He had turned. ‘No, no, my darling. Nothing. Go back to sleep.’
Watching him now as he discussed the rights and wrongs of free trade with Davie, she thought he looked tired, a little drawn. He was working too hard. A rest would do him so much good.
The steamer ploughed on downriver, out of the city with its wharves and cranes and warehouses and into the flat estuary countryside. They were scheduled to stop at Gravesend in Kent before they turned north to run up the coast.
‘Gravesend!’ Davie said, hanging over the side to watch the new passengers climb the gangplank. ‘What an absolutely gruesome name! I wonder why it’s called that?’ He glanced hopefully at Richard.
Richard laughed, shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got the faintest idea.’
‘Oh, well.’ Davie was philosophical about his usually impeccable source of information being stumped. ‘Can I have some ginger beer and cake, please?’
They went below again, into the saloon, as the ship’s hooter sounded and she pulled away from the landing stage. It was very warm after the fresh air on deck. Annie leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, lulled by the movement and the monotonous throb of the engines. The sound of voices and laughter around her rose and fell like the sound of the sea. An odd, comforting murmur filled her mind; she felt warm, secure.
She dozed.
When, disorientated, she jumped awake, she had no way of telling how long she had slept. Bemusedly she turned her head to look out of the window, and her heart lurched. The close and comforting banks of the river had gone, their place taken by a flat coastline in the far and misty distance. Between her and the land stretched an infinity of grey, restlessly moving water; the sunlight on the choppy waves glinted and flashed cruelly into her eyes like shards and splinters of glass. She could feel – feel through the suddenly painfully tense bones of her feet – the unfathomably dark, icy, pitiless depths beneath her. She began to tremble.
There was a voice in her head. Quiet. Insistent. Real.
Panic rising, she put her hands to her ears. No. No!
‘Annie? Is something wrong?’ Richard had leaned across the table towards her, his face concerned.
The room swam. It was hot and airless; yet the sweat on her skin was icy.
You do well to fear the treacherous waters.
She shook her head desperately, stumbled to her feet.
‘Annie!’ Richard had hold of her arm.
In blind panic she tried to tear away from him. ‘I need some air. I think I’m going to be sick—’
The world tilted dizzily about her.
You do well to fear the treacherous waters.
‘Come. I’ll help you.’
The chill air struck at her like a whip. She staggered, grabbed hold of the rail. The water – endlessly moving, endlessly sucking, endlessly threatening – the perilous water, that decayed and devoured, in which there was no life, no warmth, no safety, swirled beneath her. And to her horror they were there: the mother and child, in ghastly embrace. Corrupt and livid flesh and milky eyes. The helpless horror of the gaping mouths. The reaching, grasping, fleshless hands.
For a moment it was as if her blood had frozen, her very life left her. She could neither move nor breathe. Then the cold air rushed to fill her lungs and, tears suddenly streaming down her face, she began to scream.
She screamed as she had screamed once before; in mindless shock and terror, the pain of it tearing like knives in her throat.
‘Annie! Darling!’ Richard’s arms were tight about her. His face and voice were distraught. ‘Oh, God! Annie! Stop it! Please! Darling, what’s wrong?’
And still she screamed; long, echoing, desolate screams, as if she would never stop.
Chapter Sixteen
The water wasn’t cold, after all. It was still, and it was dark, but it wasn’t cold. Annie drifted, weightless, unthinking. Lost. She felt nothing. There was no sound. It was as if time itself was suspended.
And then, at last, there was the faintest opalescent glimmering of light somewhere above her. She took a deep, gasping breath. The darkness shifted, a rosy glow pulsed through her eyelids.
When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a hard, narrow little bed in a white room that smelled of disinfectant and was bright with sunshine. To her right a dark shadow was silhouetted against a blaze of light.
She struggled to sit up. ‘Where am I? What happened?’
The figure at the window turned and hurried to her. ‘Annie! Annie! Are you all right?’ Richard sat on the bed beside her, caught her hand in his.
‘I—’ She put a hand to her head. ‘I… don’t know. I have a terrible headache. And my throat feels like fire.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ His voice was gentle. He looked dreadful, the skin of his face grey, dark rings beneath his eyes.
‘Where am I?’ she asked again.
‘The cottage hospital, at Southwold. The doctor on the Shamrock sedated you. There was nothing else he could do. You were absolutely beside yourself; I was terrified you were going to throw yourself overboard. Annie, what in God’s name happened?’
She shook her head, closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Truly I don’t. I was all right, I was! And then…’ She shuddered; the voice echoed again in her head: You do well to fear the treacherous waters. ‘I saw them,’ she said, as calmly as she could manage. ‘The drowned mother and child.’ She gripped his hand fiercely, willing him to believe her. ‘Richard, I saw them. It wasn’t a dream.’
‘There, there,’ he said, stroking her hand. ‘Darling, your imagination was playing tricks on you. You panicked and you thought you saw—’
‘No!’ she interrupted him fiercely, ‘No! I tell you I saw them—’ She broke off as the door opened and a nurse came into the room: a tall, grey-haired woman, needle-thin and with a mouth like a trap. She moved briskly, her starched uniform rustling.
