While You Sleep

by Stephanie Merritt

  Zoe had felt a shiver run through her. ‘You mean – she was imagining this guy?’

  ‘Well, she can’t have been, can she? I mean, we have to assume he was a real person, because of the child. But the way she writes, sometimes it’s hard to work out whether she’s describing fantasies or reality. I’m not sure she knows herself. It’s only here –’ he had tapped the page – ‘towards the end, that you start to get a sense of threat, like she’s actually afraid of him. And worried about the child. She says – this is only a couple of months before they died – that she makes the boy wear her silver cross around his neck all day and night so that God will protect him.’

  ‘Jeez, you’ve nearly finished it. You must have been up for hours reading,’ she had said, unable to keep the sharpness of accusation from her voice.

  ‘A couple, maybe. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been skimming lots of it. Her handwriting is so small and cramped, it’s taking me forever to decipher it.’

  ‘Protect the boy from what?’ Zoe had asked.

  ‘She says HE wants the child.’

  ‘Wants him, how? To take him away?’

  ‘I suppose. She writes that she has made HIM angry, that HE says the child belongs to HIM at seven years, and she knew this all along. And she talks about needing to keep the boy safe from HIM. These are some of the last entries in 1869, written shortly before the murders. She’s obviously terrified – she sounds almost deranged with it, poor woman.’

  ‘Maybe that explains it,’ Zoe had said, her anger at him momentarily displaced by curiosity. ‘The father was threatening to take the child away, she thought he was dangerous and refused. Maybe the father got angry and killed them both to punish her.’

  ‘Or maybe she killed the boy and herself rather than hand him over,’ Edward had said. ‘She might have believed that was her way of protecting him.’

  Charles Joseph had said almost the same thing the day before. The idea horrified her; she could not help but recoil at the idea that any mother would willingly choose the death of her child over any other option, however deluded her intentions. It was then that she had suggested a walk on the cliffs – largely prompted by a desire to get him away from the book.

  Now she watched Edward as he turned to gaze out over the silvered stretch of water, the light catching golden flecks in his eyes. There was a tension in his face that had been there since she first saw him that morning; an unspoken anxiety. He was not at ease, and she feared it was her fault. It was easier to remind herself, in the uncompromising sunlight, that he was nearer Caleb’s age than her own.

  ‘Is this your husband’s jumper I’m wearing, then?’ he asked, trying to sound casual, keeping his eyes on the distant headland behind them.

  ‘Not any more.’

  He gave an uncertain laugh, as if he was not sure whether she had made a joke. They continued a while longer in silence. The path was so narrow here that they could not walk side by side, so they were spared the awkwardness of looking at one another. Zoe kept towards the bank of coarse grass on her left; only a few feet to her right, the cliff edge sheered away in a sixty-foot drop to black rocks and thrashing water. There was no safety fence, no warning sign; this was an untamed landscape, and you were clearly expected to look out for yourself if you chose to brave it. She understood now, glancing down, how easily you could lose your footing in an instant, even in daylight, and find the ground gone from under you. She thought with a sick lurch of Iain, the child who had supposedly fallen from the cliffs in the dark the year before. Robbie’s friend. Right along this path, it must have happened.

  The track dipped and broadened into a natural culvert; Edward turned and reached out his hand to help her down the descent.

  ‘Last night,’ he began, as they negotiated the loose scree and mud down to the narrow, fast-flowing burn that had cut the gulley into the cliff face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, grasping at his wrist as her foot turned on a scatter of stones, wishing she had worn proper hiking boots, ‘I didn’t mean to lead you on. It was an emotional day.’

  ‘No, I meant – when you woke in the night and you dreamed that someone was in the room.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ She forced a laugh at her own folly. ‘Put that down to wine and stress. Jet lag, maybe. I think I can use that excuse for a couple more days.’

  He frowned. ‘Except that I dreamed the same thing.’

  She turned to look at him, questioning; he nodded.

  ‘Though I wasn’t even sure it was a dream at the time. When I was in your room – I have no idea what time it was, but I woke up. Or at least, I dreamed that I did.’ He laughed again, to acknowledge that such a statement made no sense. ‘And there was someone standing by the bed, looking down at me.’

  Zoe stopped. ‘Did they touch you?’

