On the Edge of Darkness

by Barbara Erskine

  He had laughed in spite of himself. ‘That’s fine. Perfect. Good idea.’

  Then he had put the thought of her out of his head. But now, this morning, he was suddenly not so sure. He glanced into the driving mirror at the quiet street behind him. It was bathed in sunlight. There was no one in sight. With a sigh of relief he engaged gear and let off the handbrake. His first call was going to take him the other side of town.

  On the train, Brid dozed. The sound of the wheels pounding over the tracks soothed her. At first she had looked out of the window, watching the scenery, staring in wonder at the glorious blue of the sea as they steamed south. She held herself rigid with fear as the sound of the wheels changed as they rumbled over the Berwick Bridge, high in the air, then on into England; as they drew nearer and nearer to Adam she slept again. She did not eat or leave her seat and the compartment stayed empty. She did not think about the future. She had no idea how she would get to him. Catriona had talked of another train, another station. She would not think about it now. Her head was growing light. Here, on the train, away from the land she knew, the veil was thinning and she was holding on with all her strength to some kind of reality, fighting back the demons. As they drew into King’s Cross she knew she had lost. Her eyes were fixed, her pulse rate was almost nil, her skin cold as ice. She heard the noise of the station, but she did not move. She was staring into the eyes of Broichan, her uncle.

  Patricia stared round the sitting room, and nodded contentedly. Jane had made it very nice. It was comfortable, lived in without being untidy, Calum’s toys were neatly put away and the day before she had moved the mess of medical magazines into Adam’s study. She adjusted a cushion slightly and went to twitch the curtain back another inch. The new house, in a pretty suburban street, had a bigger garden than the old one. The house itself had been built in the 1920s and was very different from their former home, but she knew Jane loved it already because it was their very own. Patricia smiled. It wasn’t as elegant as the old house, of course, and sadly it did not have the cachet of the old Georgian street, but at least it was theirs.

  Jane was in the kitchen making them a cup of tea and Calum was resting. The house was peaceful at last. Patricia sighed. The little boy was indeed a handful these days. Perhaps if she lay down for a while, before he woke up again? It was a pity she couldn’t stay longer, to help Jane in these last months before the baby was born, but it really was so exhausting …

  Climbing the stairs she paused to catch her breath, staring in at the open door of Jane and Adam’s bedroom. It was full of sunshine, a pretty, feminine room with nice pictures and elegant ornaments. She stepped in for a moment, looking round and nodding. If nothing else, she had instilled good taste into her daughter. Almost as she thought it, her eye caught the ornate little enamelled and silver tree standing on the table beside the bed. The brilliant crystal on it caught the sunshine, throwing rainbows onto the wall on the opposite side of the room. It was a vulgar little thing, completely out of keeping with the rest of the furnishings. She frowned. It had been given them by that dreadful, blowzy artist woman who had once gone out with Adam. Walking over to the bed she picked up the amulet tree and looked at it. It wasn’t even well made.

  ‘Mother! What are you doing?’ Jane’s voice in the doorway made Patricia jump.

  ‘Nothing, dear. I was just thinking how much nicer the room would look without this – thing – beside the bed. It’s completely out of keeping.’

  ‘Put it down, Mother. Please. It is a lucky charm.’ Jane was exhausted. Patricia had come to stay ostensibly to allow Jane to rest. In reality she had made twice as much work. Like now, when Jane would have loved to put her own feet up while Calum slept and yet was making tea to bring up to her mother’s room.

  ‘Superstitious nonsense! Couldn’t you get rid of it, dear? Give it to a jumble sale or something. I’m sure someone would like it – ’

  ‘I like it, Mother.’ Jane put down the cup on her dressing table and held out her hand. ‘Please give it to me.’

  ‘You don’t have to be defensive, dear. I’m sure Adam wouldn’t even miss it …’ Patricia was turning to replace it on the bedside table when the amulet seemed to slip from her hands. She made a clutch at it as it fell and the crystal came away in her hand. The small tree caught on the edge of the table and lay bent and twisted on the carpet at her feet, two of its tiny enamels ripped free.

