by Ruth Dugdall
‘I want to tell you about a Halloween, back when I was eight. My brother shot into the dark, and hurt someone.’ She hadn’t even known the words were coming until they were there, hanging in the cold November air. Leif moved closer, sharing his warmth.
‘Do you know how many times I’ve thought about that night, and the fact that I left without even looking back. Leaving someone, I didn’t know who, screaming in pain?’ She pulled back slightly, to see Leif ’s reaction. ‘I feel I’ve been trying to make things right ever since, that it’s why my senses are now so alert, why I’m training to be a paramedic. But now I have a real chance to fix things.’
She freed herself from Leif, leaned over the banister and looked at the streets below, doors concealing hidden lives.
‘I’m going to call the police tomorrow and make a statement about what I saw that night. I’m going to have to tell them that my brother shot Cassandra.’
Leif moved behind her, pressed into her body. They were cold, they should go inside, but she knew that if they did, the moment would be lost. Leif seemed to understand this too, as although his hands on hers were cold, he said, ‘It was a long time ago, Holly. You were all just children.’
‘But still, Jamie needs to face any consequences. Just like I must. I can’t keep hiding from things, from the damage that happened that night.’
‘So this is why,’ he said, so softly that his words were almost like a thought, ‘you don’t open up, why you hold back your emotions?’
‘Yes. Because my senses give me an emotion, but not the reason or thinking behind it. And the feelings are not always my own.’ She turned, facing him. They were nose to nose. ‘I’m frightened, Leif.’
‘Don’t be, Sötnos,’ he reassured her. ‘Everything will be fine, I’m sure.’
She fell silent then, her head to Leif ’s chest, listening only to the wind and the beat of his steady heart. She hoped he was right.
44
Cassandra
So, I’ve ended up back here at the Bartlet Hospital, just like you said I would. Are you happy, Mum? You always liked to be right.
Daniel’s with me. He’ll stay until I’m asleep and the machine begins its job, monitoring the rhythms of my sleep-world.
‘I won’t leave you,’ he says. His lips find mine and I kiss him. ‘I’ll be with you all the time. I’ll keep you safe.’
I love this man – I always have, but I wasn’t sure he loved me. Now, after meeting Monica, I know the truth, and I trust him.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ I murmur, already beginning to drift away. ‘Holly told me the police found Mum’s blood in your car. What did you do, Daniel?’
He releases me slightly. His eyes have a faraway look and I know he’s thinking back. He tells me everything then, and I listen. It’s as though I’m hearing a story I already know, I’ve dreamed it before, or I’m experiencing déjà vu.
‘She was going to ruin everything, Cass. You see that, don’t you?’
DAY 16
SUNDAY 16 NOVEMBER
45
Holly
Holly was woken, still wrapped tightly in Leif ’s arms, by a knock at her door. Wrapped in a blanket, she was surprised to find Daniel waiting there.
‘I’m sorry to come to your home, Holly. Cass gave me your address. We need to talk.’
Holly returned to her bedroom, and pulled on some jogging bottoms and Leif ’s jumper that was lying on the floor. He was still asleep, so she closed the bedroom door carefully behind her, not wanting to disturb him. Daniel had already perched on one of the stools in the kitchen.
‘Can I get you a coffee, Daniel?’
‘No thanks, it’s carcinogenic. But don’t let me stop you.’
She boiled the kettle, made a cup of tea instead, and slid onto the empty stool beside him.
He looked very calm, and totally in control. Holly waited for whatever he needed to say, not breathing for a moment.
‘As you now know, I was at the farm on the morning of the shooting. What I’ve just explained to the police is that when I arrived, I saw Maya struggling with someone who was holding a gun. I was too late to intervene: I heard a shot and Maya was already on the ground when I got to her.’
‘Who was struggling with Maya?’ Holly asked the pertinent question.
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
The silence in the room was palpable. ‘And where was Hector?’
