh McBride. She tried to whisper the names aloud. Charles Joseph. Ailsa’s son.

  She made another pot of coffee and a cheese sandwich and sat at the kitchen table with them, her back to the cellar door. The storm raged on outside, but the house itself remained quiet; no strange scratchings or singing, no voices, no ringing phone. It was almost ten when she was disturbed by the doorbell, and she could not say how she had passed the time; it seemed to have washed over her as she sat, like a stone in a slow-flowing river, numb to thought and feeling.

  It rang a second time, insistent now, as if someone were holding it down, and she pushed her chair away from the table, dragging herself back to awareness. The front door was snatched by the wind as she pulled it open, braced for another dose of Bill’s heavy-handed questions, but the figure in oilskins on the doorstep shouldered roughly past her, slamming the door behind him, and when he lowered his hood she saw with a dropping sensation in her stomach that it was Dougie Reid.

  ‘Anyone else here?’ He peered past her into the hallway.

  She glanced over her shoulder, anxiety tightening her chest. His manner was brusque, with none of the sly insinuation he usually employed with her. ‘Bill’s coming any minute.’

  She knew he had caught the fear in her voice. A smile curved across his face. ‘He’ll be a while yet, hen. He’s out with the searchers on the moor. You and I need to have a wee chat.’

  ‘It’s late, Dougie. I was about to go to bed.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re lucky you can think about sleep. There’s no one else in the town’ll be sleeping tonight, for worrying about that wee boy.’

  ‘I’m worried too. I’d prefer to be on my own, if you don’t mind. We can chat tomorrow,’ she added as a concession. She heard how polite she sounded, and hated herself for it; why was she tiptoeing around him, as if afraid to give offence?

  ‘Won’t take a minute,’ he said, his voice light.

  She gathered her courage and folded her arms, her heart scudding. ‘No. I’m not feeling well. I’d like you to leave, please.’ But he pushed past as if she had not spoken and headed down the corridor in his waterproofs, his boots leaving muddy footprints over the tiles. She had no choice but to follow him. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘They’re saying all kinds of things in town,’ he remarked over his shoulder as he reached the kitchen. She watched the way his gaze scoured the room, as if searching for something particular.

  ‘About Robbie?’

  ‘About you. People are saying you’re no right in the head.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, it’s good to know this place hasn’t changed since the nineteenth century. A woman who chooses to live on her own, you all decide she must be crazy. Nice going.’

  ‘Well, it’s your own husband who says so, hen, and he’s no from around here.’ He shrugged off his coat and threw it over a chair. The run-off pooled on the stone floor. Underneath he was wearing overalls and a leather tool belt around his waist.

  ‘What?’ Her pulse quickened; for a sudden, awful moment she thought Dan might have turned up, and even now might be sitting in the bar at the Stag, holding forth about her failings to an eager audience.

  ‘Aye. Kaye’s spoken to him. She says he asked her to keep an eye on you. Says you’ve had some kind of breakdown and you’re no taking your pills. You’ve no got a firm grip on reality, apparently.’ His eyes glittered; the smile curved like a blade. He took a step towards her.

  ‘My husband wouldn’t say anything like that. You need to leave now.’ But she could see he had caught the tremor in her voice.

  ‘It’s a worry, though. A wee boy goes missing, last seen in the company of a nutter. Folk are talking, you can imagine. I mean, why would anyone keep a stranger’s child at their house overnight? Why would you no take him straight home?’

  ‘Maybe I thought he was safer here than at home.’

  ‘Well, turns out you were wrong about that, eh. Looks like he wasn’t safe with you at all. Who knows what a mental woman might do to a child.’

  ‘That’s crazy – I would never hurt a child.’ She heard her voice rising. ‘I’m a mother, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Aye, we’ve heard that too. And folk are saying, what kind of mother leaves her child behind in another continent and fucks off to live on her own? Eh? You’ve got to admit, you’re no going to win Maw of the Year for that.’

  He moved another step closer; she found she had backed herself against the sink. She tried to draw herself upright and put her shoulders back; she was at least as tall as him.

  ‘Get out.’ She made her voice as hard as she could. ‘Get out of my house, or I’ll call—’ She broke off, seeing his smile widen to a grin.

  ‘Will you? Who will you call?’

  He knew about the phone line, she realised; it was that knowledge that lent him his bravado. They were alone here; there was nothing she could do. She saw him register her understanding of her predicament, saw the satisfaction he got from her fear. He stepped forward once more until he was inches away from her. She felt his breath on her face, with its smell of stale cigarettes.

  ‘If you touch me, I will fucking kill you,’ she said through her teeth. He gave a sour laugh.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself, hen. That’s no what I’m here for. I’m a wee bit old for your taste, anyway, eh?’

  ‘Likewise,’ she shot back. She saw the naked flash of anger in his eyes and wished she could spool the word back and swallow it; she had betrayed a knowledge she should not have possessed, and they both understood the implications. He reached out and placed a hand deliberately on her breast, his grip tight, his eyes fixed on hers, challenging her to provoke him.

