‘Tonight. Don’t bait them, tease them, say things that will make me feel uncomfortable.’
‘Scouts’ honour,’ he said, saluting. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour.’ I’m going to unpack,’ he said, grabbing his suitcase and taking it into the bedroom. ‘Then I might get my head down for a while, before dinner, because I’m whacked. I still don’t feel well after that damn boat ride.’
She left him to it, exploring the cottage. A shadow appeared at the window and made her start. She went to the door, opened it. The wind rushed at her, throwing rain into her face. ‘Who’s there?’ she said, thinking Alex had returned for some reason. A voice at her side made her almost jump out of her skin.
‘Hello, Susan,’ said Silas Blake. She hadn’t heard him sneak up on her because of the wind and rain.
‘Christ, Mr Blake, you almost gave me a heart attack!’
He laughed. ‘Are you settling in?’
‘Yes, thank you. Do you want to come inside?’
‘I’m not staying. I just wanted to say how glad I am you came over to Connalough Point. You will be going to the house for your evening meal soon, will you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘I will not be joining you. I take my meals separately. I live a sort of separate life, on the whole. I’m not as important to the running of Connalough Point as I used to be. So it is vital that I remind you that you must not mention our meetings to anyone, especially my wife. In fact, I urge you not to mention me at all. You will find I am rarely referred to and I like to keep it that way.’
‘Why not? What’s going on, Mr Blake?’
‘I have good reason, Susan. But please trust me on this.’ He pointed to his right. ‘I don’t live at the main house, but at the old lighthouse over the way. If you need me at any time I shall be there.’ He smiled tenderly. ‘I’ll try to get to talk to you again, but I must go now.’ He took out his gold pocket watch and flipped open the case. ‘Yes, it is time I went.’
‘Are you afraid of something, Mr Blake?’
He licked his lips. ‘Everyone is afraid of something, Susan. But you came here to help those of us who are afraid. That is why you are here.’
‘I don’t understand, Mr Blake. Who are you talking about exactly?’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow perhaps,’ he said. ‘Have a nice meal. Remember what I said.’ He walked off into the rain.
She closed the door on him.
‘Who were you talking to?’ she heard Paul ask from the bedroom.
‘Myself,’ she returned.
‘Well try to keep the conversation down; I’m trying to sleep in here.’
The light was fading fast as they hurried their way to the house in the pouring rain. ‘We’re going to need a torch at some point,’ Paul said. ‘We’re liable to fall and break our necks otherwise.’
Once there they were shown into a largish dining room by Helen Blake. It was lit with oil lamps and candles. The fire had been stoked high and it crackled and spat, the sparks held in check by a brass fireguard.
‘We do have electricity,’ Helen explained, ‘of sorts. We have a diesel-powered generator out back, but that’s quite expensive to run, what with the price of diesel these days. Anyhow, on evenings like this, I find the glow of lamps most pleasing, don’t you?’
They were seated at the table, laid with a clean white tablecloth; two bronze candlesticks provided a cheery light. Presently they were joined by two more people, who came in shaking the rain off their coats and umbrellas and apologising for getting the tiles in the hall wet and muddy.
‘Don’t worry about such things,’ said Helen. ‘Come through and meet our new guests.’ She introduced an elderly man and woman to Susan and Paul. ‘Philip and Iris Donovan, from the Midlands. They’ve been here a while now, coming to the end of their time with us.’
They sat at the table, opposite Susan and Paul. They had those soft-featured, kind faces that often appear in ads for over-fifties life insurance, and were obviously very fond of each other. They held hands as they spoke. How sweet, thought Susan. She always used to think of Paul and her growing old together, loving each other always, happily holding hands as pensioners. But no one can predict the potholes waiting for you on life’s road, she thought.
‘Has it been useful?’ Susan asked them as Helen went away into the kitchen.
‘Yes,’ said Iris Donovan without hesitation. ‘The best thing we ever did. We lost our daughter and son-in-law in a car accident two years ago.’ Her pale eyes twinkled brightly in the candlelight.
