Sands of Time Page 8

  How did she know all this?

  Tim was staring at her. His face was white. He said nothing as she went on: ‘There was no one there for him. That was why he came. Just to talk. Just to describe a little of what it was like; to try and defuse some of his nightmares. It was so harmless at first. He was little more than a boy and he loved his Mary so much, but she was lonely too. They married just before he was posted overseas and when he left she was pregnant. She didn’t see him for more than a year. He came back on leave to a stranger with a young baby. When he came back again a year later on a stretcher she had another child. That one wasn’t his. She said it was his fault. She stormed and raged at him and tried to justify herself. What was he to do?’

  ‘That seems to have been some dream!’ Tim said drily as she lapsed into silence. ‘So, exactly where do you fit in?’

  Helen shrugged. ‘I was the other side of the hedge.’

  ‘A neighbour?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And you comforted him.’

  She looked away. ‘So it would appear.’

  ‘And he left you radiant. Sated. Covered in love bites.’ He moved towards the door.

  ‘Tim, please. You have to believe me – ’

  But he had gone. She heard him open the door, pull it closed behind him and walk away down the quiet road towards the sea.

  She sat still for a long time, staring out of the window. Slowly it grew dark. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights, aware that the tears had long since dried on her face. It was all so stupid. A dream. How could they quarrel like this over a dream? Then she touched the bruises on her neck again and she sighed. They were not part of a dream.

  There was no sign of Tim. Where had he gone? She pictured him walking miserably on the beach, alone in the dark and she ached to follow him, comfort him, explain. But how could she when she couldn’t explain it herself?

  It was nearly midnight when, still sleepless, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the garden. The moon had risen, bathing everything in silvery light. Faintly she thought she could hear the gentle shush of the sea on the sand in the distance. She could smell the sharp salt of it over the soft sweetness of the honeysuckle and roses in the flowerbeds near her. The grass was wet with dew as she stepped down off the step. She could see the china gleam of her mug lying where she had left it. No one had thought to pick it up. Or her book, which was lying open, the pages damp and wrinkled.

  Quietly she walked towards the hedge. The gate was there as she had known it would be. She put her hand out to the cold wood and pushing it open she stepped through. The house across the lawn was large, imposing in the moonlight. A cedar tree stood in the centre of the lawn, throwing stark black shadows slanting over the grass. The silence was intense. She could no longer hear the sea.

  She walked slowly towards the house, staring up at the windows. They all looked strangely blank, blinds shutting out the moonlight in every one. Beyond the house more hedges bordered a deserted country lane. There was no sign of the row of little holiday homes which in her world lined the road to the sea. She turned round in sudden fear, looking for the gate through which she had come. It was there, standing open as she had left it. Beyond it she could see the huge oak tree under which she and Charles had lain. There was no chalet there now. No cherry tree. No washing line with small swimming costumes and brightly coloured towels hanging where she had forgotten to take them in.

  And suddenly she was crying. Crying for her dead lover, buried so long ago somewhere in the mud of northern France, and for her husband walking in lonely misery on the beach in the moonlight and for her children who had gone to bed puzzled and unhappy at the sudden atmosphere between their parents on what had up till then been a holiday of total happiness.

  Almost as though the thought had conjured her out of the night Helen was aware suddenly of a small girl walking towards her across the grass.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Mummy.’ Polly slipped a small warm hand into her cold one. ‘Is it that house that makes you sad?’ The little face looked up at hers earnestly. ‘I don’t like it. The windows can’t see.’

  So, Polly was aware of it too, with its blinds and its aura of unhappiness.

  ‘Someone has drawn the blinds, darling. That is why the windows can’t see. It is a sad house because someone has died.’

  ‘The man I saw kissing you?’

  Dear God! What else has she seen.

  ‘He was an old friend, darling. From long ago.’

  ‘Why did he die?’

  Helen frowned. Her mind was wheeling between times and she didn’t know how to answer. ‘He lived a long time ago, Polly, and he had to go to fight in the war.’

  ‘So he’s a ghost.’ The child was still staring up at her trustingly.

