I Do Not Sleep

by Judy Finnigan

  I never saw Len again. He died that night, peacefully, Sister Maynard told me. He lost consciousness as soon as I left; he didn’t wake up after that. In the early hours, he breathed his last.

  ‘But he was in no pain, dear,’ the Sister said the next morning when I spoke to her on the telephone. ‘He just went to sleep when you left him, and was perfectly calm right to the end. Before you came, he’d been a bit agitated from time to time. But after you’d gone, he slept like baby, bless him. It was as if he was waiting for you so he could make his peace. He was a good man, I think.’

  ‘Yes–yes he was,’ I said.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  After Sister Maynard’s phone call telling me Len had died, I went straight to the Blue Peter. Although it was only midmorning, the pub was open, Queenie at her usual station behind the bar. She was very upset about Len, and it took some time to calm her down. She asked if I’d seen Len before he went and I said I had, but I didn’t tell her about Len’s mysterious guidance, his information about my next steps. As I left the pub, preoccupied by Len’s last instructions to me, I wondered what to do next. I should go to the island, but not alone. Who would come with me? Len had told me to take Adam, but I was still too raw. I had lied to Adam to salve my own conscience. The thought of facing him now, knowing what I’d done, was unbearable.

  Not Queenie either; she was far too melodramatic. I thought about Josie, but at this time of day she’d be very busy organising lunch for her B&B guests. I shied away from asking her to come with me on what was probably a wild goose chase. I stopped, annoyed with myself. Did I really think that? Had I already dismissed Len’s wisdom as the wanderings of an old man on his deathbed?

  I knew I hadn’t. I trusted Len, revered him in a way. I trusted his goodness, his transparent determination to help me. The only reason I was belittling his final directive was that I was frightened of what I might find.

  I hurried through the Warren, well aware that the coastal path over to Talland began its rocky journey in just a few hundred yards. I had two discoveries to make, Len said: one, the island, which had haunted my dreams, locked in my subconscious for years. The other was new to me; a wooden gate, high and padlocked, which would open for me and lead me into the place it guarded, facing the sea; there I would make a discovery, find what I was looking for. When Len said this, I had immediately thought he meant I’d see Joey, but now I was calmer I realised that was ridiculous. Still, I was disturbed and shaken. I decided I wouldn’t make either journey alone, and I realised that the only person I wanted beside me, the only person I trusted absolutely, was Adam, the husband I had spurned so mistakenly and cruelly. I had to talk to him.

  I sat on a bench, facing the sea, and took out my phone. This was going to be a difficult conversation, but I would have to beg my husband’s forgiveness. I would have to confess I’d been terribly wrong to blame him for Joey’s accident. I would tell him that I now knew that it was I who had encouraged our son to go ahead with his Easter boating holiday, in spite of his anxiety about Ben. The responsibility for what had happened to Joey was entirely mine.

  My stomach lurched at the thought of what Adam would say to me, but I had to bring him round; only he could help me now. I would ask him to come to Hope Cottage, and then I would ask him to accompany me, as Len said I must, on the next part of this frightening journey. And afterwards I would go with him back to Coombe. I would move in again, be part of my family, build sandcastles with Edie, coo over her with Danny and Lola, wrap my arms around my husband, be his loving wife again.

  Totally putting aside the nature of Len’s last orders, the daunting implications of what he had asked me to do, the possibility of a dreadful and harrowing discovery, I began to focus instead on what I’d thrown away, the cosy normality of life at Coombe. Family dinners with Edie chuckling away in her high chair, watching her throwing breadcrumbs to the ducks in the farm pond, smothering her with kisses and tickles, making her laugh playing peek-a-boo. I had to get back there; I had to bring an end to this journey. I would do what Len had told me, and then, whatever happened, I would reclaim my family. I realised I couldn’t wait.

  In breathless anticipation I called the landline at Coombe. It rang for a while, and then Danny picked up. He was breathless, laughing, and I could hear the baby gurgling in the background.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Danny, it’s me, Mum.’

