by Lisa Hall
There is a scratch from the chimney, and I grit my teeth together until they ache. A murmur comes from the baby monitor and I wait, expecting the baby to start wailing but he settles himself, and the only sound is my ragged breathing, interspersed with the scratching from the chimney. My nerves are electric, ants buzzing beneath my skin, the air around me charged with static. Agnes was here, I saw her, properly, reflected back in the mirror upstairs. I thought she was tied to the mirror from the attic, but she isn’t. I am not crazy. Naomi thinks I am crazy, has told Rav that there is something wrong with me. All she’s ever wanted is a family of her own, and now she has persuaded Rav to take mine. Shoving the laptop to one side I start to pace, my hands raking through my hair, the scratching in the walls insistent now. It follows me from the sitting room, into the kitchen, out into the garden, a buzzsaw running along my nerve endings. The sun has disappeared completely, the garden various shades of purple darkness. The trees sway, whispering to me, calling to me and I press my hands to my ears, trying to drown out the constant noise. There is a flash of white through the trees, moving quickly as if running through the forest, and my heart leaps into my throat as I try and follow the movement through the thick tangle of the trees. My eyes come to rest on the border, on the snipped stems of the oleander bush. It wasn’t me; I knew it wasn’t me. I never brought those poisonous blooms into our house – Naomi did. It has to have been her. Why? Was she trying to make Rav think that I was trying to hurt him? She said herself that she didn’t believe in all the stories about Pluckley, the legends that haunt the village, but I saw the photo of her at Tara’s, sage burning in the background. I know that Agnes is here, that she never left, but is Naomi using her as a way to turn Rav against me to get what she wants? It’s not just the chilly evening breeze that makes me shiver now – how much does Rav have to do with it all? My brain feels foggy and jumbled, nothing making any sense as sparks try to connect. My mobile rings in my pocket, startling me, a shriek escaping from my lips before I can stop it. Naomi’s name glows bright on the screen and I scan the woods before I swipe to answer it. They are still, dark, no hint of movement, no sign that someone was moving through the trees just minutes before.
‘I know what you’re doing.’ I don’t let her say hello, the words tumbling out in a landslide of icy granite. Naomi is silent on the other end as the words hit her.
‘What?’ she says eventually. ‘Allie, what are you talking about?’
‘I said, I know what you’re doing. I won’t let you take them!’ I shout into the phone, the wind whistling through the trees, whipping my hair across my face. I hear a low rumble through the thick cloud that has gathered, hiding the moon from sight.
‘Allie?’ Her voice is faint, the growing wind making it difficult to hear. ‘I don’t know what you mean … you’re scaring me. Where are you?’
‘I know you told Rav that I was crazy, that the children weren’t safe. I know that you were the one who put the idea of postpartum psychosis in his head, and I know it was you who told him to take the children away from me.’
There is silence at the other end of the phone, and I know I am right. ‘Allie, where are you? Where are the children? Are they safe?’
‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ The first splatters of rain hit my shoulders, my hair, my face. ‘I know what you’re doing. I’ll die before I let you.’
‘Allie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one wants to take the children; we both just want you to be safe.’
‘They are safest with me!’ I shriek into the phone. ‘I have to protect them from Agnes. From all of you.’
‘Allie, stay where you are, I’m coming over.’
I hang up without replying. Of course, she’s coming over. The panic subsides and all at once I feel calm. Resigned, almost. Turning back to the house I look up at the windows. Dark. Rav has forgotten to leave Mina’s night light on. There is only one way that this can end, and as the thought forms in my mind I feel a strange sense of acceptance. I have to save the children. I have to take them first, to save them from Naomi, to save them from Agnes Gowdie. Stepping across the patio I leave the rain outside, heading into the kitchen. The heating hasn’t come on, it’s too warm given that it’s May, but I am cold, right down to my bones. I don’t bother to turn the light on, enjoying the peace that the darkness brings, the shadows that flicker in the corners of the room. There is a murmur from the baby monitor and then a rustling as the baby moves, but no cries come, not yet.
