Feeling empty, Ed walked with Harry across the yard. The kitchen door was open. Ed stepped in as though into a stranger’s house. The kitchen was still a mess. He went through into the sitting room. Dan was asleep on the couch with an empty bottle of whiskey on the carpet beside him. His mouth was hanging open and he had dribbled. His arm had slid off the couch and his loose fingers were touching stapled sheets of paper. Even from a few feet away, Ed could see his father’s scrawled signature.
Ed started towards him, but Harry held him with a firm hand on his arm.
‘Ed, if I were you I’d want to kill him. But that would be the last and worst thing he could do to ruin your life even more than he has already. I won’t let him do it. We should have put a stop to it years ago. That’s our fault, but I won’t let him pull you down with him.’
Ed tried to yank his arm away, but Harry tightened his grip.
‘Let me go,’ Ed said through gritted teeth.
‘I won’t. I know I’m hurting your arm, but there are worse things.’
Ed tensed, ready for a fight.
Harry shook his arm sharply.
‘Look, Ed, I’m no one’s dad, but you need someone to be a dad now and it isn’t him so it’s got to be me. Get the hell outside and let me deal with this. It’s for the best.’
‘People always say that when they’re doing horrible things,’ Ed said.
Harry nodded. ‘That’s probably true.’
Ed waited for something else, some justification why he should obey but Harry didn’t say anything, just waited calmly, with his fingers biting into Ed’s arm.
‘Fine,’ Ed said.
‘OK. Good lad. I’m going to let your arm go now, but I’m quick, so don’t decide to go anywhere other than the door.’
Harry let his arm go and Ed felt it tingle as blood started to flow properly again. He stared into Harry’s eyes, thinking. Harry waited him out and Ed knew he meant what he said. He looked over at his father. The rage had settled anyway. Now all he felt was disgust, and sadness for his mother. At least she wasn’t here to be hurt by him anymore. He sighed, feeling exhausted, and without a backward look walked out of the house.
He kicked around the yard, trying not to look at the silent, empty pens. Facing away, he found himself looking at the Hall. Its blank expression showed only indifference. Or the wax-like coldness of a corpse’s face. When Harry’s hand dropped onto his shoulder, he bit his lip in the effort to keep from screaming.
Lia had slept late and after a trip to the bathroom had immediately phoned her mother in New York. As she expected, Jasmine’s voice had been muffled by sleep, but Lia hadn’t been able to wait longer. She had woken with the conviction that she had to speak to her mother straight away. They had each shed a few tears and apologised. For the first time in a year, Lia said ‘I love you, Mom’ before she hung up. It had been years since she had even called her mother anything but Jasmine, but it rose naturally to her lips now. Her voice hoarse with tears, her mom had told her that she loved her too.
After a shower she got dressed and went downstairs, bracing herself to face Harry and Ed after yesterday’s traumas. But there was no sign of them, and Rose told her they had gone to check on the Wrays’ farm.
Lia set about making a large fried breakfast, or brunch rather – it was nearly lunchtime. She’d eaten hardly anything the day before, apart from the lovely breakfast Harry had made her in the morning.
She ate, thinking about the call to her mother. Still tearful, she found herself repeatedly dabbing her eyes with a sheet of kitchen roll. Her mascara was waterproof and hopefully would stay put. After brunch she ran back upstairs to freshen the tinted moisturiser she had applied to mask the shadows under her eyes. Glancing out the window before she went back down, she saw Harry and Ed coming, still a little distance away.
Harry was tall and imposing. Seeing them together, Lia realised that Ed was taller than she remembered somehow. He was thinner than Harry but his shoulders suggested that his lanky frame would fill out.
She checked her reflection in the mirror again, added some lip gloss and ran downstairs.
They came in the back door. She was taken aback at the sight of his battered face but then he looked at her and it felt like there was some electric connection between them. Harry said something she didn’t hear. She nodded and before she could second-guess herself, took Ed’s hand and led him through the still-open back door.