  ‘Mum! How great to hear from you. How are you doing in your cottage?’

  ‘Fine, yes, the cottage is lovely. How are Edie and Lola?’

  ‘Great. We’ve just been feeding the ducks with Edie. She can’t stop saying quack-quack now.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely. I can’t wait to see her again.’

  ‘Do you want to come over after lunch? I’ll come and get you.’

  ‘I’d love that. But could I speak to Dad first?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Oh. Didn’t Dad tell you? I thought you knew.’

  I felt sick. I sensed what was coming.

  ‘Knew what? Isn’t he there?’

  Danny’s voice became low and troubled.

  ‘He went back to Manchester, Mum. Yesterday. He said he’d call you.’

  I swallowed hard. My fault, all my fault. I should have realised Adam wouldn’t stay in Cornwall after he stormed off during our lunch at the hotel. I should have called him before I went to see Len. I should have apologised. And now it was too late.

  ‘He must have forgotten. Did he get back OK?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, he’s back home, safe and sound, don’t worry.’ Danny sounded upset.

  ‘Did he… well, did he tell you why he left?’

  ‘Not really. I mean, I gathered you’d had a row, but he didn’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘No, right. Of course.’

  ‘Mum, look, I’ll come over and get you. Come back here and we can all have lunch, and talk.’

  ‘No. No, that’s all right, Danny. I want to see you all, of course I do. Maybe later, or…’ My voice trailed off. ‘No, don’t worry, darling. I’m just out for a walk at the moment. When I get back to the cottage I’ll call Dad in Manchester. And then, well, I’ll probably ring you back and tell you… what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Mum,’ Dan’s voice was worried. ‘Come back here to Coombe, please. I know this is all about Joey, and you and Dad are so upset. It’s my fault, I should never have got you to come back to Cornwall.’

  ‘Danny,’ I said forcefully. ‘Nothing’s your fault. And nothing’s Dad’s fault either. Please, love, just let me be for a while. I promise I’ll call you later today.’

  And I rang off. For a long time I stared at the sea, trying to make sense of the last couple of weeks. The ocean was empty, so was the path. There was not a breath of wind; I could see no waves on the still blue surface that stretched to the horizon before me. I felt cast away, thrown up and solitary in a bizarre, silent, Godforsaken world. I had lost my son and I had lost my husband. I had almost lost my mind. I wanted to go home, to Manchester, to my own house, my own garden, my own bed. I wanted Adam next to me. I wanted this nightmare to be over. If I couldn’t go back to the way we were before Easter 2009, then I wanted to go forward. I was stuck here in a little hell of my own making. I couldn’t stand it any more. I couldn’t be alone any more. I wanted Adam. I had to talk to him.

  Adam’s mobile rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I ended the call. I couldn’t possibly leave a message. I imagined him angrily listening to my pathetic voice, begging him to forgive me. I thought he’d probably ignored the call, determined not to talk to me. Hadn’t he said when I last saw him that he wanted a divorce? He might be meeting a solicitor right now.

  I stood up unsteadily, grasping the bench for balance. I walked slowly back to the cottage. Not a soul crossed my path. It was lunchtime on a sunny August day; the village should have been thronged with families, children shrieking with excitement. But there was not even a dog in sight here in this dog-walker’s para
dise. Not even a cat. I was in a bubble, shut off from the world. Nobody wanted to come near me, and self-pity overwhelmed me.

  But there was someone; a still silhouette, leaning against the porch at Hope’s house. Josie? No, it looked like a man. Tony? I walked a little faster, mopping my tears with a tissue I found scrunched in my pocket.

  It wasn’t Tony. It was Jamie Torrance. The doctor had called.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  He took one look at my face and said, ‘Oh dear.’ I opened the front door and walked ahead of him. I was, as always, embarrassed. He followed me in, closed the door behind him and stood looking at me, hands in pockets, shaking his head.

