Liminal

by Bee Lewis

  LIMINAL

  by

  BEE LEWIS

  Esther, a pregnant amputee, and her husband, Dan, are seeking a new life, setting up home – restoring an abandoned railway station called Rosgill, far away in the Scottish Highlands.

  Spanning the course of a week, Bee Lewis’s gothic fantasia follows Esther as her marriage, life and body begin to dramatically change. By day, she is isolated physically and mentally within her marriage and her new environment. By night, she explores a forbidding forest, pursued by a shadowy figure.

  Symbolism, dreams and violence abound in this spellbinding unsnaring of a soul.

  PRAISE FOR THIS BOOK

  ‘Liminal is a novel that swallows the reader instantly. Part literary thriller, part eco-cry, it’s a book of mysteries and nature, and the way the two entwine to create both beauty and havoc. Esther, new to the Scottish Highlands, is struggling with the gaps left by various griefs and betrayals, as well as trying to understand an elusive, mercurial husband. She straddles a dangerously vibrating line between past traumas and vivid dreams. Lush prose, a haunting landscape and slippery menfolk – who prefer to follow their own compulsions – combine to make this a captivating, irresistible read. Bee Lewis has written a splendid début.’ —NUALA O’CONNOR, author of Joyride to Jupiter

  Liminal

  Born in Liverpool to a rambling Irish family, Bee Lewis now lives on the south coast between Brighton and Eastbourne. She has a number of publishing credits including British Short Stories 2015 (Salt), Flash Fiction Magazine, and Rattle Tales. In 2016, Bee was shortlisted for the Brighton Prize, winning the Sussex Prize category, and graduated with an MA in Creative Writing from MMU. Liminal is her debut novel and she is busy working on the next one which is set in Sussex.

  For Sophie 1970–2012

  And for Estelle, Fin, Davis, and Adele who picked me up and put me back together again.

  Each thing changes, but nothing ever dies. The spirit wanders, roaming here and there, and takes possession of a creature’s limbs, whatever body it desires, passing from savage animals to human beings, from human beings to beasts, but spirits never are destroyed. Just as pliant wax shaped in a new form does not stay the same as what it was before or keep its shape, and yet in essence does remain the same.

  Ovid – Metamorphoses

  1

  SATURDAY

  Winter had come late leaving harsh scars across the countryside and, even now at the closing of March, there was no sign of it abating. The days were short and the cold soaked into the soil, along with the icy rains, leaving the frost-shocked earth battered and exposed. The bone-numbing wind tried to breathe new life into the ancient landscape, but Spring was not yet ready to be roused and instead pulled a cloak of frost around her.

  Beneath the wintry quicksilver water of the loch, the mottled pike lurked, its torpedo body unchanged by the centuries, impervious to the cold. Patient as the ages, a pitiless water-wolf who had seen many winters and hunted for prey with a singular compulsion, even choosing its own offspring as targets.

  The mountain hare looked with hope towards the sky. Her white winter coat marked her out against the bleak mountainside and she waited for stars to fall, eddying to the ground, covering the earth with their crystalline flakes. Driven by instinct to the higher ground, she shrank back into the brutal boulders as the golden eagle wheeled overhead. Food was scarce for all creatures and her white coat marked her out.

  Winter endured. The mistle thrushes bickered with the silver birches who had long played host to clumps of shining, green mistletoe. Berries dropped to the forest floor in the tussle and the birds scattered, leaving the spoils for the army of grouse below.

  High up on the mountainside, an auditorium of oaks rustled in muted shusherings to each other. From their vantage point across the glen, they watched as a lone vehicle snaked around the hillsides, hugging the curves in the road, heading towards Rosgill. The water in the burn babbled to the blades of grass on the bank in childish excitement. The grass in turn, stiffened against the cold, lifted lazy tendrils in half-hearted applause and the old station building sat low on its haunches, as it had for decades, waiting.

