by Bee Lewis
Esther smiled back, all the time willing him to recognise that there were three of them standing in front of the mirror, and feeling a spike of sadness when he didn’t mention the baby.
The boxes seemed to be multiplying. As fast as they unpacked one, another seemed to appear. Most of their belongings had gone into storage while the refurbishments were taking place, but they’d agreed that having a few non-essential things around them would help them to settle in. For both of them, that meant books. They’d tried to whittle them down to the bare minimum, aware that they’d simply have to repack and move anything they brought with them, but Esther found it so hard to choose.
There were shelves already built into the alcoves either side of the wood burner. Dan had wanted to claim one side for his books, allocating the other side to Esther. In turn, she wanted to mix the books together. They couldn’t even agree on how to set out their possessions. Esther capitulated without putting up much resistance. Some battles just weren’t worth the victory. Besides, it meant she could organise her shelves how she wanted to. By genre, alphabetical by author, alphabetical by title, by the colour of their spines. She was completely free. In the end, she decided to group her books by genre because it meant she’d be able to find a suitable book according to her mood.
As she put the books on the shelves, she thought about how each reminded her of a period in her life. Some were from her time at university. Most had been sent to storage – being an English Literature student meant she’d collected a huge number of titles. But she kept her favourites close: The Inheritors, Eliot’s poems; Shakespeare’s sonnets.
She unpacked a hardbacked translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, covered in red linen that had been glued so tightly to the backing board that the edges were beginning to fray. She’d struggled with the work to begin with, but over time had fallen for the rich tapestry of characters and events. All human life was within these pages as he wove tales of sex, death, love, revenge and war around the gods and mortals.
She read the first line from the prologue, out loud: “I intend to speak of forms changed into new entities. You, gods, since you are the ones who alter these, and all other things, inspire my attempt, and spin out a continuous thread of words, from the world’s first origins to my own time.”
At once, she was taken back to sun-dappled days spent reading aloud to her study group about how Daphne turned into an olive tree to escape Apollo’s attention; of Ceyx and Alcyone who both turned into kingfishers so that they could spend eternity together after Ceyx was killed. These myths had filled the gap left behind when fairy tales no longer satisfied her. If she could only persuade Dan to read fiction, she was sure he’d enjoy Ovid. The scientist in him would recognise the order resulting from the chaos at the beginning of time and the separation of the elements when the universe began its transformation. The adherent in him would recognise the parallels with the Bible, though he’d struggle with the idea that the gods may be vengeful. Perhaps she could read it aloud to him, or they could take turns as they prepared the evening meal. They could even extend the readings beyond the two of them and make it a feature of the retreats, selecting texts themed to inspire each group as they prepared dinner in the evening. Pleased with herself, she set the book to one side, promising herself that she would start that very evening.
She unpicked the last of the parcel tape, flattening the box and putting it behind the sofa out of the way. As she turned to go into the kitchen to wash her hands, the ugly mirror caught her eye. She stood in front of it, trying to fathom why Dan liked it so much. Everything about it was crude: from the carving, to the slapdash way the staining had been applied. She’d never understand him and the thought made her smile. There was always something new to learn.
She studied her reflection. Dark shadows settled under her eyes and haunted her cheeks. The mirror made it worse than it was, she was sure of it. Major Tom jumped up onto the windowsill, making her look away from the mirror. She turned her attention once more to her reflection. Ovid slipped from her hand onto the floor, pages splayed as she cried out. For a split second, instead of seeing her face, she saw a hare staring back at her.
Later that night, Esther lay in bed, listening to Dan brushing his teeth in the bathroom. They’d come here for a fresh start, to leave behind the mistakes of the past, but it was having the opposite effect. The silence and isolation were forcing her to think about things that should have remained buried. Sophie was here with her at every turn. Hardly a day went by when Esther didn’t feel a fresh wave of loss. And it was all so complicated, coming on top of losing the baby and finding out about Dan’s lies. She wore each sadness like a necklace that choked her, biting into her skin. It was hard to untangle one sadness from another, to smooth it out, to lay it flat and bare.
And now Dan was forcing her hand by making her talk about her parents. She stopped herself in mid-thought. She was being unfair – after all, hadn’t she brought things to a head by saying she wanted to find Patrick? She knew Dan had given in too easily. This was his way of needling her, making his point.
Esther was resolute though. She’d given it too much thought over the past few months to let go now. Even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to wait until after the baby was born to start her search in earnest, she didn’t want to rush headlong into it either, not without considering all of the possible outcomes. She wanted to test out her own feelings first, to try them on, parade about, in much the way she might do if she was buying a new coat. Searching for her father would throw up a number of hurdles along the way, not least in respect of the loyalty she felt to Anthea. But that was assuming she decided to go ahead. Her head told her she should leave things be, there was no sense scouring through the past. If Patrick had wanted to contact her, he’d had plenty of opportunity.
But in truth, in the small, dark hours of the night, she allowed herself to admit that her father was always there, just under the surface, waiting for her to call him home.