  ‘I’m sorry to see you so upset, Molly. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute. I’ll go and freshen up. Please sit down.’ And I rushed upstairs to the bathroom where I washed my face, repaired my make-up and brushed my hair. Last time I saw Jamie I’d been in bed at Coombe, an emotional wreck. I couldn’t let him see me like that again. I looked at myself in the mirror and breathed deeply, in and out.

  When I felt more in control, I went downstairs. He was still standing, and when he saw me his face broke into a smile. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘You look much better. I hope you don’t mind me dropping in but I was at Emerald Point, checking up on Hope. Josie told me Tony saw you at the Blue Peter, looking a bit miserable, with Queenie in tears. He saw you leave. Josie said she was thinking of coming to see you, but I said I’d pop in first. I’ve been meaning to see how you are.’

  ‘Why were you checking on Hope? Is she OK?’ I asked.

  Jamie looked out to sea. ‘She’s not too well at the moment. There are one or two problems, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Her lungs?’ I asked. ‘Has she got another infection?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Her lungs are clear. It’s not that. It’s much worse, I’m afraid.’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this, Molly. Patient confidentiality.’

  ‘Yes, I understand. But… is there something I could help Josie with? Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘I think Josie needs all the help she can get.’

  ‘Is it her heart, Jamie? Josie did tell me she has serious cardiac problems.’

  ‘Ah. She’s told you about it, has she?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. I know Hope was born with congenital heart disease.’

  He grimaced. ‘It’s a known complication of Down’s. She’s had a lot of operations already. Now it looks as if she’s going to need another.’

  ‘Soon?’

  ‘Yes. It would be dangerous to delay it much longer, although Josie and Tony are dreading her going back into hospital.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Josie told me she’s terrified every time Hope goes into Derriford. She always thinks her baby won’t come out again.’

  ‘Well. This time…’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Molly. I’m being unduly pessimistic. Hope is amazing. She’s defied every prognosis since she was born. She shouldn’t have lived this long. But she has, and she’s a joy. Not only to her parents, but to everyone around here who knows and loves her. But her latest tests aren’t good; the full results are just back, and it’s clear she needs more surgery. She’ll be going in again tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m very sorry. I’ll go and see Josie later.’

  ‘Yes, do. She’s going to need a lot of support.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked.

  ‘That would be great. And look, I grabbed some sandwiches from the baker’s. I never get time for lunch when I’m on call. Would you like to share them?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. I was hungry but it seemed a bit cheeky.

  He smiled his assent, and I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I’d left the front door open and the sea view was irresistible. When I got back with the tea, Jamie had settled himself in a chair on Hope’s shady little porch. He opened his paper bag and produced a ham and cheese sandwich and a Cornish Pasty.

  ‘Half each?’

  We drank our tea and munched our scrappy lunch in contented silence for a while. After a while I noticed he was looking at me speculatively.

  ‘How are you, Molly? How are you feeling? Any better now you’ve moved into Polperro?’

  ‘Not really, to be honest. Things aren’t working out the way I’d hoped.’

  And, sustained by his sympathetic eyes, I found myself telling him everything. I told him how Adam had gone back home to Manchester, despairing of our marriage and threatening divorce. I told him about Len; about his insights into what had happened to Joey, and the connection he had sensed with the Island of Lammana. And I talked about my visit to Len in hospital yesterday, his last words to me; about his instruction that I should not visit the island alone, and what he said about something that awaited me on the cliff path behind a wooden gate; something that I urgently needed to find.

  ‘Len said I should go there with Adam, but he’s left. I’m on my own, and I don’t know what to do. I suppose I could ask Danny, but it’s a pretty grim kind of search. I’d rather not upset him.’

  Jamie listened carefully, then said, ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  I looked up, surprised. ‘I… never thought of that. I think it’s a bit too much to ask you, Jamie. I’m sure you don’t have the time to come with me on what.. well, it may just be a fool’s errand.’

  Jamie leaned forward. ‘I’d like to help you, Molly. If you really want to do what Len said, I’m happy to be of service.’

  I looked at him, and then at my feet, aware once again of how irrational I must sound. Islands, gates, instructions from a dying Charmer. What must this practical doctor think of me?

