He held her away, seeing from her face that she had accepted the truth of it.
He took her back to the pub and left her in the snug while he ran up the stairs, woke Ed and told him what had happened. He wasn’t surprised when Ed confessed he had shown her the place.
They went downstairs. Ed still had a bit of awkwardness about him, despite having to grow up too fast, but he was ready to take her into his shelter. Without Harry having to say anything, took her in his arms, then led her into the kitchen. Hot sweet tea was on the cards.
Harry arranged everything. The emergency services, local help with the retrieval of the body, the transport across to the mainland, the terrible phone call to the hospital to tell Rose that her husband was gone. He didn’t mention the whiteness of the man’s face, or how his body had shrivelled, looking like the husk of a fly that a spider had drained. Everyone would say that he had bled out on the rocks after jumping or falling. Except the islanders who would say nothing at all.
Harry could hardly believe it had happened. Everything had been under control. At least he had thought it was. No one had suffered like Frank for a long, long time. People had died, but that had been the end. Now the climate had changed. The storms no longer brought bounty to their shores to keep matters steady and manageable. Something would have to be done.
Harry kept uppermost in his mind at all times that when Will’s time had come, it was natural. He had lost blood on the teeth of the devil but, gruesome though his injuries were, they were normal for the catastrophic event that had occurred. He had died a man and had gone to his grave and his immortal rest as one. Harry clung to that. If he spent sleepless nights considering the value of a death like that, then it was no one’s business but his own. If the other men sometimes showed signs of bad nights, then that was theirs. Nothing needed to be spoken about. The work just needed to be done.
Frank was taken away from the island, but when they were finished with him on the mainland, they would send him back to be buried in the rocks and soil of his birthplace. With a brick in his mouth.
Nine
Winter changes into stone the water of heaven
and the heart of man.
Victor Hugo, Les Misérables, 1862
Dan didn’t come into the pub that night either. He really had gone on a bender on the mainland, if he wasn’t washing up on the rocks like Frank. But Harry knew this of old. For a long time, while Patty was sick and after she died, Dan had laid off the drink a little. When Harry cut him off, he sometimes tried to get a drink out of someone else, but he mostly just went home quietly enough.
Like all the islanders, Harry had seen both Patty and Ed with bruises or long sleeves on hot days. He and the others had often taken Dan aside and told him to lay off. In the end, he always returned to his ways, and Patty stayed no matter what. There was nothing else anyone could do, although Harry still regretted that he hadn’t acted more drastically. The problem, of course, was that Dan was one of them. One of the old gang. So, as bad as it felt to Harry, they kept watch on him and his family, being tough with him periodically to keep him roughly on track, to keep him from killing his wife and son.
Once Ed grew into a strong young man, and Patty fell ill, there were no more bruises, just misery and waiting. Now, the two were out there alone on the farm, too close to the Hall. And Dan had gone back to his old ways, as he always did.
Harry looked up at the ceiling. Lia was up there, sleeping away the shock of finding Frank impaled on the rocks and thinking it was her dad. Ed was up there too, in another room, sleeping restlessly probably, still hurting from the beating his father had given him. Harry’s bedroom was between the two. He wasn’t her father, but he wasn’t about to allow sneaking about at night when he was looking after her.
At first, he thought that a brief romance between them would do them both good. But if Ed was going to bring trouble to her, Harry couldn’t allow that. He also couldn’t allow harm to come to Ed. He was an islander.
It was late and he was tired. It had been a rough day. After giving Rose the news, he had wanted to lie on the old couch in the kitchen and sleep for the night. The world felt safer there, like it had when he and Will were ignorant children. But there were things to be done, decisions to be made. And kids to be watched.
He cleared most of his customers out of the bar and locked up behind them. The others were waiting for him when he came back. He pulled them all a pint and allowed himself one. They moved closer together at the bar and Harry leaned on it, thinking of the importance of continuity. He found himself regretting that he had no children on the island to keep up traditions, play their part.
As though he had heard Harry’s thoughts, Andrew put down his pint, wiped the creamy head off his thick moustache and said, ‘There’s a Crowe child here now, Harry.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ he said.
‘You’re acting as if you don’t,’ Brendan said, mumbling slightly.
‘She’s not mine and she’s only been here a few days. She’s not staying.’
The others shared a glance and no one said anything.
A surge of futile rage burned Harry’s throat. He knew what they weren’t saying: She’ll stay alright. She’s one of the family.
‘And what about Dan?’ Andy said.
‘He’s gone too far,’ Harry said. ‘We should have done something before this. Ed isn’t a child anymore.’
‘Well, then maybe he should handle his own problems like a man,’ Andrew said. He had a way of speaking that stayed just the right side of respect for Harry, but his hatred was there in the twist of his lips as though he had just tasted something bitter.
Harry took a deep draught of his Guinness and looked at each weather-beaten face, all waiting for his answer. He nodded.
‘I told his mother I’d keep an eye on him. When Dan turns up, we should go and have a chat with him. But I’ll leave that up to you. I need to stay here and keep watch on the young people.’
