I Do Not Sleep

by Judy Finnigan

  ‘Poor sweetie. You’ve always hated driving in fog. Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down. I’ll bring you some tea and a couple of panadol.’

  I closed my eyes. Adam was so sweet. I let him rock me in his arms for a couple of minutes, then pulled away. ‘Thanks, Adam. I think I will.’

  I went upstairs for a siesta. But kind and loving as he was, when Adam brought me the tea I found couldn’t talk to him about what I’d seen at Jamaica Inn. He would have thought I’d gone mad, and rightly so, I thought. That stupid old scarecrow was the result of a protracted infirmity of my brain, caused by a delusional nightmare the previous evening. There was no way I could justify my experience in that muddy old field. I had to forget about it. Sleep seemed the quickest route back to sanity.

  Upstairs at Coombe, I felt enveloped in the cosiness of the bedroom. It really did feel like home, with every comfort provided–a huge four-poster bed, red and blue Persian rugs on the old oak wooden floor, chintz-covered armchairs dotted round in the wide window alcoves, soft floral curtains to protect against the night. It felt like an enormously generous environment, welcoming me with warmth and open arms. I sank into the soft mattress, pulling the duvet over me. I was still fully dressed apart from my shoes, but I didn’t care. Sleep beckoned from every corner. Oblivion called me with a calm promise of escape; the only possible respite after a horrible, nasty day.

  I woke to the sound of the telephone ringing insistently downstairs. I could hear Adam’s muffled voice as he picked up. Moments later, as I tried to surface after a dark and murky nap that had done nothing to restore my sense of well-being, Adam appeared at the end of the bed. Cautiously he whispered, ‘Molly? Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes. What’s wrong?’ Like every mother, and now more than ever, I always assumed unexpected telephone calls meant trouble. No longer would I make the mistake of taking a surprise call in a sunny garden and naively expecting nothing more than a happy little chat about the weather in Cornwall.

  ‘It’s OK, but Danny’s panicking. The Looe doctor referred them to the hospital in Plymouth. He was worried about Edie’s cough. Now the hospital says they want to keep the baby in overnight. They think she might have croup, and they’re admitting her as a precaution. Danny and Lola are going to stay with her, but I think he needs to talk to you. You know, as his mum, just to calm him down.’

  Worried, I sat up, drank some water from the glass on my bedside table and heaved the bedclothes aside. I picked up the handset from Adam’s side of the bed.

  Danny sounded flustered, but relieved to hear my voice. The doctors thought Edie was fine, he said, but her breathing was laboured and they wanted to monitor her overnight. Danny said he and Lola would stay with her, sleeping in campbeds by her side.

  I tried to reassure him, though I felt a little shaken by this turn of events. ‘Look, sweetie. She’s in the safest possible place. She’ll be fine; don’t worry. Do you want me and Dad to come to the hospital to be with you and Lola?’

  ‘No, Mum. I appreciate it, but there’s no point. I’ll ring you if there’s a problem; otherwise stay put. You and Dad can have a night to yourselves.’

  Now there was a novelty, I thought: Adam and me, on our own on a family holiday. That had never happened before. Cornwall meant the Gabriels en masse; demanding children ruled the roost when we were down here, whether they were tiny or grown-up.

  I told Adam what Danny had said. ‘Are you worried about the baby?’ he asked, smoothing down my bedhead hair.

  ‘Not really. The doctors think she’s fine; they’re just being ultra-careful. Danny’s worried, but it’s his first baby. They’ll call if they need us.’ I paused. ‘Do you want to go out for dinner? Just the two of us?’

  ‘God, Molly, that sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.’

  I felt a bit embarrassed, as if I’d asked a man I hardly knew to share the evening with me, and he was likely to turn me down. I know I flushed and looked at my feet. Adam grinned, walked towards me and tilted my chin.

  ‘Honestly, Moll, you look like a schoolgirl. Yes, let’s have dinner. It’s been ages since we had a date night.’