‘He was asleep in the front room. I had to wake him, to tell him his daughter had shot his wife. Can you even imagine how terrible that was?’ Daniel’s face was pale, and he clasped his hands together as if for self-support. ‘And poor Cass, she was still asleep – she had no idea what she’d done.’
Holly remembered finding her in the wardrobe, how disorientated she was. Hector saying to his daughter, There was only you and me in the house.
‘When Cass sleepwalks,’ Daniel continued, ‘she’s strong. It took all my strength to wrestle the gun from her. She was only wearing the clothes she’d slept in, her underwear, and they were covered in blood, as was her skin. Maya’s blood. I led her upstairs, and stripped her, then I showered her. All the time, she remained asleep – she had no idea what she’d done.’
Holly was playing the scene in her head, although what she was picturing was the scene Daniel was painting for her, not one she was sensing.
‘What happened next, Daniel?’ she asked.
‘By then, Ash and Janet had arrived and the bloody dog was going crazy. Of course their first priority was Maya, and Janet called 999, but she did it from her cottage so she could say she hadn’t entered the house beyond the kitchen, so she wasn’t implicated in any way. Then Ash and I made it look like a suicide, placing the gun so it looked like Maya had shot herself. We wanted to protect Cass from what she’d done. We knew she couldn’t handle it.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I took Cass’s blood-spattered clothes and hid them in the boot of my car – that’s why the police found those traces. I drove to Rendlesham Forest, where I took a long walk and buried the items in a remote spot. They aren’t deep: I didn’t have a spade, I just used my hands. We just wanted to protect Cass. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, thinking of how she’d protected Jamie for twenty years, ‘I do.’
She thought of the first film Leif had shown her, Murder on the Orient Express. All of them had conspired to conceal a crime, all had guilt on their hands. This was why she’d been so confused by their emotions, by Ash, Janet and Hector as well as Daniel. They were all lying, and she’d sensed that.
The only person who hadn’t been lying was Cassandra.
‘The reason I came here, Holly, is because Cass needs you. You were her friend, and you hurt her.’
‘I was eight,’ Holly protested. ‘I wasn’t Cassandra’s friend, we’d never even spoken. It was a horrible accident.’
Daniel looked irritated and Holly’s senses prickled with alarm. ‘But you were there when she was hurt, and you said nothing. And now you’re her friend, or so you say. It’s time to prove it.’
After Daniel had left, Holly examined her heart for a reaction, and found only sadness for Cassandra, who was now facing the terrible fact that she had shot her own mother. Yes, she’d help her, but first she wanted to be with someone who loved her: Leif.
She opened the bedroom door, and he was still asleep. She removed her clothes and slid in beside him, needing his touch.
Leif opened his eyes. ‘Sötnos, what is it? You have been crying again?’
She shook her head. ‘Go back to sleep. I’m okay.’
He touched her chin with his finger. ‘No, you aren’t. You know you can trust me.’
He listened, and she told him what Daniel had said. How she finally had the chance to right the wrong her brother did.
Later, while he was taking a shower, her phone beeped and she saw she’d received a new email:
Holly,
Here is my updated and concluded report.
Clive
She skimmed down the page, for the final section:
Following careful analysis of the sleep trial data, and after extensive discussion with the somnambulistic polygrapher (see his attached report), my conclusion is that Hector Hawke does not suffer from non-insane automatism and, therefore, there is no evidence that he’s capable of violence while asleep. Indeed, the tests indicate he’s a sound sleeper with no disturbance at all.
I additionally interviewed his daughter, Cassandra Hawke, and a sleep trial was conducted on her immediately afterwards. Her brainwave patterns show clear evidence of brain activity associated with sleepwalking. It is evident from what Hector Hawke says that his daughter has been a sleepwalker for many years. The family largely view Cassandra as vulnerable and in need of protection, especially since an episode of severe psychosis resulted in hospitalisation to the Bartlet psychiatric hospital two years ago. I was the consultant responsible for her case and can confirm it was feared she would take her own life. As Cassandra was not married, it fell to a parent, her mother, as next of kin to sign the sectioning order.