Ed’s hand grasped her hand tightly.
‘Where can we go?’ she said.
‘The beach beyond the village. C’mon.’
He started walking rapidly and purposefully as if whatever excitement had invaded her must have infected him, but beyond the village he slowed a little and she realised he must still be hurting from yesterday’s injuries.
They reached the path leading down to the beach and climbed down.
Then Lia threw herself into his arms and without hesitation or nerves they were kissing. She couldn’t have said who started it. Maybe they both did, filled with a stew of emotions from the last few days.
The kisses Lia had shared with her two short-lived boyfriends were a summer breeze compared to the storm now enveloping her. The electricity between them was a thunderstorm, a deep blue-black lit from within by forks of lightning. She barely knew where she was, but her arms were locked around his neck and his were wrapped around her waist, so wherever the storm brought them, they would cling to each other, flotsam, an island of their own, separated from the rest of the world.
Suddenly, Ed stopped and, taking her by the hand, strode across the sand towards the cliff face. She watched his face as they went. It was serious, almost stern. He led her into a shelter made of rock and she felt an easing of the cold wind off the sea. It was not a cave, but maybe the start of one.
Feeling both brave and natural, she leaned against the rock face behind her and waited.
‘Lia,’ he said hoarsely.
A shadow of sadness crossed his face, but he stepped closer and kissed her again as though he were hungry. After some unknowable time, they stopped by some unspoken understanding. Ed took off his jacket and spread it on the ground. They sat on it together, necessarily close. Ed put his arm around her and she leaned into his shoulder.
‘Your lip is bleeding,’ she said and kissed him gently, tasting the rusty tang of his blood.
He pulled out a tissue and pressed it against his lips as they watched the sea foaming against the base of the Chimneys and the wheeling gulls riding the air currents above them.
Ed sighed and she felt his chest rise and fall and marvelled at such a simple thing that had meant nothing yesterday. Today, it was a miracle. She wanted to take in every small movement he made, every flash of feeling to cross his emotive face.
‘Dan ... I mean my dad … he sold the animals and maybe the farm too. All my animals.’
She twisted to look at him.
‘What? How?’
‘Our neighbour Andrew got him to sign something last night. He’s been trying to get him to sign for years. I suppose he had the paperwork ready. And Dad was drunk of course.’
‘If he was drunk, would it void the sale?’ Lia asked, kneeling up to face him.
Ed shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t really care about the land, or the house if it’s gone. I want a different kind of life. It’s just this last long while … since before my mam died … I’ve been looking after the animals.’
He looked into her eyes.
‘They were the only friends I had. Everyone else went away to college or jobs off the island – most of them were from fishing families anyway.’
He paused and touched her hair, brushing it away from her face.
‘It’s hard here during the winter,’ he said. ‘Are you really staying?’
For an answer, Lia leaned forward and kissed the bruises on his face. Feeling like she was dreaming, both herself and not herself, she kissed the corner of his mouth avoiding the cut. His hands came up, one slipping under her hair to
touch the back of her neck, the other unbelievably warm against her back.
They lay down and stayed there, lying against each other, kissing, with the sound of the seagulls and waves for music.
Twelve
There is no excellent beauty that hath not some
strangeness in the proportion.
Francis Bacon, ‘Of Beauty’ in Essays, 1625
Dan opened his eyes and there was no difference. He blinked and dozed off again. Next time, there was a bit of moonlight in the sky and he was able to make out that he was in the sitting room on the couch. He couldn’t move his feet and when he tried to move his arms, pain made him groan. Both hands were dead and he had to spend a long time wriggling his fingers to make feeling come back into them. Extreme pins and needles made tears come to his eyes. When the pain eased a bit, he tried to sort things out.