‘So, we’re awake, are we? Off the bed, please, sir.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Would you wait outside for a moment?’ It was a command rather than any kind of question.
Richard opened his mouth, shut it again at her quelling glance and let go of Annie’s hand. ‘I’ll only be outside.’
‘In the waiting room if you please.’ The words were repressive. The nurse took a thermometer from her pocket, shook it sharply and inserted it under Annie’s tongue. Without even glancing at Richard to ensure that he complied with her orders, she took Annie’s wrist in her sharp, cold fingers and lifted the watch that was pinned to her breast.
Richard shrugged, sent Annie the smallest of sympathetic smiles, bent to pat her hand. ‘Don’t worry about Davie. He’s with your mother. I’ll see you in a minute.’
As the door closed behind him the nurse eyed Annie with open disdain. ‘Are you with child?’
Taken aback, Annie, unable to speak around the thermometer, shook her head, flushing.
The woman removed the thermometer and studied it for a moment. ‘In my opinion there can occasionally – rarely – be an excuse for hysterical behaviour,’ she said, coolly. ‘But not often.’
‘I was not hysterical.’ Annie was suddenly shaking with anger. ‘I—’ She stopped.
The woman looked at her unhelpfully, brows raised.
Annie’s mouth tightened. ‘May I leave now, please?’
The woman stood up, checking the thermometer again. ‘Well, there certainly doesn’t seem to be much wrong with you physically. But you’ll have to wait until Doctor can see you, to make sure.’
‘Please!’ Annie was desperate. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I want to go.’
‘You’ll go, young woman, when Doctor says you can.’ The disapproving trap of a mouth folded firmly.
Fuming, Annie subsided.
The doctor, when he came, was at least initially a little more kindly disposed – until in the course of her story she mentioned Charles Draper and the hypnotherapy. Interrupting her he stood up, his face cold. ‘Well, Mrs Ross, if you wil
l meddle with such mumbo jumbo I’m afraid you can’t complain at the consequences. I suggest that it might be sensible in the future both to stay away from the sea – which obviously disturbs you – and such… questionable… non-medical practices.’
‘May I go, please?’ Annie’s voice was tight.
‘You may. You appear to be in good health, physically at any rate. I would recommend that you rest for a couple of days. I’ll give you a prescription for a tonic. It will be at the desk in Reception in five minutes; you may pick it up on the way out. Please be good enough to leave your address. Goodbye, Mrs Ross.’ He inclined his head coolly.
‘Goodbye, Doctor.’ Annie pulled a ferocious face and stuck her tongue out at the door as it closed behind him.
‘Good Lord,’ said Richard, laughing despite himself as he opened the door in time to catch the furious, childish gesture. ‘It looks as if you’re feeling better! What did he say?’
‘That I was an unstable hysteric who was wasting his valuable time and deserved no better than she got. And could we leave our address at the desk so that he can charge us an outrageous sum for giving me the benefit of that opinion.’
Richard raised his eyebrows.
Annie shrugged. ‘Well, that was clearly what he meant anyway. Please, Richard, get me out of here.’
* * *
‘Mother!’ Davie’s small, handsome face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed with crying. He flung himself upon her as she walked through the door. As she caught him in her arms she was alarmed at the way he trembled. ‘Mother, you frightened me!’
‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry.’ She hugged him close, laid her cheek on his thick hair. ‘It’s all right now. See, I’m back. No harm done. It was just a silly panic attack. I’m better now.’
He lifted his head. ‘You were supposed to be cured.’ His fears calmed by the sight of her, there was now just a trace of almost truculent accusation in the words.
She sighed. ‘I did warn you that I might not be.’
‘But why? You were all right. You weren’t frightened or anything! What happened?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. I went to sleep, I remember that. And then when I woke up—’ She stopped. Despite herself, her flesh crawled.
‘Sit down, dear.’ Jane’s voice was crisp. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea. Davie, fetch the biscuits for me, would you? They’re on the sideboard in the parlour.’
Annie dropped into a chair, put her elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘You wouldn’t have an aspirin, would you?’
Her mother looked at her with sympathetic eyes. ‘In the medicine cupboard in the bathroom—’
‘I’ll get them,’ Richard said quickly.
Jane filled the kettle, set it on the gas ring, turned to rest her hands lightly on Annie’s shoulders.
‘I feel such a fool,’ Annie said, after a moment. ‘Such a bloody fool!’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Jane began setting out cups and saucers. ‘You couldn’t possibly have known what was going to happen.’ Ruefully she smiled a little. ‘I must admit it was a bit of a shock to come to meet the boat and to find you being carted down the gangplank on a stretcher.’
Annie put a hand out to her. ‘I’m sorry. Did Davie take it very badly?’
Jane shrugged and avoided her eyes. ‘He was… upset, yes. And frightened. From what I can gather you were—’ She stopped.
‘Totally hysterical. Yes, Richard has told me.’ Annie shook her head. ‘I just can’t make it out.’