‘You would not believe she is the same woman,’ said her husband. ‘We missed her, you see. She missed her dreadfully. So much so it was ruining her health. But we came here and now she’s as right as rain.’
‘So may I ask who it is that you have lost?’ said the woman to Susan.
There was an awkward silence at the table. Susan and Paul exchanged a glance. ‘Iris, don’t ask such things so soon,’ said Philip. ‘You remember how you were when you first came here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Iris. ‘There I go again.’
‘My daughter, Becky,’ said Susan, her eyes looking down at a crease in the tablecloth. ‘We lost Becky. She was…’
‘Susan…’ said Paul.
‘She was taken away from us.’
Iris nodded. ‘We understand, don’t we, Phil? All I can say is that you have come to the right place. They can help you here. They helped us.’
‘Have you…’ Susan said, stuttering into silence. ‘Did you – I mean, have they…?’
‘Yes, we have been in contact with our daughter,’ said Iris, nodding emphatically.
‘Are you certain?’ said Paul.
‘Oh, absolutely! Without a doubt!’ joined her husband. ‘We tried quite a few times in the past to contact her, but met with too many frauds, false hopes. This – well, this is different. You’ll see.’
Iris reached into her pocket and took out a gold necklace; a green-stoned pendant swung on it and sparkled in the light. ‘After she died I carried this with me always. It’s all I seemed to have left of her, to remind me of who she was. It was a present she gave me when she was a child. Saved up her pocket money, went to the store where they sold cheap costume jewellery and she bought me this. It’s gold-plated and plastic, has got no real value as such, and yet it’s priceless to me. I never go anywhere without it; it will never leave me.’ She smiled and put it back. ‘Until recently that’s all I had. But Connalough Point has given me back my daughter. I know she’s there, in spirit, beside me always. Her soul is now at rest, and so is mine. We can move on.’ They grasped each other’s hands tightly.
‘What happens exactly?’ Paul asked, leaning forward.
‘What happens will take place over a number of sessions,’ said Helen Blake coming back into the room from the kitchen. She was pushing a trolley laden with casserole dishes. ‘It doesn’t happen all at once.’ She began to place the hot dishes onto the table, her hands protected by oven gloves. ‘The connection comes together over time, usually after three or four intense sessions, sometimes more.’
‘How?’ Paul pursued.
‘Through the soul fixer,’ said Iris, her eyes as bright as buttons.
Helen laughed lightly, lifting a lid and a cloud of steam rising into the air. ‘That’s Iris’ nickname she’s given to Annabel.’
‘Annabel?’ said Susan.
‘The soul fixer!’ said Iris. ‘And she really is! That’s what Annabel does, you see. She fixes souls, alive and dead. She’s truly amazing. You really must stop being so modest, Helen. What you have here is miraculous. Annabel is a miracle.’
Helen nodded gratefully. ‘I’m glad you think so, Iris. Let’s leave that particular thread of conversation for another time, eh? Paul and Susan have had a long journey, their emotions are somewhat frayed, and tonight should be a simple, heart-warming meal to introduce them to Connalough Point.’
‘So who is this Annabel?’ Paul pursued.
Picking u
p a spoon and dipping it into a heap of steaming potatoes, Helen said, ‘My daughter. Annabel is my daughter.’
‘Why isn’t she here with us?’ Susan asked. ‘It would be nice to meet her.’
‘That isn’t possible, I’m afraid. She’s not quite like other people. Shall we eat?’ she said, her thin lips spreading to form a disarming smile.
* * * *
10
In Good Health
Her footsteps rang like she was in a great cathedral. The sound bouncing from unseen walls and high ceilings. Yet she could not make out a thing, for all around her was total darkness. All except for her body. She could see the details of her body as if it were bathed in sunlight. As if a black sun shone from a black sky.
She did not feel afraid, because she knew this was a dream and all dreams have an end.
‘Mother,’ said Becky.
Susan turned to face the direction of the faint sound. It came as soft as a breath on her ear. ‘Where are you, Becky?’
