The Dream Weavers

by Barbara Erskine

  Simon crept downstairs and opened the front door with infinite care, not wanting to disturb Emma. Something had awoken him and he had lain quite still staring up at the ceiling in the dark and not for the first time. Each time he had started awake, he had heard his daughter in the next room, tossing and turning, and occasionally she had cried out in her sleep. She seemed to be quiet now and he squinted at his wristwatch. It was nearly morning. Easing himself into his jeans and sweater, he had tiptoed to his bedroom door.

  A glimmer of light on the horizon showed where dawn would soon come and he stood for a while letting his eyes get used to the dark. Quietly closing the front door behind him, he crossed the terrace and ran down the steps to the lane.

  The dawn chorus rose at him like a wave from the woods below the ridge and he found himself smiling involuntarily at the beauty of the sound as he walked slowly along the track. The air was bitterly cold and the stars were a glittering carpet only now fading slowly as the light grew stronger.

  He had come outside to think. The peaceful retreat he had selected to finish writing his book had proved to be a whited sepulchre and he didn’t know what on earth to do. Emma was his first concern, of course; she was here and he had to make decisions about her today. And then there was Val. And Felix. And the book. And Bea. He was puffing slightly when he reached the high point of the ridge and stood staring out towards the valleys that still lay in darkness. Behind him the light on the eastern horizon was growing stronger.

  Part of him was wondering if he would hear the thunder of hooves, but the hillside was deserted. Only the sound of the birds filled the air. The foundations of his existence had been shaken. From certainty and a quiet smug comfort with his position in an academic world he had taken for granted, he had been tossed into a frantic questioning of the historicity of his view of everything he had written and was going to write.

  ‘Dad.’ Emma’s voice behind him made him jump out of his skin. She had followed him up the track. She was wearing joggers and her red cagoule, her hair wild on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright. I couldn’t sleep either.’

  He put his arm round her. ‘I was trying to decide what to do.’

  ‘I’m not going back to London.’

  He didn’t reply. The birdsong was fading now as the light grew stronger. He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we go out for breakfast?’

  She nodded. ‘I must see Bea.’

  ‘Later. First you and I need to talk, Em. Very seriously.’

  He saw the set of her jaw and felt his heart sink.

  By the time they had retraced their steps down the track towards the cottage the woodland chorus had stopped and instead he could hear the echoing cry of a curlew as the sun appeared over the ridge of the distant hills. He knew enough about the legends of the ancient gods to know the sound presaged disaster.

  38

  ‘Her phone is still switched off.’ Simon had tried to call Bea a couple of times.

  Emma’s shoulders slumped. ‘I tried as well. I need to see her.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart, but you can’t expect her to be at your beck and call every day. I’ve left a message. I’m sure she will get back to us as soon as she can.’

  ‘What about Mum?’

  ‘I’ve left her a message too.’ He didn’t tell her that he had got through to Val again, endured ten minutes of ear-bashing and eventually hung up. ‘I think we will discuss the situation a little bit more here before we bring Mum into the conversation again.’

  He watched as Emma stood up and walked agitatedly back and forth across the room a couple of times, then she sat down in front of him again. ‘You mustn’t laugh.’

  ‘You know I’m not going to laugh about anything you say.’

  ‘I’ve got this horrible feeling that there is someone following me.’

  ‘Not King Ethelbert?’

  She let out an uncomfortable snort of laughter. ‘No, not the king. Not Eadburh, nor her prince. Someone, something, nasty. I don’t know what. I’m scared, Dad. Really scared.’

  He felt his heart lurch with love for this difficult, pig-headed but oh so vulnerable child of his. Why could she not have left all this alone. ‘All I can do is ring Bea again. Leave her another message. I’ll tell her it’s urgent.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She gave a shaky smile. ‘Actually, I think I might go upstairs to lie down. I’m feeling a bit sick.’

  He followed her up ten minutes later, a cup of tea in his hands. ‘I thought this might make you feel a bit better.’