  For a few seconds she stared back at him, unable to move, her breath stopped in her throat. She could see his face as if in high definition: every acne scar, every blackhead on his nose, every bristle on his lip seemed magnified, his ridged teeth and pale eyelashes appeared to her as if she were seeing them on a screen. She tensed her jaw, concentrated hard and, in one swift movement, brought her right knee up to connect sharply with his groin.

  He yelped and jumped back, but the cry was more outrage than pain; he had seen an intimation in her face somehow, and angled his body away as she moved, so that her knee had struck the inside of his thigh instead of her true target. Before she could react, he had grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm hard behind her back, so that she heard a click in her shoulder as she screamed.

  ‘You fucking slag. Don’t ever try that again. Where’s the phone?’

  ‘In the hall.’

  ‘Not that one. You know what I mean. The other phone.’

  ‘What other phone?’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. The one I saw in your kitchen today, the orange one. I want to see it.’

  ‘Why? It’s just my phone. Why should I show you?’

  He wrenched her arm harder and she cried out. ‘Because I’m asking you nicely. Do as you’re told, eh, and we’ll be done without any trouble.’

  ‘OK, OK …’ She let out a jagged breath. ‘If I give you my phone, you’ll leave?’

  He hesitated. ‘Ay
e. Where is it?’

  ‘In my bag. On that chair over there.’ She nodded, but he did not let go of her arm; instead he dragged her across the room until she could reach into her purse with her free hand. She held out her phone in its black leather flip case, but he only pulled her arm higher. ‘Jesus, fuck, let me go. Here’s the phone.’

  ‘That’s an iPhone.’

  ‘I know. That’s the only phone I have.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, hen. I want the one I saw this afternoon. In the orange case. The Nokia. Where is it?’

  ‘I don’t have a Nokia phone,’ she said, her voice tight with pain.

  He slackened his grip and pulled her chin around with his free hand to face him. ‘Then why did you go to Dickey’s this morning and buy a Nokia charger? Aye, don’t think you can have any secrets here. Now let’s try one more time – where is it?’

  ‘I—’ She shook her head.

  ‘Did you show it to anyone? Does anyone else know you have it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve told you.’ She kept her face turned away.

  He paused, leaning back to look at her.

  ‘All right, hen, if you want to make this harder for yourself.’ He slapped her across the face, a hard crack with the back of his hand that so astonished her as it rang out that the pain took a moment to register. Tears sprang to her eyes; she blinked them back as he pushed her up against the wall, gripping her other hand and pulling her wrists together behind her, so that she was pinned, unable to move, her back to him and her cheek pressed against the plaster. She heard the sound of a zipper and feared the worst, but it must have been the tool belt opening. A tearing noise followed, and she felt the sticky pressure of duct tape against her skin. She cried out as it was wound around her wrists until she could feel nothing but the burning in her shoulders.

  ‘Now then,’ he said, in her ear, when she could no longer move her arms, ‘I won’t ask nicely next time. Where’s the cunting phone?’

  ‘I don’t have any other phone,’ she repeated, the words coming out staccato with the pain, but she allowed her eyes to travel towards the ceiling. Dougie followed her gaze. She tried to keep her thoughts ordered; if she could lead him to believe the phone was somewhere in the house, he would waste time searching for it, and Edward and Charles would have a chance to call the police before Dougie thought to go after them.

  ‘Right,’ he said, appearing to make a decision. He pushed her towards the door of the cellar.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ she asked, struggling against him. ‘Do you really think you can get away with this?’

  He grinned, but the novelty of taunting her appeared to be wearing thin. ‘Reckon I can get away with anything I like,’ he said, clamping a hand around her breast again. ‘Who would believe what you say now? You’re mentally unstable, remember.’ He let go and shoved her hard between the shoulder blades. ‘You’re lucky I think you’re an ugly bitch. Although maybe I should give you a seeing to anyway, put you in your place.’ He unlocked the cellar door and affected to consider it. ‘Nah. I’ve got better things to do. And I don’t want that wee posh boy’s sloppy seconds.’

  ‘Bill McCrae will be here any minute,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice even. ‘What will you tell him?’

  ‘I’ll tell him I’ve no idea where you are.’ He smiled, showing his stained teeth. ‘I’ll say you must have gone out in the storm. That’s the sort of thing a mental woman would do.’

  ‘I’ll scream the fucking place down.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Whisht your noise now.’ He shoved her against the wall next to the open door and held her with his forearm across her chest; she tensed, fearing he meant to push her down the steps. But he tore off another strip of duct tape and brought it towards her face, even as she tried flailing her head to avoid it, imploring him to spare her that, promising to keep quiet. With the tape across her mouth, she felt herself crumple, the fight gone out of her.