*
The oaks and birches understood loss. They mourned each passing season, weeping bronze and gold tears until they could weep no more, and then the spruce took up the lamentation, the song of sadness chiming through needles dense with frost and ice.
Esther’s thoughts floated out into the night, catching on roots and branches, snared by the spruce, adding a new harmony to their crystal song. The last remaining hazel trees woke from their meditation and listened in communion.
The forest fell silent, waiting for the hazels to impart their wisdom, and when they finally spoke, the forest leaned in to listen.
5
WEDNESDAY
From time to time, the forest floor was flecked with silvered moonlight and she began to recognise the pattern of the trees. Each night, the forest brought her back to the same place. She knew that in a few moments she’d hear the twig snap heralding the hunter’s presence, and for the first time, she felt a new emotion stirring. Her suspicion, deeply-rooted, was now tinted by a reluctant curiosity. She wanted to know who he was, why she kept coming back to this place. Each night, she felt she was getting closer to the answer.
The stars pulsed through the trees, sending a Morse code from the universe. A thousand pairs of eyes watched her from the shadows and branches, from under bushes and rocks, waiting to see what she’d do next. Tonight, the earth would reveal more to her than before and she shivered, anticipating the subtle change as a new layer began to show itself. She was stronger, suppler, more agile. She moved faster through the forest, but was completely unprepared for the magnitude of the change that she was presented with on this night. She stared at her legs, both of them, her right leg the mirror image of her left. She ran her hands over her knee, calf, shin, ankle. Her hands flexed and curved around the muscles, bone, skin. In answer, her leg welcomed her hands, responding with the slightest shiver, the new skin unused to being worn and touched, but seeking more.
She’d forgotten wh
at it felt like to have two symmetrical legs, and for a fleeting moment thought about Peg, lying somewhere, abandoned. But she couldn’t deny the lick of pleasure from feeling the earth beneath both feet; couldn’t refute how good it felt to have the solid ground beneath her, pushing her forwards. There was a balance, a harmony within her, that she didn’t know she’d missed. Her legs were long and lean, her thighs powerful and graceful. Her moon-rounded belly hinted at more to come. Her body was a tuning fork, ready to pick up vibrations from the ground underfoot.
She coursed through the trees, ducking to avoid the low-hanging branches, embedding the memory in her muscles. The white gown was waiting for her on the mossy boulders. The darkness between the trees shrouded her and scent from the shadows weaved through her dark hair. The moon, almost at its fullest point, flaunted its ample promise as she shrugged the gown over her head and shoulders. The garment whispered over her skin, sending trails of pleasure through her. Taking care to stay out of the moonlight and keeping the shadows close, she twirled around, feeling the freedom that came from unfettered movement.
There was no sign of the hunter. Was she disappointed? She still didn’t know anything about him, or what he represented. Why was he pursuing her? She was no closer to knowing. Each night he was gaining ground, but she was running further. What would happen when he caught her? She was sure he would. Lost in her thoughts, she plucked at the delicate fabric of the gown. Glancing down, the amber brooch winked back at her and she thought about that first night at Rosgill when the lights went out and she’d seen herself reflected in Mike’s eyes. He’d unsettled her then, as he had every time she’d seen him since. Or was it this place? She’d never been so far from other people before, so far away from everything that was familiar to her. Nothing here was easy.
How had the brooch turned up in her jewellery box? She had so many questions and she was no nearer any answers. Maybe she was losing her mind. That’s what Dan would say. That she was overtired, overwrought – hormonal. That she was being silly, or these things never happened. He’d be wrong. She knew it was something deeper inside her, something she’d never be able to explain to him. If she had to put it in terms he’d understand, she’d say the shift was spiritual; that the connection she was starting to feel with the natural world was similar to his faith in God.
Anticipating the sound of the twig snapping, she turned to face the direction he would appear from. She watched him materialise, the air around him flexing and curving as he pushed through. For a second, their eyes met and every muscle in her body tensed, every hair bristled.
No longer lulled by the sensual forest, instinct took over and Esther fled. With two legs, her stride was confident, purposeful. It was as though she knew every rock, every tree root and, as she ran, she was able to use them as a springboard to jump from, breaking her tracks. Her ears filled with the sounds of the night. Bark cracked and settled as the cool night wound round each tree. Ferns, curled up for the night, released their scent as she brushed past. Her footprints left the barest indentations on the mossy rocks and river bank. Her feet sighed over the forest floor, more gentle than the night breeze that stirred up eddies of leaves and twigs. She was able to side-step and back track easily, her new leg affording her an agility that her prosthetic denied. The ground beneath her urged her forward, and the blood in her veins pulsed with the euphoria that came from her speed over the terrain. This was how freedom felt.
She slowed and hid deep in the sulky shadows, away from the moonlight that would give her away, trembling as she tried to slow her breathing. She heard him long before she saw him. He was close, but not as close as before. She knew he would catch her, but it wouldn’t be tonight. Tonight, she was enjoying the chase; he followed where she led and she enjoyed the power the hunt gave her. She wanted to know why he pursued her relentlessly, but more than that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him. Had always known him.
