On the Edge of Darkness

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘A quest to murder me,’ Jane said softly. She was shivering in spite of the warmth of the summer afternoon.

  Neither man spoke.

  ‘It had not occurred to me that she might be two people,’ Ivor said at last. ‘Mother and daughter. That is plausible.’ His relief at having a new idea around which to rearrange his thoughts was palpable.

  ‘Brid’s mother didn’t look like her.’ Adam went on with a shake of his head. ‘She was a nice woman. Kind.’

  ‘And her father?’

  ‘Dead when I knew her. Her uncle was a complete madman though. That would explain where she got the violent streak.’ He stood up and wandered onto the grass, absent-mindedly snapping off the dead head of a rose as he did so. ‘They will catch her?’

  ‘Of course.’ Ivor shrugged. ‘But until then, you should not lower your guard.’ He looked at Jane. ‘Either of you.’

  The fever burned her body as she lay in the cottage by the burn, but she fought it, crawling once each day to the water to slake her thirst and wash the sour sweat from her face and neck. She had packed the shot wounds above her breast with herbs, and the flesh had stayed free of infection after she had cut the ragged edges of skin away with her knife. For a long time she had not known what had happened. She had ricocheted away from the orchard in Wales in deep shock, finding herself first on the mountainside and then seconds later in Adam’s house. She had not known until she drew the knife that she was once more in a human body and she had no knowledge of why she had stabbed the woman who had found her in his study and who had asked if she could help. All she remembered was a sudden blinding rage that someone should stand in her way. For several seconds she had stood over the collapsing woman, staring down at her, puzzled, as she lay dying on the carpet. Then, suddenly, she had felt the surge of energy and excitement which came with the blood and without warning she was upstairs in the house, looking out of the window watching eagerly as A-dam’s car drew up outside, then in an instant she was back in the glen, the wind cooling her burning flesh and tearing at her clothes.

  For the first time in a long time she wept. She was alone and afraid and the pain beneath her collarbone was intense. Sometimes, in her delirium, she called for her mother or for Gartnait; more often she called for A-dam. But he never came. Day succeeded day and slowly she grew weaker. She had almost lost her strength entirely when, lying by the burn to scoop the soft brown water into her mouth she noticed the scraped nest bowl of a plover amongst the heather stems. In it were two speckled eggs, still warm from the mother. She took them and broke them into her mouth, feeling the rich yolks running down her throat. Lying still, her head in her arms, she felt the sun’s rays on her back and she gave thanks to the hen bird whose eggs had given her strength. Later she sucked the sour juice from blaeberries and sat for a while, staring down into the sparkling water. When she crawled back into the cottage at dusk she slept without fever, knowing she would soon be recovered, and in her dream Adam came to find her at last and put his hand upon her head and declared her fever gone. And in her dream she smiled, and rubbed her face against his hand.

  The moon had waxed and waned twice before she felt strong enough to go to the stone and look for the gateway to Adam’s time. Her energies were still low and her concentration feeble, but as the nights grew longer and the air chill and damp, she found herself longing more and more to be with him. He had never come to her again, beyond that first night when she had dreamed about him and she knew in her heart it had been no more than a dream.

  She stood for a while beside the stone, her hand caressing gently the carvings her brother had made with such care. A crisp frosting of palest green lichen had crawled into some of the deeper cuts in the granite and she scratched at it with her fingernail. It did not matter. It did not diminish the power. That came from beneath the ground, welling and ebbing up like a tide in the ancient rocks beneath her feet. And now, with the new moon a slim sickle in the sky she could feel the tide gathering. Its strength would carry her down the years to Adam’s time.

  As the sun set behind the mountains she watched her shadow lengthen across the ground, then slowly she turned towards the east and raised her arms above her head. Her eyes were closed as she went within and felt her strength grow.

  Adam was sitting at his desk in his study. For a moment he did not sense her there in front of him and she looked round, breathless and triumphant. He was alone. The room was empty. She watched him for a moment, her love spilling out towards him, then slowly she held out her hands.

  A-dam!

  As he looked up, startled, she felt the atmosphere in the room curdle and separate around her. It grew suddenly very cold.

  ‘Brid?’ Adam’s voice echoed after her as she found herself once more on the hillside, on her knees beside the stone, tears pouring down her face.

  She tried again the following night. This time he was in his garden. She watched him from the shelter of the old pear tree, her heart aching with longing as he pottered about in the flower bed and then walked slowly back towards the house.

  ‘Adam!’ The woman’s voice from his study window cut through the silence like a knife and Brid found herself shaking violently. For a moment she hung on, her nails digging into the mossy bark of the tree, and then she was gone, back to the hillside where the darkness had already fallen and the moon was obscured by rushing cloud. Back in the cottage she hugged her knees and rocked back and forth in her misery. What was wrong? Why couldn’t she stay with A-dam? Why couldn’t she focus? She needed his love to hold her, and with that woman always there, his love was not strong enough.

  She knew it must be that she was too weak. She made herself a hunting knife and some snares and caught rabbits and birds for her pot. She sought out herbs and infused them in rainwater in the sunlight to increase her strength and then she tried again.