  ‘Mother!’ Jane stared at it in horror. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I’m sorry. It slipped.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It slipped.’ Jane blinked back sudden tears of fury and exhaustion. She went down on her knees and picked up the little pieces, staring down at them in sorrow. ‘This meant so much to Adam.’

  ‘Then it’s time his taste improved!’ Patricia’s voice was tart. She was completely unrepentant. ‘I should throw the pieces away, dear. Adam will never notice. Now, I think I shall take my rest otherwise I shall still be tired when dear little Calum wakes up.’

  Jane stared after her in disbelief, then she shrugged. Carefully she put the broken pieces in a drawer. She had already resolved to take them to the jeweller and have the ornament repaired.

  The mental hospital contacted Catriona from the address they found in Brid’s bag. Guiltily she shook her head as she sat in the flat in Royal Circus. ‘She was a down-and-out my mother befriended and I took her in for a while after my mother died, but she wasn’t normal. To be honest I was a bit afraid of her. I was glad when she left. No, I don’t know her name. Just Brid. That’s what she called herself. I thought perhaps she was a tinker from up north somewhere. But I know nothing about her family or if she had any …’ She looked down at the telephone number scribbled on the piece of paper on the blotter on her desk. Brid had not bothered to take it with her. Dr Adam Craig. No, she would not give them that name, nor would she mention the knife. She had no wish to get involved.

  The treatment had affected her memory in some way. There were huge black holes inside her head where there should be memories. She was sitting now in the large bland common room of the mental hospital in front of a table strewn with balls of knitting wool. She was supposed to be sorting them out but they kept moving around, randomly organising themselves into patterns which had nothing to do with the neat baskets she was supposed to be packing them into. She gazed round vaguely, taking in the bright patterned curtains on the windows, the other inmates sitting like her drugged and half comatose on the metal-framed chairs with sagging canvas seats. Her blue cotton dress was ill-fitting and uncomfortable, stiff from so many washes, and her hair was dull and unkempt, held back from her face by an elastic band. How had she come to be here? She could not understand anything.

  The kindly doctor, with his wire-rimmed spectacles and white coat, seemed to want to be her friend when he had time. She enjoyed talking to him. He was intelligent and treated her as though she were interesting and educated and sane. She had learned this word sane. You had to be sane to get out of the place in which she found herself. But she did not know where it was she came from or where she was going to, and that seemed to be a problem from which there was no escape. ‘If we just knew you had someone to take you in, Brid, my dear.’ He smiled and she found herself gazing as she so often did at the fascinating flash of gold from the tooth at the corner of his smile. ‘But if there is no one then we must be sure, mustn’t we, that you can take care of yourself.’

  Time passed so swiftly in here, in the institutionalised world in which they lived. It was all the same to her. That was one of the things which fascinated him. She had no concept of time.

  At night, sometimes, after they had been round to check she was asleep, she would take Jeannie Barron’s pretty compact out of her bag and open it, staring down into the little mirror, stilling the small movements of her hands until the reflections stopped dancing and swaying and her eyes were led down and down past her own shadowy face into infinite depths of blackness. At first she saw nothing and she wondered why she did it, the
n one day she saw a shadowy figure, for a second, no more, and she began to remember. Somehow she knew she must not let anyone see her do it. And she must not mention it to Dr Sadler. If she did, she sensed, he would say he was disappointed in her and things might start to go wrong again. So, quietly, she practised in secret and slowly the pictures grew more clear.

  At first she thought they were dreams. She was a cat. A beautiful, glossy, striped cat with huge golden eyes, and she could roam at will through gardens and over walls and fences, climb trees, and scale creepers to look in through people’s windows. Then, one day, she found earth under her fingernails when she woke in the morning and she lay in bed, hugging the flat, hard hospital pillow and staring up at the ceiling, a small triumphant smile on her lips. She had found A-dam. In her dream she had seen him in his garden. In her dream she had walked out from the shadows and, cat-like, had pressed herself against his legs, and in her dream he had stooped and touched her head and stroked her shoulders, and run his hand down her soft, silky flank.

