‘Do you know how to light a fire?’
‘No.’ Yes she did, with two pieces of flint and a pile of dried grasses. ‘I can give it a try.’
‘Have something to eat first,’ he said, placing two plates of bacon, eggs and sausages onto the small round table positioned half way between the kitchen and living room where they’d eaten together a number of times over the past couple of weeks in cosier, congenial, more romantic circumstances.
Obediently, Deidre sat down. ‘Thank you,’ she said as he sat opposite, an awkward silence stretching out. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, cutting into a sausage.
‘About one thirty.’
‘Really? I thought it must’ve been earlier than that. I thought I was having breakfast,’ she remarked lightly.
‘It was all I had in the fridge,’ Dylan said, his tone terse, putting a lot of work into the contents of his plate, cutting, slicing, trimming, although he hadn’t eaten a single morsel.
Deidre stared wide-eyed across the table at him. She hadn’t meant it that way. She wasn’t being critical, she was just making conversation, breaking the silence, she was just trying to gauge which hour of the day it might be. ‘I didn’t mean-’ She stopped. He was still cross, his ire flaring and subsiding like a heat rash. ‘Never mind.’ She cut the sausage into small pieces, pushed them around her plate, her ravenous appetite gone.
She stole a furtive glance at Dylan, the dark shadow of his stubble contrasting starkly with his white skin and the small dark bruise above his eyebrow. He wasn’t eating either, his focus now on the application of condiments. She picked up a sliver of bacon, chewed, swallowed, forcing it down.
‘I’m sorry Dylan, I really didn’t mean to worry you, I-’
‘I was out in that valley until after two am this morning looking for you,’ he interrupted, dropping his cutlery onto his plate with a clang, setting off the echoing percussion of Taran’s symbols in her head. ‘What were you doing out there?’
His mobile phone rang from the kitchen bench and he stood up and answered it.
‘Hello Mavis.’ He looked across at Deidre. ‘Yeah, she’s fine.’ A pause. ‘Probably not. She’ll just stay here tonight.’ He leaned against counter in submission, listening. ‘Yeah. Yes.’ A nod of his head. ‘I don’t know, she’s tired. Yeah, yeah, well, I don’t know. I don’t know Mavis, she’s not saying much.’ Another long silence. Deidre could hear the old woman’s voice inside the telephone, small and distant. ‘Yeah, well, Mavis, people can say what they want.’ Dylan looked over at her again, wagged his finger at her. ‘She’s in the shower. I’ll get her to call you when she comes out. Yeah, she’s fine. I will.’ A smirk spread across his face, his eyes locking into Deidre’s. ‘I agree. You’re right, she’s clearly mad and needs to be restrained,’ he said, a lascivious smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. ‘I think she also needs a good spanking,’ he added, ‘so I’m gonna go and take care of that right now. Bye bye, gotta go Mavis,’ he said, ending the phone call.
Monday – Haroldswick
Rolling another ball of lime and mortar between her latex gloved palms, Deidre pushed the wet grainy ball into the cavity between the stones of Dylan’s old croft. Repointing: a building term Dylan had explained while instructing her on the tedious, labour intensive, time-consuming exercise where old or non-existent mortar was replaced by new. By hand. It was a horrible job, her hands cold, her fingers stiff having been employed at the task for most of the day. It was penance, Dylan had advised her, and a way of keeping a close eye on her so that she didn’t stray. Hard labour for the hours she’d cost him searching the valley for her when he should have been working on the croft. There was work to be done before he left, before they left, for Dublin on Thursday and he’d be putting her to good use for the worry and stress she’d put him through. Deidre hadn’t argued, silently obeying instructions, standing here all day face to the wall in jeans still damp from her foray into the sea, her mood as dull and overcast as the weather.
‘Good job,’ Dylan said appearing at her side, startling her, his voice loud and his mood jovial. She hadn’t heard him come down from the roof where he’d spent most of the day replacing broken tiles, singing to himself, happy and content, everything settled and promises made, plans in place for their departure on Thursday. The flights were already booked, their initial arrangements for the future sorted out. She would be staying with Dylan. If things worked out, great, if not, they would discuss any issues at an appropriate time and place.
