by S. B. Hayes
But what about me? Surely I deserved some attention and understanding? I was so cut up over James I felt physically sick, but also tired and weepy. In the last week my emotions had gone completely haywire. I really wanted to talk to someone, and my mum was the only person I could think of. I knew we weren’t close, but she’d been a teenager once; she must remember how it felt to have your heart broken for the first time. I needed some of her time, and Patrick would have to take a back seat for once. In a weird way this might actually bring us closer. I drank about a litre of coffee before I could pluck up the courage to phone her.
She didn’t even say hello before jumping down my throat. ‘Have you found Patrick, Sinead?’
‘I think his trail’s gone cold, Mum. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried my best –’
Her voice rose sharply. ‘But … I don’t understand. Patrick would never break off like this. You must have missed something. You need to retrace your footsteps.’
‘Thing is, Mum –’ Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked. ‘Something happened when I was at Benedict House. I met this boy and—’
‘You met a boy?’ she interrupted.
‘Yes, I met a boy … and everything was great between us, but I found out today he’s been seeing someone else. I feel so miserable and … stupid –’
Her voice became low and almost sinister. ‘So let me get this straight. While you were supposed to be looking for your brother you were actually making a fool of yourself chasing some boy.’
‘It wasn’t like that. We found we had loads in common, and he knows the Benedict estate and he was helping me look for Patrick.’
There was an ominous pause. ‘That’s the problem. I can see it now. Patrick left the trail for you and you alone, but you’ve allowed a stranger to get involved. This is private family business, not to be shared with every passing Romeo. You must go back.’
‘I don’t think I can,’ I said feebly. ‘I can’t face him again – it hurts too much, and I’m tired of the endless work.’
‘Stop being so selfish, Sinead. It’s a bitter lesson to learn, but this boy has probably seen the real you. It’s only possible to keep it hidden for so long.’
I sniffed and pulled some tissues out of my bag. ‘What do you mean … the real me?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘This is a hard thing for a mother to say, but there’s something cold and twisted in you. I used to think it was my fault, but now I can see it’s always been there … I’ve known it since you were small. I’m sorry, Sinead, but you must have realized you’re different.’
I didn’t even protest. My mother had just confirmed my worst fears. No matter how often Harry told me I was a nice person, I didn’t really believe him.
‘Now you have a perfect chance to do something good,’ she continued, ‘to find your brother. I can’t believe you’re wavering.’
One, two, three, four … come on, Sinead, I’m not far away. Five, six, seven eight … follow my footsteps, it isn’t difficult.
‘I’ll go back,’ I said wearily, recognizing that I was beaten. ‘Maybe … we could have a meal together first. I could come home now and we could—’
My mother’s voice was coldly brusque. ‘You really shouldn’t come home again, Sinead, until you’ve found your brother – until you bring Patrick back to me.’
*
I would have to go back to Benedict House after all, but the prospect of shaking off Patrick didn’t seem liberating any more. What sort of life would I have to look forward to afterwards? Sara was right: I managed to alienate everyone around me and I was going to end up isolated and lonely. This boy has probably seen the real you. Him and everyone else. I couldn’t run away from what I was any longer. I curled up on the sofa in a tight ball, my hands hugged around my body, desperate for oblivion.
I zoned out and had the strangest sensation of being awake and dreaming at the same time. I was outside Sister Catherine’s white room, trying to walk down the staircase only to find it shifting beneath my feet. I pressed my palms flat against the walls but they were moving too, and hot air was rising from somewhere, fanning my body. I looked down with horror to find myself descending further and further into a black hole, hot gas and ashes flying upwards, and the voices weren’t whispering any longer, they were howling in pain. And Patrick was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to greet me, his eyes crazed with hate. My feet were desperately trying to climb back up, but I kept sinking further towards him. I could feel myself growing weaker, overcome by the fumes. I reached into my pocket and took out a tissue, pressing it against my mouth and nose. There was something else in there; my hand closed around his Saint Christopher medal. I threw it into the pit and emerged into sunlight, so dazzling that it blinded me.
The flat bell startled me, a loud, insistent buzz. I was surprised to see that it was evening. I pressed the button, sure that it must be Harry. James’s voice made my heart soar and then plummet. I frantically checked my hair and face in the mirror before letting him in. He looked gorgeous but hostile; his face was set like stone, his body language standoffish and his voice clipped. He launched into his obviously well-thought-out speech with the air of someone who was here on sufferance.
‘Sister Catherine is concerned by your absence. You shouldn’t stay away because of me, Sinead. I know exactly where I stand and I won’t bother you again.’
I was so full of conflicting emotions that I simply closed my eyes. James seemed at a loss what to do next.
‘This is the wall mural?’ he asked. He stepped closer to take a look. ‘It looks like Dante’s nine circles have been merged into one.’
‘Nine circles?’
‘Of hell,’ he finished.
‘What … makes you say that?’
‘All those bodies writhing around in torment, and the giant snake …’
I scrunched up my face. ‘I know there were people with serpents in their hair … but I don’t remember a giant snake.’
He pointed with his finger. ‘Here it is … a really ugly one with the head of a man and a forked tongue.’