  ‘No.’ Edward hopped across the stream and held his hand out to help her. ‘They were just standing there, staring at me. I wasn’t even sure if it was a man or a woman. But they hated me, I knew that. I felt it.’ He struck his chest with his balled fist. ‘Like a burning rage at my presence. As if I had no right to be there. It was the most horrible dream. But it was so vivid at the time – I could have sworn I was awake. I wanted to get up and leave, I thought that might make it stop, but they were between me and the door.’ He shook his head, rubbed his brow with the heel of his hand.

  ‘Dreams can be unsettling.’ She recalled the dip in the mattress behind her, the hand between her legs. It felt like the most grotesque understatement.

  ‘You don’t suppose …?’ It was the opening of a question; he turned away to begin the ascent up the other side of the culvert, so that he didn’t have to meet her eye. She hurried after him, her running shoes slipping on the wet earth.

  ‘We drank a lot last night,’ Zoe said, as they reached the top. ‘The memory gets scrambled. And we’ve been primed to think there’s something about the house too, haven’t we? All those stories they beef up for the incomers. However rational you think you are, they go in on some level. It’s not surprising if we start imagining what we’ve been told to expect.’

  ‘But both of us, in the same night?’ he persisted. She looked away.

  The path widened and they fell into step, their hands not quite touching. To their left, purple swathes of heather stretched out towards the blue haze of mountains in the distance; to their right, a sheen of mercury slid over the wide sea all the way to the sky. Seabirds chided overhead; the wind stung her eyes and sharpened her senses. The way it swept through the heather gave the impression of movement alongside her, at the edge of her vision, gone if you turned your head and tried to look at it directly. Zoe pulled up her collar and kept her eyes on the path at her feet.

  ‘I could take that book to Charles tonight if you like,’ Edward said, after a while. ‘I’m having dinner with him.’

  ‘Really? Me too.’

  He looked at her, and a bright laugh burst out of him.

  ‘He’s a sly old dog. He must think we should get to know each other.’ He shot her a quick, shy grin, implying complicity.

  ‘That doesn’t seem like his style. I get the sense he respects people’s privacy.’

  ‘I didn’t mean setting us up,’ he said quickly. ‘But he likes bringing people together. He understands how cut off you can feel in a place like this, even if you’ve come here to get away. There aren’t many people in the village whose interests go beyond local concerns.’ He paused and turned back to the sea, a faint worry line appearing between his brows. ‘I go over to his most Sundays for supper. We talk, listen to music. Sometimes we read poetry.’

  ‘Jesus. Am I going to have to recite poems?’

  He smiled. ‘Not if you don’t want to. Charles is the only person on the island I could call a friend, really. I don’t think I’d have lasted this long if he hadn’t been here. And he does a mean roast.’

  ‘What, better than mine?’ She flicked him playfully on the arm. He looked at her solemnly, laid a hand flat over
his heart.

  ‘I cannot tell a lie. And it’s less trouble – he doesn’t make me fish him naked out of the sea first.’ That same sidelong glance from under his lashes, as if seeking permission to tease her, confirmation that they were on those terms. She laughed, hearing the ease in it. The terrors of the night seemed to have burned away in the sun, like mist. It might be good to have a friend here, she thought.

  ‘You won’t tell Charles, will you? That you stayed over last night.’

  ‘No, of course not, if you’d rather I didn’t. Don’t you want to ask him about the dreams, though?’

  ‘Absolutely not. He already thinks the place is haunted, like the rest of them – only he dresses it up in bigger words.’

  She thought she caught a flicker of disappointment, but he nodded.

  ‘Hey, you can talk about me all you like once I’ve gone,’ she added. She had meant it to sound like a joke, but he looked melancholy. She almost reached for his hand then, but restrained herself.

  The sun vanished with sullen finality as the cloud cover reached the coast and dragged above them like an awning. They turned and began to make their way back towards the house, with a tacit understanding that the mood had shifted between them; part of that persistent awkwardness, the fear of misinterpretation, had been left behind. Something – though Zoe could not quite name it – had been implicitly offered and accepted.

