The phone was ringing. I had fallen asleep. My head was muzzy, and I was tempted to let the call go unanswered, but as ever I envisaged disaster. What if Chris had had an accident? What if one of the children was ill or in trouble or down at the local police station accused of some teenage carnage? That’s the way you think when you’re a mother. So I staggered to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
‘Hi, Mama.’ It was Eve. ‘I was just wondering – when are you coming home? I’ve just got back – it was brilliant, the whole trip, by the way – and I’ve spoken to Dad at the clinic. But why are you still in Cornwall? Dad says it’s because of Eloise, that you’re sad. Please don’t be sad, Mama. Come home and I’ll give you a big hug.’
Ah, my Eve. My baby. Always.
And Eloise?
No babies for her now. Never, ever. Or was she still here, still watching, brooding, desperate to get home to her little girls? Unable to let them go, scared for their future, wanting above all else to hold them once more, to protect them? My new, dark instinct, enveloping me as I veered ever closer to my old battle with depression, told me yes. But what did that mean? Could it be that, if I was right, Eloise’s death was unfinished business? Was Eloise not at peace? Did Juliana’s anxiety about how her daughter died mean that she shared my growing feeling that something very bad had happened?
Or was the stress of my best friend’s death, my grief, my fear that if she could die so young, then so could I, pulling me back into the horrible black world of mental illness from which I had so recently escaped?
I gulped, got a grip, and forced myself to smile as I murmured soothing words of love and reassurance to my Eve, asked her more about the ski trip, said I would see her by the weekend, and meantime to give Daddy a big kiss from me. It seemed to work. She put the phone down sounding happy and well loved. Which she was.
I fried some bacon and eggs, and sat down to watch television while I ate. As usual there was nothing I wanted to see. Thank God for Sky Plus. I found the planner and accessed Steel Magnolias. If you’re steeped in family sentiment you might as well watch a weepie. Besides, it reminded me of Evie. Julia Roberts, Sally Field, Dolly Parton, Daryl Hannah, Shirley MacLaine and the magnificent Olympia Dukakis never failed to grip me in a tight embrace of femininity. Evie and I had watched this movie many times. In fact, we were totally hooked on girls-only nights. Together we’d sniffled through Stepmom and Mama Mia when Chris, Sam and Tom were out, eating scrambled eggs, loving the silly sentimentality of our mother/daughter bond.
At about nine o’clock, when Julia Roberts was just about to expire, headlights swept past the sitting-room windows. I didn’t think they had anything to do with me. We have two sets of neighbours on our land, both with rights of way past our house. It would be Jim and Mary, or Terry and his adolescent children arriving home after a day of work, school and football practice. I never closed the blinds in our cottage, just as, like everyone else in our tiny hamlet, I never locked the doors. There was no need. Our neighbours were benevolent, and no one else ever came down our remote drive unless invited.
The ceaseless heavy rain had turned into a violent storm, which can be pleasurably thrilling if you’ve got company, but much more threatening when you’re on your own.
The kitchen door opened without a knock and banged violently against the wall as it was thrown open. I leapt up in alarm. Ted! He stood just inside the door and leant back against the frame. His knees buckled and I thought he was going to faint. I ran to hold and steady him.
‘Ted, my dear. Are you OK? Let me get you a drink. Where are the girls?’
‘I dropped them off at Juliana’s. They’re staying the night.’
That surprised me. Not that Juliana had agreed to babysit the twins, because she absolutely adored them. But if her relationship with her son-in-law was as difficult as she’d said, I wondered at Ted’s preparedness to take advantage of her kindness. Maybe it was just a matter of convenience for him or maybe he didn’t dislike her as much as she thought he did. I just hoped he’d dropped them off before he’d started drinking, because he was definitely not sober.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Cathy, but I was desperate for someone to talk to. I know Chris had to go back to London, but I really needed to see you. I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s probably the last thing you need at this time of night.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s not that late and I’m glad of your company. Cornwall in the middle of a storm can be pretty lonely.’ As I spoke, thunder rocked the valley and the rain pounded on the roof. I waited for the lightning. In truth, I was glad not to be on my own right now.
