A Half Forgotten Song (45 page)

“Copy that. We’re in position, ready to go,” he said. Zach kept walking until he was sure the darkness had swallowed him, then he ducked left towards the hedge, vaulted over the gate into the field, and started running.

He didn’t look back as he ran haphazardly down the hill, stumbling over rabbit holes and slipping in patches of sheep shit. It was frightening, electrifying; running so fast when he could not see the ground, could not see his feet. Thistles and long grasses whipped at his shins, and he saw pale shapes in the corners of his eye as startled sheep hurried away from him. The lane was to his left, and at any moment he expected to see blue lights pouring down it, passing him, getting to her first. He ran faster than he’d run since childhood; his lungs ached with the sudden rush of cold air. The night parted in front of him and closed behind him; he left no wake. There were two more gates between him and the yard, and he scaled them clumsily, landing badly after the last and turning his ankle. Swearing at the tearing pain, he staggered around to the front of the farmhouse where a light was on in the kitchen, blazing out into the night through the curtainless window. It seemed wantonly dangerous, such a gaudy display. His mouth had gone completely dry and his heart was hammering, and he thumped loudly on the farmhouse door with both fists.

Hannah opened it cautiously, her eyes wide with anxiety. When she saw him, relief flooded her face and Zach felt a rush of panic wash through him.

“Zach! What the hell are you doing here?” she said, holding the door ajar, not letting him in or letting him see past her.

“The police are coming—they could be here any moment. I saw them,” he gasped, fighting for breath. “I saw them at the top of the lane. I wanted to warn you, to give you a chance to . . .” He trailed off, watching fear grip her as she digested this. Behind her he heard Ilir say something.

“The police? Here? Jesus . . . how did they know?” she said.

“I don’t know. You don’t have much time, so if there’s something you’d rather they didn’t find, you’d better get it out of sight now. Right now!” Hannah hesitated, then turned her head and spoke rapidly, quietly over her shoulder. There was a startled sound from Ilir and then sounds of movement, scuffling.

“God,” Hannah said bleakly. “Maybe Ed Lynch did say something to them. James said he thought he was being watched. And the last time I spoke to him on the phone there was a lot of interference . . . Fuck! I’m such an idiot!”

“I’m . . . sorry, Hannah.” Now that he had warned her, he didn’t know what else to do. At that moment, Ilir appeared beside her in the doorway.

“You are sorry?
You
tell the police to come?” he said, yanking the door wide open and striding out, right up to Zach, with anger disfiguring his face. Zach took an uneasy step backwards.

“What? No! I just—”

“You are spying on us tonight?” Ilir jabbed a rigid finger into Zach’s chest.

“Yes—well, no, not spying—I was on the cliffs, and I saw . . . the boat. And then I saw the police—” Ilir grasped Zach by the front of his coat, spun him around, and shoved him hard against the wall of the house. His mouth twisted into a snarl, eyes alight with anger and something else besides. Something like fear, holding every one of the man’s muscles tighter than steel.

“It is
your
fault they come!” he spat.

“No, I just wanted to warn you!” said Zach.

“You will be sorry.” Ilir drew back his right arm and slammed his fist into Zach’s jaw. Pain and bright light bloomed behind Zach’s eyes, and his head was flung back, hitting the wall hard.

“Ilir!
No!
Stop it!” Hannah was there behind Ilir, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes as she tugged at his arm, holding it on its second backswing, preventing the blow from landing. “Ilir! We don’t have time! Stop it! It wasn’t Zach’s fault! Go inside—go inside and get ready!” Abruptly, Ilir dropped Zach, seeming to lose all interest in him. And now Zach could really see how frightened he was. The anger dissolved, and this fear was all that was left. He clasped his hands over his head and his eyes filled with tears.

“What will we do, Hannah?” he said desperately. “What can I do?”

“I’ll think of something! Go inside, now,” she said, and once he had stumbled away towards the door, she turned to Zach, who was rubbing his jaw and waiting for his head to clear. “You came down to warn us, right?” she said. Zach nodded gingerly. “So you want to be on our side, right? Right?”

“I . . . yes. I am on your side.”

“Then help us.” She stood in front of him with her arms hanging ready at her sides and the wind pushing at her; dark eyes harder than granite and every inch of her now calm and resolute. Zach realized that he would do anything for her.