He was tied, hands and feet. His hands were tied in front which was some small mercy. Had they been under him, he would have been screaming by now. But whoever had tied them hadn’t been too gentle. Plastic cable-ties cut into his skin. Probably his own ties. A commonplace tool that any farmer or fisherman had.
He was straining his neck trying to look at his bonds, so he made himself lie back and relax, in order to think. He was surprised at his own calm. He didn’t even want a drink.
He was trussed up in his own sitting room. Listening carefully to the heartbeat of the house, he reckoned he was alone. There was a feeling about a house when it had other people in it.
And hadn’t he driven Ed out? Images from the night before started to edge back in from the shadows. He remembered Andrew’s kitchen, signing papers. He had given it all away, except the house itself. Andrew hadn’t wanted it, or he might have lost that too. The money they agreed on was fair. Andrew wouldn’t have anyone saying otherwise. But that didn’t matter. The land was still lost. What good was money?
Dan groaned again. How would he tell Ed what he had done? He cried again and dozed again.
He awoke to the knowledge of who had done this to him. They must have been here while he was out cold. Panic started to eat at the edges of his earlier calm, a calm which the bottle of whiskey Andy had given him had helped maintain. They would be back, he knew.
They were, not his friends exactly, but important. A sob escaped Dan’s cracked lips. He started to struggle and flop. He rolled off the couch, trying to take the fall with his shoulder. Once down, using the heavy old couch as support, he managed to get into a sitting position. If he could get to his feet, he might be able to hop to the kitchen and find a knife.
As he was winding himself up to make the first effort, he heard the back door open. Terror swept through him and he was distantly aware that warm whiskey-smelling pee was making a pool under him.
A tall figure stepped into the room, standing aside to let others enter.
‘Hey, boys, how’re ye doin’?’ Dan said.
No one answered.
‘Now there’s no need for any of this,’ he said. ‘Everything is going to be grand. I’ll go off the drink and I’ll be as right as rain.’
He paused but still no one spoke.
‘Honest, boys. I’ll do anything. I’ll … I’ll go away even. Ed can have the house. I don’t care about it. It’s not been the same since Patty died anyway. I haven’t been the same. You know that, you know I –’
‘Shhh, Dan.’ Andrew’s voice held a trace of his sour humour.
This terrified Dan more than anything else.
‘No, Andy, don’t do it. Please. Please don’t. Put me on the ferry in the morning. I’ll go to my cousin in Dublin. I won’t ever come back, not ever. Please.’
Andrew moved closer in the dark room and the others followed.
‘Aw, Andy,’ Dan said, hearing the tears in his voice, ‘just put the light on, let me see your faces. Please. It’s too dark. Let me talk to you.’
Andrew paused and seemed to look back. Someone flicked the light switch and although the bulb was dim and flickering, Dan had his wish and saw their faces.
He recognised the expression. He had worn it himself. Grim, sad and determined. He began to cry in earnest, great painful sobs that made snot run down his face.
‘Where’s Harry?’ he sobbed.
‘It was Harry who found you. He has left us to deal with you as we see fit.’
Dan kept up a stream of pleas, unable to stop himself. Hands grabbed him under the arms and hauled him upright. Instead of cutting the cable ties securing his feet, someone else, Brendan he thought, lifted his legs off the ground. Without a word, they carried him from the relative safety of the house into the night air. It was colder tonight than it had been, and he couldn’t tell whether it was the air or horror that made his skin contract and shiver.
He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, but he knew where they were taking him and he started to struggle. Two of the others stepped in and helped hold him. He was tired and his wrists felt slick as his struggling caused the plastic ties to cut more cruelly into his skin – but he couldn’t give up.
He heard the lock and chain fall away from the gate to the Hall and made one final, desperate effort to get away from the hard hands that held him. They almost dropped him and he began to beg for it.
‘Drop me, please! Throw me over the cliff! I’ll go with Frank and … and Will. Just please, please, don’t!’