  Date night? I couldn’t remember anything resembling such a romantic prospect between us for years. And yet, before Joey’s disappearance, we went out together all the time. To the theatre, the cinema, dinner. Utter guilt-free enjoyment, followed by long, passionate interludes in bed. I could hardly remember those days now. Any kind of joy felt selfish after we lost Joey. As if I was forgetting him, betraying him by feeling any normal happiness.

  ‘I’ll ring the Talland Bay Hotel,’ Adam said briskly.

  ‘But you’ve just had lunch there,’ I laughed. ‘Don’t you want to try somewhere else?’

  ‘We haven’t been there together for dinner for years. And it’s quite romantic, don’t you think?’ I blushed. Adam smiled. ‘We’ll have a good meal there, if they can fit us in.’

  They could. I had a bath, took care dressing. I wore a long black dress embellished with silver beading around the neck, and a beautiful gauzy evening coat embroidered with black silk roses, their petals sparsely but elegantly dotted with Swarovski crystals. I don’t know why I’d brought this outfit down with me. I hadn’t worn it for ages, but then again I hadn’t been on holiday, a proper carefree holiday, for six long years now.

  The whole effect was somewhat over the top for dinner at a country hotel, but it made me feel glamorous. I hadn’t dressed up for what felt like a lifetime.

  I dried my hair, styled it with a hot brush. I was punctilious with my make-up. I hadn’t bothered with all that for years, but putting on eyeliner, mascara and blusher gave me an odd thrill. As I finished with a rose-tinted lip gloss, I looked in the mirror and hardly recognised myself. I looked pretty and well; ten years younger than the wan grey ghost that normally haunted my home and school. I finished with a long spray of Jo Malone, and was ready to go.

  Chapter Eleven

  As I walked downstairs to face Adam, I felt self-conscious. I wondered if I’d gone too far with the dress and the make-up. But his face as I joined him in the living room showed me why making the effort was worthwhile. He looked mesmerised. I realised I had made no attempt at all to court his love for five long years. He had been uncomplaining and totally patient with this shadow of a wife; a life-partner who had taken her eye off the ball because her main focus was her youngest son. Once he had gone, this wife was not interested in the rest of her world. Not in her other son, and certainly not in her husband–a man who had suffered the loss just as much as she; a man who needed comfort she could not provide.

  ‘You look lovely, Molly,’ he said softly.

  ‘Thanks. I feel a bit overdressed.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s lovely. Perfect for me.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I hoped; to look good for you. I know it’s been too long since I made the effort.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s OK, darling. I know… well, I know how hard it’s been.’

  ‘For both of us, though,’ I replied. ‘Not just me. This…’ I looked bashfully down at my frock, a hint of cleavage peeping out for the first time in ages, ‘this is to say to you that I want to try and make our marriage work, like it used to. I’ve been unapproachable, I know. I’ve neglected you, us, for too long.’

  Adam looked at me with great seriousness. He took my hand and walked me to the porch, opened the front door and gestured to the gilded green garden beyond.

  ‘Darling, this is Cornwall. It’s still here, still sunlit, still beautiful, still ours. It’s not the same, it won’t ever be; our love for it will be forever tinged with sorrow. But, Molly, tragedy happens anywhere. Everywhere. This place will always be Joey’s. And yours, and mine, and Danny’s. And now Edie’s and Lola’s.’

  He kissed me. I let myself lean into him. He smelled gorgeous, looked ridiculously handsome in his dark grey suit. I felt happy.

  ‘I do feel different here, and I’m glad you made me come. But something’s happening
. It’s not over yet.’

  Adam smiled and led me to the car. ‘I know that, sweetheart. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s going in the right direction.’

  We drove to Talland Bay through a golden evening. The sea, when we glimpsed it, held a promise of Avalon, King Arthur’s magic kingdom, glittering and gorgeous, mysterious, just beyond our reach. When we got to the hotel, I felt that I had passed through some temporal barrier. I had definitely arrived somewhere else. A place of magic, where ordinary human grief momentarily held its breath.

  As the soft green evening light began to fade, we sat in the hotel garden with our drinks. I felt strange, as if I were on the verge of something tumultuous and new. But, for now, we chatted inconsequentially about Edie, the hospital, and the beauty of the night. The sea was a subtle pewter blue, beckoning us, promising peace.