‘Let me see.’
I moved James aside and stared at the image. I felt hot, then cold, and an acute weakness swept over my body and drained my little remaining strength.
‘That wasn’t there before. I’m certain.’
James didn’t respond as if I was deranged, although his eyebrows knitted together. ‘Your snake connection?’
I gave a small, uneasy nod. ‘Maybe … but that means someone’s been in the flat again. It has to be Patrick, so … he must be OK. Right?’
James went over to the door and examined the chain. ‘This is useless. Someone could just reach their hand inside and unfasten it. Who fitted it?’
‘Harry,’ I whispered. ‘He’s not very practical.’
A fly dived at James and his face was filled with disgust. ‘You shouldn’t stay here,’ he said. ‘The gatehouse is empty. Why not come back with me? Stay a couple of days until things die down, or you feel better about everything.’
After what had happened between us I looked at him warily. As if he’d read my mind he said, ‘I mean … there’s no reason why we can’t still be friends.’
I nodded gratefully, feeling as if I’d been thrown a lifeline. I couldn’t go back home, and I didn’t want to stay here. I flapped around, completely disorganized and getting nowhere fast. I had begun to haphazardly throw things into a small holdall when gentle fingers on my arm made me stop.
‘There’s nothing you need, Sinead.’
I was so drained that I took James at his word and walked out of Patrick’s flat in just the clothes I stood up in. James’s car was waiting outside, and I gratefully slid inside. James leaned across and fastened my seat belt for me, gently attentive as though I was ill or in pain. He gave me a final searching look before he pulled off into the city traffic.
Twenty-Six
Sleep that night was unusually deep and refreshing. When I awoke the thin duvet cov
ering me was hardly disturbed, as if I hadn’t moved in the night. James had left me with instructions to make sure that all the doors and windows were secured, but these fears seemed ridiculous on an enclosed estate on a bright summer’s morning. Inside, the gatehouse had the appearance of a child’s playhouse. After the grand scale of Patrick’s flat, with its high, echoing ceilings, I expected to feel closed in, but it was like being enfolded in a warm blanket. I padded around in my bare feet, on tiles already warmed by the sun. The surfaces were free from dust, which made me think that someone had lived here recently. It couldn’t have been Patrick, because there was a definite feminine smell, something old-fashioned and floral.
It didn’t take me long to work out that there was an immediate problem. James had encouraged me to bring nothing. This was one of the rare occasions I regretted not listening to my mother’s advice about carrying spare underwear for whatever disaster she envisaged. I thought about asking Sister Catherine for a loan of clothes, but there was little point unless I fancied wearing her spare nun’s habit.
A note had been posted when I was showering. It said just two words – breakfast outside. I opened the door. On the step had been left a small basket filled with bread rolls, jam, butter and coffee. James was nowhere to be seen, but I sat on the cool stone breaking the crusty rolls into pieces and smearing them with jam. I had company. The birds and hares were tame, eagerly pouncing on any dropped crumbs.
I took a deep breath and got out my phone. I had to get in touch with Harry. I composed a text telling him that I needed some space to get my head sorted and to solve Patrick’s disappearance. I’d be in touch soon.
On my way to Benedict House I looked for Eurydice and stopped dead. She was visible again, but this time from the other side of the bush. James had clearly been busy. He was determined she should be reunited with Orpheus and must have been moving them closer. Or was he moving them towards the bridge, where they belonged? No matter what James said about it being too dangerous to go there, I had to take a look in case Patrick had left something for me. Now seemed a good time, before I could be talked out of it again. I made my way to the weeping willow and walked on to the glade. I stayed at a safe distance, and climbed up on to the lower branch of a tree to give me a vantage point.
My stomach lurched. Cerberus was pacing back and forth, even bigger than I remembered. The memory of the puncture wounds in James’s neck hadn’t faded. Dogs usually went for the throat if they were aiming to kill, and I knew from my father that this breed was different from others. Once they sank their teeth into a victim their jaws locked and were difficult to prise apart. There was no way I was going to be able to cross that bridge. Why had the dog stayed? It didn’t make sense. James was adamant Cerberus would never have left his dad’s side, which meant his dad had deliberately left him behind. It also meant he couldn’t be living close by. Maybe Mrs Benedict hadn’t been confused when she said that Cerberus was waiting to be reunited with his master. I needed to tell James.
As I was making my way back to the house something suddenly occurred to me; if I couldn’t get over the bridge, then neither could Patrick, so that was one place I wouldn’t have to worry about following his footsteps.
My sense of timing hadn’t failed. I made it to the house on the dot of ten.
Sister Catherine subjected me to an unusual degree of scrutiny. ‘You came back,’ she said.
I faced her directly. ‘I came back.’
‘Are you ready to complete your trial?’
This irritated me, because she obviously thought she’d won. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘I’ve already explained to you, Sinead, that you’ve always had a choice.’ I didn’t argue and my silence must have pleased her. I watched her rub her hands together with what looked like satisfaction. ‘You’ll soon be back to the start.’
Back to the start. What did she mean? I wasn’t going to redo all the tasks she had set for me. When I reached the last room, I certainly wasn’t going to begin all over again. She must be mad to think that.