‘Ted, what can I get you to drink?’
‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any whisky?’
‘You’re in luck. Left over from Christmas.’
Lightning flashed and cracked as I poured the Scotch while he collapsed on the sofa.
He looked exhausted and I studied him carefully. He was an attractive man, tall, with hair bleached blond by the Cornish sun. His eyes, blue as the sea, were tired and sad.
‘How are they? The girls?’ I asked.
‘Remarkable, actually.’
‘And you?’
He laughed, sweeping his hand through his hair.
‘Well actually, since you ask, I’m pretty crap.’
‘I thought so. I’m sorry.’
‘D’you know what? I’d really like not to talk about this at the moment. I mean, just being here feels like a bit of norm ality.’
But the conversation was stilted. There were things neither of us wanted to say and I felt I had a duty to have a deep and serious talk with him about Eloise, but it was obvious he didn’t want it. He craved a blazing fire, female company, a large Scotch and News At Ten. And that’s what I gave him, watching him relax and sink into his chair.
‘It’s been so difficult, keeping up appearances for the children,’ he said eventually. ‘I can’t talk, can’t cry in front of them. I think I’m going mad, Cathy – the world’s turned over and I don’t know what to do next. To be honest, all I want is to get drunk.’
‘Well, you’re entitled to that.’
‘I wish, but not here. I’ve got to drive back to Fowey. Home.’ He grimaced.
‘Haven’t you been back yet?’
‘No. Couldn’t face it. Have to tomorrow, though. Just couldn’t bear it tonight.’
‘Then stay here, Ted. Have a few drinks, sleep it off, and go back to collect the girls in the morning. I’ll come with you if you like. And go back with you all to Fowey. You’ll need groceries to keep you going. I’ll help you shop.’
‘Cathy, you’re an angel. But I can’t impose my sad, pathetic self on you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve nothing else to do, and besides, I’m pretty knocked sideways myself. I spoke to Juliana yesterday. She’s still in shock.’
His face changed. Now he didn’t look sad, just angry.
‘She blames me, you know. Christ knows why. Eloise had been living under a death sentence for years.’
‘It’s really tough on all of you. I’m desperately sorry. Just stay here tonight. Have another drink.’
He acquiesced. I wasn’t trying to get him drunk, but his mood was hard to read, and I was anxious to calm him down.
I brought him another Scotch. He tossed it down. His face relaxed and he turned to look at me.
‘You know, Cathy, of all Ellie’s friends, you’re the only one I can really trust. I really like you.’
‘Well, that’s good. I’m glad you feel like that,’ I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. ‘And I really want to help; I can’t tell you how much I want to make this better for all of you. If I possibly can.’ It was obvious now that he’d drunk so much there could be no effective conversation, so I said, ‘Look, Ted. I’m suddenly really tired and I just have to go to bed. If you go downstairs, you can sleep in any of the kids’ rooms. The beds are all made up … ’
‘Cathy, please can we talk?’ He was anx
ious, somehow petulant, wanting to prolong the moment.
‘Tomorrow would be better – you look exhausted. Really, you need to sleep; and so do I. Things will make more sense in the morning.’
He clearly needed something from me – some level of emotional input – which I was not prepared to offer right now. OK, he was more than a bit drunk, tired and sad, but I sensed he wanted to confide in me and I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear whatever it was. But confide what? I felt on edge. In some indefinable way the mood had changed and I sensed something slightly unstable in him, a hint of aggression.