  The Scots Pines, thrust up from the frozen ground, tilted closer to listen to the whisperings of the old building. The pleated landscape eavesdropped and, in the purple light between day and darkness, a young stag paused, sniffing the air as he sensed the change.

  She was coming.

  *

  The lights, buildings, shops and houses of Invergill gave way to the empty road ahead. The further they drove from the town, the more they were aware of being alone. Esther and Dan had been travelling since early morning and for most of the day before. Fatigue oozed from their skin and clothes. As usual, Dan insisted on doing all of the driving and so, having nothing else to concentrate on, Esther’s focus shifted to finding things that irritated her. It was quite a list. The air conditioning in their silver Toyota was too cold. The door pocket jabbed into her left leg, causing her to wriggle and twist throughout the journey. Her corduroy skirt rode up, leaving the skin on the backs of her thighs to rub against the grain of the plush fabric as she fidgeted.

  She should have listened to Dan when he’d suggested she wear jeans, but it had felt like such a small and inconsequential act of rebellion in the face of other, larger decisions she could do nothing about. She wondered again whether they were just running away from the problems they’d left behind in Bristol. The city was her touchstone, its roads were rooted in her veins, its houses in her cells. Yet she’d agreed to leave her sanctuary, trading the strident city streets for the cool mountain air and yawning expanse. She’d heard her rational self trotting out the reasons why: new life, fresh start, fantastic opportunity, support for Dan. But she couldn’t ignore the small voice deep inside her that invaded her dreams and called her out for the coward she was.

  The vanity mirror on the sun visor taunted her. She flipped it back up, not wanting to see how the weak light accentuated the shadows under her eyes, or how her normally sleek bob kinked out at the ends. She should have had her hair cut before leaving Bristol; it would be all blue rinses and perms in the salons up here.

  The pressure from the stump collar added to her discomfort and, for a moment, she considered removing Peggy, the childish name she’d given to her prosthetic leg. Deciding there couldn’t be much further to go, she tried to divert her thoughts, but the combination of tiredness and discomfort channelled into irritation at petty things she’d usually ignore. The radio kept de-tuning. Dan was driving too fast, braking too late, the road was too bumpy. Finally, she jabbed at the off button.

  ‘Hey! I was listening to that.’ Dan kept his focus on the road but didn’t reach to switch the radio back on again.

  ‘We’ve been listening to it all day. I just want a bit of silence.’

  ‘You don’t want to know the football scores? Or whether they’ve found that girl that went missing?’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘What about whether they’ve captured that escaped prisoner, then?’ He grinned.

  ‘You mean the escaped prisoner that absconded about six hundred miles from here and is probably half-way to Spain by now?’

  ‘But he could come and murder us in our beds!’ He emphasised the word murder, in the style of low-budget Scottish crime dramas.

  In spite of her discomfort, she smiled at his attempt at an accent. ‘You’ll need to be careful round here. People won’t like you taking the piss like that. How long till we get there?’

  ‘Twenty minutes.’

  She settled back into her seat and tried to take in the expanding countryside around her, conscious that every tur
n of the wheels took her further away from their old life. These mountains, these glens, her home now, were so very different to their waterside apartment in Bristol. In the beginning, she hadn’t liked the apartment much either, but after she’d softened some of the hard, architectural lines with plants, art, and cushions, and injected some colour into the vacant space, she felt as though it had taken on some of her personality, not just Dan’s. She glanced at Dan; softening him wasn’t so easy.

  A lump of unhappiness nestled in her windpipe, and she tried to swallow it down as it threatened to either choke her or to spew out her true feelings. They’d been away from the city for less than 48 hours, but she could still feel its pavements solid beneath her, reminding her where and who she was. She’d have no such comfort here, the hidden obstacles lying in wait to snare her: pitted ground, animal dens, roots, branches. The physical environment brought fresh dangers, but it was the emotional landscape that troubled her more.