There was some further talk about the weather and their plans, but the important matter was settled. They finished their drinks and left. Harry stood in the silent, darkened bar, not thinking, just holding on to the moment before the world changed again.
Through the window he saw a light flash out at the Hall, a single burst against the dark block that he couldn’t see now but knew so well. He waited but it didn’t happen again. Someone out hunting rabbits maybe. There were plenty who didn’t know, who were happy to go out there at night, even if it made them feel a bit creepy. A big old empty house at night, of course it was creepy. The damn thing was scary during the day, never mind in the dark.
Harry hoped that whoever it was would get home safely but he wasn’t going out to make sure. He checked all the doors and windows before going up to bed. There was no sound from either of the kids’ rooms. He didn’t know if he should look in on them and hesitated in the hallway. He wished Will were there.
He rested his hand on Lia’s door. She was an innocent, not even raised here. He went to his own room and got into bed, expecting to lie awake, thinking too much and watching for the reflection of a light on the cloudy sky outside the window.
After closing time, when people would have stopped moving around, Dan came out from behind the walls of the ruined church into the graveyard. The moon wasn’t visible, but the clouds were pearly and he could make out enough not to fall over. He had a torch in his pocket but he didn’t want to use it. With low cloud to bounce off, the light would be seen for miles. He knew the graveyard well enough without it.
He patted the shoulder of his wife’s gravestone as he shuffled by. It gave him a pang of guilt which was quickly followed by anger and raw desire for a drink. There was half a bottle of whiskey at home in the press, but he didn’t want to go home. Ed would be there looking at him with Patty’s eyes, full of hatred. As a little boy he had loved his dad, Dan knew he had. Of course, he had to discipline him, no point in waiting for Patty to do that. She only mollycoddled the
boy. If it had been left up to her, the boy would have grown up soft. He had a bit, with his pictures, but he was strong enough.
Dan put his hand to his belly. The way the boy had held that knife to his gut, that was good. He wasn’t just his mother’s son. He had even got in a few good thumps before Dan had knocked him down.
He’d be grand. It was only a few bangs, no more than he’d taken from his own father. It would toughen him up.
Besides, he had to get a woman and take over running the farm. Dan was sick of it. He was tired and couldn’t a man just have a few drinks in peace without having to get up in the night to animals or women getting sick?
He put his hand out to the graveyard wall for support. He felt like the boy had put the knife in his belly after all. The nights when Patty couldn’t settle for pain and getting sick, even though she had nothing in her stomach, had been hard. He knew he wasn’t the best man in the world, he knew it. Still, he had stuck with her through those nights when the house smelled like sickness. Don’t kid yourself. It smelled like death. She smelled like death. Even the animals seemed to know it. The old dog, since dead and buried himself, sometimes howled in the night, a lost sound that made goose bumps stand up on your arms. The cows were quiet. The fields themselves lay barren and flat, like the sea in a dead calm.
He had beaten the boy again. He hadn’t even done anything wrong, except take his pictures. Patty had loved the pictures.
Tears fell freely, falling to the ground as he leaned on the wall. His thirst was terrible. He would have to face going home and getting the whiskey. He hadn’t told the boy that there wasn’t any money left. Patty had been good at all that. He had spent anything the farm brought in. They needed new animals and the land needed work. Ed liked the animals and the land, but Dan knew he didn’t want to stay and farm. More tears fell.
Harry was lucky not having kids. At least he didn’t have ones that wanted to leave him and their inheritance behind. It was a dark inheritance, but it was important. The young people didn’t care. They all left in the end. Dan took a deep breath and wiped his nose with his sleeve. It was all over. Dead calm October and November coming in a few days. Animals had to be fed no matter what.
He raised his head, like a dog sniffing the air.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’ll do.’
Andy had come to him after Patty died, wanting to take some of the animals off his hands. Andy was never happy with what he had and always wanted more. What he really wanted was Dan’s land. Dan had told him to get out, but now Andy was there on the other side of the stone walls, his fields perfect and his cows fat and glossy. If he went to him right now, he’d take the animals. And the land. Dan would keep the house, but he didn’t want the bloody land any more. The boy didn’t want it either.
His head cleared a little. That was why he had hit Ed. He had come home to see the camera and the computer and they were so alien to the kitchen, to the farm, that he couldn’t help himself. He smashed them and he smashed Ed too. He struck what he could reach because the boy didn’t want to stay.
Well, he was going to take away any reason he had to stay. Let him go if he wanted. Andy would give him enough money to have a few drinks and a few spuds and take it easy for whatever length he had. He was surely not long for the grave now that Patty was gone, despite everything, and all the other women who had come before her.
He sniffed and straightened himself. It wasn’t that late. Andy would still be up but Kitty would be in bed. It would be warm and quiet in Andy’s house.
Dan found his way out to the road. The walk sobered him up some more and he felt quite steady by the time he reached Andy’s front door.
He knocked quietly but Andy would hear the grass growing so he appeared fast, snatching the door open, his shoulders squared.
‘It’s just me. Andy, it’s Dan.’ He held his hands up.