  Edward held out his hand to help her up the culvert, more out of gallantry than necessity, and as she emerged over the bank she felt him tense, his fingers resting on her arm like a warning. On the path ahead a figure was moving at an unhurried pace towards them. Edward muttered a short curse under his breath and slowed his steps; she turned to him with a questioning glance, but he kept his eyes lowered, his mouth set in a grim line. Evidently he had recognised the newcomer. It took her a few moments longer to understand his reluctance: Dougie Reid, approaching them with his peculiar off-kilter stride, a rangy dog that looked part-whippet trotting at his side, the bitter smoke of his tobacco trailing after him. He acknowledged them with an amiable dip of his head, touching a one-fingered salute to his temple, but there was no mistaking the knowing smirk that twitched at the corner of his mouth as he took them in, the sly tilt of his eyebrow.

  ‘Morning, folks. Lovely day for a stroll.’ Everything insinuated but unsaid.

  ‘You’re a long way from home, Dougie,’ Edward said, too-brightly.

  ‘Might say the same about you, young fella. Thought I recognised your car down there.’

  Zoe felt a jolt of unease; he must have called at the house. The idea that he felt entitled to turn up and knock on the door troubled her; supposing she had been there alone? Would he have expected to be invited in? She remembered the way he had looked her up and down; how he had brushed her breast in the car. He might, conceivably, have been the one to find her swimming naked yesterday. The thought made her shudder. There would definitely be no more skinny-dipping.

  ‘Came to see how the young lady was getting on with the car,’ he offered, jerking his head back in the direction of the house. ‘Everything OK? Oil levels all right?’

  ‘Since yesterday? It’s been absolutely fine,’ she said pointedly, but the hint of sarcasm appeared to be lost on Dougie.

  ‘That’s grand, then. Best keep an eye on the oil with that one. Got to keep her well lubricated.’ An unmistakable leer as he caught her eye. She returned his look with a level gaze, unsmiling. ‘You often come walking up here, then?’ he continued undeterred.

  Zoe shrugged, unwilling to share anything about her habits. She did not want him to think this was the place to find her. She was glad of Edward’s presence at her side.

  ‘It’s a nice wee bit of the coast,’ he said, regardless. ‘I like the views. Dangerous, though.’ He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dirty jeans and gave the sea a cursory nod. ‘You a regular visitor round these parts, young Ed?’ Again, the insinuating tone.

  ‘There are some good walks, it’s true,’ Edward said, trying to keep his voice even, but the colour burned in his cheeks and he looked needled. Dougie grinned, as if that were all the confirmation he needed.

  ‘I should be getting back,’ Zoe said, wanting to extricate herself from the situation.

  ‘Want me to come and take a look at that oil for you?’ Dougie shifted his gaze lazily to her. ‘It’s nae bother.’

  ‘No – thank you. I’m sure it’s fine. I can get in touch if I have any problem with it. There’s no need to check up.’ She sounder sharper than she had meant; he held up his hands as if warding off an attack.

  ‘All right, hen – only trying to help. All part of the service. Well, I’ll leave you kids to it then.’ Without displacing the roll-up, he put two fingers between his lips and produced a piercing whistle; the dog jerked its narrow head up and bounded to his side as he gave them another mock-salute and ambled off, still smirking, along the cliff path away from them.

  Even when he was eventually out of sight, the discomfort of his presence seemed to hang between them.

  ‘Well, that will be all round the village by tonight,’ Edward said, his eyes dark. He seemed angry, as if he should have foreseen Dougie’s intrusion or guarded them against it somehow.

  ‘I don’t like that guy.’ Zoe glanced back along the track. ‘He gives me the creeps.’

  ‘You’re not the first woman to say that. I’ve seen him in the pub some nights. When he drinks, he can be properly offensive.’

  ‘What, like harassing women?’

  ‘Mostly comments, that I know of. Things you wouldn’t get away with anywhere else, but people here seem to think, oh that’s just Dougie, pay him no mind, he doesnae mean anything by it.’ He mimicked the local accent, badly. ‘I try to avoid him. There’s an aggression there under the surface, you know what I mean? One of those guys that’s always trying to push you into a reaction. I reckon it wouldn’t take much to tip him. Kaye can’t stand him – she’d bar him from the Stag if she could, but Mick has some peculiar attachment to him, apparently. They grew up together. He helped Mick fix up the house. Mick feels sorry for him, so Kaye says.’

