The Liminal Space

by Jacquie McRae

  ‘Are you alright, William?’

  ‘Yes. You don’t look very good though.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  He nods and looks at my swollen face before quickly turning away.

  ‘Emily, I don’t have much time left. We need to talk about something.’

  I blush, and this time the heat flushes through my whole body.

  ‘Does everyone know?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is everyone talking about me and Rob?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I wouldn’t worry about what other people are thinking. You need to think about what you want to do from here.’

  I don’t realise I’m crying until William brushes a tear from my cheek.

  ‘I’m so ashamed.’

  ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, Emily. You did nothing wrong.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. But you could let people help you. A lot of people care about you. I know my timing is off, but I have to tell you something before I run out of time. Something that I should have told you years ago.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I knew your mother.’

  ‘How would you know my mother, William?’

  ‘I met her at Waverly.’

  ‘You were at Waverly? The mental hospital.’

  ‘Briefly.’

  ‘You were a patient?’

  ‘Yes. I lost myself for a while. I met your mother just after you’d been taken from her.’

  ‘It can’t have been her, William. My mother gave birth to me and then ran away. She killed herself not long after.’

  ‘She didn’t run away. She was fifteen and struggling with her mental health. She said that everyone agreed except her that her baby would be better off in the care of her mother.’

  ‘Are you sure? My mother’s name was Mary Ocket.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘I was taken from her?’

  ‘Yes. She took that as proof that she was unworthy to be a mum. I told her that the fact that she’d memorised every little detail about you, in such a small time, showed me that she would make a great mum. We walked around the gardens and down to the pond most days. She talked about Radley: the woods and the river. But she mainly talked about you, and how perfect you were.’

  ‘She said that I was perfect?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Then how could she leave me?’

  ‘She wasn’t thinking straight. Her thoughts would have been telling her things that just weren’t true. She convinced herself that anybody would do a better job than she could.’

  ‘Mothers aren’t supposed to kill themselves.’

  ‘No. They’re not. Lots of things aren’t supposed to happen, Emily, but they do. This is the hardest part of what I have to tell you.’

  There is a strange feeling in my body. A shiver that creeps up my back.

  ‘They gave your mother some pills. I think that’s what killed her.’

  I lean back on the pillow. I can feel my brow crease.

  ‘She didn’t overdose. She drowned herself.’

  ‘Yes, but I believe that the drug they prescribed for her became toxic in her system and gave her those suicidal thoughts. I looked it up when I eventually got well, and those drugs should never have been given to a fifteen-year-old. She was depressed and grieving. She needed someone to talk to, and we failed her.’

  ‘You can’t be to blame for that, William.’

  ‘I felt her restlessness, and her need to keep moving, in my own body as soon as she started taking the pills. I have a thing called mirror-touch synaesthesia. In part, this means that I experience a sensation that another person feels in my own body. I could feel her spinning like she was on a carousel. I didn’t want the doctors to think I was going even crazier, so I said nothing. She drowned herself in the pond a few weeks after beginning to take those pills.’

  ‘Wow.’ I shake my head as I try and imagine what that must feel like. Some days my own feelings are too much. No wonder he keeps mainly to himself. A sharp pulling in my lower abdomen reminds me of another loss. I breathe deeply until the pain subsides. I take a sip from my water and offer some to William. He looks like he might be in more trouble than me.

  ‘My mother made the choice. Not you, William. Why didn’t you tell me you knew her though?’

  ‘You were just a little girl when I came to the village. I wasn’t even sure I’d find you.’

  ‘You came here to find me?’

  ‘Yes, but my reasons were selfish. I thought if I could see that you were okay, then maybe I could be too. I should have told you, but it never seemed to be the right time. I wanted to apologise too, but I could never find the words. When I sensed that you were struggling, I figured the least I could do was stay and keep an eye on you.’

  ‘What did my mother look like?’

  ‘Exactly like you.’

  ‘I look like my mother. Huh … I’ve always wanted to know what she looked like. My grandmother didn’t keep any photographs of her. No wonder she hated me; I must have been a constant reminder.’

  A nurse comes in and seems shocked to see me sitting up.

  ‘I thought you’d still be out. How’s the pain?’

  ‘It hurts.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Everything.’

  WILLIAM

  I feel a pressure under my ribs and a ripping in my lower abdomen as I sit with Emily. My bottom lip feels tight and sore when I look at hers. I concentrate on the sterile equipment around me to distract myself from her pain. The nurse gives her some medication, and her breathing becomes softer.

  ‘When you were lost, William—how did you find yourself again?’

  ‘It was gradual. I think I slowly accepted myself with all my flaws. After your mother died, my shame and sorrow plunged me into a darkness so black it felt impossible to believe in any light. I was incapable of doing anything, but I read. Little by little, those stories helped me find my way out.’

  ‘What stories?’