‘I’m here. It’s dark. I don’t like the dark.’
‘Don’t be afraid, darling. I’m here to help you.’
‘There’s someone else here with me, mother.’
Susan began to walk towards the sound of her daughter’s voice, the same hollow sounds accompanying her progress. ‘Keep talking, Becky. I’ll find you.’
‘They’re frightened, mother. They’re crying.’
‘Who are they? Tell me who they are, Becky.’
‘Mother, he’s coming for you…’
‘Who? Who is coming for me?’ She waved her arms out in front of her to try and make contact, but they wafted in cold air.
‘He’s going to kill you.’
Susan stopped. ‘I don’t understand.’ Now she felt fear begin to ice her veins. Creep up her body, frosting her chest, constricting her throat. Then she saw shapes ahead, gauzy wisps of smoke that appeared to float in tranquil arcs; shapes that came together, began to make sense. Became people. She heard their moans, reaching out across the darkness towards her, tendrils of sound seeping into her ears.
She awoke. Her chest was heaving with fear.
The bedroom was in darkness. She sat upright, rubbing her eyes. Paul slept undisturbed by her movements beside her. The dream had been frighteningly visceral and vivid, the emotions they created very real.
‘He’s coming for you…’ whispered the voice beside her.
Susan started at the unexpected sound. As if her dream had leaked into her conscious world. Then she couldn’t be sure whether she’d heard it or not. It could have been the wind, or the remnants of the dream, she thought, attempting to rationalise it. But the night defied her rational mind and the shadow of a man, cast by a bright Moon onto the thin curtains pulled across the cottage’s window, caused her to scream out.
‘Christ!’ said Paul, jumping up, his eyes wide as he tried to shake off sleep. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘There’s someone at the window,’ she said.
But the shadow had disappeared.
‘There’s nothing there.’
‘There was. It was a man.’
‘It’s your imagination, Susan,’ he said.
‘I’m going to check,’ she said, putting on her dressing gown and going over to a lamp. She lit a match.
‘You can’t go out at this time – whatever time it is. Don’t be silly, come back to bed.’
She lit the lamp, held it up. Her concerned face was bathed in its glow. ‘I saw someone and I’m going to see who it is,’ she said determinedly. She opened the door. The rain had abated somewhat, but the wind was still blowing hard.
‘You’re letting the cold in!’ he complained, but shook his head resignedly and put his feet out of bed. ‘OK, you made your point. Hang on there, I’ll come with you. Don’t want you being eaten alive by a yeti or something.’
‘Very funny, Paul.’ She waited while he put his shoes on and came to the door beside her.
‘I’ve seen this movie,’ he said. ‘I didn’t like what happened.’
‘I’m serious, Paul; someone was at the window.’
‘So who’d be snooping around at this time in a morning?’
She didn’t reply and went outside, holding the lamp before her. Paul shook his head and followed. ‘Who’s there?’ she said, her voice lost on the wind.
‘Zombies please use the rear entrance,’ said Paul, giving a little chuckle.
‘I’ll swing for you in a minute,’ she warned.
‘Oh come on, Susan, let’s get back inside; it’s bloody freezing out here. See, no one’s here.’
She went round to the bedroom window and put the lamp near the ground. ‘Footprints in the mud,’ she said, ‘going off in that direction.’ She nodded towards the barely visible hills. ‘I’m not imagining these now, am I?’
‘Maybe they’re from yesterday, when Alex was showing us around the place.’
‘The rain would have washed them away.’
‘Possibly.’
‘So who was it? They look like large boots to me.’
‘Well done, Miss Marple, they’re large boots; now can we go back to bed?’ He saw her agitation. ‘OK, we’ll ask at the house first thing tomorrow – today – at breakfast. Maybe Alex was out checking over things. It has been blowing pretty bad.’
She nodded. ‘Maybe.’ She didn’t sound convinced. She wondered whether it was Silas Blake who’d returned, but somehow she doubted it. The footprints were too large for him. And even so, why on earth would he want to go snooping around their cottage in the early hours?