‘I thought you had gone across,’ Andy said.
‘No. No, I –’
‘What do you want, Dan?’
Dan’s legs wobbled and his insides rolled. Maybe this was a bad idea.
‘Well?’ Andy said.
‘I … Will you buy the farm and the animals? Not the house.’
Andy was still, then he smiled.
‘Come in, Dan. I’ve got a few things for you to sign.’
Ten
Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer – both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.
Bram Stoker, Dracula, 1897
It was late but the hospital wasn’t quiet. There was a chorus of coughs and groans, the rattle of metal being moved and dropped. It sounded to Matt as though someone was making noise on purpose. The nurses had been great though. Brilliant really. Someone was always pushing a cup of tea into his hand. They had taken pity on him and Rose, especially after Frank had been found.
Becky hadn’t woken up properly yet. She had said a few words without opening her eyes. He thought she was calling for her father at one point. He would have to tell her when she did wake up that Frank was dead. He felt so numb that even this thought didn’t shake him. The baby was fine. A gorgeous big boy. Becky was the one who had been in danger, but they had given her back the blood she had lost and they said they weren’t worried.
But Matt was worried. She was so white, her skin like paper. He worried about Rose too. He looked at her sleeping face. She was pale and exhausted and he didn’t know how she was coping with Frank’s death.
He got up every now and then to stretch his legs, and to see the baby, but he didn’t like leaving Becky even though her mother was there. It gave him a bad feeling, like the fog was drifting over him again.
They had decided months ago that if it was a boy they would name him Joseph after Matt’s dad, but he reckoned that was likely to change now that Frank was gone. He would settle for Joseph as a middle name. Or any name. She could have any name she wanted. And anything she wanted. As long as she woke up and smiled at him once more.
It was time to move again. He stood up and stretched. His back cracked, a gunshot in the quiet space. No one stirred. The corridor was empty of people, but he could hear the murmur of conversation from the nurses’ station. He went quietly past and no one paid him any attention.
The wards were in semi-darkness. It never really got dark, the same as it never really got quiet. In another few hours, trolleys would be rattling around with tea and toast and someone would start running a floor-polisher.
He walked to the nursery and stared in at them all. For once, every baby was asleep. He looked at his son. He had never been good at babies. Becky was always saying that babies looked just like so and so, but Matt had never been able to see it. Babies were all the same. Cute but, you know, babies. Except for Joseph. He caught himself – no, Becky would name him. For now he must be ‘The Baby’.
The baby was his, unmistakeably. There wasn’t one thing that made it so, it just was so. The nurses had exclaimed about it. Matt didn’t know how to feel. He and Becky had made him, but they hadn’t designed him. So he just smiled and nodded. All he knew was that the boy was his and Becky was his and he had not understood how much love that would make him feel. And how much terror.
He studied his son’s sleeping face for another few minutes before going to the bathroom. He helped himself to a coffee from the nurses’ station, as they had told him to do. He put lots of sugar in it and wished he had a drop of whiskey too. Rose’s tea was easy. No sugar and enough milk to make it nearly white.
He went back into the room, careful not to spill the drinks, setting them down on the windowsill. He turned to check on Becky and she was looking at him.
He took her hand and couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat.
‘The baby?’ she said, her voice raspy.
‘He’s fine. A fine boy. Oh, love, I was so afraid I’d lose you.’
‘I think ... I think you almost did.’ She smiled
wanly and tightened her fingers around his.
Matt leaned over and kissed her as gently as he could. The hospital smell was predominant in the room but, being close, he could smell her. She always smelled like a sea breeze to him, fresh and necessary.
‘Your mam’s here,’ he said, nodding towards Rose. ‘She’s pretty tired.’
Becky looked at her mother and sighed. Matt leaned close again, touching his cheek to hers, and when she spoke again the question was whispered like a secret.
‘What happened to Dad?’
He drew slowly back and held both her hands.
‘He’s dead,’ she said.
He nodded.
Her eyes filled and tears spilled over onto her cheeks, but her face didn’t crumple. She was paper-white, but calm.
‘How did you know?’ he asked.
Her eyes glazed. She was looking through him to a memory.
‘He was already dead when he touched the baby.’
Matt was finally asleep in the chair and Becky and Rose had been quietly talking. Matt’s head had fallen to one side and his mouth was open. He didn’t usually snore unless he’d been to the pub, but he was snoring now. He was exhausted. Becky was exhausted herself, so much so that her limbs felt heavy. With Rose helping, she moved her legs out over the edge of the bed, glad that they obeyed her instructions. Inching forward, feeling sore inside and out, she carefully stood and waited, Rose supporting her. The room swayed gently but settled back into its normal steady state, so she took a chance on moving. Immediately, the cannula in her arm pinched as she pulled against it. Rose let her go and grasped the IV pole. She nodded at Becky and lifted the pole as they moved forward in unison. Becky averted her gaze from the bag of blood. The bag was half empty and it was almost worse than when it was full, because drips and channels of blood ran down the creases in the emptying bag, like a stream splitting and rejoining the main course as it ran down the side of a cliff on the island.
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