I Do Not Sleep (9 page)

‘Well I can’t, Molly. I’m sorry. I know how much you must miss him, how much you’ve grieved. Me too. I don’t think you understand how much.’ Ben swallowed hard. ‘He was my best friend. I knew him right from when we were little. Can’t you understand how horrible it all was for me as well as you? I’m sorry for your loss,’ and he said this almost formally, ‘but it was my loss too. I want to forget about it. I have a life to lead.’

And he turned and walked quickly away from me. Up the hill, towards the Crumplehorn Inn, with a youthful litheness I could not hope to follow.

I stared after him, then trudged back up the hill to the car park. Back in the Volvo I sat quietly, trying to work out what my abortive mission to Polperro had actually achieved. Very little, obviously, but something was wrong. I felt tired. I was desperate to get back to normality, to Adam’s comforting solidity, to Danny, Lola and above all little Edie. I needed to hold her in my arms, to feel her wriggle and chuckle, to experience her warm little life growing as intimations of death claimed my thoughts.

I drove back to Coombe. I’d had enough. Warmth and love was what I craved. Luckily my family was there to provide it.

Chapter Seventeen

When I got back Adam was still watching the cricket, but Danny, Lola and Edie were sitting in the garden. Edie was drinking milk, but her parents had opened a bottle of wine. Lola poured me a glass and looked at me closely.

‘What’s up, Molly? Is everything all right?’

‘Oh yes, of course. I didn’t go to Fowey though,’ I stumbled, as I remembered I hadn’t brought anything back for dinner. ‘Just didn’t feel like it, so sorry, I didn’t get the lamb. I went for a long walk instead.’

‘Don’t worry, Mum. We won’t starve,’ said Danny easily. ‘There’s spaghetti bolognaise in the fridge, and lasagne.’

‘Right, of course.’

‘Mum. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, of course. A bit tired, I guess.’

Lola’s lovely face softened. ‘Yes, I can tell. This is hard for you, isn’t it? Being back here?’

‘No, no. It’s lovely to be here in Cornwall, with you and Danny and Edie. A new start, just as Adam said it would be.’

Lola looked as if she didn’t believe me. She turned to Danny and said in a low voice, ‘I told you. I said it was too soon. I knew she’d be unhappy. We shouldn’t have come.’

Danny looked uncomfortable. ‘Lola, leave it, will you? Dad and I thought it was right, coming back here. And I still think —’

Lola interrupted. ‘I think your mum needs a break. Molly, why don’t you go upstairs for a nap? I’ll sort out supper. You go and have a rest. I’ll wake you up at dinner time.’

I felt hugely grateful to be given permission to disappear. To be off duty, allowed to be myself, and not pretend to be brave. I smiled at Lola. ‘Thank you, love. I would like a rest.’ Then I looked anxiously at Danny. ‘I’m fine, Danny, really I am. Just not a spring chicken any more. We older ladies need our naps.’

‘You’re not old, Mum. You’re only fifty. Far too young to be a glamorous granny, even. You’re the youngest grandmother I know.’

‘Yeah, well, I started young with you. Only twenty-two when you were born.’ I smiled at him affectionately.

‘Gosh. You really had Danny when you were only twenty-two?’ asked Lola in surprise.

‘Well, Adam and I met at university. It was love at first sight. We got married straight after graduation. It was a bit of a surprise when you came along so quickly, but we were delighted really.’

‘And then Joey came, just three years later?’

‘Yes.’ I stopped. ‘I’m going upstairs for a rest, pets. I’ll see you later.’

But I didn’t. I did go up to bed, took my clothes off and sank on to the comfortable mattress. I fell asleep immediately, but I didn’t go down to supper. When Adam came up to wake me, I felt ill. I had a raging temperature. My head ached and I felt totally sick. Whatever virus little Evie had had, I’d obviously got it.

I moaned apologetically to Adam. I felt so bad, like all mothers do when they’re not living up to their responsibilities. I was letting everyone down. I should be in the kitchen, helping to serve up, being the perfect grandmother.

But I couldn’t do it. I needed to rest. And when Adam left me, I drifted immediately into a feverish sleep. I got up twice during the night to throw up, retching into the toilet. I was vaguely aware of Adam coming to bed, settling down next to me, finding his way around the darkened room with the light from his phone. I was boiling hot; and when I finally managed to let go, I entered a world no mother should ever have to breach.

The island. What was this island? I did not know, but in my fevered dream it consumed me. He was there, my Joey, I knew he was there. Only I could find him, but why? How? What was there to discover? I dreamed of caves, raging seas and, as my feverish mouth craved water, I dreamed of him, my son, desperate with thirst.

Oh, Joey. Where are you? Let me find you, my love, let me rescue you.
 

Chapter Eighteen

Next morning I still felt very ill. I barely woke up, registering dimly the movement downstairs which meant the family was awake. But I was confused, surfing restlessly through a consciousness that phased in and out, dipping through awareness, and then retreating into the delicious warmth of a fever-induced sleep.

At some point mid-morning, Adam stuck his head round the door, a broad smile on his lips.

‘Molly, are you OK?’

No
, I thought.
I’m not OK
. I groaned, to show him I was awake but wanted to be left alone.

It didn’t work. He was thrilled with himself, I could tell.

‘Molly, guess who’s here? It’s amazing, you’ll be so happy to see her.’

No, no, no, no, no
, I thought.
I’m not happy to see anyone. I don’t care who it is, I don’t care if it’s the Queen. I’m ill. I couldn’t give a stuff who wants to see me, all I want is to sleep.

‘Go away, Adam. Please go away.’

‘No, seriously, Moll, I know you’ll want to see Queenie.’

