Liminal

by Bee Lewis

  Hearing Dan’s footsteps on the stairs, she hastily hid the letters among the other items in the memory box and pretended to be asleep. She wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not until she’d wrested her emotions into some kind of manageable shape.

  “You awake, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, low, soothing, like he genuinely cared about her. Like he had her best interests at heart.

  It took all her willpower to keep her breathing steady, rhythmical, but he finally turned away and closed the door softly behind him. She opened her eyes and stared at the wall, waiting for the huge, wracking sobs to come, heralding her loss. There was no good reason for Dan to keep Patrick’s letters, or death, from her. And the same went for Anthea. How could she ever trust either of them again?

  Did Dan think he was protecting her? Did he honestly think he was doing the right thing? She tried to see it from his point of view. Could she have kept a secret like this from him? She didn’t think she could, but maybe he’d been waiting for the right time to tell her. The right time that never came because so many other things went wrong soon after. He’d shown no flicker of emotion when she’d talked about finding her father. In fact, he’d been supportive, suggesting they do it together, once the baby was born. The fact that he’d kept the letters must have meant he was going to tell her sometime. He could have disposed of them; she was sure Anthea wouldn’t have objected.

  She was doing it again. Making excuses for him. Trying to see him in a positive light, even in the face of such a stark betrayal. How was she going to face him, knowing there was such a big secret between them?

  He’d tried to tell her.

  The realisation landed with another thud in her gullet. He’d tried to tell her the other day, in the kitchen, when they’d reached an uneasy truce after their argument. He’d been talking about Anthea, about the accident. He’d been insistent that Anthea had lied. His words came back, ringing in her ears. Sometimes we lie to protect the ones we love.

  That was the point their marriage had reached, the point where she couldn’t, wouldn’t, see what was going on around her. She’d thought he’d been referring to himself.

  *

  Outside, the fog shifted, drifted, finally dissipating so that the mountain air was clean and fresh. Far up above, where the inky sky met the heavy layer of clouds, Lepus disappeared over the horizon, with Orion in close pursuit.

  Even as the fog evaporated overnight, the skies cleared and the stars shone with the luminosity of a bulb about to fizzle out. The velvet sky, blacker than pitch, wrapped around the earth, cleaning away the remnants of the smothering fog. Winter was not yet ready to go quietly and in one last showy display of power, breathed onto the earth below.

  The station settled, the trees looked to the skies, and the first flakes of snow began to fall as the temperature dropped. Up above in the burn, the water slowed and crystals of ice began to form where the damp fog had clung to rock, to leaf, to branch.

  The moon, full with promise, stood guard as inside the cottage Esther ran through a gauntlet of emotions. Her time was now.

  8

  EASTER SATURDAY

  Snow covered the familiar path through the trees. It hardly mattered, for the course was so ingrained in her muscle memory now that she could run it blindfold. There was something in the air, other than snow. It tasted bright, sharp, like wine that had been open too long. Crystals of ice turned spider webs into doilies. Esther caught drifting snowflakes on her tongue, the transformed landscape adding a new sense of playfulness to her exploration. She was enchanted, spinning in circles and feeling a joy that had evaded her since childhood. Whatever was happening in her daytime reality seemed like it was another lifetime away. It was here, in her dreamscape, that she felt most alive, most connected to the world around her.

  A pine marten stared at her from a nearby rock. Its piercing brown eyes ever watchful. She made no attempt to approach it, content to share the moment with her cat-like companion. The breeze picked up and the animal appeared to scent something more interesting, but before leaving her, tilted its head in her direction in deference.

  She peered through the trees. How far could she get up the mountain? She decided to try to see what was above the tree line and made her way up the slopes to where the trees started to thin. As the vista opened up she saw the expanse of forest for the first time, understanding how small Rosgill was in comparison. It was like looking at the stars; the reality of the earth’s existence a simple co-incidence in a universe she could never hope to understand. The thought was sobering, and yet she firmly believed that there was an order, a plan, that life wasn’t just a series of random events. This was her world and she realised she didn’t need to try to make sense of it any more.

  It was time to make her way back down the mountain. The hunter would already be waiting, stalking. He had the advantage now and she had a lot of ground to make up.

  Ever watchful, Esther made her way to the stream, but as she reached the edge of the water, she heard a movement behind her. Instinct took over as she jumped the stream. As on the previous night, she felt the change fire through her body and, as she propelled herself forwards, the mitochondria in every cell ignited to generate the power she needed. By the time she landed the change was complete and once again she had become the Hare.

  The doorway in the oak tree beckoned. She ran towards it, long strides covering the distance without effort. As she approached, she looked back over her shoulder, but saw no sign that the hunter was following her. She relaxed, sinking low into the undergrowth. A whistling sound high in the air – a sound she couldn’t place – broke the silence. Then came the pain and her scream as the arrow pierced her flesh. She looked around to her right flank, at the source of the pain – red hot, pulsing out from the point of impact. The arrow shaft lay on the ground next to her, the tip tinged with her blood. It was a glancing wound, for which she was grateful. Gingerly, she tested the leg and found she could put some weight on it. Her eyes ached for the tears that would not form. Sensing he was nearby and watching her, she ran through the doorway.