  ‘No specific one. I read everything. Initially, most of the tales were dark and intense; those were the ones that spoke to me most. After a while, I gravitated towards the stories about hope and redemption. Your mother spoke about walking in the woodlands that surround Radley and swimming in the waterholes in summer. That was the place she felt most at peace. I started reading a lot of books about the healing powers of nature. Eventually, I ended up here, and I walked in her woods and swam in her river. Over time I felt better.’

  ‘I’d like to do that. Go walking in the woods.’

  ‘It’s a magical thing to do. Nature takes our breath away and breathes new life into us.’

  She tries to smile, but her swollen lip stops it halfway. She sags back onto the pillows behind her.

  ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’

  Her colours are fragmented, and she feels as fragile as spun toffee, yet her core remains untouched and golden.

  MARCO

  Beatrice squealed in my ear when I told her what she might be offered for the manse. A lot of the people living here would have no idea that their houses are worth a fortune. Old Mr Anderson, for example: never once left the village. When he died, they carried him up the high street in a pine coffin and into the cemetery only a mile from the house he’d been born in. His house sold for well over a million pounds, and yet he had lived like a pauper.

  I’d forgotten how much I love chasing a sale. The thought of it has me reminiscing about my first few years in London, when people were basically begging me to sign them up. The difference between me and the other agents was that I paid attention. I could spot an ego that needed to be stroked, and I learnt the fine art of cajoling the not-so-brave. I love the thrill of sealing the deal, but I get just as much fun from the games beforehand. I know that Beatrice would like nothing better than a speedy sale so she can get the repairs under way before Christmas. She’ll get all the kudos for being the one to save St
Peter’s. My tease that she might just get a plaque in the church for her forethought met with another squeal. I know that the restaurateur has a big ego. I haven’t quite worked out how to play this yet, but I know I will. I made another call to him to assure him that things were moving forward nicely and reiterated that such a magnificent property was worth being patient for.

  I’m excited, and I feel like celebrating, but it’s not much fun celebrating on your own. I grab two bottles of beer from the fridge and find Dad around the back of the shed. I pass him one of the bottles.

  ‘Here’s to not having to put up with me much longer, Dad.’ I chink my bottle against his and take a swig, but I notice that he just holds on to his.

  ‘I don’t really want to drink to that, Marco. I like having you here. This is your home.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, but I need to keep moving. You know, make something of myself.’

  He puts the beer on the bench and stares at me. ‘Marco, I’ve never understood what it is you think you need to make yourself into. To me, you are already something.’ He picks up the rake, wanders down to the back lawn and starts pulling the leaves into piles.

  ‘The wind is just going to come and blow them all away again,’ I yell out to him. He shrugs his shoulders and carries on raking.

  JAMES

  I pick up the books from my bedside table and squash them into my chest. I put them in the front pocket of my backpack and walk fast along the river walk. I wanted to say goodbye to my parents, but I wasn’t brave enough. I knock on William’s door, but no one answers. I place the books on the armchair on the porch. I start to walk away, but Juno’s bark stops me. She scratches on the inside of the door and leaps out to greet me when I open it.

  When I enter the house, I hear a small noise. Further in, I find William crumpled up on a bed in the lounge.

  ‘William?’ I walk over to him, and he opens his eyes. He attempts a smile, but his mouth hardly moves, and he has no real colour to his face. A small bit of spit dribbles from the side of his mouth.

  ‘I was hoping you’d come back.’ He slurs his words.

  I wipe the dribble off his chin with my shirt. ‘Are you okay?’

  He attempts a smile. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘I’ll go get some help.’

  ‘No, don’t. I’m okay. Arlo’s just gone next door to get me something. He’ll be back in a minute. How are you?’

  ‘Alright. I just came to say goodbye.’

  ‘What?’ He winces and tries to push himself up.

  ‘I’m leaving on this morning’s train.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I need to get away and work some things out for myself. Remember when you said that all I needed to be was me? I realised that I don’t know who that is—I’ve spent years trying not to be me. I need to look at that, and I don’t think I can do that here.’

  He nods his head but says nothing.

  ‘I feel like the woods helped plug me back in, and the books helped me find my way home. I know I have a long way to go, but at least I have some hope, and I can see a future.’

  I stack the books beside his bed. ‘Thank you, William, for everything.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he croaks.

  ‘You listened.’

  I look at my watch and see that I have to make my way to the station. I walk fast and hear the train in the distance. I purchase a ticket and sit on a bench outside. Juno races along the platform as a whistle screeches, and I see the train coming down the track. I give her a pat and take the bag that’s tied around her neck. A few people get off the train, and the conductor looks along the platform and signals for me to get on. I push Juno away. ‘Go on home now, girl.’ She licks my hand and sprints from the station. I take a seat in the last carriage and see Juno sitting in the middle of the overbridge. I stare out the train window until Juno and Radley disappear. I open the bag and pull out a metal paint set. A note is taped to the front of it. William’s writing is nearly illegible, but he’s pressed so hard that I can trace the letters with my finger.

  ‘“To thine own self be true”—Shakespeare.’