I waited for her to explain. ‘Domus dei,’ she murmured.
‘I already know about the first church, remember? And you still haven’t helped.’
Her face softened imperceptibly. ‘When the time is right I’ll be there for you.’
When the time is right. Sister Catherine had won; I’d thought I could save time and skip her stupid trial, but I could see now this wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to give me any answers until my fourteen days were up.
‘You may begin work upstairs, Sinead.’
Sister Catherine left me at the first door at the top of the grand staircase. I was nervous about bumping into James’s gran again and quickly went inside. This room looked to be the master bedroom because of the intricately carved four-poster bed. I endured another interminable morning choking on dust. At midday I took my lunch outside. My mind was more active than ever. Neither the snake connection nor the statues seemed to lead anywhere concrete. The key was a non-starter as well. James had tried it out in every lock upstairs without any luck, so he’d given it back to me. Had Patrick changed tactics? Had he gone to ground? And something was different about Sister Catherine; she seemed almost regretful that she couldn’t help more, as if her hands were somehow tied.
My feet kicked up the dusty gravel. I was beginning to feel like James, chasing shadows in this strange place. The first church still felt like my best clue, and in her own weird way Sister Catherine had confirmed this. I would start my search close to the house and work outwards. Perhaps there was still some kind of marker that had been covered up over the centuries, or maybe Patrick would nudge me in the right direction somehow. I tilted my head. The silence here was usually profound, but I could hear whistling and it wasn’t a bird. I stood up and followed the sound to the back of the house, to the corner where the wild flowers were rampant. I wandered through an ornamental arch. In contrast to the woods, every plant and flower here was light, airy and delicately overgrown, swaying without the slightest breeze.
I drew back behind a trellis and slowly peered out. James was digging in one part of the garden and whistling. He didn’t know he was being watched and seemed engrossed and happy in his work. He was wearing rolled-up jeans and a frayed cotton shirt open to the navel, his hair glinting in the sun. I sighed and a symphony played somewhere in my head. I shouldn’t have been peeking, but it would be worse to be discovered tiptoeing away. I gave a small cough.
‘Sorry, James, I … didn’t know you’d be here.’
‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked, stretching lazily.
I laughed. ‘Like the dead again.’
He pointed to his spade. ‘I’m trying to tame everything here so Gran can sit outside more. She’s cooped up in her flat so much.’
‘I met your gran,’ I said. ‘She cooked me breakfast yesterday morning.’
James seemed a little embarrassed and knelt down, tugging at a weed. ‘Was she … OK?’
‘Erm, she was … just fine. Thing is, James … I went back to the bridge this morning and Cerberus was still there, pacing about. Your gran told me he was waiting to be reunited with his master. She spoke as if he’d been here for a while.’
‘Cerberus is still here?’
I nodded. ‘I think your dad must have left him behind and … gone far away, even abroad.’
James looked at me, stunned. ‘You’re right. He never would have left Cerberus unless he had to. He loved that dog so much – more than he loved –’
He left the rest unsaid.
‘Why’s he hanging around the bridge?’ I asked. ‘It’s almost if he’s guarding it.’
James rolled his eyes. ‘Dad probably trained him to do it years ago, to stop me from going over there.’ His face darkened. ‘I was so convinced Dad was close. I’ve been having more dreams about the white knight …’
I had to nudge him to continue.
‘Now … when I see him … he’s covered in the hare’s blood
… and his eyes stare at me like they’re accusing me of something. I wake up soaked in sweat.’
My heart went out to him. ‘James … even I can work this out. You feel guilty about your dad killing animals and trying to make you copy him. Subconsciously you think you’ve got their blood on your hands.’
‘I wish I could stop it,’ he said, his expression anguished.
‘It will stop when you meet your dad again, when you confront him about his behaviour.’
‘If I ever get to meet him. I thought I had a lead the other day, but it came to nothing.’
‘What was it?’ I asked.
His mouth twitched at the corners. ‘When I was asking around the village one of the girls I went to school with hinted she knew something about my dad and if I took her on a date she’d tell me.’
My stomach muscles clenched. ‘Did you … take her out in the sports car?’
‘Yeah … How did you know?’
‘Just a … kind of … lucky guess. Did … did she tell you anything?’
James grimaced. ‘No, she giggled a lot and went on about how she’d had a crush on me when she was ten. It was a complete waste of time.’
He pushed up his sleeves and sat on a dilapidated bench. With his arms behind his head the gap in his shirt widened to show even more of his chest. I sat next to him, hearing the bleached wood creak ominously. One thought superseded all others. If James had told me about his date, we’d be together now; there was no doubt in my mind. Why hadn’t he? Did he think I’d be jealous or had it just slipped his mind? I had a gnawing pain inside to think that I’d messed things up between us and wasted so much time.
‘Any more leads on Patrick, Sinead?’
I tried to speak normally. ‘I asked your gran about Benedict House first being a church. She said the church was demolished and the house built on a completely different site.’ I held up my hands. ‘I know the estate is huge, but I’m looking for any sign of where the church might have once stood. In his note Patrick described it as some kind of gateway.’