Hector Hawke tells me that, fearing his daughter would relapse if she discovered the devastating knowledge that she shot her mother, he decided to say he was guilty. Cassandra’s partner Daniel, together with Ashley and Janet Cley, all colluded in this deception out of concern and love for Cassandra.
This is an unusual case, and a very sad one.
Cassandra’s actions are a clear example of non-insane automatism. She needs medical care and, in my opinion, she does not belong in prison. But that, of course, is a matter for the court.
Reading Clive’s report, something struck Holly: Daniel wasn’t Cassandra’s next of kin, Maya was. It was she who had signed the sectioning form, effectively locking Cassandra away, and she who paid for Victoria to board at Oakfield. Two strong motives for Cassandra wanting her mother dead. But sleepwalkers don’t have motives, only conscious people do. Holly shivered, felt a warning in her psyche – one that would do her no good. The case would be built on evidence, and there was now plenty, that this was a somnambular murder. It would be a jury that would decide, and not her. But she intended to tell them what she’d seen that first Halloween night, how Cassandra had remained asleep even after she’d been shot, and stand as a witness for her defence.
DAY 17
MONDAY 17 NOVEMBER
46
Cassandra
The sky is grey on the day we bury you, full of rolling thunder.
I pull on a black wool dress and wander around the house, making sure everything looks tidy. Not that it matters: there won’t be much of a wake. We couldn’t risk anyone looking for an angle, a story to sell, so it’ll be just family here afterwards. I run my hand along the bookshelf, tweak the cushion on the chair, feeling a wave of love for the house, for everything in it, now I won’t be here much longer. It’s just a matter of time until I’m arrested. The police haven’t charged me yet, but they will. I’m officially a suspect, and they’re gathering the evidence. The sleep trial; Daniel’s statement. But it’s Holly’s statement that she saw me sleepwalk when I was a child, how she saw me remain in that state even after I was shot, that Rupert Jackson says will save me from a life sentence.
Victoria moves around upstairs, getting ready as she talks on her phone to Dawn, who’s back at Oakfield. Victoria won’t return to Oakfield: she’s home for good now, and it hurts like a fresh cut that I could be sent away from her again if I go to prison.
Dad’s in the kitchen. I make us a cup of tea and place it in front of him. There’s nothing more to say – he tried his best, but in the end, he couldn’t protect me from what I did while I was asleep. Or rather, what he believes I did.
In seconds, Daniel is beside me, pulling me into his arms. My face is against his chest, the smell of him is so familiar and comforting that I can hardly breathe.
I’m the strong one now – I have been since the day of my sleep trial, when he told me everything. He’s fighting back tears, and I kiss him quickly on the cheek.
‘The car will be here soon. Go and put your shoes on, love.’
The rain begins to fall as we sing ‘Morning Has Broken’. It’s not a funeral song, the celebrant told me that, but I insisted. The service is simple and quick. We sit at the front: Dad and Daniel, me and Victoria. Ash and Janet are behind us. Further back are people we didn’t invite, but who came anyway.
Neighbours, a handful of people who called themselves your friend. We all watch your coffin slide behind the curtain. This is goodbye, Mum.
Afterwards, people mingle under the wooden gazebo, reading the notes on the flowers: Dearly beloved, In deepest sympathy, To my wonderful mother. The rain starts a drumbeat on the roof, a sound so startling I fear it could collapse. From the shelter of the gazebo I watch as Victoria, my beautiful girl, hurriedly crosses the car park to the woodland, where the ashes from the cremations are buried, where you too will be soon. She finds shelter under a holm oak. Under the canopy of trees are commemorative benches, and stakes with names, some surrounded by flowers, some with photos. The oak is just beyond these, on the edge of the wilder wood where no plaques stand to remember the dead. She turns to its trunk as if it’s a person, places her arms around it as if it could hold and comfort her. Maybe it is comfort – that tree will outlast us all and our daily struggles are as nothing. Though her expression is hidden, I can tell by the way her shoulders shake that she’s sobbing.