  He intuited my feelings. ‘Molly, in case you’re feeling embarrassed about following Len’s directions, don’t be. I’ve known Len Tremethyk as long as I’ve been here. He was a Charmer, and if you’ve lived in Cornwall for a while you don’t dismiss people like him. I’m a man of science, but I’ve seen Len and others like him heal people doctors could do nothing for. I can’t explain his powers, but I certainly don’t underestimate them.’

  ‘Then you don’t think I’m being naive and silly to trust him?’

  Jamie stood up. ‘Come on, Molly. If you don’t do this you’ll spend the rest of the day brooding about it. Whatever happens, it will make you feel better to take some action.’

  I smiled at him. He made me feel stronger and I was grateful.

  We stepped down from the porch and walked through the little gate in the white picket fence, turning left when we reached the coastal path. We followed the stony, rutted footway which would take us first to Talland Bay, and then over the beach to Looe, and the island. I did not know what awaited me there, but for now the sun shone, the sky was sharp and radiant and the sea looked like blue ruffled silk. It was impossible to feel scared surrounded by such light and clarity. Nothing dark could exist here in this open breezy world smelling of salt and wild garlic. Seagulls swooped, butterflies fluttered in the hedgerow, the horizon lay bright and tantalising over the ocean. All was goodness and contentment. As I walked I felt clean, fresh and full of good health.

  Suddenly to our right, a stout wooden gate materialised as if from nowhere. It was hidden from the path by a slight bend, and behind it lay a hazy vista of green trees and bushes, flitting butterflies and, just glimpsed between shady foliage and thickly leaved branches stooping gracefully to the ground, the sea, brilliant with silver-gold flashes as the sun sparkled flirtatiously, peeping down from its cloudless sky.

  I stopped dead. There was a heavy-duty padlock on the gate. Just as Len had said there would be. This was the place.

  ‘Here?’ asked Jamie curiously. ‘Is this the gate Len meant?’ He gave an affectionate laugh. ‘It’s the allotments, Molly. Polperro’s kitchen gardens, very popular and lovingly toiled in by the good folk of the parish to produce cabbages and courgettes.’ His voice was suddenly serious; he bent dow
n to me. ‘Molly,’ he said gravely, ‘you must remember Len was dangerously ill when you saw him in hospital. He was confused, at death’s door. I know you think he had certain powers, was a Charmer, and I agree with you. He was a lovely bloke and certainly very wise. Well, he was ninety-two; of course he was wise. But I don’t want you to expect too much. Len meant well, but he was a very sick old man.’

  I remembered Len’s kind face, full of warmth and wisdom. Yes, he was dying, but he hadn’t seemed confused to me. He had sounded absolutely confident, sure of his ground. He had wanted to help me. I believed in him.

  ‘There’s a padlock on the gate,’ I said to Jamie.

  ‘Yes, the allotments are always kept locked, to stop tourists getting in and pinching the veg. The folk who grow stuff here are very possessive.’ He smiled. ‘It’s like a religion to them. They even have competitions to see who can grow the biggest marrow.’

  ‘Len said there’d be a padlock,’ I said, my voice slow, drowsy and insistent as I thought back to his last words to me as he lay on his deathbed.

  The gate is old, dark wood, to the right of the path. It is padlocked, but you will find it opens for you. Walk into the place the gate guards. The sea lies beyond. You will find what you are looking for.

  Jamie was looking at me carefully. ‘You want to go in, don’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘I must,’ I replied, still in the slow voice that had appeared from nowhere but held my tongue firmly in its grasp. ‘But it’s locked.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. I’ll just get the key from Annie Trelawney.’ And he turned to his left and sprinted up a steep flight of steps leading to an imposing white house just opposite the sternly fastened barrier. I saw him ring the bell, and moments later a vigorous-looking elderly woman opened the door. She was delighted to see him, and I saw him kiss her cheek, and follow her inside the house. I stood still, staring at the gate and wondering what lay behind it. Then I turned back to the impressive dwelling into which Jamie had disappeared, and froze.