Miss Mary's Book of Dreams

by Sophie Nicholls

  Then she laid down the Nine of Swords from her own tarot pack. The image on the card showed a woman sitting up in bed, her face in her hands. In the darkness above the woman’s head, the nine swords gleamed silver. For many years now, Zohreh had made a habit of drawing a card each morning and asking herself what it might mean. She found it a useful way of tapping into her subconscious, the movement of her deepest instincts. She’d drawn the Nine of Swords on the morning after she’d talked with Farah and it seemed to be particularly resonant somehow. The swords, she thought, represented the woman’s fears, the inner fears that wake us in the night, that tremble in the air above us. What we see in our own minds is always real, whether it exists in the outer world or exists only in the realms of our imagination. And in the middle of the night, it is hard to navigate between these two. Yes, Zohreh thought, nodding to herself, our deepest anguish is always a sword with a double edge. The more we fear, the less we’re able to distinguish what is our own fearful creation. And that was where nightmares gathered their power.

  She reached into the bag again and drew out her little silver hand mirror, holding it up to the window, letting it catch the moonlight in its surface. Then she laid it on top of the card. Mahdokht’s mirror trick, she said to herself. Let this mirror refract the nightmares, bending them like light. Let them bounce off the glass and go back from where they came. And Talayeh always used to say that blue beads banished bad dreams. She took a little silk pouch from the bag and emptied a handful of turquoise chips into her palm, then scattered them on top of the mirror.

  Finally, she reached into the bag again and drew out a tangle of damp roots. She had already cleaned the soil from them and now they lay in her palm, a slippery white knot. Rose roots. This was Miss Mary’s spell for ending trouble and the roots had come from Miss Mary’s own cure-garden. Bryony had collected them herself. To end trouble, Miss Mary had written, take rose roots and slice them with a sharp, clean knife. As you cut, think upon the trouble that you wish to bring to an end. See it in your mind, cut through like the roots. See it cut away from you or from the person it clings to, never to return.

  She thought of Selena LaSalle, that brief glimpse she’d had of her from the middle of the field, a distant, dark figure, leaning against Miss Mary’s kitchen door. She’d have recognised her anywhere, of course. She’d met her so many times before in this lifetime.

  She was the person who had lost her way, the one who had turned inward, become tight-jawed and narrow-eyed and cold as ice. She was the Tall, Pale-Eyed One of the stories, wandering the earth endlessly, looking for happiness outside herself but never finding it, casting the longest shadow. This sort of person could sweep everything and everyone up in her path as she searched for meaning. Her hunger for happiness ate away at things, destroying everything. Yes, something needed to be done. This Selena person needed to be dealt with. Her energy needed to be redirected, channelled elsewhere into something good.

  This, she now knew, was the reason she had been called here. This was why the bird had tapped at her window. She was here to weave together a final story.

  One last thing. A flying potion. Talayeh had always liked those. You sprinkled yourself with something, or rubbed some kind of potion over your body and it created powerful dreams. A kind of shamanic journeying. She looked around her and saw the divining dish on her bedside table. Next to it, a glass of water glimmered white in the light from the moon. Moon water. Perfect. She got to her feet, straining a little, easing out her old bones, and poured a little of the water into the dish. Then she dipped her fingertips and shook the water over her head, rising onto her tiptoes, turning in a circle towards the moon, just as she’d seen Talayeh once do.

  Then she stooped and plucked the feather from the centre of the circle and tucked it under her pillow. She took off her shawl, slipped under the quilt and closed her eyes.

  She imagined herself standing at the foot of the narrow bed, looking at her sleeping self. ‘Let the dream come,’ she whispered to herself, as she heard the Signals murmuring. ‘Let it come to each of us women tonight: Farah and Ella and Bryony and me. Let each of us weave it together into a new story.’

  At the open window, the crescent moon climbed higher, illuminating the objects on the bedroom floor. The old wooden boards creaked as if someone was walking across them. The curtains with their pattern of roses and shepherdesses shivered slightly as if someone had brushed past.

