Liminal

by Bee Lewis

  Esther looked at Dan out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he ever thought about her like that.

  ‘Just as the world was beginning to slow down around us and we started kissing, Cara got a terrible stomach cramp. She sat bolt upright, and looked at me, horrified. Then she kind of crawled away from me and into the corner of the hayloft, where she let out the most enormous fart. The girl was mortified and I, being green and high, just laughed. Then I got a cramp too. That straightened me up quick enough, just in time to hear Cara fart again, only this time it wasn’t just a fart.’

  Dan’s mouth was twitching with amusement. Esther relaxed. She’d felt sure he’d object or show some sign of disgust at all this talk of bodily functions.

  ‘There was a commotion down below, Cara’s father was out looking for her. She was crouching in the corner, naked, and the stench was eye-watering. Still the cramps were coming and I knew it was only a matter of time before I succumbed too. I tried to keep as still as I could but a huge cramp wracked through me gut and I let out the mother of all farts.

  Cara whispered “Holy Jaysus, me Da’ll kill us.” But there was nothing I could do.’

  They giggled at the scene Mike had painted. Dan refilled Mike’s glass, before tipping the last of the bottle into his own.

  ‘Sure enough, he heard us alright and climbed the ladder. The last thing I remember was seeing the barrel of his gun pointed right at me little fella, if you get me, and beautiful, beautiful Cara crouching naked in the corner covered in her own shite. I was out of there; I jumped down, it must have been a good fifteen feet, and I just ran. I never did go back for me wages, but I do think of Cara from time to time.’

  Mike took a huge gulp of wine and Dan snorted, unable to suppress his laughter any longer. Caught in a spiral, when one stopped laughing the other started again, until both were convulsed.

  Esther watched the two men, a spike of jealousy shooting through her. Dan never laughed like that with her.

  Eventually, they both calmed sufficiently for Mike to push his plate away and pat his stomach.

  ‘Esther, darling, that was grand. I’ll be back tomorrow, about the same time, now I know what a good cook you are.’

  Dan laughed. ‘Didn’t I tell you how lucky I am?’

  She felt herself blushing, unused to the compliments, and stood to clear the plates.

  ‘Here, let me help you. Leave the clearing to me. It’s the least I can do.’ Mike stood also.

  ‘I’ll go and set the burner.’ Dan carried his drink through to the sitting room, leaving Esther and Mike alone in the kitchen.

  ‘You wash, I’ll dry.’ Mike pulled the tea towel from the back of the kitchen chair.

  Esther felt like she ought to resent the easy way with which he had settled in, had taken command. She plunged her hands into the hot water. It was hotter than she expected, but she didn’t want to make a fuss in case he thought her feeble.

  ‘So then, do you think you’ll like it here?’ Mike rubbed at a plate, soapy water dripping onto the floor.

  Torn between being truthful and making the best of things, Esther hesitated a fraction too long, her hands submerged in the water as she spoke. He pounced on the silence.

  ‘I see. That bad. Why did you come all the way up here? I mean, you didn’t even see the place first – am I right?’ His questioning was gentle, his tone soothing, like he was coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding.

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  He laughed. ‘It always is.’

  He handed her the crockery in a haphazard manner, with no thought to a logical order. Glasses followed saucepans. Cutlery followed plates. Dan would always wash the cleanest items first, to get the best use of the water and prevent the glasses from smearing. She was about to say as much, then stopped herself. It felt good to break the rules, just once.

  Faint strains of music came from the sitting room. It sounded old-fashioned and it took a moment for her to recognise it. ‘Moonlight Serenade’ by the Glen Miller orchestra. Mike hummed the tune, softly, and without realising it, they both started to sway gently in time to the music as they stood at the sink. The tune ended and the programme host took over.

  Mike was the first to break the silence. ‘I’ll just go and see if Himself wants some coffee.’

  Esther poured the water into from the bowl into the sink and ran some more, adding a glug of washing liquid to the mix. Those glasses need another wash. They’ll never get past Dan.

  Mike busied himself with the coffee as Esther washed the glasses again, running them under the hot tap to clean off the suds.

  ‘We can’t be having smeary glasses now, can we? The very fabric of the universe would collapse.’ He flicked the tea towel at her and she giggled.

  Mimicking a BBC announcer, she held one of the glasses to the light. ‘I am an only child, therefore I was also the family dishwasher and I have standards to uphold.’ She blew an imaginary mote of dust away and polished the stem of the glass, then sniffed as though it was to be inspected by the Queen.

  He nudged her sideways with his body, gently enough so that she didn’t overbalance. ‘An only child, eh?’

  ‘I always wanted brothers and sisters. I’m hoping for a big family.’ Esther glanced down, at her stomach. ‘When you’re part of a big family, there are other people to rely on. You’re never alone. There were twins my age a few doors away from where we lived and we’d often play together. I was very jealous of them each having a ready-made best friend. The whole family would bundle into the car on Sundays and go out for the day. Sometimes they’d take me along too. Before the accident . . . ’ Her voice trailed off and she realised she was dangerously close to crying. She shook her head and continued, ‘Then after, I’d watch them from the bedroom window, but they never looked up at me.’