  Adam sighed happily. ‘This is beautiful, darling, isn’t it? And Edie will be fine. It’s only a bit of a cough. They’ll be back tomorrow, right as rain.’

  I acknowledged his contentment, happy to see his face relax. I had been so needy since I lost Joey. I had absorbed comfort from everyone who offered it, without finding any relief. I had had no idea how Adam was coping. I just accepted that the greater loss was mine, and judged all our dealings, all our progress through this raw new world, by how it impacted on me.

  I had been completely selfish. I looked now at my life-partner, a man who had steeled himself against tragedy, against losing his younger son, without asking for any reassurance from me. He had shouldered the burden with a strength I had never realised. I did now.

  But I felt unable to tell him that without breaking down. And I really didn’t want to ruin this night. It felt special, unique even, because for once I was putting him first.

  We moved inside to the wood-panelled dining room. There were flowers and candlelight, glinting shadows in the alcoves, and we began to enjoy our meal. It was delicious, and yet again I started to believe I was in a different reality. I was Molly Gabriel, here dining with her loving husband, successful teacher, mother of two strapping sons, grandmother of the most precious girl in the world. After two glasses of wine, I felt I was floating.

  It seemed incredibly important to woo Adam, to flirt with him. I was coquettish, giddy, talking rubbish and yet he seemed to enjoy it. Poor man, of course he did. He’d got this long-lost creature back, his wife, a pretty woman who for once seemed enamoured of his company, who even, perhaps, held out the promise of a long and loving night in bed.

  It didn’t happen. I was expecting too much of us both. We had coffee, drove back to Coombe, poured a nightcap, chatted, watched the TV news. We both knew we were putting off the moment when we faced each other, naked and vulnerable. Finally we went to bed. And we hugged, cuddled. But neither of us could make the breakthrough to initiate sex. The whole thought seemed too crude, invasive, carnal. We felt tender towards each other, and I was grateful for that. We held each other with a warmth and softness I hadn’t felt for years. And although we didn’t make love, it felt as if we’d made each other a promise. We’d welcomed each other somehow. At least there was a possibility of happiness. Somewhere.

  We fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. I was vaguely aware of the night beyond our windows.

  And something seeped through the walls. I knew what it was: grief, loss. It wouldn’t be denied. All the marital love in the world could not shut this out. Joey was still out there, unfound, unburied. And his spirit was insisting I had profound, unsettling work to do.

  Chapter Twelve

  I felt well, even relieved, the next morning. An early call from Danny had told me Edie seemed better, the doctors were pleased with her, and they were on their way home. Good news, but I was still aware that I had to talk properly to Adam. Never mind glossing over the atavistic fear that had gripped me at Jamaica Inn; if I really wanted us to be together again, united in seeking resolution after tragedy, I had to be honest with him. Yes, he might think I was mad. I had to take that risk. If he wanted to love me, he had to know me.

  I got up to make tea. I would bring it up to him in bed, and then suggest we went somewhere quiet for lunch. There, I would tell him about how I heard Joey in the night garden, and the terrifying apparition in the muddy field that had made me think I was losing my mind. But before I had a chance to talk to Adam, Danny and Lola came home.

  It was late in the morning when they arrived, a subdued but obviously better Edie with them. Their relief was palpable, happy smiles on their faces as we all sat together round the kitchen table.

  ‘They said she’ll be fine, Mum,’ said Danny.

  ‘But honestly, I’m glad we took her to hospital, even though it turns out she’s OK,’ said Lola. ‘They’ve given us antibiotics and a kind of vapouriser to help her breathing. The doctor said she was convinced she’d get better soon.’

  ‘Of course she will. You were just doing your job as parents,’ I said. ‘You both look knackered, though.’

  ‘We didn’t get much sleep on the ward. It was so busy, and we were worried about the baby.’

  ‘Why don’t you both go upstairs for a rest?’ I asked. ‘You can leave Edie with us. We might take her out to lunch, if that’s OK?’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ smiled Lola. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Adam?’

  ‘I was going to take Molly out anyway. Edie will be a delightful extra guest.’

