The Haunting of Harriet (31 page)

That night was the longest Edward had ever experienced. Liz had been unnaturally quiet throughout the whole wretched business. She stared into space without speaking or crying. If she moved she was like a zombie, existing somewhere between life and death, like her children. At one o’clock Edward called Bob. The strain of facing all this alone was too much. He needed his friend and his friend’s forgiveness. Real fear raced through his veins and he felt lost without Liz’s cool strength beside him. The doctors said it was shock. He knew it was, but it still frightened him. He was afraid she would blame him for everything: for buying the boat, for letting the children out alone, even for the storm. Was this his punishment for infidelity? How would he live with the guilt if the children died? If he could not forgive himself, how could he expect his wife to forgive him? He wanted his family back. He wanted to turn back the clock and be washed of his sins. “The sins of the father…” - is this what it meant?

Mel and Bob arrived in time to hear the doctor pronounce that both James and Jenny would live. Jenny had regained consciousness, but needed to be assessed to see that no permanent damage had been done to her lungs, which were described as remarkable for a child of ten. With complete rest and warmth a full recovery was likely. They needed to keep her in to run a few tests, then if all was well she could come home. James was more complicated. He had been unconscious for a long time and had ingested large quantities of muddy water. X-rays showed no obvious signs of permanent damage, but once again, only time would tell. He was no longer critical, but not out of danger. He had been lucky to have someone who knew first-aid on hand. The doctor said that had he not been resuscitated so quickly he might have died or suffered brain damage. The young woman doctor looked at Edward:

“Was that down to you or your wife, Mr Jessop? Or could it have been Jenny? She did mention a lady. She said it was this woman who saved their lives. It might have been a dream. Trauma does strange things to the mind. Anyway, well done whoever it was.”

Edward looked at his wife. What did she know about first-aid? And Jenny was a child. As for a mystery woman, that was plain silly. As the doctor said, it was probably just a dream.

“You can see them if you want. We’ve put them next to each other. Remember they’ve had a nasty shock, so tread carefully.”

“Would you mind if I come too?” asked Mel.

“You must be the mysterious lady. She’s been asking for you. She says you saved them.”

Mel shrugged and gave a quizzical look before following the doctor, who turned and added: “By the way, don’t be alarmed by James’s colour. It had us worried at first. Then we realized it was paint, felt-tip pens actually, all over his upper body and his face; quite amazing. Anyway, don’t worry if you spot a tinge of green around the gills. It will wear off.” She smiled as she led the way to the children’s ward.

Edward returned home alone and spent what was left of the night with just The Pote for company. It was the first time he had been alone at Beckmans and he found himself pacing the house, the dog trailing him. There was no way he could sleep. His conscience was stabbing at him as he relived his indiscretions over and over again. This was his punishment for taking his charmed life for granted. How could he have been so bloody stupid? If anything happened to the twins he would never be able to look Liz in the face again. How could he live with himself? When he collected his family the next day he was a very contrite man. He had vowed to every deity he could conceive of that if his family was spared he would change. No more liaisons, no more absentee fatherhood, no more reticence about Liz’s plans for their home. It was their life and he wanted nothing more than to be in the thick of it, taking an active part. By the time they were safely inside Beckmans he had talked himself into sainthood.

It was weird. Nobody mentioned the accident. The children were tucked up in bed, having been told they should rest for at least forty-eight hours. Liz faffed about, making hot drinks and food that no one wanted and no one ate. James slept and chatted alternately, unimpressed when his father promised to teach him the art of the definitive googly. Jenny just lay there. She did not cry or smile, she did not speak. She did not even sleep. She stared straight ahead, registering no emotion at all. She had not said one word since regaining consciousness. It was as if she were somewhere else where nobody could see or reach her. She behaved as if she had stepped onto a different level, slipped into a parallel world. The doctors said there was nothing physically wrong with her, it was just delayed shock. But it was painfully obvious that something was very wrong indeed. Jenny was withdrawn. Her normal effervescence and exuberance had gone.

They tried to restore life at Beckmans to normal but Jenny’s behaviour made it impossible. Her altered state cast a shadow over the house and its occupants. She grew noticeably thinner and paler and her face exuded a haunted look. She declined to eat and shunned company. Instead she would take herself off, only to be found, hours later, sitting alone, silently rocking to and fro. One Sunday morning Liz discovered to her alarm that Jenny had locked herself in the Fourth Room. Liz begged her to come out, but no amount of pleading could persuade her to unlock the door or simply let them know that she was all right. Edward and James tempted her with treats, goaded her with threats. Neither tactic worked. Jenny did not answer or open the door. Nothing anyone said could penetrate the barrier Jenny had built around herself. In desperation Liz phoned Mel.

Alone in her sanctuary, Jenny sat curled in the small armchair by the inglenook. Her jaw was set; her eyes had dark circles beneath them. They remained fixed on the child’s sampler that hung on the bird-shaped hook. Her arms wrapped around her knees, hugging them as she swayed rhythmically back and forth. She hummed to herself, rocking in time to the music in her head. In her mind’s eye she was the girl in the photograph. Perched high on her father’s strong shoulders nothing could touch her. Up above the rainbow she flew with the bluebirds. This was the time she had chosen. This was her time and no clocks or calendars could alter that.