  Zohreh’s eyelids flickered. She slept on.

  *

  Bryony hung on. Through a haze of pain, she could see her fingertips turning white as they gripped the edge of the cast-iron mantelpiece. She hung on as her head swung back and forth, pulled by the force of Selena’s fingers, twisted in her hair. The pattern of the carpet, the swirl of gold and green and brown, made her want to be sick.

  ‘Come on then, Bryony. What’re you going to do now? Run and tell Daddy that nasty Selena’s been picking on you again?’

  Bryony heard Selena’s laughter. She could imagine Selena’s face behind her, all sweaty and twisted with effort, her jaw set in that familiar expression of defiance.

  ‘You’d better give it to me, Bryony, or I’ll tell Daddy that you stole it.’

  ‘No!’ Bryony heard herself scream but the sound rose in her throat and came out as a whimper. Snot bubbled in her nose and the swirls on the carpet blurred with hot tears.

  ‘Naughty, Bryony.’ Selena laughed again. Her hand released its pressure on Bryony’s skull for a moment and Bryony fell to the carpet, wheezing, trying to gather her breath.

  She fought the instinct to put her hand in her pocket, to check that the locket was still there. It was the most precious thing she owned, the silver locket on a long chain that her mother had given to her before she died. She knew that Selena didn’t even want it.

  Bryony sat bolt upright in the bed, and fumbled for the light switch. Her bedside clock blinked 03:03 and moonlight poured through the gap between the bedroom curtains and spilled onto the bed.

  *

  Ella made her way down the corridor. It had been a spur of the moment thing, to come in and surprise him today. She’d written two thousand words since breakfast. The words had started to flow again. Everything had felt better since Mamma had arrived. Even things with Billy.

  Now she was going to take him out. Forget packed lunch. She’d booked a table at that new restaurant at the top of Micklegate. She was going to treat him. And she had things to tell him, things to celebrate: the email from her editor saying that she liked the new first chapters she’d sent; and the series of readings and events she had planned for the shop in the new year.

  She stood in the corridor outside Billy’s office door. She held up her hand to knock. It was only the sound that made her turn around.

  Through a door that stood half open, a few feet down the corridor, she could hear the unmistakable sound of Billy’s laughter and a woman’s voice, a cool, clear voice rising above it. She walked slowly down the corridor and peered through the gap in the open door.

  Billy stood in front of her, his back towards her. He was wearing his favourite blue shirt, the one she’d given him for his last birthday.

  ‘Billy,’ she said but her voice caught in her throat and he didn’t hear her. He was shaking with laughter. He didn’t turn around. Over his shoulder, she saw Selena, her blonde hair hanging loose to her shoulders, the light shining softly through her office window so that she looked spotlit, like a woman in a film. She was gazing intently at Billy. What enormous eyes she has, Ella thought. Selena’s lips parted in a slow smile. She ran her tongue over her lips. And what white teeth she has, Ella thought. All the better to eat you with.

  Without taking her eyes off Billy, Selena opened her desk drawer and reached inside. She drew something out and held it to her lips, sinking her teeth in, taking a bite. Then she held it out to Billy on the palm of her hand. Ella saw now that it was a large apple with red, burnished skin.

  ‘Have a bite,’ Selena said,
smiling again, showing her white teeth. She moved in closer, placing her hand on his shoulder, holding the apple to his lips.

  But Billy had stopped laughing. Now, he stepped backwards. ‘Selena. What are you –?’

  ‘Have some,’ Selena said, still smiling, taking another step forward, this time putting her hand out to touch his cheek. ‘Come on, Billy. You know you –’

  ‘NO.’ Billy’s voice came out in a half-shout. His hands went to his mouth. ‘Sorry, but . . . No, Selena. That’s not how things are between us.’ He shifted from one foot to another. ‘I should – I really should go now.’

  Ella could see the tightness in Selena’s face, the sudden flare of fury that she was barely managing to contain.