Her mother stood for a moment with cup in hand, looking down at her, her dark eyes soft. ‘If you’ll take my advice you won’t try. You’ve done your best. You’ve done everything you can to beat this… phobia, or whatever it is. For goodness’ sake, it’s hardly the end of the world if you can’t get on a boat—’
There was a sound by the door. Annie lifted her head. Davie stood there, the brass-banded biscuit barrel in his hands, two large tears rolling down his cheeks. She held out her hands to him. ‘Davie – please don’t cry. I’m all right, I promise you.’
‘Yes,’ he said, not looking at her. He put the biscuit barrel on the table.
‘Would you like one?’ Jane asked gently.
He shook his head.
Annie sighed. ‘Davie,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m sorry. About Paris.’
His head jerked up. The dark eyes gleamed with tears. The combination of shock, relief and disappointment was too much; he lost his temper. ‘I don’t care! I don’t care! Who wants to go to smelly old Paris anyway? I don’t! I don’t!’ He wrenched away from her reaching hand, ran to the door and flung himself through it, slamming it behind him.
Annie half got to her feet. A firm hand pressed her down again. ‘I’ll go and talk to him,’ Richard said. ‘Here. Take a couple of these.’ He put the pack of aspirin in front of her. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
In the garden Davie was sitting on a low wall, sullenly throwing stones at a small flowerpot that Jane had hung upside down on a raspberry cane. Annie watched as Richard came up behind the boy, put an arm about his shoulders. Davie unsuccessfully tried to shrug it off. Richard said something; the boy shook his head stubbornly, threw another stone. Richard spoke again, at some length. Davie ducked his head and his shoulders shook.
Hot tears came to Annie’s own eyes as she watched.
Suddenly Davie dropped the stones he was holding, turned to Richard, flung his arms about his waist and buried his head in his chest, sobbing as if his heart would break.
Jane looked with sympathy at her daughter. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you had a lie-down?’ she suggested gently. ‘I’ll bring your tea up to you.’
‘Thanks. I think perhaps I will.’ Annie made no attempt to wipe away her own tears. Tiredly she stood, kissed her mother’s cheek and left the room.
* * *
The next day she felt better. The events of the day before had taken on the quality of a bad dream, parts of which flickered now and then in her memory like the jerky, grainy, early films she remembered seeing as a child, and parts of which she could not remember at all. Since there was no question of taking the boat back to London, they decided to catch the evening train. After lunch Jane suggested a walk along the beach.
‘You don’t mind?’ She eyed her daughter curiously as they strolled along the water’s edge. Ahead of them Richard and Davie were kicking a ball about, a frenetic Brandy chasing around their feet, threatening imminently to trip them up.
‘Mind?’
Jane nodded towards the water. ‘The sea. You don’t mind being near it?’
Annie shook her head. ‘No. I can look at it. It’s being on it that I can’t stand. Or rather – having it underneath me, if that makes any sense?’
Jane thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I think I can see that. But – you never used to be like that as a child. We were always going on the Seine, remember? You never showed any signs of fear then.’
‘No.’ Annie’s voice was very quiet. ‘It was… after I found—’ She stopped.
Fleetingly her mother’s hand touched hers. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t think of it. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No,’ Annie said quickly, ‘it’s all right. It was just so strange that the dream was involved in what happened yesterday. And the words that I heard in my head – so clear, so real—’ She stopped suddenly, frowning.
Her mother looked at her enquiringly. ‘What is it?’
Annie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. Something… odd.’ She shook her head again. ‘No, it’s no good. It’s gone.’
Jane slipped an affectionate arm about her waist. ‘Well, good riddance to it, say I. Wherever it’s gone, leave it there. Forget about it.’ They strolled on in silence for a moment. Ahead of them Richard and Davie were taking it in turns to throw the ball for the indefatigable little dog. Davie had been very quiet since his o
utburst the day before. When he had come downstairs this morning there had been signs of more tears in his face, despite his obvious best efforts with soap and flannel. Jane watched him now for a moment, thoughtfully, before saying, suddenly and impulsively, ‘Annie, don’t you think you should—?’ She stopped, flicked up an apologetic glance at her daughter. ‘Sorry. Interfering old bat time again!’
Annie stopped walking and turned to face the sea, her hands in her pockets, her eyes pensive. ‘I know what you were about to say.’
Jane waited.
‘You were going to suggest that I ought to let Davie go to Paris with Richard on his own.’
‘Yes.’
Annie pulled a wry face, shrugged, turned to start strolling on again, her eyes on the sand. ‘I’ve been thinking about it on and off all night,’ she said at last. ‘I know you sometimes think I spoil Davie, but even you can see how desperately disappointed he is this time. I really don’t think I can stand it. With the school project and everything – it isn’t fair of me to prevent him from going just because I can’t go, is it? Richard has already offered to take him on his own. I don’t really see what else I can do, do you?’
Jane shook her head slowly. ‘No. To be absolutely honest, I don’t. To have raised his hopes so high…’ She let the words trail to silence, then suddenly smiled. ‘Look – tell you what – if you’d like, I’ll come up to town and spend a few days with you when they’re gone. We’ll spoil ourselves – breakfast in bed, lunch at Harvey Nichols. A good old weepy film matinee. We could go to the ballet, if you’d like. What do you say?’
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