  She smiled brightly at Mike, not wanting him to see the cracks in her veneer. But she knew he’d noticed; had glimpsed how she’d been let down by the people who should have cared more about her.

  ‘I come from a big family.’ He opened his arms out to emphasise his point, then lowered his voice to a whisper, as though he was speaking to a co-conspirator. ‘We never did anything together either, except go to Mass.’

  Esther laughed. She couldn’t tell whether he was just trying to make her feel better or whether it was true.

  ‘You’d have hated it,’ he said, nodding at her. ‘The house was always noisy and messy – clean, mind you; Mammy waged a one-woman war on germs and dirt. It’s a wonder I’ve any skin left on my neck after all the scrubbing she did. I still hate the smell of Imperial Leather.’

  ‘I’m not a fan either, it reminds me of my granny’s bathroom.’ Such a little thing to have in common, silly really, but Esther felt the first fluttering of a new friendship when he rewarded her with a smile that started with his mouth and ended with his eyes.

  ‘I’ve eight brothers and sisters. I’m in the middle, so there are four older and three younger than me. It was kinda hard to make yourself heard in our house, always a door slamming somewhere, or herds of children and various friends tramping up and down the stairs. I’ve come to appreciate the solitude of this place.’ He held her gaze for a second too long and she began to fidget.

  ‘Eight children. That’s a lot. How did she keep track of you all?’

  ‘In truth, she didn’t – but don’t let her hear anyone say that. We were all a little wild and I’m sure she was sick to the back teeth of the Guards turning up at the house to bring one of us back – usually me.’

  Esther considered what he’d said. Her own mother knew the sound of the police at the door too well. Something else they had in common, but the reasons couldn’t have been more different.

  She put the last of the glasses on the draining board and got a fresh tea towel out of the drawer, handing it to Mike.

  ‘Oh-ho! So, you think I can meet
your impossible standards?’

  ‘You have to start somewhere.’ She grinned back at him, enjoying the banter. Perhaps this was what having a brother felt like. And yet, she couldn’t work out why, but her shoulders were tense and her spine rigid.

  ‘Mike? I know you said you’re probably our nearest neighbour, but are you sure there’s no one closer? There’s a black cat hanging around and it looks well-cared for. I was just wondering who it belongs to?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Dunno. Maybe it’s come from the estate. They keep them up in the stables, fearsome ratters. But you know, cats don’t really ever belong to anyone.’

  ‘Estate?’

  ‘Pretty much all the land around here belongs to the Strathgill Estate. It’s the kind of place that used to have a laird, but is now in private hands.’

  ‘Ugh. So, pheasant shoots and deer-stalking for wealthy Americans and bankers? That sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t be so hard on them. They do much more too. They’ve a great conservation record and are the largest employer around here. As well as being my landlord.’ He winked.

  ‘Oh, I assumed you owned the cottage?’

  ‘Nope. Moved in about 6 months ago.’ Mike set the coffee pot onto the tray. ‘Come on, coffee’s done.’

  Esther noticed how he’d arranged the coffee cups, handles all facing the same way and the spoons at the same angle, and shivered.

  The three of them sat around the fire, nursing their drinks. A warm fug settled over them and Esther looked at her husband. Dan seemed relaxed, happy, all the tension in his body had gone. Not for the first time, she thought Mike was a good influence on him. She’d just have to keep her opinions to herself, learn to choke back the resentment. A wall of tiredness rushed up on her and she reluctantly broke the silence.

  ‘I’m sorry, I need my bed. Don’t mind me though, stay and finish your wine, Mike. Hell, stay on the sofa if you want to. It’s too late to be stumbling around in the dark.’ Esther kissed the top of Dan’s head.

  ‘Sure, stay – there’s plenty of room and that sofa is far comfier than it looks. I can find you a pillow and some blankets.’ Dan was insistent.

  ‘Okay, then. I’ll finish my wine and decide if I am too drunk to make it back.’

  ‘Good. That’s settled, then.’ Esther put her hand on Mike’s shoulder as she passed him. An image of Dan and Mike, entwined on the forest floor, rushed at her. Mike was running his hand up and down the length of Dan’s back, leaving trails of colour: orange, ochre, rust, on his naked body. Mike’s mouth sought out Dan’s who willingly submitted to him. She jerked her hand off Mike’s shoulder.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Static shock,’ said Mike and as he looked at her, she felt the heat of her heart, burning her from within.

  She took the stairs carefully, holding onto the banister as though it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, wondering if Mike had felt it too and whether she’d be able to sleep, knowing he’d be sleeping downstairs.

  *

  The stream gurgled to the stone bed and the long grasses swished and murmured, pulsing the developments through the glen into the dense forest. The moon silvered the clouds and the owls sat in judgement on the proceedings at the station below. The earth, warming through in readiness for spring, stirred and settled, making the start of new hollows and forms. Higher up, a stag pawed the ground, beating out an ancient imprint with its hooves. The rhythm of the glen, the rhythm of new life, in the language of the old ones.