  This time A-dam was in Scotland, too. She felt her heart leap with excitement as she recognised the mountains and knew that he was very near. Then he turned to face her and she saw with a cry of horror that A-dam was old. His face was lined and coarsened and his hair, still wild and curly, was white as the snow on the high peaks in winter. It was the wrong time.

  No!

  Her cry of anguish as she moved towards him startled him visibly. He stared at her and she saw the recognition in his eyes, but already he was fading, and the rush of cold wind on her face and the stone beneath her desperate hands once again told her that she had lost him.

  ‘Time. I must study time. I must find him when he is young.’ Her hands shaking, she made her way back to the hut and felt over the door for the strike-a-light to fire the wood and kindling she had left stacked in the dry near her stone fireplace. Holding her hands out to the warmth she breathed slowly and deeply, trying to concentrate her mind. She remembered her training – when you return from travel you eat to regain strength and re-establish your roots in the ground. Reaching above her into the darkness she found the capercaillie meat, hung from the roof beams where the thin slices she had carved from the carcass had dried in the smoke of the fire, and she chewed on it, feeling the flavour grow rich and nourishing in her mouth. In her head she was working out the position of the stars and of the moon and remembering the lessons of her Uncle Broichan.

  When she again made the leap into time A-dam was young once more, but he was holding his wife in his arms and Brid, watching, knew that he must be freed from these people who clung to him and held him from her and stopped him reaching out to touch her as she hovered hear him. When she stood next by the stone she had her knife in her belt and an amulet at her throat. This time she would not fail.

  She knew by the stars she was in the right time. The place too was correct, though the windows of the house had been painted and the door was shut. Standing in the garden she crept forwards and looked into his study from the flower bed outside. At first she thought the room was empty, then she saw that Adam was standing near the door. Facing him was his son, and behind the young man was a wo
man. Brid stiffened as she watched, her senses quivering. In the woman’s arms was a baby.

  ‘You cannot take that child out of the country. It would be complete madness!’ Adam was shouting now. ‘Good God Almighty, Calum, have you no sense at all! Please, think. She is only a few months old! Have you any idea at all of the diseases you will find in these places! Have you any idea how many adults die on the hippy trail? Do you know what hepatitis can do? Or typhoid or cholera?’ He turned round and walked over to the window, smacking his fist against the palm of his hand. His face was working with anger and grief. ‘And what about your career?’ He swung round without looking out. ‘Have you no interest at all in going to university any more?’

  ‘Cool it, Dad.’ Calum put a protective arm round Julie. ‘You’ll upset the baby. Look, you knew this is what we planned to do. Of course I’ll go to university. When I come back. What’s the hurry? There’s all the time in the world, okay? And as for Beth catching diseases, that’s rubbish. She’s had her vaccinations and stuff, and she’ll be fine. Loads of babies go off with their parents; loads of babies get born on the way. That’s what’s natural.’

  ‘She will be all right, Uncle Adam.’ Julie’s voice was very quiet. ‘You mustn’t be so stuffy. And you can’t stop us!’

  ‘No!’ Adam threw himself down on the chair behind his desk. ‘No, I haven’t been able to stop Calum doing anything, have I, since you entered his life? Have you any idea how much damage you have done? His exams, his ambitions, his future.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘And now you take that innocent child – ’

  ‘Dad, that’s enough!’ Calum’s voice rang through the room. ‘You can’t talk to Julie like that.’

  ‘Yes I can!’ Adam’s face was white with anger. ‘Isn’t it bad enough to know the mother of my grandchild smokes pot – ’

  ‘I haven’t touched any – ’

  ‘No? You think I don’t know what the stuff smells like!’

  ‘Julie, I think we should go.’ Calum reached for the door handle. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I really am. I thought you and I would one day be able to have a sensible conversation, but as it is, I doubt if it will ever happen. So I don’t think there is any point in continuing this discussion or any other. Tell Mum I’m sorry we missed her. We’ll be in touch with her when we come back from Nepal.’

  ‘Calum – ’

  ‘No, Dad. That’s enough. And I think you can forget the career in medicine. You’re right. I don’t have what it takes. I’m not sure if I’ll bother to do anything at all. Why don’t I just behave like the layabout you obviously think I am!’ Calum ushered Julie past him into the hall. ‘Don’t bother to see us out.’ With one last furious look at his father he slammed the door.

  ‘I won’t!’ Adam bellowed after him. ‘And don’t bother to come back, I never want to see any of you again!’

  He sat where he was without moving. He was shaking like a leaf. For a long time he stayed, staring down at the blotter on his desk, then slowly he reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose. When he stood up and walked over to the window again, of long habit seeking the comfort of looking at his roses, his eyes were full of tears.

  Outside the window Brid watched him in silence. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but the glass was in the way. Stepping forward she put her hands up against the pane, near his face, trying to reach him, but he didn’t see her. For a moment he stayed where he was, then he turned away. Slowly he walked to the door and went out into the hall.

  The front door was open. On the step a small teddy bear lay face down amongst the scatter of dead leaves. Stooping, he picked it up, then quietly he closed the door and walked back towards his study.