Dylan had done most of the talking last night, the planning, while she had sat there nodding, offering wooden contributions in the appropriate places, submerged under a deluge of images and memories experienced not as if in a dream but in actuality, flashbacks, as if it had happened to her, as if she had been there. She felt traumatised, shell shocked, estranged from her own reality, drooping under an oppressive feeling of doom and loss as though her world had ended, her own rapturous state usurped by emotions that didn’t belong to her, saturating her sensibilities.
‘Just add a bit more in there,’ Dylan said, pointing to a depression in the mortar she’d just filled in. He bent closer to the wall, inspecting her work. Deidre studied the side of his head, his small perfectly formed ears, remembering how he’d been dancing to a song on the radio last week while they’d made breakfast, a little routine he’d made up as he went along employing corny, exaggerated moves, his face smug, winking at her as he moved to the beat. He’d made her laugh so much her belly ached, tears streaming down her face. Right now she wondered if she would ever feel that kind of hilarity again.
‘I’ve nearly run out of mortar,’ she said, her voice laden, as heavy as a wet towel, wondering where her joy had gone.
Dylan regarded her for a moment standing close at her side. He remained silent, his eyes on her and she turned from his scrutiny, pushing a ball of mortar into the gap and fixing her concentration on it.
‘What’s wrong Deidre? I wish you would talk to me,’ he said, tugging gently at her sleeve. ‘Is it me? Am I pushing too hard?’
Deidre turned her gaze on him, realising it was the first time she’d looked into his eyes for hours, making him real, bringing her back to the surface.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied with a lame smile, ‘I’m just cold.’
She turned back to the wall, her frozen fingertip smoothing down the line of mortar.
‘I just think it’s a good idea for you to leave this isle,’ he added. ‘You’ve seen what you had to see so there’s no need to stay here. Expand your horizons. I’ll get a couple more days off work and we can go over to Paris for a few days.’
‘That sounds great,’ she replied with a brief look, her glance sliding off him with a smile. It was fantastic; she should be giddy with excitement. She hadn’t dared dream of this just a few days ago, her future, her relationship with Dylan uncertain. Unspoken. Now a future with him spanned before her like a golden pathway, and he was reaching his hand out to hers asking her to walk with him towards a brilliant horizon. It was a Mills and Boon Romance; what every girl wants, what every beating heart desires, what every soul yearns for.
But she couldn’t feel it, could only appreciate it from afar, from deep down under, the passion that had burned in her heart stifled by pain and loss, the fever in her blood frozen by echoing horror.
Dylan inhaled deeply. Exhaled. ‘I’ve only got a few more tiles and then I’m done,’ he said. ‘Finish what you’ve got there and that’ll do it, we’ll head back.’ He pecked her on the cheek before climbing back up the ladder, the tools hanging from his belt clanging, jangling her nerves and provoking a Pavlov’s Dog response. Terror gripped her, afraid to turn around and find a crowd of bloodthirsty marauders towering above her, her bladder weakening dangerously as a cold shiver prickled through her body. She glanced over her shoulder, confirming her reality and turned back to the wall, pushing another ball of mortar deep into the hole, plugging it up, closing it off, protecting the stonework from inva
sion of moisture and salt. She stared at the gap between the stones. It reminded her of the entrance to the small chamber, recalling the moment she’d first peered into the gloomy passageway. The thrill she’d felt, and fear, looking into that dark void knowing what was in there. She knew what was in there just as she’d known where to go. Impossible to turn around and walk away, Alice had already fallen down the hole, the curiosity too great, the knowing, the surety of what she would find; confirmation that she wasn’t going mad.