  Leafing through the magazine she’d bought at the last fuel stop, she skim-read an article called ‘Surviving Stress – Techniques to Put You Back in Charge.’ It listed the top five causes of stress: death, illness, job loss, moving house, and divorce. Mentally ticking them off as she went, she skirted around the fifth – divorce. In one way or another, their lives had been irreversibly changed in the last twelve months. There was nothing new that a magazine article could tell her.

  She she glanced at Dan, trying to assess how he might be feeling. She’d always believed herself to be more mutable than him, but she allowed herself to admit that even she was feeling overwhelmed. Perhaps she should take her cues from him. For someone who didn’t adapt well to change, it had been his idea to uproot them, and he showed no outward signs that he was struggling. Now here they were, just minutes from their new home, and he seemed more relaxed than she did. More relaxed than he’d been for months. Even so, she was on her guard for the micro-expressions that would help her gauge how to respond, how to diffuse any tension.

  The snow-topped mountains seemed to form a protective cloak around them as the car beetled along the black ribbon of road bisecting the mountainside – an attempt to tame the landscape with a feat of engineering. Esther knew that if she asked, Dan would tell her how the road was constructed. Not just what it was made from, but the techniques used to cut into the slopes, how the machinery was choreographed into place, and how much the endeavour would have cost in relative terms. She decided not to mention it, feeling a spark of satisfaction from denying him such a small pleasure.

  His hands were at their customary ten-to-two position on the steering wheel, exactly as his driving instructor had taught him. She watched him as he drove, noticing a scratch on his left wrist. It looked fresh, probably a result of putting the boxes into the car. She’d bought him a watch once, in the early days of their relationship, but he’d only worn it a few times. As she’d slowly discovered more about him, she realised how inappropriate her gift had been – he was a walking atomic clock, regimented to the second. Everything about him was logical, precise, measured. He was a welcome antidote to the chaos of her childhood and she loved that she could count on him. Solid, consistent, dependable Daniel. Right up until the day she couldn’t.

  A mustard-sting of tears peppered the back of her nose. Her eyes dropped to his left hand as it rested on the wheel, his wedding ring glinting at her, accusing. She looked down at her own undecorated left hand, then resumed staring out of the window.

  He slowed the car and peered into the hedgerow. ‘Somewhere along here is the turnoff for Rosgill. Ah, there it is.’ He pointed to a small white sign, with faded black lettering, partially obscured by the hedge. He indicated, though they hadn’t passed another vehicle for several miles, then turned the car down a narrow, unmade road. The car lurched and juddered as they drove down the pitted lane. She doubted whether she’d ever be able to walk up to the road on her own given how rough the terrain was, but at the same time, tendrils of excitement crept along her veins. She was about to see their new home for the first time.

  ‘You weren’t kidding when you said it was remote. Will anyone even be able to find us here?’

  ‘That’s kind of what I had in mind. Just you, me, and the great Scottish wilderness.’ He reached across to put his hand on her knee, but at the last minute, seemed to change his mind and patted her arm instead.

  ‘And Bump.’ Esther stroked her stomach. ‘And the paying guests who are making all of this possible.’

  He smiled across at her and smoothed his hand over her flat stomach. ‘And Bump,’ he said, softly. ‘Though Bump’s a misnomer just now. He’s no bigger than a grape.’

  As they pulled up at Rosgill Halt, the wind blew across the glen to greet them. Whether it was in welcome or in warning, she couldn’t tell, but Esther shivered as she got out of the car and pulled her cardigan close around her, hands crossed in unconscious protection over her stomach. The pink sandstone building, rooted into the landscape, stared back.