  Inside the tree, a white staircase spiralled into the earth below. She limped to the bottom, all the time on her guard. Far below the ground, the staircase opened up into a round chamber. Brocade cloth, the colour of the midnight sky, draped the walls. Silver threads in the cloth picked out the constellations and her eye was drawn to Orion, the hunter. A dais in the middle of the room supported a low, circular bed, richly dressed with purple silks and thick, inviting furs. A fire blazed in the hearth and the room seemed both familiar and foreign, like everything else that was happening to her. Was this his lair? She had to get out, quickly. He would know this place, know to follow her here. But tiredness overcame her. Limping to the bed, she sank into its softness, stretching out – once again taking her human shape – enjoying the sensation of the silk and furs caressing her body. It would be so easy to lie here and sleep.

  Knowing that she couldn’t afford to waste time, that the hunter would be following, she sat up and pulled up the hem of her gown to inspect her leg. The wound seemed to be superficial and had stopped bleeding. She didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs until he was almost at the bottom. Startled, she pulled the covers to her, knowing they offered only flimsy protection.

  He stood at the entrance to the room, wordless, eyes glowing yellow behind his mask. He brought with him the smell of loam, of peat, of twig nests and mountain water. The reflection of the flickering flames danced off the edge of the curved blade that hung from his belt.

  Esther swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry and her eyes darted around the room looking for an escape route. Her only chance would be to transform again, to trick him in the hopes that she could outrun his arrow.

  The hunter took a step towards her and drew the knife from his belt.

  Esther tensed her muscles, readying herself to spring from the bed, hoping that she had enough strengt
h to complete the transformation again. Her eyes locked on his, unblinking.

  In one fluid movement, the hunter put the blade on the floor between them, and remained on one knee before her, head bowed.

  The move was so surprising that Esther let go of the covers, her eyes never leaving him. The hem of her dress was still pulled up, exposing the wound.

  Your leg.

  Yes, she replied. You shot me. You could have killed me and my child.

  The man was silent and she realised he was crying; one of his tears splashed to the floor. As the stone flags absorbed the liquid, a tendril of green pushed its way up through the dense surface followed by another, and another as each tear struck. They twined around each other, the green shoots snaking their way towards her. At the same time, buds appeared, tiny at first but swelling and flourishing before bursting into colour, delicate pastel petals overlapping and forming a multi-coloured carpet of flowers until the floor of the chamber was covered. The scent rose up and filled the room,

  Rest now. I will watch over you both.

  Esther lay back on the bed, the hunter still kneeling by her side. Nothing more was said between them.

  *

  Esther lay in bed, not wanting to open her eyes, not wanting to face the day or the secrets she’d uncovered. Multi-faceted grief tugged at her every thought. Her first baby, Sophie, her father, the extent of Dan’s duplicity – and now his new secrets. Layer upon layer of sadness smothered her until she thought she might suffocate under the weight of her sorrow. She sat up, gasping for breath. Dan’s sleeping form in their bed was an affront to her state of mind. Why couldn’t she have woken up alone, like so many other mornings since they’d arrived? Why did he choose now to be the dutiful husband? His time had passed.

  She sighed. In the last twenty-four hours, everything she thought she knew about her life had shifted, become distorted, like she was looking at it reflected in a fun-house mirror. Except nothing about what she’d learned brought her any happiness or peace.

  Dan stirred. She looked at his face, the face she had trusted with her deepest secrets, and felt nothing. He’d beaten her. Worn her down. She had nothing left to give to him, to their marriage – and now she had to decide what to do next. Staying with him was not an option; their marriage had foundered, was unsalvageable. And yet, she was so dependent upon him. How would she cope on her own? How could she escape?

  Dan reached out for her in his sleep, but she edged away, not wanting to feel his touch. He opened his eyes and smiled at her.

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘Sorry, no can do. Need the bathroom.’ Surprised at how normal her voice sounded, she reached for her crutch and slid out of bed.

  ‘Come back to bed then. It’s lovely and warm.’

  On any other morning, Esther wouldn’t have been able to resist him, snatching the opportunity to share the same space. But now she couldn’t bear to breathe the same air as him. The thought of his hands on her body made her want to scratch her skin until it bled.

  ‘No. I’m too restless. I need to be up and about.’ I need to keep busy. I need to stop myself from screaming.

  ‘Spoilsport. Okay, then. I’ll get up too – though I was looking forward to a lie-in with you.’

  ‘Stay in bed then. There’s no reason for us both to be up.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll make breakfast.’ Dan swung out of bed, pulling a t-shirt out of the top drawer.

  Esther clenched her jaw and locked the bathroom door behind her.