Queenie? Dear God, no. Had she told Adam I’d met her and Ben at the Blue Peter yesterday? I prayed not.

‘Adam,’ I croaked. ‘Really, I feel crap. I don’t want to see anyone today.
Anyone
.’

Too late. Queenie had already stuck her head through the door.

‘Hello, gorgeous. I heard through the grapevine that you were all back here at Coombe, and I couldn’t wait to see you again.’

I closed my eyes. ‘Sorry, Queenie, I’m not well.’

‘I know, darling. I’ve asked Lola to bring you up some honey and hot lemon. What a sweetheart she is, by the way. Imagine little Danny being married! And as for Edie, she’s gorgeous. You are so lucky, Molly, having a granddaughter. I still don’t have any grandkids, even though I’m older than you. My lot are so feckless and irresponsible, I doubt they’ll ever get round to it.’

Lucky? Queenie actually thought I was lucky? I held my tongue, but inwardly I was seething.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I thought perhaps we could have a little chat.’

I looked at her balefully. Adam disappeared downstairs.

‘What are you doing here, Queenie?’ I hissed. ‘I don’t want Adam to know I saw you in the Blue Peter yesterday.’

‘That’s all right, honey, I know. He thinks Linda and Bevis told me you were all at Treworgey again.’

Linda and Bevis Wright were the owners of this little holiday hamlet. They were discreet, lovely and totally trustworthy. But it didn’t alter the fact that I was ill, and the last person I wanted to see at my bedside was Queenie. Queenie was magnificent and larger than life, but gossip was her currency and her joy.

Lola brought up the lemon and honey drink, and with a worried look at Queenie went back downstairs.

I struggled up. ‘Look, it was really nice to see you again yesterday, but what do you want? I’m really not well.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. But the thing is, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.’

I sighed. ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t want to talk to anyone. Can’t you see I’m not up to it?’

‘Yes. Obviously you can’t talk at the moment. But in a couple of days, when you’re feeling better, you will really want to meet Len.’

‘Len? Who is Len?’

‘He’s a Charmer, Molly.’

‘A charmer? But who is he?’ Visions of George Clooney and Brad Pitt swam into my head.

‘You must have heard of Cornish Charmers, Molly. They’re white witches. They’ve been healing people and casting charms for centuries down here, especially on Bodmin Moor.’

I sighed. ‘Oh, Queenie, don’t go all mystic on me. Please, just go and let me sleep.’

And then, flooding into my mind, scaring me rigid again, came the terrifying image of the evil-eyed scarecrow at Jamaica Inn.
Queenie
had gone ‘all mystic’ on
me
? Who was I kidding? The idea of a white witch seemed quite tame, compared to the fiend I’d seen at the Inn; yes, on Bodmin, where Queenie claimed these so-called Charmers congregated. But I had no intention of cutting her any slack.
I’m not prepared to make myself vulnerable to the village gossip, barmaid,
I thought snobbishly, then flushed with shame as I considered how genuinely kind Queenie was. She didn’t notice my face had gone red, but she was insistent I listened to her.

‘I’m serious, Molly. It’s OK. I know you’re poorly. But you should talk to Len. He’s waiting for you. He’s got things he needs to tell you. About Joey.’

I stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m not going to talk any more. You obviously need to rest. When you feel up to it, call me. I’ll leave my home number with Adam.’ She leaned down towards me. ‘Molly, I’m not being frivolous here. Len can help you, he really can. I totally believe in him, and what he can see.’

I turned over. Although I felt something, some faint echo of intuition fastening onto her words, I couldn’t take it in at the moment. I felt ill, nauseous. The room was swirling around my head; I had vertigo. I was desperate to sleep. Above all else, oblivion was what I craved. I felt, rather than heard, Queenie leaving. There were murmured voices on the landing. And then, mercifully, I was left alone. No one else disturbed my solitude. I was allowed to sink again into dreams, into the borne of peace I longed for above all else.

Later, much later, Adam crept into the room. ‘How are you, love?’ he murmured. ‘I think you should have something to eat. You must be starving.’

‘No, not now, Adam. I feel sick. I need to sleep.’

‘But you’ve been sleeping all day. Should I get a doctor?’

‘No. I’m just exhausted. I’ll be better tomorrow, I’m sure.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Look, Molly. I know why you feel so bad, and it’s my fault for bringing you down here to Cornwall. I should have realised how much it would affect you. We’ll go back to Manchester, tomorrow if you like. Danny and Lola can stay on here. They’ll still have a good holiday.’

I closed my eyes. Should I take Adam at his word? I was tempted. Our house in Manchester felt like a beacon to me now, a haven of security and warmth. There, I was used to coping without Joey. I could resume my life. Here, I was beset at every turn with images of horror. Each time I looked at the sea I thought about Joey’s boat as I’d seen it when we hurtled down here in such a panic more than five years ago.

The little fishing vessel was a wreck, completely smashed up against the rocks. It spoke of violence, abandonment and death. There was nothing of my son still on board, not so much as a drink carton or a sandwich wrapper. The deck boards were splintered bones, the hull a gaping hole.

How could I possibly spend any more time here, pretending that I was on holiday, that I was somehow enjoying this time spent with my older son, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter, when every glimpse of the ocean made me nauseous?

My eyes were still squeezed shut. Adam stroked my forehead. ‘It’s all right, Moll. This is all my fault. We’ll go back home. You’ll wake up in bed there and think this was all just a terrible dream. I’m sorry, love. I really meant it for the best, thought you could cope, but I got it horribly wrong. We’ll leave tomorrow, after breakfast. I’ll go downstairs and tell Danny.’