“What do you want me to do?” he said.

“You saw me guide the boat in. You saw us bringing something ashore. Now I need you to take it somewhere else for me. If the police are coming, they can’t find out what was on that boat. Do you hear?” Zach swallowed. She was making him part of it, he saw. Making him complicit; partly to have his help, no doubt, but also to have his silence from then on. He nodded uneasily.

“Okay. But look, if it’s drugs . . .” He shook his head. A disgusted expression creased Hannah’s face.

“
Drugs?
You seriously think it’s drugs?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“You think I would risk everything to deal drugs? For fuck’s sake, Zach! You want to know what I would risk everything for? Do you? Then come and take a look.” She grabbed him by the sleeve, towed him to the farmhouse door, up the steps, and into the kitchen. She gave him a second to absorb the scene, and the sudden light hurt his eyes. “Now do you get it?” she said. Zach stared in amazement.

“Jesus,” he murmured.

D
imity slept more deeply than she ever had before, for the rest of the day after Celeste had turned her away again. A dreamless sleep, like oblivion. She awoke just before sunset with a vague, heavy feeling of unease. She could not sit still, or settle to any household chore, so the stove sputtered out after she lit it, and the water in the kettle stayed cold, and the chickens kept their eggs a while longer, tucked into their warm and greasy feathers. She stole a glance through her mother’s bedroom door. Valentina was sprawled across the mattress, her yellow hair matted and wiry, her face scrunched into the pillow. She was snoring softly, dead to the world; thinking back, Dimity remembered the bang of the door, sometime after she returned. A visitor leaving; ducking out into anonymity. A faint, fishy smell pervaded the airless room. She shut the door again softly, and wondered at the sudden urge she felt to creep into bed beside her mother, to feel the warmth of her fusty, sleeping body. A yearning for safety and protection that she’d long ago learned not to seek from Valentina.

Then, for just a minute or two, all her dreams came true. The sun was below the horizon; a velvety twilight lingered that made the sea seem to glow. She was looking out of her bedroom window as the blue car came down the track towards The Watch, traveling fast, kicking up dust and stones from its wheels. It slithered to a halt right outside, and Charles got out. Charles on his own, running his hands through his hair to tidy it, or so she thought; coming up to the door and pounding on it, urgently, carelessly. He had come to fetch her away, she thought, as she made her way downstairs, smiling dreamily. Fear had plagued her since she woke, though she couldn’t trace the cause of it; all she knew was that she never wanted to go to Littlecombe again. But now he had come for her at last, and that fear melted away. She looked around the house as she went to the door, thinking that she might not see it again. That this would be the last time she would come down those stairs, cross those worn flagstones, pull the handle of the heavy oak door. Her smile widened when she saw him, and she let the love shine on her face; no more hiding, no more waiting.

“Mitzy—you must come right away. Right now! Please,” he said. She didn’t notice that there was sweat on his forehead, misting his top lip; that his face was ashen, his hands shaking as he pushed them through his hair again.

“Of course, Charles. I’ve been waiting for you. I haven’t packed my bag yet—is there time for me to do that? Just some clothes, and a few things?”

“What? No—there’s no time! Please come at once!” He grabbed her wrist and began to pull her towards the car. “Wait—is Valentina at home? Call her, too—and fetch your medicines, any medicines you have. Bring them all!”

“Valentina . . . but why should you want to bring my mother? We do not need to—”

“Is she here?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Well, wake her, God damn it! Right now!” His sudden shout was so loud that she recoiled; so violent that a fleck of his spit landed on her cheek.

“I don’t understand!” Dimity cried, and Charles glared at her, half mad with impatience. “She won’t be woken; she was occupied this afternoon—”

“Then you’ll have to come alone. Celeste and Élodie . . . they’re very ill. You have to help them.”

“But I—” All protest was cut off as Charles pulled her towards the car. She scrambled in obediently, but a sudden and dreadful terror was tying knots in her chest, and she found herself gasping for air.

Sure enough, Charles drove her to Littlecombe, the last place she wanted to go. Drove with reckless speed, almost hitting the baker’s van as they burst out of the top of the track and onto the village street. Dimity shut her eyes and did not move when the car pulled up outside the house. Charles had to drag her out by her arm, his fingers digging into her, his teeth gritted.