The responsibility of what she had found also played on her mind. This was an ancient tomb, an antiquities find and she knew she should tell the authorities. But she wouldn’t do that, she had no intention, she couldn’t even tell Dylan what she’d found. This was secret. A sacred place and she wouldn’t allow them to traipse through Taran’s crypt poking and prodding, examining and exposing. She pushed another ball of mortar into the crack, filled it in, closed it up, safe from the elements, the chamber coming into focus behind her eyes, her stomach wrenching in a hot flush of panic. A rush of pure adrenalin fuelled anxiety swept through her, realising that she’d left the entrance to the chamber wide open, that she hadn’t replaced the stones she’d pulled away. Any tourist stumbling across that field heading for the blowhole with their cameras and bionic binoculars could see the deep black gash between the two big rocks. Her heart thudded in her chest. Taran’s bones lay there vulnerable, left to the mercies of these new raiders in their brightly coloured anoraks squeezing their way into his chamber, their big paws groping, touching. Disturbing. Stealing the cross, all that he had left because she’d left the front door open. It was inexcusable. She would have to go back.
‘Hello.’ She looked up. Dylan was looking over the gutter waving down at her, his mobile phone in his hand. ‘Did you hear anything I just said?’
Deidre looked up at him blankly.
‘That was Vee, she wants to know if we’ll be there for dinner later?’
Deidre shook her head. ‘No.’
‘You’re gonna have to go back there some time.’
Her face flushed at the thought of Malcolm and Stuart, the look on Stuart’s face, his sad, silent embarrassment standing on that beach. And Mavis. Mavis. A low groaning sigh rolled from her throat. It had been preferable for her to stand here in damp jeans all day than go there for dry clothes and having to face the inmates of Stayne House.
‘Maybe tomorrow. Not today,’ she said, glancing up at him, gracing him with another insipid smile. ‘Please don’t make me go there today,’ she muttered to the wall, returning to her pointing, plugging up the hole so the bad elements couldn’t get in.
She would have to go back to the chamber before they left on Thursday. She couldn’t leave knowing she’d left it so defenceless. Two days, Tuesday and Wednesday. She smoothed down a line of mortar. It would take at least four, five hours, walking there and back and putting the stones back in place, maybe six hours, not more than seven.
‘That’ll do for today,’ Dylan said, clambering back down the ladder, his tools jangling again. ‘Wash the bucket out and we’ll get going.’ He dropped the tools into the back of the truck, the clatter jangling her raw nerves, sparking a flare of anger. She glared at him in annoyance.
He would never allow her to go back there. Never. Never. He couldn’t stop her, she was an adult, but it would cause such an almighty row, it could be the end of their relationship. He’d made her promise him that she would never go back there. She’d promised, crossed her heart and she had meant it at that time when she’d had no reason to return, but that was before she realised she’d left things so unfinished, so open and exposed. All she needed was just one more visit, just to replace the rocks, fill in the gap, then it was done. She could leave with a clear conscience. Worry free.
She watched Dylan manoeuvre the long ladder inside the small building. She would just be upfront with him, tell him where she was going, risk the argument, she decided, picking up the bucket and taking it to the edge of the yard, filling it with water from another bucket and rinsing out the residue mortar. He would be angry, very angry, but he would forgive her, he would get over it. They were going to Dublin together on Thursday and she would be going a much happier person if she could just go back and close up what she’d undone. It would be best to be honest with him, she concluded, carrying the empty buckets back. She’d just tell him she was going back to the valley for a quick visit. It would also be a means of introducing him to the fact that she wouldn’t bend to his every command, that she did have a mind and a will of her own.
‘I need to go back,’ she said, stopping short in front of Dylan.
‘Back where?’ he asked, standing at the back of the truck, twisting a rubber band around a fistful of small metal hooks. There was no suspicion in his tone, his expression guileless until she hesitated and he looked at her, his eyes hardening.
‘Sydney,’ she replied quickly.
His eyes remained fixed on her, his mouth open as he added this into the equation. ‘Sydney?’ he clarified. ‘What, before we go to Dublin?’ He shook his head, trying to comprehend something that didn’t make sense.
‘No, not right away, but I will have to go back.’
Dylan nodded his head, regarding her quizzically. ‘Yes I understand that.’ He threw the hooks into a toolbox. ‘Are you done?’ he asked, taking the buckets from her.
‘Yeah I think so.’