Despite my reservations about Juliana’s negative opinion of Ted, I had in fact suspected for some time that all was not well with him and Eloise. It was only a vague, niggling suspicion, and I hadn’t said anything to Chris, but I felt there was a distance between them, a lack of the warmth and intimacy that they used to enjoy. I told myself it was the cancer; that she was in denial and he was desperate. I felt she needed to stop racing around the world in pursuit of alternative miracle cures; over the last three years she had visited Switzerland, Austria, Germany, and Italy to get the unorthodox but hands-on treatment she felt she had to have to survive. Of course she could afford it. But the more faith she placed in people Ted thought were charlatans, the more distant she became from him. She would bring them back to the house and expect him to entertain them. And they took advantage. Eloise was rich. She was to inherit a great deal of money when her mother died, and in the meantime she was the beneficiary of a substantial trust fund. Her ‘healers’ knew this and found her comfortable home in Fowey a very agreeable place to stay.
And of course they charged highly for their ministrations; massages, reflexology, swimming in certain ‘holy’ spots along the coast. There were evening sessions where they would chant and bang drums, then there was the nutritional advice, the insistence on organic fruit and vegetables juiced up several times a day.
To be honest, their lovely home became a madhouse and Chris and I stopped visiting. Instead we asked them round to our place when we were down in Cornwall, or arranged to meet on a beach, or at one of the local restaurants, like the Old Quay House in Fowey, where we could sit on the terrace, watch the boats go by and pretend to ourselves that our beautiful, blessed life in Cornwall was still intact.
I told Ted I was going to bed, as firmly as I could. By now he was nursing yet another Scotch and I could hardly take him down to Sam’s room and tuck him in. He and Eloise had stayed with us many times, but still it felt awkward that he and I were here on our own. As I turned away, he followed me. His voice was slurred and urgent.
‘Cathy. I know you left a message on the answerphone for Eloise the day she died. You were returning a call she’d left on yours. What did she say, Cath? Did she sound upset? Did she tell you something … something about us?’
‘No. She did leave a message asking me to call her, but when I rang back she didn’t pick up. Why? Do you think she had something to tell me?’
He stared at me. His eyes were unfocused, and a little wild.
‘Did Eloise ever tell you that I really fancy you?’ he asked.
I was beyond shocked. ‘Of course not, Ted! Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s a pity she didn’t. Because I do. And Cathy, I’m a grieving widower. I need some comfort.’
He leered at me, and lurched towards me, clumsily putting his arms around me, spilling whisky over my shirt as he did so. I pulled back sharply, nervous and a bit angry.
‘I know you’re very unhappy, and that’s why you’re acting like this. But it won’t do, Ted, it really won’t. Tomorrow you’ll be embarrassed about this, but don’t worry, I’ll forget all about it. I understand what you’re going through.’
I walked quickly to the door, ran upstairs and shot the bolt on our bedroom door. Yes, we never locked the outside doors, but our bedroom was different. We had to feel we could have some privacy from small, inquisitive eyes when the children were little. How I wished that Chris were here with me. He could have taken care of Ted, just as I could have taken care of Eloise or Juliana. Gender is so important at moments of high drama in domestic life. We kind of know what is expected of us when it comes to comforting sad people, but it helps if there are no possible misunderstandings about sexual roles. Ted, devastated as he was, could stay the night but our contact had to be strictly limited. He was not himself, and I didn’t feel completely safe around him.
Lying sleepless in bed, for the first time I allowed myself to acknowledge that there had been times in the past when I’d felt he’d held me just a little too close saying hello or goodbye, had stroked my arm a little too intimately when I sat beside him at dinner. I had resolutely buried such thoughts, told myself I was imagining things, that Ellie loved him too much for him not to love her back just as passionately.
*
Eventually I went to sleep.
And then, something strange and tumultuous. I saw Eloise. She fled through a drowned landscape. Clouds and water drenched her, but she pursued the clear sunlight of her dream. Only then could she get back to her babies, I realised, to the still bright world of the living. Away from the vapourfilled twilight of the dead.
This was madness, but by some strange sense, I felt the panic in her head. I knew what she was feeling. What to do? How to find an ally? How to close that huge hole in her belly, the space where her babies had lain so safely? How to rescue them from the awful place in which they were now, threatened, motherless?
In my dream I found her at the war memorial on the cliff path to Polperro. I really did not want to be there, but her spirit had prised me out of my warm bed, and now I too was drenched, cold and frankly unhappy to be in a storm-tossed landscape, the surf below battering the rocks, the noise of the wind screaming in my ears.