“I’ve called two different doctors, but both of them are out seeing other patients . . . they won’t be here for at least an hour, their secretaries said. People in the village told me to keep giving them water to drink, but . . . but they can’t keep it down. They can hardly even drink it! You have to help them, Dimity. There must be something you can give them. Some herb . . .” he said. She had to run to stay on her feet as he towed her to the front door. On the threshold, she braced her hand against the door frame and wrenched her arm free of him, making him pause. “What are you doing? Come
on
!” he cried.

“I’m frightened!” she said. True enough, but she had no way to express how huge and ugly and confused that fear was. Suddenly the doorway to the house was like a hole into hell, or the den of some dangerous wild animal. Charles stared at her with eyes full of tears.

“
Please,
Dimity,” he said, in a desperate voice. “Please help them.” She had no choice but to try.

They were in the big bedroom, both of them; on the bed. Celeste was sitting half propped up against the wall, with vomit all down her blouse and some of it caught in a bowl. A long, thick string of saliva was hanging from her chin, constantly renewing itself, never breaking off. Every few seconds she twitched, a sharp jolt like an electric shock passing through her. The stink in the room was horrible. Delphine was holding her mother’s hand, crouching beside the bed with a look of profound anguish on her face. On the other side of the bed lay Élodie, her small body twisted and still.

“Élodie is worse. Go to her first,” said Charles, propelling Dimity towards her and rushing over to Celeste and Delphine.

“Oh! Please do something, Mitzy! You must know what to give them . . . you must know a cure! Please!” Delphine begged her, the words slurred with weeping.

“I . . . I don’t know . . . What’s wrong with them?” Dimity faltered.

“I don’t know! Something they ate—it must be! Something I picked . . . I went picking on my own and I left some things for Mummy for her lunch, and she made a soup and Élodie had some, too, when we got home, but I didn’t have any and neither did Daddy . . . I must have picked the wrong thing, Mitzy! I was sure I hadn’t . . . I was sure I knew what I’d found, but I must have been wrong, mustn’t I? I must have been!” She sobbed into her hand for a second, but stopped to grasp her mother’s fingers as Celeste vomited again, a mouthful of yellow fluid that slid down her chin, and then she convulsed, her head flying back to crack against the wall, her arms straining, straight against the mattress. From the other side of the bed Dimity caught sight of her eyes. Black as night; black as a lie; black as murder. The pupils so vastly dilated that almost nothing of the blue irises was visible. Her eyes looked like open doors, wide enough for her soul to escape. Suddenly her mouth opened and she spoke in rapid French, an unintelligible stream of noise more like the sound an animal would make, rather than a person. Delphine whimpered and tried to hold her mother’s hands, but Celeste wrenched them away, staring around her with those wide black eyes as though she could see unimaginable monsters.

Dimity crouched down beside Élodie and took the girl’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, weak and irregular. The child’s whole body was arched backwards and rigid, every muscle as tight as a violin string. Her face was immobile, eyes fixed; every bit as wide and black as her mother’s. A steady trickle of drool soaked into the mattress beneath her. She looked like a demon, she looked possessed. Dimity’s skin crawled as she put her ear close to the girl’s open mouth and felt the slightest touch of air, moving in and out in minute amounts. Dimity’s own head was as empty as their eyes. More than anything, she wanted to flee the room; wanted to be gone from this deathbed, since deathbed it was. They’d eaten the roots, that much was clear. Treacherously sweet, full of flavor. If they could be saved, it would not be by anything Dimity could give them. The doctor was their only chance, but even that depended on how long they would have to wait.

“When did it start?” she asked woodenly. She felt sleepy, all of a sudden. She wanted to lie down and shut her eyes and dream.

“A . . . about two hours ago. Celeste had a stomachache when we got back from town, and by the time she began to vomit, Élodie had eaten the soup, too, and was also sick . . . What can you give them? What can we do?” Charles stood with his arms hanging loose by his sides, chewing his lip as he stared at her, keen as a hawk. She saw that he expected her to make them well, expected her to save them, and she swallowed the sudden, mad urge to laugh. She shook her head instead, and saw his face crumple. It was too late. After two hours, the poison would be deep within their bodies, too deep to fetch it back out.