I know what this is. Suddenly, it all seems so clear. The dream, the way it feels like a memory as though I have lived it before. It’s not a dream, it’s not a memory. It’s an echo. Agnes lost her child, and she took revenge, and she’s carried on doing that for four hundred years. I think of Lillian Sparks being hauled away, one child dead, the other kept from her forever, all because of Agnes and her inability to leave, her insistence on repeating the past over and over.
How long do I have? I look at the clock on the kitchen wall, my head seeming to move as if in slow motion. Everything feels heavy, blurry, as if underwater. Rav won’t let me go. If I stay here, Agnes will always be there, watching, waiting, ready to take her moment to take them from me forever, just like she did to Lillian Sparks’s children. Lillian’s baby died, and Elsie never saw her mother again. There is only one solution.
The scratching starts as I move on leaden feet towards the fake Aga. Scratch, scratch, scratch. It comes from the walls, the ceiling, underneath the floorboards. It’s inside me and all around me. Slowly, I turn the knobs at the front of the range, the hissing of gas filling my ears, yet still not drowning out the sound of the claws scratching, scratching around me. The air seems to thicken, time slowing down even further, and I think for a moment I can see the gas escaping, lying thickly in the air above my head. Sparkly threads wisping in the breeze from the open door behind me, as I move silently towards the staircase. My heart is hammering in my chest, but I can barely hear it over the roaring in my ears. I feel the creak of the tread of the stairs beneath my feet rather than hear it, and as I reach the landing I stand in a puddle of moonlight. Cold, so cold that goosebumps rise on my arms and the balls of my bare feet ache. I pull the pilled sleeves of my linen shirt over my hands and pause, listening. Silence. Just faint breaths coming from the darkened room ahead of me. I trail my hands over the warm wood of the banister, stopping to look out of the landing window, as I have done for so many nights previously. The fox, my old friend, steps out of the shadows of the trees and stops, sniffing the air. He raises his face to the window, his eyes meeting mine. His head dips in a quick nod, as if acknowledging what I am doing and giving his blessing. I watch him go on his way, waiting until his tail rounds the pond and he disappears from sight, before I move forward to the doorframe, knowing I won’t see him again, he won’t be back. I clutch it tightly, my vision suddenly blurry and when I blink, the room is unfamiliar. Shadows dance across the wall in the thin light of the moon that trickles in from the landing and my hand goes to the light switch before I drop it. I blink again, nausea rising hard and fast in my stomach and saliva floods my mouth. The shadows on the walls become clear – the fronds of seaweed, the mermaid perched atop a dark rock, tiny fish that are just dark smudges on the wall now. I step onto the bare floorboards as the scratching starts up again, over the head of the bed this time, and I see her, the dark figure standing over the bed where Mina sleeps. I move closer, seeing the baby’s fists appear over the edge of the Moses basket, tiny and plump. There is an urge to pick him up, bring him close to my chest and inhale him one last time but I don’t. I step over the toys on the floor, moving closer to the bed. Mina is asleep on her back, her breath whistling in and out in light snores, and my eyes drop to the end of the bed. To the blanket that Rav has laid out over her feet. Blue, knitted, with a trailing edge where the satin has become unravelled. To the empty cup lying on its side, next to the bed, discarded by Rav after putting Mina to bed. She stands there, Agnes Gowdie, dark and s
hadowy, a pillow clutched in her hands. She turns to look at me, her eyes strangely blank, her mouth twisting in that familiar grin as she raises the pillow and brings it down, slowly over Mina’s face as a sob erupts from my chest. I am too late. I reach for her, my hands scrabbling for the pillow to seize it from her. Somewhere, far away, a door slams.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Six weeks later
Postpartum psychosis. The words still feel thick and unfamiliar on my tongue as I wait for Rav to bring the car round. I am finally leaving the secure psychiatric unit at Maidstone and going home to the children, six weeks after they brought me here. My heart rate increases when I think of Mina and Leo. I haven’t seen them since that day, the day Rav came home to find me standing over Mina with a pillow in my hands, the gas blazing away merrily downstairs. Thank God he came back when he did. Thank God he stopped me.