  ‘That’s better. Get yourself down there.’ He nudged her forward to the cellar steps, holding her by the shoulders until she had reached the bottom. ‘I’m going to find that phone. And if I don’t, I’m going to come back and ask you again. So you have a wee think about whether you want to be more helpful when I come back, because I will teach you a lesson if you’re not.’

  He retreated back up the stairs and slammed the door. Zoe was plunged into darkness as she heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

  She breathed in and out hard through her nose, trying to slow her thoughts while her eyes adjusted. As if for the first time, she began fully to comprehend the danger she was in. Dougie was volatile, but he was also, she now realised, sharper than she had given him credit for. If he suspected her of having Iain’s phone – if he thought she had seen what was on it – he would regard her as a threat. There was too much at stake for him. And he was right: she was alone with him in the middle of nowhere, with no means of communication. Was he capable of killing her? She could hardly say what was possible now; if he hadn’t killed Iain Finlay with his own hands, she was sure that at the very least he had pursued the boy to his death on the cliffs. And had he killed Robbie too? It was not impossible. She had no doubt that he would be prepared to rape her; hadn’t he taken pleasure in explaining that the islanders thought she was unstable, crazy, hysterical, a slut? No one would believe her version, if she ever got to tell it. In the midst of her fear she found a reserve of anger for Dan, for trying to undermine her from three thousand miles away. Would he be pleased with the result, if he could see her now, if he could see the effects of his interfering phone call to Kaye? Her throat pinched tight at the thought, so that she had to remind herself to keep breathing.

  Gradually she found she was able to make out shapes among the shadows. There was the dull gleam of the dresser’s mirror; there the skeletal outline of the fallen shelves. Ailsa’s grave was somewhere in that corner, she thought, noticing how calmly she acknowledged the fact. It was not the person beneath her feet who frightened her now, but the one whose footsteps she listened for overhead. It’s the living you have to be afraid of; hadn’t she said that once to Edward? Thunder kettle-drummed outside and the gale rattled the wooden shutters above her in the far corner.

  Of course; the hatch! Dougie could not have known it was not padlocked on the outside; all she had to do was free her hands and force it open. She stepped gingerly across the floor, feeling her way with her feet, listening for the crunch of broken glass, glad that she had taken to wearing sneakers around the house because of the cold floors. She needed to look somewhere on this side of the cellar, near the steps; Edward had had the carving knife in his hand and must have put it down when he’d discovered the water damage. She kicked around, trying to make as little noise as possible; she had no idea how thorough Dougie would be in his search, or how soon he would be back. At last her toe struck an object that gave a metallic scrape against the stone floor. She crouched and eased herself around so that she could grasp the handle of the knife behind her back with her free fingers. She managed to manoeuvre the blade towards the tape binding her wrists, though it was difficult to keep it steady and apply enough pressure to pierce through the tightly wrapped layers. More than once the knife slipped and she felt a burning pain, followed by the warm trickle of blood down her hands, making the task harder as her fingers grew slippery. But she kept sawing away, and eventually she felt the fibres fray and give under the blade, until she could force enough of a gap to wrench her wrists through. Though she could not see properly, there seemed to be a quantity of blood running down her arms, but her heart was pounding so hard now she could hardly register the pain, only the thrill of relief as she ripped the tape off her mouth and sucked in air. She groped her way up the steps to the shutters of the coal hatch, and pushed hard; at first they resisted, and she cursed herself for having secured the catch so effectively earlier. She heaved again, climbing higher so that she could put her shoulder against the wood,
and suddenly it gave, flying open so abruptly that she almost lost her footing, but at the same time she felt the rain lash her face and launched herself upwards, into the welcome snarl of the gale.

  For a few seconds she stood in the full force of the storm, in the shadow of the house, uncertain as to her next move. She had been so bent on getting out of the cellar that she had not given any thought to what she would do if she succeeded; quickly she realised that she was not much better off outside. She had no car keys – they were in her bag, in the kitchen, beyond her reach; she was still cut off here, alone with Dougie, who might glance out of the window and see her at any moment. And how could she get away? There was only the road across the moors, but he would realise she was missing and come after her long before she could reach the town, and there was nowhere to hide out there, in that exposed landscape. Her other option was to conceal herself here somehow and hope that Bill McCrae kept his word and returned, though it was more likely Dougie would find her before Bill arrived. She must not let Dougie corner her out here, in this weather; there were too many ways to make a plausible accident happen to someone who didn’t know how treacherous the coast could be.

  While she stood crippled with indecision, another furious jag of lightning tore a trail through the clouds, so that briefly she saw the length of the beach illuminated, the churning waves rising and crashing in pyramids tall as houses, the cliffs towering on either side of the cove. The shock of it galvanised her. She was shivering now, her sweater soaked through, jeans sticking to her legs, hair plastered across her face, but she knew she had to move. She glanced up at the house; it was fortunate there were not many windows on this side. The sky seemed strangely lit from behind the clouds with a greenish, sickly glow; some effect of the moon and the storm, she supposed, which allowed her a little visibility but would also make it harder to hide.