  ‘Oh, you utter bastard,’ she said quietly. ‘What exactly is your problem? You’re loving this, aren’t you? And I thought . . . I really thought –’

  ‘Well, then you thought wrong.’ Billy’s voice was a low hiss now. ‘Geez, Selena. You’ve got no right to . . . I mean, I’m flattered and everything. But I’ve never led you to believe, not for one minute, that . . . For God’s sake. I’m married. You know I am. Happily married. I have a wife, a wife whom I love, and a lovely little girl.’

  Ella watched the emotions flicker across Selena’s face. She watched as Selena thrust out her neck and drew up her shoulders. She watched as the scream came out of Selena’s throat, jagged and red, and as her mouth with its white teeth sharpened into a red beak and her arms became wings, beating up and down, up and down.

  It was only a moment. Almost as if she was dreaming. Barely the time it took for Billy to turn around and see her there, watching from the doorway.

  ‘Ella,’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’ His face crumpled in horror.

  Ella had already pushed past him. She had her hands in front of her, ready to shove Selena hard in the middle of her chest. She couldn’t see anything clearly anymore. Her vision was blurred with rage and tears. But she could hear Selena’s laughter and the words still coming out of her mouth.

  ‘My God. Just look at her. She’s mad. Obviously, you do know that, right?’

  Ella stopped. Her hands fell to her sides.

  Then she turned and ran, out of the door and down the corridor, her feet slapping on the lino, all the way to the double doors that led outside.

  Behind her, she could hear Billy.

  ‘Ella. Wait. I’m sorry. I’m – Ella. WAIT.’

  24

  To banish hesitation: Grow wild mint in a pot. Water it each morning, speaking your hidden desires. Pick the mint leaves and make a tea. Drink daily for the course of one moon.

  – Miss Mary’s Book of Dreams

  Ella stood by the ornamental lake. She thought of how often she’d come here, onto campus, when Grace was first born. She’d bring sandwiches for Billy and they’d sit and eat them together, looking out at the lake, whilst Grace napped in the buggy or, more often, in Ella’s arms.

  She realised that she was exhausted. All the anger was draining away. She just wanted to lie down here in the grass at the edge of the stupid lake. Stupid geese, stupid goose poo everywhere.

  ‘Is that why you came here, then? To catch me out?’

  Billy was talking. He’d been talking non-stop, half under his breath, for the last ten minutes now. He was saying things that she couldn’t completely make sense of, but she did think that perhaps he shouldn’t be sounding quite so indignant. It might be better if he just stopped stomping up and down the slope, if he just stood still for a minute.

  She nodded to a bench at the edge of the lake. ‘Look. Can we sit down?’

  He seemed, quite suddenly, to realise where they’d walked to. He looked around him. She could see that he didn’t want a scene. He was probably worrying about students coming past. Some of the halls of residence were just across the lake. She could hear music drifting out of an open window, the faint sound of laughter.

  ‘Maybe I’ll just go home,’ she said. ‘We can talk about this later. When you’ve had a chance to –’

  ‘To what? What exactly do you think is going on, El? Look I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to witness that. That stupid bloody woman. God, what an utter moron I’ve been. I should have seen it coming. But you can’t think I’ve done anything to encourage it. This is so bloody unfair. I feel like I’m being wrongfully accused of something. Surely you heard what I said in there, El? Surely you know . . .’

  She could tell that he was trying to keep his voice as calm and even as he could, breathing hard through his nose.

  ‘It’s more than that, though, Billy. Things haven’t been right between us for a long time. I wouldn’t blame you if –’

  ‘What are you talking about, El? As if I would ever – Geez. This is so messed up. Look, can we just take a step back here? Because I didn’t know that there was anything wrong until now. Not really. Except, you know, that you were tired and frustrated and . . . well, all that stuff that people feel when they’ve got jobs and a kid and . . . It’s normal, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m sorry if –’

  ‘I thought you were having an affair, Billy.’ Ella’s voice sounded flat to her own ears. Now that she’d finally said them, the words seemed empty of all meaning. She was fighting an overwhelming impulse to just close her eyes and go to sleep right here.

  ‘How could you even think that?’ Billy had dropped down onto his knees in front of her. His hands were on her shoulders. ‘Honestly, El. Don’t you know me at all?’