It wasn’t a dream. I blink back tears, smiling at a woman who comes out of the automatic double doors, a cigarette already halfway to her mouth before she is completely outside. I don’t want to be seen crying out here, I don’t want them to think that I’m not ready to go home. The woman lights the cigarette, a look of bliss on her face as she breathes out a plume of smoke. She reminds me of my mother, and I step away from her and the grey wreathes of smoke around her, towards the kerb as Rav brings the car to a stop.
‘Ready?’ His face is still creased with worry lines and there is a smattering of grey at his temples now which was never there before.
‘Ready,’ I say, trying not to let my nerves betray me. I slide into the passenger seat, the two car seats in the back catching my eye. I wonder how Mina will respond when I get home after six weeks without me. Will she be shy? Or will she throw her arms around me the way she does to Avó when she visits? The baby won’t even know I’ve been gone, I tell myself, even though Rav keeps telling me Leo misses me.
As if he has read my mind Rav says, ‘Avó will be there when we get home, will that be OK? I had to get her to watch the children.’
‘Of course.’ I smile, wishing Rav would put the radio on. Anything to break this awkward silence that fills the car every time Rav stops talking. ‘Have you seen Naomi?’
‘Yes.’ Rav keeps his eyes on the road but stretches out a hand to squeeze my knee. ‘She’s had to move back in with her mum. I think she’ll be there til the end now, until her mother passes.’
I am not sorry. I am sorry that Naomi’s mother is dying, but I am not sorry that Naomi is not there. She visited me in the hospital a few times with Rav, awkward visits full of stilted conversation and things left unsaid. Then finally, the week I was told I would be able to come home, she came to visit me alone. I think of that visit now, as Rav tries to make small talk, eventually falling into silence as we pull on to the M20.
‘Allie?’ I roll over in my bed as I hear her voice from the doorway. Maybe, if I lie still enough, she will think I am asleep. ‘Allie, I know you’re awake.’
I roll back to face the door. ‘Where’s Rav?’
‘He’s not here, he’ll be along later. It’s just me.’ Naomi walks across the room, her shoes squeaking slightly on the lino. She looks like she always does, perfectly made up and immaculate. I am plain-faced, my hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. ‘I wanted to talk to you alone.’
‘Why?’ I push myself up the pillows, making sure I am as far over on the bed as I can get. It feels odd, stiff and formal between us. There is none of the usual ease there was between us before, and as Rav was always here on previous visits I never realized quite how stilted it would be. I don’t know if it’s because I am ashamed of the way I behaved towards her, or if she finds it hard knowing that she was right. Even though I know I was wrong about things, it’s difficult to let go of something that I believed was real.
‘I wanted to apologize.’ Her cheeks burn red and I feel some satisfaction that this is as difficult for her as it is for me. Her fingers pluck and worry at the smooth white sheet on the bed, wrinkling it. ‘I’m sorry, Allie.’
‘What for?’
‘For … pushing you.’ Naomi reaches out now for my hand. I let my fingers lie limp in her palm, too tired to try and pull away. ‘I’m sorry for a lot of things. That I didn’t try and talk to you more about it, that I jumped to the conclusion that the children weren’t safe with you.’
They weren’t. That is the most frightening thing. At first, Naomi thought I was just becoming obsessed with Agnes Gowdie, with the cottage and what had happened there over the years. It wasn’t until Tara saw her and mentioned that she thought I might be suffering with postnatal depression that Naomi became really worried. And then when Tara told Naomi outside The Daisy Chain that she almost met my mother, that’s when Naomi began to think that perhaps things were escalating. Now, when I think of Tara, I think of the blue blanket, left entirely by accident on the floor by the baby’s changing station. I’ll have to give it back to her, I think, and I wonder if she will still be my friend after all of this.
‘Allie, please talk to me?’ Naomi’s dark eyes fill with tears and I feel a small pang of guilt.