  4

  TUESDAY

  This night was no different. The forest called to Esther and she was unable to resist, terrified though she was of what might be lurking there. She woke in the same place, naked and with no sign of Dan or anything familiar. None of it made any sense to her, but there was no time to lose. She knew what was coming, that she was being hunted and that he’d be here soon.

  With only her instincts to guide her, she made her way through the dense trees, her steps heavy and hesitant, placing her feet carefully, conscious that her leg was slowing her down. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she stopped and leaned against a nearby tree, looking up at the interlocking branches overhead.

  The moon filtered through the lacy canopy, dappling the forest floor. The forest seemed to beckon her, to coax her in. All around her, the stink of rotting vegetation rose up to meet the mountain air, in a counterpoint of decay and putrefaction. Black shadows lingered between the sentinel oaks standing guard, waiting for him to appear.

  She forced herself to slow her breathing, replacing her shallow pant for deep lungfuls of the mountain air. She wondered how close she could get to him. Whether she’d be able to make out his features. Who was he? And why was he pursuing her?

  Nearby, on a crop of boulders, a puddle of white caught her eye. She made her way over to the rocks, taking care all the while to listen for the hunter. The white object that had drawn her eye was a garment of some kind. She picked it up and was astonished to see that it was a gown so finely woven that it could have been made of cobwebs. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Was it for her? Who had left it there? Glad of something to cover her nakedness, she gathered up the fabric, light as snow, and let it cascade over her head and shoulders. The gown skimmed her body, spilling to the floor like a waterfall. The white fur trim on the collar tickled her neck and as she put her hand to her throat, her fingers brushed against a small, oval gemstone brooch. She looked down at the amber stone and the colour reminded her of Mike’s eyes.

  At the same moment, the familiar sound of a twig snapping pulled the thread of her thoughts from her. She stepped behind a tree, out of the moonlight, and observed the hunter as he made his way to the rocks where she’d picked up the garment. He put his hand down on the rock, as though he was making sure that the gown wasn’t there. Moonlight peppered the place where he stood and he turned to face her direction. Milk-white spirals of mist wreathed around him as he scanned the shadows.

  Esther held her breath, but kept her eyes on the hunter, ready to flee if he made one move towards her. As he turned, the moonlight lit his face and she finally understood why she’d not been able to make out his features. A mask covered his eyes and nose, giving him the appearance of an animal, but it was too dark to make out the features clearly. Perhaps a fox, or a cat. Maybe a wolf.

  She stared at him for several minutes, unsure whether he could see her. Her fingers rested on the tree, tracing the deep, vertical welts of the gnarled bark. The hunter moved forwards, and she stepped back, further into the shadows, so as not to give her hiding position away. The dress snagged on a low holly bush and as she reached down, she felt a prickle as the pad of her right forefinger dragged across the spiny holly leaf. She looked at the wound, a drop of blood pooling at the tip, and raised it to her lips. The earth slowed and she closed her eyes. The blood tasted of musky leaves, of iron, of urgent velvet kisses. The image of Dan and Mike, entwined on the forest floor, pushed into her mind, assaulting her senses. Limbs locked in urgency, the smell of wood-smoke and leather hanging in the air.

  A sound nearby broke the illusion and she snapped her head towards the direction it had come from, expecting to see the hunter bearing down.

  *

  ‘Esther, sweetheart. There’s a cup of tea here for you.’ Dan set the mug down beside the bed. ‘It’s nearly half past ten.’

  She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘I was dreaming about the forest again. I was wearing a beautiful white dress.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’ She paused, trying to collect her thoughts. ‘I’m not making sense, am I?’ She laughed.

  ‘Have you bitten your lip? That looks like blood.’ He ran his thumb across her lower lip, to wipe away the smudge. ‘I don’t go in for all of this dream interpretation stuff, but
I’d say the forest is a manifestation of you being uprooted.’ He looked pleased with himself.

  ‘Really?’ She raised herself onto one elbow.

  He snorted. ‘No, of course not! You dreamed about the forest because that’s where we live now. It’s on your mind. That’s all. Honestly, I do wonder about what goes on in your head sometimes.’

  Esther sank bank onto the pillows. ‘Is Mike still here?’

  ‘No, he left early this morning. It was very late when I came up to bed, but I gave him a pillow and some blankets and made sure the wood burner was well stocked.’

  ‘Will he have got home alright, d’you think?’ She kept her tone light, casual.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that one. He’s well used to finding his way around, fog or no fog. You heard his stories for yourself.’

  She got out of bed and opened the curtains. The familiar wall of white greeted her and she sighed. ‘I’m losing track of days. What day is it?’

  ‘Tuesday. This bloody fog has been down since Sunday – another day we won’t see the builders. Mind you, I guess the bridge is still out, anyway.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go on like this. Let’s crack on with the jobs we can do around the place. It might save us some money too, if we do some of the prep ourselves.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Sure. We’ll be a bit hampered for tools, but Mikey might be able to sort something out.’

  ‘Mike?’

  ‘Yes. Remember he’s looking for odd jobs to do? I spoke to him about it last night. There’s plenty he can make a start on and he has a whole barn full of tools.’