  She was lying on the bed, still fully dressed, the duvet pulled over her. Her face was very pale and she was shivering. ‘Has Bea rung you back yet?’

  ‘As soon as she does, I’ll tell you. I promise.’

  ‘Thanks for the tea.’ She attempted a grin. ‘I’ll be OK after I’ve had a sleep.’

  He stood for a second or two looking down at her, then he nodded. ‘Good idea. Sleep well, sweetheart.’ He tiptoed out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

  She lay for a long time, gazing up at the ceiling. All she wanted was to close her eyes and be with Eadburh again, to mount one of the king’s beautiful horses and feel the sleek muscles of the animal between her legs. She would ride up the valley to find Elisedd. He couldn’t have become a monk. It wasn’t possible. And even if he had, she could win him back. He had only gone into the Church because he thought he’d lost her. He had loved her once. He would love her again. As her eyes closed, she slipped her hand inside her shirt and gently began to stroke her breasts as he had done all those years ago. Why would he want to reject her? All she had to do was go to him.

  The knock at the door took Bea by surprise. She had awoken late to find a note from Mark saying he had gone to early communion and was then driving over to the hospice to visit his friend who had taken a turn for the worse. The note ended: If you need me, ring and I will come. She had smiled, kissed the note and slipped it into her hip pocket, then she had walked into the kitchen to make coffee. Only ten minutes later she heard the knock. A sudden warning prickle of unease at the back of her neck brought her up short.

  At first she didn’t recognise the woman standing outside on the step. She was well dressed, dyed red hair pinned back in a neat chignon. ‘Mrs Dalloway?’ The voice was cold and hard. But familiar.

  ‘Sandra?’ Bea froze.

  ‘May I come in?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Bea folded her arms, every layer of protection in place. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’

  Sandra smiled. ‘But you saw my little gift? In your fridge?’

  ‘I saw it.’ Bea was conscious of a grey miasma coiling its way round Sandra’s shoulders. The woman’s aura was alive with contradictory colours. Angry red flashes of light, green and yellow flickers, pulsing shades of dirty maroon and above all that heavy dark grey entity that clasped her in a cloak of evil.

  ‘I think, Mrs Dalloway, that you would be advised to let me come in.’

  ‘So why am I suddenly Mrs Dalloway, Sandra? Have you forgotten my name?’ Bea’s hand crept up to her cross and she clutched it tightly. Sandra had invited something in. She had opened herself up to something vicious that was feeding on her soul.

  ‘Because I am no longer your friend, Mrs Dalloway.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but then I can’t let you in. I’m sure you understand.’ She looked the woman in the eye. ‘You could be anybody, in that disguise of yours.’

  The venom in her visitor’s expression was fleeting but unmistakable. It was alien and all too powerful. ‘I’ll be back, Mrs Dalloway.’

  ‘And I’ll be waiting for you.’ Bea folded her arms again. She caught the sudden flicker of uncertainty in the woman’s eyes and she smiled. ‘Goodbye, Sandra,’ she murmured.

  Sandra hesitated, then she visibly squared her shoulders, her antagonism back in place. ‘I’ll see you soon and next time I won’t knock on the door, I shall be in the heart of your evil doings.’


  Bea watched as the woman turned to let herself out of the little wrought-iron gate and, leaving it open behind her, walked away across the Close, an almost visible cloud of malice trailing behind her. She did not go near the cathedral, Bea noticed, but veered away to walk past the west door, towards the gates of the Close and on out into the street, as if the creature clinging to her soul had been repelled by the presence of a sacred space.

  ‘Christ be with me, Christ within me …’ Bea’s whispered words circled her with their blessing and protection.

  Closing the front door, she leaned against it for several seconds, allowing her pulse rate to steady, then she went back to find the phone. This was far more serious than anything she had anticipated and there was only one person she could think of who could advise her.

  ‘Meryn? I need your advice.’

  ‘I don’t think you do, Bea.’ The line to California was so clear it sounded as though he was in the room with her. It must be, she suddenly realised, the early hours of the morning for him.