‘I know you were worried, that you were just trying to do the right thing. I was sick, I didn’t know what I was doing,’ I say eventually. ‘But I’m better now. I’m going home soon.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. The doctor told me this morning that all being well I can go home next week.’ I glance down at my hand, at the brand-new ring on my finger, given to me by Rav last night. A single pearl inlaid in gold. An eternity ring made with the pearl I found on the bathroom floor all those months ago. An eternity ring to celebrate the babies, to celebrate us and what is ahead of us. I hadn’t wanted to wear it at first, scared that the stone against my skin would evoke all those feelings from before, but Rav had looked so sad, and so desperate that I had let him slide it onto my finger. And I felt nothing. It was just a ring. Whatever it was that had made me feel that way was gone. The receipt I found in the suitcase was for the ring, not for the necklace that hung around Naomi’s neck. I see the glint of gold as she shifts on the bed, reaching across the stark, white duvet. She’s still wearing it.
‘That’s brilliant news.’ She smiles, and I feel the pressure of her hand on mine. ‘I’m so pleased. I’m, errr, I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to be around much when you come home.’
‘Oh …’ I look down at our joined hands, not sure why I feel such a rush of relief. Naomi had nothing to do with any of this, I shouldn’t be feeling relieved that she won’t be around.
‘My mum is sick. I’m going to go home and take care of her for a while.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Rav never said.’
Naomi gives a tiny shrug, but it is as if there is a heaviness to her shoulders. ‘Just one of those things. She’s been poorly for a while but it’s not getting better so …’ She stands, the removal of her weight reminding me of that night in the house, the pressure on the bed beside me. ‘I just wanted to tell you. Go well, Allie.’
I had watched her walk away down the corridor, and then moved to the window to watch her get into her car, parked below. I had hoped that she might look up at the window before she drove away, but she didn’t, instead just leaving without a backward glance. I had stood there for a few moments longer, not sure why I felt such grief at her going when I have spent so long carrying such anger towards her, before getting back into bed and crying until it was dark outside.
I stare out of the window now as the familiar sights of the village whizz past, even keeping my eyes open as Rav drives past the woods. A few minutes later Rav pulls the car onto the drive and I sit for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest as my hands fumble for the clip of the seatbelt.
‘Are you OK?’ Rav asks. ‘Do you need a minute?’
I shake my head, finally managing to unclip myself. ‘No, it’s fine. I want to see them.’ I get out of the car on shaking legs, hoping that I don’t look too nervous when Avó appears in the doorway wit
h Leo lying in her arms and a smile on her tiny, wrinkled face.
She holds out the baby and with a flutter of fear, I take him, the weight of him in my arms familiar and comforting. I press my lips to his head, breathing in his soft baby scent and then I lean down to kiss Avó, anxious about how I will be received. She raises her hand to my cheek, holding it there for a moment, and I breathe in her familiar scent of coconut hair oil and incense. ‘I am so glad my daughter is home,’ she says, and the pair of us blink back tears, Avó sniffing and dabbing at her nose with a tissue, flapping her hands at Rav as he tries to hug her.
‘Mama!’ Mina’s voice shrieks from the sitting room, and a streak of pink tracksuit hurtles towards me, arms and legs tangling around mine as I crouch down to scoop her into my free arm, barely able to breathe she holds me so tightly.
Later, when the children are bathed, fed and asleep and Avó is safely tucked up in the spare bedroom, Rav pulls me towards him and I settle into his arms on the sofa. I find myself trying not to tense, waiting for the sounds of scratching to come from the chimney, but there is nothing, only the muted sounds of the lowered volume of the television.
‘I’m glad you’re home,’ he whispers into my hair. ‘Are you sure you feel OK? You will tell me if you … if things don’t feel right.’
I press my head against his chest. ‘Of course, I will. I’m glad to be home too,’ I say, honestly. Twisting round, I lift my face to his and accept a kiss. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘For everything. For what I did.’ I pause, my throat thick. ‘For what I thought was happening. For doubting you.’
Rav shifts his body so that he is facing me, the light glowing behind him reminding me of the day I first saw him on the beach, the sun in his hair. ‘Allie, I don’t blame you for doubting me. You were sick, tired, alone with the children and struggling to cope. I wish I had realized – I should have talked to you about things, not Naomi. I shouldn’t have put work before everything else.’