Dylan slept, his arm slung over her waist, snoring into the back of her shoulder creating a hot patch that irritated her skin. Deidre had plied most of the bottle of red into him over dinner, drop by drop, never allowing his glass to go below half way before she topped it up again. Dylan wasn’t a wine drinker, his cheeks flushed by the first glass, his eyes glazed and sparkling in the candlelight. Deidre had sipped her wine, refilling with barely a splash. She’d taken him to bed after that, seduced him with ease, his climactic cries barely concluded before the depths of sleep kidnapped him. He’d been snoring now for the past twenty minutes.
Deidre bit her lip, restless and hesitant, staring blindly at the light breaking in through the side of the heavy curtains, shifting away from Dylan’s hot breath, her movement causing him to turn away onto his side. He snorted, settled into a new position, his breathing remaining low and deep, a soft clicking sound with each inhalation. She rolled onto her back, glanced at the clock at Dylan’s bedside. Eleven twenty. Time tick tick ticking away. She stared at the long fluorescent beam of light breaking in through the side of the curtains. It never seemed to get completely dark on this isle.
The bed creaked as she threw the covers off, throwing her legs over the edge, thinking, shaking her head. She glanced over her shoulder. Dylan hadn’t moved, his snoring seesawing into a deeper slower rhythm. Pushing herself off the bed, she tiptoed out the room, closing the door behind her. Fire embers glowed in the hearth as she passed by, heading into the kitchen. Grey opaque light filled the kitchen window as she turned the kettle on. No wonder people went mad in this place, she thought, her eyes scanning the rolling landscape outside, vast and treeless. Empty.
The kettle whistled, startling her. After dropping a teabag into a cup, she decided against it and headed for the old lounge, its springs as squeaky as the bed. She turned the tv on, flicked through the channels and stared vacantly at an infomercial for a while. The back of the remote opened easily and she regarded the two AA batteries snuggled beside each other, closed it up, stood up and went to the front door and stepped outside. It was windy and overcast, lit by a sky that belonged to a dull, late winter Sunday afternoon in Sydney, cold but she was only dressed in a t-shirt and knickers. Returning inside and closing the door with deliberate force she returned to the couch and sat down in front of the tv again, turning the volume up through a loud commercial and watched it.
She went to check on Dylan, stood looking down on him, hands on her hips. He was snoring, out cold. The clock said eleven thirty seven. Agitated, she scratched her head, pulled the band from her hair and pulled i
t all back together again in a tight ponytail. She’d promised him she’d never go back there. He’d made her promise. He’d made her look him in the eye and repeat it.
It was heading towards twelve o’clock. Midnight. She’d be back by six. He’d sleep through the night and wouldn’t even know she was gone.
She returned to the couch, leaving the bedroom door open.
If he woke up…
If he woke up and she wasn’t here he’d be so pissed off!
She would leave a note saying she went to Stayne House to sleep, to pick up a few things, and that she would be back in the morning. She could go to straight to the valley, get back to Stayne, get some fresh clothes and be back here before Dylan even woke up. He would probably still be in bed by the time she got back. It was too easy.
Her actions validated, she stood up, headed for the bedroom.
She dressed loudly, pulled her boots on and clumped through to the bedroom and stood at Dylan’s side of the bed. She wasn’t sneaking around. She wanted him to hear her, to wake up so she could tell him in his drowsy, half wakeful state that she was going to Stayne and that she would be back in the morning, but he hadn’t moved position, his snoring rhythm unchanged.
His notepad sat on the kitchen counter, thick and curled from use, full of scribbled measurements and phone numbers, names and prices. She opened it up to a clean page.
My darling Dylan.
She hesitated. I love you, she wrote, words that had so far remained unspoken. I’ve gone back to Stayne. You were snoring too loud and I couldn’t sleep. She bit her lip, grinning to herself. I’ll pick up some clothes and be back in the morning.
Love Deidre.
Too easy.
She reread it. Again. Felt bad about saying he snored too loud. She looked through the open door at him. It wasn’t true. She’d promised him she’d never go back there again. He was going to be so mad at her if he found out. But he wouldn’t find out. He wouldn’t know anything about it. She said she was going to sleep at Stayne and like the bullshit about being lost in a cave, he would believe her, because he wanted to.
The Stone Dweller's Curse: A Story of Curses, Madness, Obsession and Love Page 19