  ‘It’s not you, Billy. It’s about how I saw her look at you. That woman. And it’s about me, about how I feel fat and boring and useless and, yes, tired all the time and about as sexy as one of your old socks.’

  She watched the crinkles appear at the corner of his eyes.

  ‘Honestly, El. You’re mad.’

  ‘Yes, apparently. That’s what she said.’

  His face clouded. ‘No. I just mean, you’re GORGEOUS, El. Bloody gorgeous. I probably fancy you more now than I ever did. You idiot.’

  ‘Don’t you dare call me an idiot.’ She forced herself to meet his eyes then. ‘I’ve not taken enough care of myself. I’ve put on weight. Got all fat and mumsy and tedious. And I certainly can’t compete with that.’ She nodded in the direction of the university buildings. ‘I’m not stylish and elegant and groomed. I’m just knackered and bloated and . . . Oh, why am I even saying this stuff? It’s just so humiliating.’

  ‘Seriously, El? Seriously?’ He was trying to make her look at him again. ‘Do you think that’s what I’m interested in? Whether you’ve gained or lost a few pounds? El, you’re the sexiest woman on the planet to me. You’re interesting and funny and my best friend – that is, when you’re not being a completely mad person. You’re fantastically talented – a novelist, with two books to your name. I’m so damn proud when I tell people that. And yes, you’re a mum, too. A brilliant one, as it happens.’ Billy shook his head in disbelief. ‘I mean, I knew that you were feeling a bit low, but I had no idea –’

  ‘Well, it’s not as if it was all completely ridiculous of me.’ Ella looked again in the direction of the office block behind him. ‘I mean, I was right about her, wasn’t I? I wasn’t exactly inventing that in my own silly little head.’ She kicked at the grass with the toe of her shoe. She thought about all the things she couldn’t tell him – about checking his phone, for example. ‘I could see when I came here last time that she obviously had a thing about you.’

  ‘Yes. Like I say, I’m a moron.’ Billy took her hands in his. He was starting to look desperate. She’d never seen him like this before. ‘But, Ella, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t say anything, do anything . . . I mean, if I look back, I can see now that she was maybe getting an idea in her head. She’s used to getting her own way. She’s like that. At work, I mean. She doesn’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Takes no prisoners?’ Ella couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  ‘What?’

&
nbsp; ‘That’s what you said. A few weeks ago. That she takes no prisoners . . .’

  ‘Geez, El.’ Billy ran his hand through his hair. ‘How long have you been thinking this stuff?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Ella turned away from him. She didn’t want him to see the tears that were welling again. It was a mixture of relief – utter relief that it wasn’t what she’d thought – and sadness, for what she’d lost. That lovely, innocent thing between them when they’d just belonged to each other. It felt as if that bloody woman had taken it and stamped all over it in her stupid pointy boots.

  Billy was putting a hand under her chin, trying to tilt her face round towards him. She flinched.

  ‘Don’t Billy. Not right now. I can’t. I just can’t. I –’

  ‘Why didn’t you just ask me, El?’ Billy was saying. ‘I could have just –’

  ‘What? Told me I was being stupid. Silly Ella. Don’t be so daft, Ella. Get a grip. That kind of thing?’

  ‘Well, maybe not that. Maybe –’ He laid his head in her lap. ‘Ella, please. Just tell me it’s all going to be OK.’

  *

  Fabia was falling again. Down and down, feeling the night air unravel around her like a bolt of black silk. Just before she hit the ground, she looked up and saw the moon, a huge crescent shape, like an eyelid, looking at her from out of the blackness. The eyelid blinked slowly, revealing long, thick eyelashes, a scarlet iris and a large black pupil. It was looking right at her.

  Fabia’s heart beat faster. ‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘What are you? What are you doing here in my dream?’

  The eye became a pointed face with a sharp red beak and a crest of short green feathers. The bird put its head on one side and looked at her again, thoughtfully for a moment. She had the uneasy feeling that the creature was actually laughing at her.