  She didn’t recognise the reflection staring back at her from the bathroom mirror. Scrutinising her image, all the component parts were there. Dark eyes. High cheekbones. Nose just a little too large for her face. But her image had taken on a harder quality, like her expression had been laminated and all the softness had been lost. She tucked her hair behind her ears and splashed her face with cold water, enjoying the sensation of her skin tightening. Reaching into the medicine cabinet for the tube of moisturiser, she pushed Dan’s shaving gear to one side, separating the items from her things. Was this how it began? With the division of possessions? He’d notice, she knew that, but he wouldn’t appreciate the significance, would think that she’d simply tried harder to be neat and tidy. For five years he’d complained about her things getting mixed up with his. It wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

  She sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the contents of the medicine cabinet. Would it be so easy to leave him? Staying with him was unthinkable – he’d pushed her love too far. No matter what his reason was for not telling her about her father’s death, there was nothing he could say that would make her think any differently about his actions. Her marriage was over.

  ‘Esther! Come and see!’

  She closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out Dan’s voice. Just a few more days of pretending everything was okay. Once the telephone line was connected, she’d be better placed to escape. She had a few days to think about the practicalities, to plan.

  ‘Es? You have to come and look at this.’

  She sighed and went to the top of the stairs. He was waiting at the bottom, the door to the platform open. An icy blast from outside rushed up the stairs to greet her and she shivered.

  ‘The fog’s gone! Look, we’ve had snow!’

  At any other time, she’d have been excited by his child-like enthusiasm. She assembled a smile. Snow was the worst weather for her to cope with and her body tensed instinctively as she surveyed the white world that lay beyond the threshold.

  ‘How can something so beautiful be so treacherous?’

  ‘I know it’s not ideal, but at least the fog has lifted. I’ll soon have a pathway cleared and we’ll be able to get out and about.’ He put his arm around her shoulders, seeming not to notice her flinch.

  ‘We don’t have the car, remember?’

  He reddened. ‘No, I know that. But the fog’s gone, I’ll be able to see the damage properly. Why do you always have to be so negative, Esther?’ He pulled away.

  She opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. What she had to say could wait.

  ‘Come on, close the door, it’s freezing. Let’s have that breakfast you promised.’

  Esther sat at the kitchen table, playing with her porridge while Dan wiped the kitchen counters down.

  ‘What’s up? Not hungry? You need to eat.’

  Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Don’t pretend you care about me.

  ‘Just don’t fancy porridge. Sorry.’

  ‘No matter. I’ll make you something else. Boiled egg?’

  Dan didn’t wait for her to answer. He busied himself boiling the kettle and took two eggs from the box. She studied his every move. How was it that she knew so little about him? How could they live side by side but be so far apart? She’d never felt so alone.

  He placed the eggs on the table in front of her. ‘Eat up. Full of goodness. Got to keep that baby strong and healthy.’

  The mention of their child stirred something inside her. She had to get as far away from him as possible. They had to disappear and the disappearance had to be total, final, leaving no clue behind. She watched all her dreams of a secure home with two loving parents for her baby turn to smoke. A plan began to form. Hard though it was, she had to keep her own counsel for as long as she could. How quickly love turned to hatred.

  She ate the eggs – forcing each mouthful down, resisting the urge to gag. Long-suppressed memories of painting eggs for Easter surfaced; symbols of rebirth and new life. She felt like she was devouring her own child and pushed the plate away, unable to finish.

  ‘Feeling queasy?’

  She knew from the tone in his voice that his concern was genuine; that it came from a place where he believed they were both still a unit. The urge to ask him about her father was fierce, but she ignored it, letting it gnaw away inside her instead.

 
‘Let me know if I can get you something else.’

  She nodded and he removed the plate, scraping the contents into the bin, the noise of the knife across the ceramic surface setting her nerves jangling.

  ‘What are we going to do, Dan?’ She hadn’t meant to voice her thought, but it cut across the kitchen.

  He seemed to take her question at face value. ‘Do? Well, there’s still some sorting out to get on with. Or we can just relax if you want?

  ‘Sure.’

  He squatted beside her, taking her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry. This week has been really difficult, particularly for you, stuck here. It’s not how I expected our first few days to be. I wanted to show you how beautiful it is here, wanted to see you fall in love with it the way I have.’

  ‘I know. It’s just . . . ’

  ‘We’ll get there, Es. It’ll be okay.’ He squeezed her hands.

  She wondered how to steer the conversation round to the topic of her father. Then she remembered.

  ‘I’m going to see if I can find my diary. It’s got Mum and Dad’s wedding photo inside it. It’s pretty much all I have to remember him by and I’m terrified I’ve lost it.’

  As she spoke, she watched his reaction carefully. His face could have been carved from stone; there was no flicker of emotion at the mention of her father. He was never going to tell her, unless she forced him to. A plan began to form in her mind.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, his voice bright. ‘I’ll crack on with clearing the snow outside. We don’t want you slipping over now, do we?’

  Esther set to work in the spare bedroom. She knew the diary wasn’t in the kitchen or sitting room. Unless he’s hidden it, or moved it. She shook the thought away. He wouldn’t have hidden it. He understood her well enough to know she wouldn’t forget it, that she wouldn’t let it go until she found it again.