*
She woke to the sound of an alarm ringing close by. Groggy from her dream, it took a few moments for her to work out where she was and she felt a fleeting disappointment that she was no longer in the forest. The space beside her, where Dan should have been, was empty and still the alarm insisted she woke up. Disoriented, she reached out for her phone from the bedside table, nudging a glass of water against the bedside lamp. It was 8 o’clock. Still no signal. She rolled onto Dan’s side of the bed and grabbed for his phone to stop the alarm.
‘Dan?’
There was no answer.
Where is he? Why did he set the alarm? The soft pillows and duvet called to her and she briefly considered rolling over and going back asleep, but her bladder was nagging away. She pulled on her dressing gown and reached for her crutch, not wanting to be bothered with fitting her leg.
Inspecting herself in the bathroom mirror, Esther posed and turned, smoothing the fabric of her jersey nightshirt over her stomach. She thought she could detect a rounding. It seemed fuller than usual under the palm of her hand. She noted with pleasure that the dark circles under her eyes had disappeared and her skin looked clearer. Tucking her dark hair behind her ears, she splashed cold water on her face, enjoying the fresh feeling, even as the skin on her scalp contracted in shock.
She half-expected to see Dan in the kitchen, making breakfast, the noise of the radio drowning out her calls from upstairs. There was no sign of him either in the kitchen or sitting room. She felt a mixture of irritation and worry. Although they’d made an uneasy peace last night after their row, why would he go off and leave her without saying anything? Surely he knew how she felt? Using her crutch, she swung her way over to the kettle and switched it on. There was nothing for it but to wait for him to come back. Perhaps he’d gone to see if Mike could tow the Toyota.
The endless fog peered in at the window, showing no sign of abating. Esther spooned a sugar into her tea. Dan wouldn’t approve but he wasn’t around to have an opinion. She relished the small rebellion, then chastised herself as she remembered their agreement. She’d brought his phone down from the bedroom as a reminder to ask him to disable the alarm, and she could feel the slim shape in her pocket, nudging her hip and her conscience. How bad would it be to look at his messages? The thought tugged at the hem of her dressing gown. Bad, Esther. It would be bad. She mentally shrugged, pulling the phone out of her pocket and swiped her finger across the screen. It was locked. It was a sign, she told herself, and put the phone back on the table.
As she sat in the warm kitchen, waiting for Dan to return, the phone taunted her from the corner of her eye. He rarely let it out of his sight. If she could work out what the code was to unlock the screen, he’d never know and it would set her mind at rest to know he wasn’t hiding anything from her. If anything, she thought, she would be able to relax and they’d both benefit from that. Besides, she might not get another chance to have such unencumbered access to it. How easy it was to convince herself she was doing the right thing. The thought didn’t sit comfortably at all with her, and yet she continued.
Keeping an ear out for footsteps up the platform, she tried the first 4 digits of his birthday, then hers. Nothing. She tried various combinations of their wedding anniversary without success. Staring around the kitchen for inspiration, she tried to put herself into his mindset. What other sequence of numbers might he choose? She tried the first four prime numbers, 2, 3, 5, 7 but again was frustrated when the phone refused to unlock. Then she remembered the quotation he used as a screensaver.
“God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” Corinthians 10:13
1013. The phone unlocked. Without hesitation, she searched the messages menu. She hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath and exhaled deeply when she looked at the list of messages. There were no names she didn’t recognise, nothing to confirm her suspicions. She was about to lock the phon
e again, when her eye caught Sophie’s name on the list.
Curious and nostalgic, she clicked onto the message string, scrolling back as far as she could. There were a handful of messages going back and forth between them, mostly general chat about cinema times, whether she should bring wine for dinner, or the odd link to something Sophie thought he’d find funny. Esther’s emotions were mixed. She immediately felt sorrow, but it was different to the loss she felt every day when she thought of her friend; it stemmed from a recognition that Dan must have been grieving too. She’d been so wrapped up in her own sorrow that she hadn’t stopped to consider how Dan must have been feeling. And he’d never said anything to her about it. She should have realised, should have known. He’d had his own friendship with Sophie and it was every bit as special and important as hers was. Her stomach lurched as she realised she was just as guilty of excluding him as he had been with her, and it was uncomfortable being faced with her own shortcomings. How could she have been so selfish? With a further sting of discomfort, she allowed herself to acknowledge that his emotional blankness was both enabling and convenient for her. Selfishness was a trait she despised in others, so why hadn’t she recognised it in herself?
Still alert to any sounds of Dan coming back, she continued scrolling through the texts from and to Sophie. Her eye caught the date of the last message – 26th September. The day before Sophie had died. What was so important that she was contacting Dan whilst she was on holiday?
From: Sophie J
Have you thought any more about what I said? xx
From: Dan C
Yes.