  ‘I suppose he is. Yes. At first I thought he must be a dream, but if you saw him too then he can’t be.’ Helen glanced back over Polly’s head towards the neighbouring garden and suddenly it was as it had been; the large house was gone. The great trees had vanished. In their place the line of small holiday bungalows with defining hedges and fences once more stretched away in the moonlight.

  ‘That’s better.’ Polly sounded more confident suddenly. ‘It’s all gone back to normal now. Silly dream.’ She reached out for Helen’s hand again. ‘I’ll tell Daddy and he won’t be cross any more.’

  ‘You think so?’ Helen smiled sadly. ‘I hope you’re right, darling.’ She glanced back over her shoulder in spite of herself. The garden was as it should be still.

  When they walked back into the house Tim was standing just inside the front door. He appeared to be lost in thought.

  ‘Tim?’ Helen went over to him. Hesitantly she put her hand on his arm.

  He frowned. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘In the garden, Daddy.’ It was Polly who answered. She threw her arms around her father’s waist. ‘I saw the dream house where the ghost lived. It looked all strange in the moonlight. The man Mummy saw is dead. He’s gone now. He was a ghost!’

  ‘A –’ Tim stared at Helen.

  ‘I seem to have got mixed up in someone else’s tragedy, Tim; someone else’s life, long, long ago. You have to believe me at least about that one thing. It wasn’t real.’

  For a long moment they stared at each other in silence, the little girl looking anxiously up first at one then the other.

  ‘We’re never going to understand what happened, Tim. It was a slip in time.’

  Tim sighed. ‘I suppose I’m going to have to believe you.’ He shrugged. ‘Largely because I can’t bear the alternatives.’ He walked past her into the room and sat down. Putting his elbows on his knees he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘As I walked up and down that beach I realised I couldn’t live without you. You mean everything to me.’

  Helen smiled uncertainly. Kneeling in front of him she reached up and put her arms around his neck. As she kissed him Polly jumped onto the sofa next to him and burrowed between them into the shelter of their arms.

  Outside in the moonlight Charles stood on the lawn staring towards the lighted windows of the bungalow unseeing. In his own time he was standing under a spreading tree in the dark. Behind him the house of his dreams lay shuttered and empty. His wife and the children had gone. Only one person had ever made him feel loved and happy and in his cold, lost loneliness he drifted across the grass looking for her, the warm gentle kind woman he had found lying in the sunlight under the tree. He was resolved, if necessary, to search forever until he found her again.

  Sea Dreams

  How was she going to tell him? Rachel looked across the table at Alex, watching fondly as he poured out his breakfast cereal and reached for the milk jug. No children, they had said. Or not for years. Too busy. Too poor. Too stressed. Too soon.

  He glanced up and grinned back at her. ‘OK?’

  She nodded. ‘OK.’

  How had it happened? Well, she knew that. Gastric flu. She’d puked up the pill. As simple as that. And now s
he was feeling sick again.

  Alex stood up and, dropping a kiss on her head, made for the door. ‘You’ll be late for work, Rachel.’

  She nodded. ‘Just going.’

  The door closed behind him and she put her head in her hands. Perhaps it was a false alarm. Perhaps it was still the flu after all.

  That Saturday was the second time Rachel went to the yoga class. Alex, seeing her tenseness, her strange, unaccustomed unhappiness, had suggested she go. Slowly and gently Eileen took her twelve pupils through the series of asanas and breathing exercises then, as before, at the end they all lay down on their mats, covered themselves with blankets and closed their eyes for a period of relaxation.

  ‘Picture yourself in your favourite place in the country.’ The deep, melodious voice seemed further away than the low stage of the hall. ‘Feel your bare feet in the grass, hear the birds, the wind in the trees, smell the flowers.’

  Except that Rachel, trying hard to put her worries out of her head, was suddenly, violently standing on a beach. The rattle of pebbles was deafening as the waves sucked back, she could smell the raw, cold tang of salt and seaweed and ice.

  ‘Find yourself a nice secluded spot under a tree – ’ Eileen’s voice was barely audible now. ‘Sit down and imagine you can feel yourself leaning against its trunk.’

  Another wave crashed onto the stones and Rachel realised that she had jumped backwards to avoid the spray, her feet slipping on the pebbles.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were relaxing – warm; safe; preparing to empty their minds for the meditation.