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. In the locker was her old, woven bag. She pulled it out and opened it. Inside, hidden in the lining, was her own small rusty iron knife and the much prettier and more deadly silver paperknife she had stolen from Catriona. Besides that the bag held only the compact and a few other small possessions, including the tortoiseshell comb. She brought it out and sat on the bed with it in her hands, looking at it. Her own hair, though faded and tangled, was still jet black. The hair twisted in the comb was red-gold. Wrapped up in a handkerchief at the bottom of the bag was the small copper cufflink.

  Jane stooped wearily to pick one of Adam’s shirts out of her washing basket. Her mother, thank God, had gone at last, otherwise she would have been there calling at her to be careful, not to strain herself, but not actually offering to help, as she had done every day of her visit. It was a bright cold windy day. Shaking the shirt out she glanced round proudly, taking in the pear tree, the rose beds, the sandpit which Adam had made for Calum, and contentedly she smiled as she reached to peg the shirt on the line. At once the fine white cotton filled and danced and she stooped to find another peg to hold it secure.

  The cat seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment she was peacefully hanging out her husband’s shirts, and the next she was falling, the warm furry body mixed up with her feet, then clinging to her shoulder with its claws, then gone. It took her several minutes to get over the shock, kneeling, gasping, on the grass, winded and frightened.

  When she at last climbed to her feet and turned to go back indoors there was a sudden, sharp nagging pain in her stomach.

  The pain took her again suddenly in the middle of the night. She woke up with a gasp, and beside her Adam groaned. ‘Jane? What is it? What time is it?’

  ‘Adam, help me!’

  It was only five months, five months pregnant after the last miscarriage, and now she could feel the hot blood beginning to flow. ‘Adam!’ Her scream of terror and misery brought him to his feet in seconds and, with a sickening certainty that this had been her last chance to have another baby, he began to tend to his wife.

  It was dawn before she was at last settled back to sleep, heavily sedated in the pretty back bedroom which they had made their own. Walking wearily down to his new study Adam drew back the curtains and pulled the French doors open. The early spring morning was fresh and cold, the grass on the back lawn heavy with dew. Nearby a blackbird was singing its heart out to the background of the dawn chorus from the neighbouring gardens. There were tears in his eyes as he stood there. Poor Jane. And poor baby. Why had it happened? He had studied every book to give her the best of treatment. He had consulted the most experienced gynaecologists. He had put her under the care of Roger Cohen, reputed to be amongst the leaders in the field of antenatal studies, who had written copious papers on the care of women prone to miscarry. He had said all was going well when they went for her check up only a week before. So what had happened?

  He went over to the cupboard behind his desk and pulled out a three-quarter-empty bottle of Laphroaig. Pouring two fingers into a glass he tipped it down his throat, neat. It burned satisfactorily and he had another.

  He tensed as he heard a baby cry and then realised that the sound came from an upstairs window next door.

  When he had realised what was happening he had rung Robert Harding. He had come at once, with Sarah who had against all Adam’s protests insisted on dressing a peevish, fretful Calum before taking him away to sleep at their house. Jane still didn’t know he had gone. Robert had only left when it was all over. He had been a tower of strength. ‘Take the time to be with her, old boy. Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you. Take all the time you need.’

  Adam sat down on the leather-covered sofa near the wall and stared out of the open window, deaf to the birds. Under his breath he was cursing his father’s God. Why? Why did He let it happen? Why, when there were so many unwanted children in the world, would He let Jane lose this so much wanted, so treasured little girl? Tears spilled over onto his cheeks and he sat, the glass held slackly in his fingers between his knees, letting them flow unchecked as the light grew stronger and it began to grow less cold.