  Years of neglect scarred the station façade. Paint blistered like psoriasis from every wooden surface; sage green for the doors and white for the canopy and window-frames. One of the windows to the old ticket office had cracked. She remembered Dan telling her that many of the original signs and features had been stolen some years back, the souvenir hunters coming like grave-robbers in the night to make a profit at the auctions, selling items to collectors and interior designers. All colour had bled out of the signage that remained and she wondered if the souvenir hunters had stolen that too, pocketing the pigments and tints like stardust to be sprinkled in new places – places with promise, encouraging people to congregate and commune. Buddleia and bindweed invaded the disused track-bed, while more vines spilled in through one of the windows to the side. There were more buildings on the opposite platform, a mirror image of where she stood. The symmetry was pleasing even though it could have been a scene straight out of a gothic horror movie.

  ‘Do you want your stick out of the boot?’

  ‘No, thanks. The platform seems level enough. I just need to get the circulation going again.’ Esther flexed her knee joint, glad to have the space to stretch.

  Dan swung the first of the bags out of the car. ‘What do you think, then? Let’s see inside, shall we?’ He didn’t wait for the answer to either question before striding off to open the huge door into the old ticket hall.

  She followed him, curious to see the inside of their new home.

  ‘Isn’t it great?’

  She thought his enthusiasm was misplaced. ‘Dan, it’s huge . . . even just getting it fit to live in . . .’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘Do you think we’re up to this?’

  He turned to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. The buildings are sound. Once the new kitchen and bathrooms are in, most of the work is cosmetic. By the time the baby arrives, it’ll be our little palace.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Esther said, her voice small against the sprawl of the buildings before her.

  He seemed to sense her hesitation. ‘Look, it’s been a long journey and it’s a lot to take in, I get it.’

  She smiled. ‘Give me a minute to get my bearings. It’s very different seeing it now I’m here. The video you took didn’t really give me the sense of size.’

  ‘You should have come up with me. I did tell you to.’

  She bit her tongue. ‘Let’s not, eh? I didn’t know you were coming up here until two days before. You know how busy my work schedule is.’ Was.

  Dan patted her shoulder. She resisted the urge to shrug his hand away; she wasn’t a fretful child.

  ‘You’ll love it here. You will. Smell how clean the air is and imagine what it will be like to raise our children here.’

  ‘Children? Let’s see how we get on with this one.’ Esther patted her stomach, suppressing other responses that came to mind. No more popping out for coffee with friends, no more nipping to the new deli on t
he corner, or the artisan bakery you love so much. No mobile phone signal either, wait until you cotton on to that fact.

  Dan went to fetch more bags from the car. They were finally here. How had he done that? How had he persuaded her? She’d tried to point out the things he’d miss when he started talk of moving away, but his enthusiasm turned her words into dandelion seeds and she watched them float away on the breeze. Maybe he was right and a new start was what they needed, she just wished it didn’t feel so final. But there was another reason that tugged at the edge of her conscience. Tracking down her father would be so much more difficult without the resources available to her in Bristol, and keeping it from Dan would be impossible. A little voice niggled away at her. Why should she have to keep it a secret from Dan? Hadn’t they had enough of secrets?

  Not wanting to sour their arrival, she changed tack, opening her arms wide to take in the expanse of the land and buildings.

  ‘We really own all this? There’s so much space. I mean, it’s a proper station, not a halt.’

  He put the bags down. ‘Yeah. I know. Over there is the station master’s house. Then there’s the ticket hall, waiting room, station master’s office and storeroom.’ He pointed to each area as he spoke. ‘On the opposite side, the buildings are pretty much the same but without the cottage. We’ll turn that waiting room and store room into our bedroom and a nursery. We’ll get some privacy and can keep the guests over this side so they won’t be disturbed by a crying baby.’

  You mean the baby won’t be disturbed by inconsiderate guests? Her question was left unspoken.

  He pointed to the neat pile of wooden planks and beams, protected from the worst of the weather by a green tarpaulin, flanked by a large skip. ‘Some of the building supplies have arrived.’ He paused, a rare smile breaking cover. ‘I have a surprise for you.’ He took her hand in his. ‘Come here.’