“I know this sounds fatuous, but have you simply asked her for her version of what happened, for a blow-by-blow account of the accident?” Mel suggested. “Because, like it or not, that’s what is at the root of all this. OK, it was a stupid bloody accident that could have turned into a tragedy, and thank God it didn’t. But all we know to date is what James told us and that isn’t much. Jenny probably, almost certainly, saved his life. But there must be more to it. Maybe they had a fight and Jenny blames herself. Guilt is a powerful emotion. Those useless doctors, why haven’t they tried to get to the bottom of this? You’d think they’d have offered her some counselling or something. We need to hold an inquest. One way or another we will get to the truth. Well, are you coming with me or do I have to do this on my own?” Mel was on a mission.

Not waiting for an answer, she approached the door to the Fourth Room, brushing past Liz, who sat slumped in the chair by the hall table. Why had all this happened? How could life suddenly turn so upside-down? Nothing made sense. Liz rose, arranged her cardigan fastidiously on the back of the chair and followed Mel into the Fourth Room.

Her daughter’s behaviour put the fear of God in Liz. This was more than shock. Being made to feel so powerless, so useless, was hateful. She was a mother and yet she was redundant; the rejection was more than she could bear. She was willing to take the blame for everything that had happened and to accept the consequences if she thought it would help. But how could she begin to make amends when she had no idea what she had done wrong? She should not have listened to Edward. They never should have bought that blasted boat. And she of all people should have made sure her children were safe, whether or not they were at home. It was her fault. If Jenny pointed the finger at her, it would be justly deserved. That was her worst fear; that Jenny would judge her culpable. She would never be able to shoulder the guilt. To lose Jenny’s love would kill her. Her heart was racing erratically yet outwardly she appeared calm and in control as she approached the door: a swan gliding towards the rapids.

The first move was to coax Jenny out of the Fourth Room. Visions of that sad, little girl by the lake would not leave Mel’s mind. Was that whole incident by the stream a premonition? Had the Tarot predicted the accident? She too was feeling guilty. She had not been honest enough in her reading of the cards. In her mind she tried to recall them, to see them differently. Even if she interpreted them as a prediction, the tragedy had been averted, so why the Five of Cups? Two cups standing and three lying down; three lives at risk, whose was the third? Was it her own? Was her cancer going to win after all? Or was the card telling her of a past tragedy? The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became they had been foretelling the future. They had been showing her this accident. She had not read them accurately enough. One thing she did know. Jenny was instrumental in determining the final outcome. Jenny held the key.

Mel knocked on the oak door. There was no answer, so she tried the handle. The door was locked. When she called Jenny’s name there was no reply. Mel concentrated her inner mind, letting her breath come in steady and controlled measure. Then she put her lips close to the door and whispered. “Is Jenny’s friend there? Please could you open the door for Jenny?”

Harriet was leaning heavily against the banisters. Since the accident she had been feeling weak. Her head was still throbbing, accompanied by a persistent droning in her ears. The family’s flight to the hospital had alarmed her. She had been left alone, not knowing what had happened to her precious children. She did not know if they were dead or alive. The past, the present and the future crowded in on her mind until she could no longer distinguish one from the other. Lightning flashes and startling explosions came at her from all directions, leaving her nauseous and giddy. This was how her father had described his fits to her. First he described rapidly flickering shadows of awareness, then an impenetrable dark into which blinding darts of light hit his eyes like rockets piercing his brain. They lit up scenes of terrifying visions, but never stayed long enough for him to define or describe them. This was what she too had seen: glimpses of reality swamped by obscurity before she could grasp them; and all this accompanied by stabbing pain and despair. Now she was being asked to face it yet again. How many times had she tried to fathom the mystery of her brother’s death? Why should this time be any different?

But it was different. This time it was Jenny who was hurting. The pain had been transferred. Harriet had no choice. Stepping into the Fourth Room, stepping into Jenny, she took the griffin key in both hands and turned it.

The door opened. Jenny’s sunken eyes peered out at Mel from the gloom. The room was dark; the child had drawn the curtains, blocking out natural light. She was not crying, but Mel could feel the weight of tears all around her. The room was crying and the pain of such distress invaded Mel’s psychic self, causing her to tremble with received emotion. Jenny had returned to her chair. She did not speak or move; she simply stared at Mel with no flicker of recognition.

“Hello.”

The child continued to stare.

“May I sit down?” Mel took the silence as tacit approval. “I’m a friend of Jenny’s too. She’s asked me to help you.”

The child got up and moved to the window, deliberating on what to do. After some time she spoke. It was Jenny’s voice and Jenny’s eyes that pleaded with Mel for absolution.

“I have done something dreadful.”

Mel smiled and waited. It was not the response the child had expected. There was no anger or accusation, just silence.

“I’m a murderer. They’re going to hang me. I’ve killed my brother.”

“Did you mean to?” Mel spoke quite normally and rationally.

“Oh, no,” came the instant and definite answer.

“Then I don’t think you’re so evil. Who told you that you should hang?”

“Mama. She says I’m a murderer and the police will take me to prison and hang me. I have to wait here for them to come.”

“I promise nobody is going to hang you. Will you let me help you?”

“You can’t.”

“Maybe not, but Jenny could. You trust Jenny, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The eyes that searched Mel’s were no longer Jenny’s. Physically they were those familiar green lasers that had twinkled at her for the past ten years. Today they burned with an amber fire, flamed by a torment that grabbed Mel’s heart.

“Will she help me?”

“Oh, yes.”

That was all she had to say for the child to run into her arms. Was it the lost child or Jenny she hugged so tightly? It was Jenny who Liz saw leaving the room with Mel, an hour or so later, and that was all that mattered.

Mel never told Liz what had transpired between the two (or was it three?) of them. Jenny made a remarkable recovery and seemed to have little memory of the whole business. Liz was relieved to have her daughter back again. The jigsaw was still incomplete but every fresh episode allowed another tiny piece of the picture to emerge.