‘You’re tired,’ said Paul once they closed the door on the weather. He shivered. ‘The imagination plays tricks on an exhausted mind.’ He flopped tiredly into bed. ‘Were you dreaming again?’
She cocked her head. ‘Yes, I was.’
‘There you have it.’ He put his head on the pillow, closed his eyes. Susan got into bed, pulled the thick covers to her chin. ‘Your feet are like blocks of ice!’ he complained.
‘I dreamt of Becky again.’
‘Yeah,’ he said drowsily.
‘She said someone was coming for me…’
‘Who’s coming for you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s a dream, Susan, remember that.’
‘She said a man was going to kill me.’
He opened his eyes. ‘Look around you. It’s a strange place we’ve come to. We’re not used to it and it’s messing with your head, that’s all. No one’s going to kill you. That’s absurd. Anyhow, I’m here to protect you,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘My hero,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know what’s real anymore. God, I hope we find answers here.’
He turned over, away from her. ‘I’m sure we will,’ he said. ‘Now go to sleep.’ Then he opened an eye. ‘Did you lock the door after you?’
‘The door doesn’t have a lock.’
He sat upright. ‘Doesn’t have a lock? Really? What kind of a place doesn’t have locks?’
‘The trusting ones,’ she said. He got out of bed. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Putting a chair’s back against the handle of the door. I’m not that trusting.’
Helen Blake frowned. ‘You must be mistaken, Susan,’ she said.
They were seated at the table again, the room looking completely different in the morning light. Larger, brighter. The smell of frying bacon wafted in from the kitchen. They heard the clatter of a spatula against a frying pan. Alex Macleod was humming some kind of tune to himself as he cooked breakfast for them all.
‘There were footprints outside the cottage. I saw someone,’ said Susan.
‘I saw them, too,’ said Paul. ‘Footprints in the mud.’
‘Alex wouldn’t have been out in the middle of the night, knowing Alex. He likes his bed and he hates the cold and wet,’ said Helen.
‘What’s that?’ said Alex, coming in with two plates of food. He plonked them down
onto the table in front of Susan and Paul.
‘Were you out at Susan and Paul’s cottage last night?’ Helen asked. ‘They said they saw someone at the window.’
‘Susan saw someone,’ Paul corrected. His wife flashed him a fiery glance. ‘We saw footprints in the mud outside the bedroom window. We wondered what was going on, that’s all.’
‘Wasn’t me,’ Alex said, frowning and looking at Helen. He went back into the kitchen and returned with two more plates, one each for Helen and himself. He sat down and began to eat with gusto. ‘I had no reason to go out last night. Anyhow, I live in a cottage at the far end of the island…’ He pointed in a loose direction with his fork. ‘I’m hardly likely to get out of bed in the early hours and tramp over this way unless I really have to.’
‘I did tell you,’ said Helen.
‘Well I saw something,’ said Susan, beginning to doubt herself now. ‘Could it have been anyone else?’
Helen thanked Alex for the meal. ‘Alex is the only one who would be out at that time.’
‘Fine,’ said Paul. ‘It’s imagination, that’s all.’
‘City people sometimes have trouble adjusting to the country,’ said Alex.
‘No problem. This looks good,’ he said, tucking into the breakfast. Susan remained silent.
‘We’ll look into it. You’ll do that, won’t you, Alex?’ Helen said.
Alex grunted his begrudging acquiescence. ‘If you say so.’
‘So where are Iris and Philip this morning?’ said Susan presently.
‘They’re getting ready to leave Connalough Point,’ explained Helen. ‘Their time with us is all but up. Douglas will be coming to pick them up from the jetty this afternoon, if the weather holds.’
‘Oh, so soon? That’s a shame; I wanted to ask them so much more about their stay with you,’ said Susan. ‘Will we get to say goodbye?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Helen. ‘They are taking one last look around the island before they leave and then they will be off. The weather only gives us narrow windows of opportunity, as you can appreciate, so we cannot hang about. When I see them I shall pass on your good wishes.’
THE SOUL FIXER (A psychological thriller) Page 8