They hoisted him more securely and walked on, the old gravel of the drive crunching under their feet in the darkness. Dan fell silent. Once they had crossed the threshold of the gate, the air felt different. The driveway was long, but not long enough.
The men stopped and Dan heard someone unlocking the big doors of the Hall.
In a whisper, Dan started to plead again.
‘No, boys, no, I’m one of you. Don’t, please don’t put me in there. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t face it. Not this way, please.’
But, as though they were not human, they carried him in and set him down on the tiles of the hall. There was a faint light falling from the top of the stairwell. The others hurried outside, leaving Andy standing over him.
‘We had a problem because of the weather. And then we had a problem with you. We can’t let you drive Ed away. This solves both problems. You can understand that, can’t you?’
‘Andy, there’s another way, there must be. I’ll fix it. I promise. Only don’t leave me here. You can have the house as well. I’ll sign more papers.’
‘It’s too late,’ Andy said, glancing upwards.
‘Oh God, please, knock me out. Kill me. Don’t leave me. It’ll be like Frank for me. It’s different now, you know it is.’
Andy leaned down and Dan’s chest filled with terrible hope that quickly fled, leaving him with nothing but mad terror.
‘It’s better if I don’t cut you free, Dan. Running won’t help.’ He put a hand on Dan’s arm. ‘We’ll take care of Ed. And keep the grave clean.’
Andy straightened and was about to leave before he remembered something. He smiled. ‘Oh, and thanks for the farm. Just in time, eh?’
He turned and went outside, walking almost slowly.
Even with the faint light from above, the tiled hallway seemed darker when the big doors swung closed and left Dan alone. He shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see. Instinctively, he remained completely still and silent, although he longed to scream. Maybe if he didn’t move until dawn, he might …
A dry sound came from somewhere above him. It was the sound a bird made when it roosted in the roof timbers of the barn. A dry brush of dusty wings in a dark corner. Dan held his breath. The sound came again, followed by a movement of air and a thump on the tiles somewhere near him. Footsteps moved closer, each step matched by sharp clicks.
Talons. The clicks are because of the talons.
When it came, somehow Dan didn’t scream. The sound was too big to get out. Instead, he went to whatever awaited him accompanied only by wet sounds and, somewhere distant, the cry of a gull, shocked out of sleep.
When he woke a second time, the warmth had changed. He no longer felt alone in softness. There was something else there. He was afraid to open his eyes, but he felt a brief sensation against his cheek, a butterfly touch. It occurred to him that the sensation might have been created by lips moving lightly across his skin.
The moment he thought it, the sensation came again, but this time it was a press of lips against his cheek, moving slowly to kiss the corner of his mouth, drifting over his chin and lower to his throat.
He suddenly found it hard to catch his breath. He longed to turn to whoever was pressing sweet kisses to his neck, soft lips against strong teeth, but he couldn’t move. Although he had stretched earlier, now he couldn’t move at all. He deliberately tried to move his fingers but they wouldn’t obey his command. It was frightening but, as the kisses against his pulsing throat became more insistent, he gave himself up to both the fear and the desire. He was helpless to resist and he didn’t want to.
Although he couldn’t open his eyes, light must have been shining directly on his face, because he could see the veined red of his own eyelids. His breath seemed loud. He couldn’t be sure it was his.
A flash of pain became all mixed up with pleasure and his eyes finally opened. The light was bright but not warm. Cobwebs or lace floated across his vision, clouding everything. He didn’t have the words for it. Patty had been the one for reading.
He started to slip away again. His eyelids were heavy and he knew that he would lose the fight to stay awake and aware. There was white skin, long soft hair, a drift of something like feathers. He made one final effort against the pleasure and the drowsiness and opened his eyes wide. The sensations stopped and he saw intense, glittering eyes, incredibly beautiful. His body responded, as did his heart. It was like looking into an eclipse. If he kept staring, the image of brilliant light and profound darkness would blind him. He closed his eyes and gave himself up.
Daughter of the Storm Page 12