  So, off we went, Edie in her baby seat in the Volvo, still a bit peaky but bravely chuckling away as we drove. We decided to drive to Fowey, crossing over on the ferry from Bodinnick. We did some shopping at the fish shop, at Kittow’s Butchers, and–I insisted–The Romantic Englishwoman. There I bought the baby a tiny stuffed rabbit that played Brahms’ Lullaby when you pulled its tail. I could never resist this shop, full of the most charming little gifts, nightwear, quilts and candles. I always bought presents for the only two girls in my family here, deprived as I had been of giving feminine cadeaux within my predominantly masculine environment. I found a pretty cotton dressing gown for Lola, a summer print of delicate blue flowers.

  Then we headed for lunch at Polkerris. It was a sunny day, and we ate outside at Sam’s on the Beach. Afterwards, we would let Edie play on the sand, maybe even get her little toes wet in the small, calm, waltzing waves. And it began as the perfect afternoon I’d planned. A halcyon day to treasure, warm as toast, clear and bright as a pathway to heaven.

  As our drinks arrived, I took a deep breath, and as Edie played happily with her new toy bunny rabbit, biting its ears and sucking its tail, I told Adam everything that had happened to me since the night before last. I told him about hearing Joey’s voice in the moonlit garden. And I told him about the scarecrow at Jamaica Inn.

  Adam listened, concern written all over his face as he tried very hard to take me seriously.

  ‘OK, Molly. I do get that you are totally convinced something’s happened to Joe that isn’t just a tragic accident, and that you feel you have to find out the truth. And I could tell when you were so determined to go to that silly old so-called haunted pub that you were expecting something significant to happen. You were at fever-pitch; I’m not surprised you thought you saw some macabre vision.’

  I resisted the urge to snap back at him. After all, he was right. I had felt compelled to drive to the Inn. It was irrational. My glimpse of that animated horror of a scarecrow was about as convincing as thinking the wicked old witches stirring their cauldron in Polperro’s Land of Legend had suddenly come to life and stepped out of their glass case. Actually, it was a relief to be told I’d imagined it. Because I had, of course. Adam’s brisk common sense felt like a welcome cold shower of reality. I smiled at him, glad that I had such a strong, sensible husband.

  ‘I was feeling very highly strung,’ I agreed. ‘Coming back to Cornwall sort of pushed me into a nightmare. I went to Jamaica Inn precisely because it is supposed to be haunted; I suppose I subconsciously wanted to see something that would tell me I’m on the r
ight track, that Joey needs me to find him. But, Adam, that’s why I need to talk to Ben. If I can just find out everything that happened that day, it might bring me some peace.’

  ‘Oh, Molly. I really don’t think you should do that.’

  ‘But why not?’

  Adam briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, he leaned forward, stared closely at me and took my hand.

  ‘I don’t think you understand what you’ll be getting into if you rake all this up again with Ben. You remember how he used to be so into drugs? I do, and I’m worried that had something to do with what happened that day in Polperro. There are things he doesn’t want to tell us. And I think with good reason. Joey’s gone. We don’t need to sully his memory by dragging up nasty stuff. We don’t need to know. You, especially; you must stop digging. Believe me, it’s for the best.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, horrified. ‘What things does Ben not want us to know? Drugs? Joey? You must be mad. I need to talk to Ben and I’m going to.’

  Adam looked almost threateningly grim.

  ‘Have you thought what seeing Ben again, talking about that day, will do to Danny? Do you even begin to realise what that will do to his peace of mind, his happiness, to rake all this up again?’

  I was bewildered.

  ‘Danny really thought this was all over,’ said Adam. His tone became increasingly serious. ‘He misses Joey enormously, of course he does, but he’s young, Molly. His life has moved on and he wants us to acknowledge that a future is unfolding for him. I admire him, I really do. He’s determined that his life with Lola and Edie will be fruitful, happy. He won’t let his brother’s tragic death blight their lives.’

  My eyes filled with tears. I hated it when Adam said ‘death.’

  ‘I won’t accept he’s dead, Adam. There’s no proof. He’s just missing. But of course I want Danny to be happy. Of course I do.’