I long to step out into the rain, to be with my girl, but around me people are waiting to kiss me and shake my hand and say how sorry they are for my loss. Then I see Daniel, striding across the lawn, a soldier marching onwards with head up despite the downpour. He opens his arms to Victoria long before he reaches her, and she leaves the tree’s comfort to find his. My man, my girl, hold each other tight and fast.
‘Cassandra, I just wanted to offer my condolences,’ says another voice, a face I don’t recognise gives a good impression of sorrow and I shake a cold hand. She turns away, her place filled by yet another stranger.
‘I’m sorry, I need to go to my daughter,’ I say. For who can argue with the grieving?
‘Of course, of course’ ringing in my ears as I follow where Daniel leads.
I pass the memorials, some with an abundance of trinkets, candles and wind chimes, but saddest of all are those names with nothing. Don’t worry, Mum, there will always be fresh flowers for you.
My family open up, letting me into the embrace and I’m not sure where tears end and the rain begins. The three of us, drenched as if heaven itself is crying and all the time I know, in my heart, that it is going to be okay. To live is to love, and to love is to lose – this is always the way it ends, sooner or later. And I lost you, Mum, long before that Saturday morning. I’ve lost you for good now, but I’ve found something else.
Daniel and Victoria have been returned to me.
We walk back, through the woodland, to the crematorium, where the dry group awaits us. We don’t hurry, the rain doesn’t bother us; we have each other. Our arms entwined, I am central, flanked by the two people I love most in the world.
‘Let’s speak to everyone,’ I say, ‘and thank them for coming. Then let’s go home and plan Samphire Health Spa, just like Mum would want us to.’
Back under the gazebo, I release Victoria and she goes to comfort Dad, who’s standing nursing his bad hand, looking lost. This will be hard for him, I know, but he still has us. I turn to Daniel and we exchange a moment that is all ours. I say, so softly only he can hear, ‘I forgive you.’
He kisses me deeply, and a line comes to me from my favourite book: like guilty lovers who have not kissed before.
After most people have left the crematorium, I find Holly. She has been present through all of this, and I’m grateful. I have one last favour.
‘Holly, please can you drive me to the police station? I think we both need to make a confession.’
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NINE MONTHS LATER
47
Cassandra
Courtroom Number One is oppressive with the smell of polished wood and starched collars, the glitter of dust on wood, sweat on skin. Many people have sat on this hard bench before, hearts tight, hands clenched, just like me. It’s a comfort that others have survived this.
The circus of activity in this ancient and pompous room seems to be happening to someone else. Each day of the trial, reporters and rubberneckers fought for seats in the public gallery. It’s over now: only the verdict remains.
The large empty chair is where the judge will sit to give his verdict. The space below is where the barristers, in their monochrome costumes, have already acted their parts and are now punch-drunk with the euphoria of the final bow, crowing about their plans for Christmas. This is their final case before the party begins.
The audience, the jury, have gone out to deliberate. The two rows where they sat are empty, have been for two days, but we’ve had word that they’ll return at any moment and the mood is lifted because of it. Tonight, they can return to normal life. I keep looking at the door, tall and wide, deep brown wood, so thick I couldn’t smash through it. It lets others in, but wouldn’t let me out. Where would I run to?
Oh, Mum. Why didn’t you love me? If only you’d protected me instead of sending me away to boarding school, locking me away at the Bartlet, things would have been different. You loved Daniel, when you thought he’d saved you, but your love was a fickle thing.
Upstairs in the public gallery, faces peer down. Just seeing Victoria’s heart-shaped face, her long hair that is so much like yours, gives me courage. Poor Victoria – she’s strong to be here. She leans on the balustrade, kisses her fingers and throws me a greeting. I try to believe in her faith, but she has the advantage of innocence.