  EMILY

  ‘We need to run a few more tests on you, Emily,’ the nurse says and then turns towards Rob. ‘It’s going to take a few hours, so I suggest you have a break, Mr Merton.’

  ‘I’ll stay.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I need to insist. We’ll be as quick as we can, but we need at least an hour.’

  Rob juts his jaw out, and I see his clenched teeth, which is a sign that he’s about to explode.

  ‘You can wait downstairs in the cafeteria if you don’t feel like going out, but Emily’s needs come first.’

  Rob glares at the nurse, but she stares straight back at him.

  ‘I can get security to fetch you when we’re done.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone fetching me. I’ll be back in an hour.’ He storms out of the room.

  ‘What tests are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m just going to take a few blood samples. It won’t take long.’

  Colleen pokes her head around the door a few minutes later. I expect the nurse to throw her out, but she finishes taking my blood and smiles at us both.

  ‘Don’t be too long. She needs all the rest she can get.’

  Colleen wraps her arms around me. I inhale her scent of rose water—it comforts me but also makes me want to cry. I stay in her embrace as long as I can. I see her looking at the bruises on my arms. I am relieved when she says nothing about them.

  ‘I brought you in a couple of books and some of those awful boiled sweets you like. Are you in much pain?’

  ‘I’m alright. They’re giving me painkillers.’

  She starts fussing with the water jug and some paper napkins on the side table. I know something is coming.

  ‘I’ve been thinking that maybe you could come and stay with me for a while.’

  ‘Thanks, but I have my own home.’

  ‘I know, but those ribs are going to take a little while to heal. You’re going to need a bit of care.’

  ‘I’ll be alright.’

  ‘Letting people help you, Emily, isn’t a sign of weakness. Everyone needs help sometimes.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Emily, you’re not. Look where you are. I know you wanted to work this out on your own, but I can’t pretend any more that I don’t know what’s happening. I kept hoping I was wrong, but clearly I wasn’t. That man you married is never going to change—and next time he could kill you.’

  I feel the heat rise and know my face must be bright red. I’m so embarrassed.

  ‘Can we talk about this when I feel better?’

  ‘Emily …’

  ‘Please. I haven’t got the energy today.’

  She closes her eyes and lets out a huge sigh, but her nod is gentle.

  ‘Tell me about the library, Colleen. What’s happening?’

  She looks down and brushes her skirt like she’s smoothing out some creases. ‘We don’t need to talk about that today either.’

  ‘I can cope. Tell me.’

  ‘Well, the good news is that Mrs Finlay’s grandson started up that crowdfunding page to try and purchase the library. I put in an application to the community trust board, and we have a raffle going and the tickets are flying out the door. The Knit and Natter group have already pledged fifty pounds. Amy Frecklington has donated five pounds from her pocket money and is urging the other kids at school to do the same. Even mean old Mrs Fagan put in a few pounds.’

  ‘Mrs Fagan parted with some money?’

  ‘Well, she pledged it, which isn’t quite the same as handing it over. Mrs Johnson is doing a bake sale outside on Saturday morning, and Arlo is dropping some vegetables off for us to sell this afternoon.’

  I look at her, and I know that she’s holding something back.

  ‘What’s the bad news, Colleen?’

  She lets out a sigh. ‘There is already an offer on the table. We’ll never r
aise enough money—and never by the deadline.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Next Friday.’

  ‘Will the annexe be ready by then?’

  ‘No.’

  Our gazes lock together, and there is nothing more to say. I shift in the bed, and a sharp pain from my ribs makes me gasp. The machine that holds my drip starts beeping. I’m grateful for the distraction of the nurse as she pushes a couple of buttons and checks the IV in my arm.

  ‘Don’t worry about the library, Emily,’ Colleen says. ‘You just have to concentrate on getting better.’

  WILLIAM

  I take the books individually from the shelves and thank them as I place them in a cardboard box. Each one conjures up a memory of a person, place or time. Sometimes, it would take me days to let go of the characters from the stories. They’d let me into their lives, and I felt bereft when they left.

  I press a few to my chest and decide to make a pile of the ones I’m not quite ready to let go. I thought I could donate all my books to the library, but Colleen said we might not have one for much longer.

  I hear my wind chimes in the garden, and I look out to see Arlo tapping on them and waving to me from under the apple tree. By the time I get into my coat and make it down to him, he’s laid out a grand feast on a blanket. I settle myself down on some cushions under the branches; his gesture tears me up. The last of the setting sun is caught in the river as we sip our home-made ginger beer from champagne flutes.

  ‘I went to the hospital and talked to Emily today.’

  ‘Good. How’s she doing?’

  ‘Battered and sad, but I sensed that she’s going to be alright. I told her about knowing her mum. About my part in her death.’

  ‘Can you let it go now? I think you’ve punished yourself enough.’

  ‘I know. I should have listened to you and moved on long ago.’

  ‘Now you decide to listen to me.’ He passes me a quince and mulberry tart. ‘I harvested the quince a little early and made some jam. I’ll get Marco to bring some over for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Arlo. You’ve been a great friend.’