  In the car little Beth was screaming. Julie clutched at her, trying to rock her to sleep. ‘Quiet, quiet, please, please be quiet. Drive slowly Calum, there’s no need to go so fast. Calum, please!’

  ‘He’s so stupid!’ Calum changed gear and turned onto the A1. ‘He is so damn stubborn and old fashioned. And as for accusing you of smoking pot!’

  ‘I did once.’ Julie buried her face in the baby’s hair. ‘I did once, when I was staying there and you came back late. I felt so lonely and unwanted, and your father was so sniffy towards me, I went up to the bathroom and had a joint – ’

  ‘You did what?’ Calum turned and stared at her in shock. ‘Julie!’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. Calum, for Christ’s sake, watch the road!’ She closed her eyes and sighed with relief as Calum pulled the car back on course, narrowly missing a white van which came racing out of the darkness of the straight road, horn blaring. On either side of them the tall poplars rose, black sentinels in the darkness, flashing by as Calum increased his speed. It was beginning to rain again and the windscreen of the old Mini smeared beneath the wipers. ‘Come on, Calum, let’s forget your father. I’m fed up with him always there, always criticising me. Let’s go. Let’s just go. We could be in France by tomorrow. Let’s drive towards the sun, and never come back!’

  Calum turned towards her and grinned. ‘You’re right. Life is for living. We’ll go back and get our gear together and tell Max we want the van he offered us. We’ll get shot of all this hassle.’ He groped for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Beth, baby, you are going to have one incredible childhood!’

  Brid, standing in the garden, watched in despair as Adam sat at his desk weeping. She pressed her hands against the window again, then went to the French doors, and knocked. Still he didn’t seem to hear her. Her hands on the glass made no sound and she beat against them harder.

  A-dam! A-dam!

  Her cry was caught up on the wind and whisked away without him hearing her.

  A-dam, let me in!

  What was wrong? Why couldn’t she make him hear? Sobbing with frustration she stepped away from the glass doors. It was his son’s fault, his son and that stupid insipid child his son called wife. They made A-dam unhappy. He wasted his love and emotion on them when he could be with her. Her desperation and fury focused suddenly on them, the two young people with their baby in the silly little blue car who had gone away laughing to leave her A-dam crying and alone.

  When she found herself out on the road in the rain she did not understand for a moment what had happened. A car sped past her, hooting and she jumped back out of its way. Then she realised where she was and she smiled. The Mini was going more slowly, but still, when she stepped out in front of it and raised her hands to curse the man and woman whose faces she saw momentarily as white screaming shapes in the blackness, it spun and skidded round four times before spinning off the road and into the ditch, where it lay with its wheels in the air, the only sound the hissing of steam and the thin high-pitched wail of a baby crying.

  PART THREE

  Liza

  1960s–1980s

  14

  ‘You should have made Adam come with you.’

  Standing in the pouring rain, Liza and Jane were the last two left standing by the grave. At their feet the gaping hole which contained two coffins side by side was overshadowed by the huge heap of flowers, chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies mixed with the more exotic lilies and roses. ‘He’ll never forgive himself for not being here,’ Liza added.

  ‘I don’t understand him.’ Jane was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘He’s like a madman.’

  In his anguish and fury and pain Adam had sworn never again to have anything to do with Liza or Phil or the tiny child who had been pulled so miraculously alive from the mangled wreck which had taken the lives of her two young parents; his fury with Julie had turned to rage against her mother.

  Under the yew trees near them Phil waited, his huge umbrella giving shelter to the baby in the crook of his arm. Beth stared up at the bright striped umbrella, watching the drops of rain hanging like diamonds round the rim and snuggled wide-eyed into her nest of blankets, unaware of the tragedy which had befallen her. Beside him Jane’s mother, leaning heavily on a walking stick and dressed all in black, stood sniffling into a wet hand
kerchief.

  The rest of the mourners huddled together at the lych gate, then slowly, driven on by the rain they climbed back into the line of cars which had been parked, wheels in the hedge, down the narrow lane outside the old mountain church where Julie, in a fit of romantic gloom, inspired by a summer of reading Keats, had told her mother she wanted to be buried. Calum had never as far as Jane knew thought for a single moment about his own death – the only thing she knew was that he would want to be with his Julie and as far away from his father as possible. The two hearses had already gone.

  Adam had refused to come. He did not even want to talk about it. When the police had brought little Beth back to Jane he had not looked at the child at all, and the next morning he had told her to get rid of it, as though the baby were an unwanted pet. It had in any case taken Liza only four hours to drive across from Wales. It was a foregone conclusion that Beth would go back with her. Jane had gone too.

  ‘If only they hadn’t had that row!’ Jane was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘If only I’d come back sooner, before they left.’

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself for that.’ Liza put her arm round the other woman’s shoulders. It was the sixth time she had said it in as many hours. ‘Janie, you know your being there would have made no difference; you know how stubborn Adam is. And Calum was like him.’ She stopped and stared down at the coffins, unable to speak for a moment for her own grief. ‘It was what was supposed to be, for some reason.’ She gave a deep sobbing sigh and closed her eyes.