  Not until he had finished the bottle did he stagger to his feet and slowly climb the staircase to see how she was. She was lying on her side, her face very white, her eyes closed. ‘Jane?’ he whispered. ‘Are you awake?’ She did not move. He sat down heavily on the side of the bed and gazed at her miserably. ‘Janie, my darling, I’m so sorry. We tried everything, you know we did …’ His gaze fell on the side table and he frowned. Liza’s amulet was not in its accustomed place next to the lamp. He looked round the room. It wasn’t on the dressing table or on the shelf of small china ornaments. It wasn’t on the bookcase or on the table near the door where only the afternoon before Jane had lovingly placed a small vase of daffodils. ‘Jane,’ he said quietly. His whole body had tensed as though someone near him had drawn their fingernails down a window pane. ‘Jane, darling. Where is Liza’s amulet?’

  She groaned a little and buried her face deeper in the pillow.

  ‘Jane!’ His voice was louder now. He stood up and walked round to her side of the bed. ‘I’m sorry, darling. But I must know. Where is Liza’s amulet?’

  ‘What?’ The white face she turned to him was reddened down one cheek from the pressure of the pillow. Her eyes were swollen, bleary from the drugs he and Robert had given her.

  ‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry.’ He knelt beside her and dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘Just tell me where it is and I’ll let you sleep.’

  ‘Liza?’ She frowned. ‘Where’s Liza?’

  ‘Where is her amulet, Jane?’ He repeated the request more loudly. ‘Please. I have to know.’ He shivered violently.

  ‘Adam, the baby –’ Suddenly the tears were welling up in her eyes.

  ‘I know, my darling, and I’m so sorry.’ Suddenly he thumped his fists on the bedcover. ‘Please, Jane, just tell me. Where is it?’

  ‘I took it to be mended. It got knocked over and the little silver branches were bent. The crystal broke off – ’

  ‘Hell and damnation!’ Adam stood up and slapped his forehead. ‘She did it. Brid! She’s murdered our baby.’ He let out a deep groan. ‘Oh, Jane why? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let it out of the house? You knew! You knew how important it was that it stayed here.’

  ‘Mummy said it was superstitious nonsense.’ She was crying now. ‘She dropped it. I think she did it on purpose. She never liked it. Oh, Adam!’ Suddenly she was sobbing bitterly. She threw herself back onto the pillows. ‘I didn’t think it mattered to take it out – just for a short time – while it was mended. It’s so long since you’ve mentioned Brid. It can’t have been her. It can’t. It was an accident. The cat. No one would do that to someone else. Oh, Adam, please.’

  He turned back to her at last and went to kneel by the bed. Taking her hand he pressed it to his lips. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t hav
e upset you like this. No, of course it wasn’t her. You go back to sleep. It was just not meant to be, that’s all. And we have one gorgeous, handsome wee boy so we already have the perfect family.’

  In the garden later he lit himself a cigarette and stood staring down at a bed of bright blue squill. The little flowers cheered him. They were so tough in the face of the icy wind and the showers of sleet which had chased away the early beauty of the spring morning.

  A-dam?

  He shook his head slightly and drew deeply on the cigarette.

  A-dam, where are you?

  Straightening, he looked round, his stomach clenching in sudden denial. He pinched out the cigarette and threw it down on the grass. Breathe slowly and deeply. Calm yourself and draw a circle round yourself in your mind. Put an imaginary mirror between yourself and the girl and throw her thoughts back in her face. If you are in the kitchen use salt to make a ring on the floor … He could hear the firm Welsh voice in his head, see Liza’s face suddenly watching him, a half-smile on her lips as she saw him fight with his scepticism.

  ‘You bitch!’ He was speaking out loud suddenly. ‘You small-minded evil gypsy bitch with your curses and your spells. Get out of our lives! Do you hear me? Get out!’

  I love you, A-dam!

  She was more distant now, fractured, like the wireless when he listened in the evening and there was a thunder storm near.

  ‘NO!’ His shout was audible two gardens away where a neighbour was cutting white heather for a bowl in the hall. She looked up but mercifully did not recognise the voice of her sober-mannered, elegant doctor.

  Adam turned his back on the garden and went into the house. He closed the French doors, bolted them and shut the curtains with a rattle, then he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the gas. He would take Jane a cup of tea and then go round and fetch Calum before she found out that he had gone to the Hardings.