  ‘I’m sorry. Did I wake you?’

  He laughed. ‘You know better than that. I was expecting your call.’

  Why wasn’t she surprised? ‘I may have met my match.’

  ‘Bea, you were my best pupil. There is nothing I can do that you can’t. You must have confidence in yourself. And you are far more than a match for this one.’

  Bea paused. ‘So, you know what’s happening?’

  ‘I have a fair idea. Multi-dimensional phenomena are what we are discussing here at the institute, and yours is a splendid example.’

  ‘And this woman?’

  ‘Is an amateur. The ones you’ve got to watch are in the past, my dear. They have had more than a thousand years’ experience.’

  ‘Eadburh. She is very scary. And Nesta.’

  ‘As to that, you have to make your own judgements, Bea. I can’t do it for you.’

  Bea bit her lip. ‘There is so much going on. Layer upon layer.’

  ‘And you can cope with it. But you must keep especial watch over the child. I’m right? There is a child involved?’

  Ah, she felt her lips twitch into a smile, so he didn’t know quite everything. ‘Yes. There is. Emma. She’s seventeen.’

  ‘A dangerous age. Very vulnerable. Very open. Probably far too eager. She must be safeguarded.’ That word the social services loved to use.

  Bea was chewing her lips. ‘How? Her parents are a part of the problem.’

  Both of them in two such different ways.

  ‘That is beyond my scope. You will have to deal with this yourself. Are you still married to that splendid clergyman?’

  ‘You know I am.’

  ‘Then you are not alone. Don’t be afraid to ask his help. This may not be his acknowledged speciality, but his job makes it such and he has a strong and very genuine energy field. He will be there to guard you, Bea.’

  It was what Mark had said.

  ‘When are you coming home?’

  ‘In the autumn. I’ve spent too long in the States. I need some good Welsh rain to refresh me. You and I will have some master classes then, and you can tell me all about how you coped with this situation. Just remember, be strong and have faith in God and in yourself, Bea.’

  ‘And you will watch over me?’ It was a frantic plea, but he had gone. The line was dead.

  She sat staring down at the phone in her hands and it was only then she realised there was a list of messages, two from Emma, one from Heather; three from Simon, increasingly urgent in tone. Simon first. She pressed the button and waited for him to pick up.

  ‘Would you like me to come over?’

  ‘She’s asleep for now but she wants to see you so badly. She’s in quite a state.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’ She had a quick look at Heather’s message. Before going to see Emma, there was something else she had to deal with. She had to find out how Sandra had become so powerful. All this could not have come out of the blue.

  Heather picked up the phone at once. ‘Are you OK, Bea? I’ve been thinking about you.’

  ‘I need Sandra’s address.’

  There was a long pause, then Heather replied. ‘Can I ask why you want it?’

  ‘Things have escalated. She seems to have become mixed up in something extraordinarily stupid; I’m not sure she even realises what she’s done, but I have to try and fix it before any more harm is done. I have to go and see her.’

  ‘No, Bea. You mustn’t go near her.’ Heather hesitated, then she went on resolutely, ‘Besides, you know I can’t give you her address, even if I wanted to. It’s confidential information. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Bea thought for a moment. ‘Well, yes, perhaps there is. Could you go and see her for me?’

  When the call was over, Heather sat for a long time looking out of the window at her garden. It was a place of peace and love, somewhere she felt very close to her late husband. And safe. ‘Help me with this, my darling, please,’ she murmured, then with a heavy sigh she rose to her feet and reached for her jacket. Whatever her misgivings, this was something that had to be done face to face and at once.

  Sandra was obviously not expecting a visitor. She stared at Heather in astonishment when she saw her on the doorstep, her hostility obvious. To Heather’s amazement, she saw Sandra had dyed her hair. She was wearing scarlet lipstick.