It was a dream, of course. I knew that even at the time. Another of those ghostly supernatural hallucinations that happened when I was stressed, like the terrifying dream I’d had about my father.
But I was scared and angry. This was all so stupid, so utterly unnecessary.
‘Eloise,’ I said, to the formless shade before me, ‘I’m asleep. I’d really like to get back to my bed. Why am I here? What do you want me to do?’
‘I’ll tell you soon,’ the rippling shadow told me. ‘Above all, you have to keep them safe.’
‘Who? How? What do you mean?’
‘Just watch my girls, Cathy. Keep them safe. Don’t trust anything he says.’
Chapter Six
The rain, the cloud, the fierce February cold receded, and I fleetingly felt the caress of the duvet on my chilled limbs.
And then I woke up. And I wasn’t in my soft, warm bed, but outside in the garden. It was raining hard, and I was in my Grumpy T-shirt from Disney World. I had no recollection of how I’d got here. I must have sleepwalked out of the house. The rain drummed down and the wind howled as it had in my dream. I felt terrified. The Cornish night was as black as ebony. No stars, no moon, just a dim light from the porch, and as I stumbled back towards the kitchen door, a low moan curdled my scared, shaken brain. It seemed to come from the willow tree. I was very tempted to ignore it, to slide back into my inviting bed, but as I hesitated it came again, and I saw, as I reluctantly stared into the darkness, a figure lying on the ground. At first I was so scared I thought it was Eloise, somehow transported from her place in the churchyard just above us at Saint Tallanus; but then I saw it was a man. Ted. Completely drunk and passed out on the lawn. He must have tried to leave, angry and embarrassed at his clumsy pass at me. His car was in the drive, and the porch light glinted on the bunch of keys clasped in his hand. I stared at him. Eloise’s warning sounded in my head. Don’t trust him. But that was just a dream. And Ted, wet, cold and drunk, needed my help despite his behaviour.
I tried to shake him awake, but he was totally oblivious. I thought of waking one of the neighbours, but it was, and I checked my watch, gone three in the morning. In the end, I’m ashamed to say, I left him. I c
overed him with the waterproof tarpaulin from the barbecue, rigged an old sun parasol over him to keep off the worst of the rain, and went back inside to the warmth of the kitchen. I left the door unlocked so he could get back in. Then I went upstairs, stripped off my soaking T-shirt, and towelled myself dry before climbing into my welcoming bed. What’s more, I fell instantly and guiltlessly asleep.
I woke up late and flustered on Wednesday morning. It was after eleven. I got up and went into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I tried to remember exactly what had happened the night before. I must have been a bit tipsy myself. Everything seemed hazy. No wonder I’d had such a frightening dream about Eloise. While I was plying Ted with Scotch, I must have been pouring too much red wine for myself.
My heart lurched as I remembered. Ted! He had passed out under the willow tree and, unforgivably, I had left him outside in the cold rain of a February night. I felt sick. Clutching my dressing gown around me I pelted down the stairs. The living room was empty. I opened the kitchen door and walked out past the patio, up onto the lawn to the willow tree.
He wasn’t there, which filled me with relief, but the barbecue cover and the tatty old sun umbrella were still reproachfully and squelchily in place, looking sad and unsavoury in the grey, forlorn morning light.
I rushed downstairs to the children’s bedrooms, flung open their doors and found nothing. No beds had been disturbed, and the bathroom towels were pristine.
Back up to the living room, and I realised even his car had gone from the drive.
I was relieved – or was I? Obviously I had failed him last night. I mean, who wants a grieving guest to pass out drunkenly on the lawn on a cold February night? But somehow I did not want Ted in our house, certainly not when I was on my own. And I was glad, in a shamefaced way, that I didn’t have to make him breakfast this morning, or go back with him to Eloise’s lovely home in Fowey, as I’d offered, or even talk to him.
Eloise Page 3