  ‘I hope he’s not planning to check on that fucking car every day,’ she said, casting an eye behind her as if Dougie might materialise at any moment.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t if he thinks I’m a regular visitor.’ Edward glanced at her with a quick, hopeful smile. She avoided his gaze, looking out instead to the darkening sea.

  ‘I should get back.’ The thought of Ailsa’s book lying on the kitchen table quickened her step. She found herself craving solitude; she wanted to surrender to the particular silence of the house, to immerse herself in Ailsa’s story. The pull of it was stronger than any desire for company. If Edward wanted a companionship of sorts while she was here, he would have to learn to share her with the house.

  11

  15th October 1869

  What have I become?

  I was a respectable woman before HE came. Respectable – ha! What does such a word mean? It means only that a Man would vouch for me and confirm my place in the World. For a woman it means the denial of appetite, curiosity, desire, the body. It means learning how to be less than you are, than you would wish to be, so as not to shame your Father, your Husband, your Brothers, those Men whose reputations are so delicate they may be sullied by an incautious word or glance of yours. How often was I exhorted to make myself less visible, from earliest childhood? “Do not bolt your food, Ailsa. Do not open your father’s books, Ailsa. Do not ask so many questions. Speak English, girl, not Gaelic, unless you want to marry a fisherman. Do not run about on the shore, Ailsa, look at your petticoats! Do you forget you are a daughter of the Kirk?”

  I never was allowed to forget. It was my duty to be respectable, first because I was the daughter of a Churchman, and later because I was the wife of a rich man. And now I am neither; both are dead, the brittle Veneer of respectability is shattered and I am unmoored from Society, made an example, cast out, al
l because HE woke me from my Slumber. And who is to blame for that but my most respected Husband? Who considered me no more than a meek Vessel to indulge his curiosity and designs, with neither Will nor Hunger of my own?

  But there is a price to pay for Knowledge; this too was drummed into us as children from the story of Eve, who was seduced by the Devil into disobedience. I always pitied her weakness; now I understand it. I made a Pact, and it will be my undoing.

  HE brought me to life, and HE will consume me. It has already begun; I feel myself corroding from the inside. And when my strength fades, what remains for a Child like mine, in a World that has judged and rejected him on account of his birth? How can I abandon my dearest boy, my heart’s blood, flesh of my flesh, to the cruelty and censure of Men, or – infinitely more dreadful Prospect – to HIM? For HE will not be denied, at the last. HE will take what HE desires: I have learned this to my cost, and what he wants now is my Son. It will be brought to an end, one way or another.

  20th October 1869

  Bonar came this morning to discuss my Will. He is canny; he enjoins his Wife to accompany him on these visits so there can be no Odour of impropriety hanging over him in village talk. She brings her sewing and sits meekly in a corner with her lip curled and her eyes averted as if trying to ignore a foul stench. It amuses me to tease her by seeking her opinion on each point of Law her husband elucidates. “Oh, but what do you think, Mrs Bonar?” I say, turning in her direction, all smiles. “I’m sure I have no opinion, Mrs McBride,” she demurs. “The Law is my Husband’s business. I confine myself to my own Sphere.” She knows I am mocking her but must defer to me politely, for I am rich, and her Husband’s best client. Mad, wanton, Witch, Harlot: they may call me all these things and I am sure she does, with relish, but I am the one who owns the ground beneath their feet, and that counts for something in this World.

  Bonar tried once more to persuade me to sell and move to gentler climes, for the sake of my Health. He observed that I do not look well, more markedly so since he last saw me. “I do not sleep, Mr Bonar,” I replied, and he could find no answer to that. He urged me then to think of my Son, and to consider who would care for him if any harm should befall me, God forbid. Those were his words – God forbid. Again I refused. We cannot leave this place; there can be no running from HIM. My brother William is named the child’s Guardian, for appearances’ sake, but it will not come to that. All material goods my Husband left to me I bequeath to William and his heirs. Perhaps that will make amends. T hid in the Turret during their Visit. Mrs Bonar asked after him, and was itching to see him, I could tell; I explained that he is not like other Children, and will tolerate no Company but mine. Let her make of that what she will.