  ‘I have to talk to you.’ Heather marched past her into the hall before Sandra could object. ‘I need to know what’s going on with Bea.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sandra’s expression morphed from surprised to crafty then to casually bland. She looked away, refusing to meet Heather’s gaze.

  ‘I think you know.’ Heather headed into the woman’s sitting room and stopped in the doorway, appalled. The room was a mess. A half-drunk cup of tea stood on the table, milky scum floating on the surface of the liquid, books and papers were scattered on the chairs and on the floor, a pencil, broken in two, lay on the table beside Sandra’s phone. There was a large box lying on the floor, its lid beside it on the carpet. Inside Heather glimpsed more books and papers, a strange wand-like stick, two packs of cards with exotic medieval pictures on the boxes, a small crystal ball and a plastic bag with what looked like a large dead mouse in it. She stared at it, her mouth open.

  Sandra’s eyes narrowed. She perched on the edge of one of the chairs, leaned over to replace the lid on the box and then to Heather’s horror she burst into laughter. ‘So, you underestimated me as well! All you saw was goody two shoes Sandra, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. I tried to warn people, Heather, I begged for help, asked what I should do, and nobody listened! Nobody cared! And I kept thinking about that child, that girl, Emma.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And then I realised that it was the girl herself who was evil. But she was untrained. She needed a teacher and then I saw what was going on. She had a teacher and that teacher was here, amongst us, in the heart of the Church.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Heather sat down opposite her, balancing uncomfortably on the very edge of the chair. ‘Slow down, Sandra, please.’ She was eyeing the box uneasily.

  ‘Isn’t that what you wanted? To know what was happening? I spoke to you, Heather. I warned you, but you were just like the others, you took no notice, so now it’s up to me. I am the only one who can deal with this.’

  ‘Deal with what?’ Heather was fighting the urge to stand up and run out of the house.

  Sandra was still avoiding her gaze. She looked down at the box on the floor and her gaze was almost caressing. ‘I had given all that up. I had even come to think that what I was doing was wrong. That was why I came to join the volunteers. I thought I would be safe in the cathedral, but I see now that I was being told to bide my time, that something would happen that only I could deal with and that when the time came, the rot I had to root out was here at the heart of the cathedral itself.’

  Heather froze. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Bea Dalloway, of course.’<
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  ‘And what exactly’, Heather interrupted, ‘do you think Bea has done?’

  ‘You know perfectly well. I told you. I told the dean. It was you who talked me out of going to the bishop. She and the child are possessed by demons.’

  ‘Sandra!’ Heather was trying desperately to keep calm. ‘You know that’s rubbish. Whatever you think you’ve seen, you are wrong. Bea is a decent God-fearing woman. She is married to the Canon Treasurer, for goodness’ sake!’

  Sandra nodded. ‘That’s what is so horrifying.’ She climbed wearily to her feet and walked over to the table. She picked up a magazine that was lying there, folded open at the small ads page at the back. One of the advertisements had been ringed in red ink. She pushed it towards Heather, who took it and studied it with increasing disbelief.

  Madame Soozie. Your fortune told. Your cards read. If you need to settle scores from the distant past and prevent evil following you into the future I can solve your problems today.

  At the bottom of the advert there was a mobile number.

  Heather looked up. ‘Madame Soozie?’ she whispered.

  Sandra nodded. ‘That’s me. Sandra Susan. I needed a professional name.’

  Heather stared at her, speechless.

  ‘That’s an old magazine. I haven’t done it for years. Something happened and I thought it was my fault and I backed off, but I see now that it was merely the playing out of destiny.’ Sandra sat down again, leaned back in her chair and sighed. ‘I needed the rest anyway. One’s powers sometimes get depleted after too much psychic work. But now I’m ready to take on the greatest challenge of my life. Beatrice Dalloway and the girl Emma are, as I keep telling everyone, possessed by fearsome demons. I have sensed them and seen them and I have felt their power. It’s up to me now. I have to deal with the situation. And I can.’ She looked up and met Heather’s gaze at last. ‘You do see that, don’t you.’