  ‘If at any time you feel at all uncomfortable,’ Eileen said suddenly, ‘just open your eyes.’

  ‘Open my eyes.’ Rachel was sure she had said it out loud. ‘Open my eyes.’ The next wave broke higher up the beach and suddenly she could hear footsteps slipping, laboured, crunching towards her.

  ‘Just open my eyes.’

  But they were open. She knew they were open. They must be. She could see clearly.

  ‘Maddy!’ The young man was beside her now, looking straight at her. ‘Maddy, you must come. They’ve found him.’

  ‘No!’ She wasn’t aware that she had spoken this time.

  ‘You have to come, Maddy.’ The wind was tearing at his hair, almost dragging the shirt from his shoulders. ‘You have to come – ’

  ‘ – and slowly come back to the room, and when you’re ready, open your eyes.’ Eileen’s voice was right in her ear. With a start Rachel sat up. Her head was spinning. She stared round. The others were still lying flat on their backs beginning to open their eyes, to stretch.

  Eileen was sitting on the edge of the platform, swinging her legs. She saw Rachel and her pale angular face shadowed. She slipped off the platform and tiptoed over on silent bare feet. ‘Are you OK, Rachel?’

  Rachel shrugged. She felt as if she were going to cry.

  ‘You sat up too suddenly, my dear. Breathe slowly.’ Eileen patted her shoulder then she straightened and turned away. ‘That’s all for today,’ she called to the class. ‘I’ll see you next week.’

  ‘You all right, Rachel?’ The tall, willowy young woman next to her was rolling up her blanket. ‘Did you fall asleep? It’s very easy to do.’

  ‘No. I’m fine. I’m OK.’ Somehow Rachel managed to scramble to her feet. She groped for her blanket and began to fold it.

  ‘Coming for a coffee?’ Susie was persistent. She swung her bag on her shoulder. ‘Come on. You can only do so many things that are good for you in one day!’

  It was easier not to argue. Silently Rachel followed her out. They called their farewells to the others, threw the rugs into their cars and strolled up the village street towards the tea shop.

  Susie ordered coffee and tea cakes for them both at the counter then she came and sat down opposite Rachel. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ she asked gently.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Nothing. Honestly.’

  ‘Then why were you crying?’

  ‘I wasn’t. At least – ’

  But she had been. It was all too much. On top of the worry about pregnancy the scene on the beach had for some reason left her devastated. Leaning forward she pushed aside the small vase of pinks which stood between them on the table. ‘Something weird happened. When we were supposed to be visualising a wood or something I found myself by the sea.’

  ‘You fell asleep. You were dreaming.’

  ‘No.’ Rachel shook her head vehemently. ‘No. I wasn’t dreaming.’

  The ice cold wind. The pounding waves. The fear.

  They were real.

  ‘What happened?’ Scrutinising her friend’s face Susie’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

  ‘That’s it, I can’t remember. There was someone there.’

  ‘Two tea cakes. Two coffees.’ The brisk arrival of their order distracted her. By the time the waitress had tucked the bill under the vase of pinks and walked away, swinging her empty tray, Rachel had lost the thread again.

  Susie waited expectantly. ‘Was the someone a he?’

  Rachel smiled and shrugged. ‘I honestly can’t remember. It’s gone. It must have been a dream after all.’

  That evening Alex bought them a take away. And he was full of plans. ‘A holiday, Rachel. We haven’t had one since our honeymoon. We deserve it, sweetheart.’

  She smiled. ‘Where did you have in mind?’

  ‘I don’t know. How are you enjoying your yoga? What about Tibet?’ He was joking, of course.

  At three in the morning she sat up suddenly in bed, shaking like a leaf.

  ‘Rachel, what is it? What’s wrong?’ Alex reached for the light switch, fumbling in the darkness. He put his arms round her. ‘Sweetheart, calm down. It was only a dream.’

  Only a dream! The thundering waves, the long shingle beach with the wind screaming in her ears, tearing at her long skirt, her shawl, her hair flying round her head.

  ‘Oh, Alex.’ She pressed her face against his chest. ‘It was awful!’ She put her hand to her head. Her hair was neat, short, chestnut. In her dream it had been long, dark and wild.

  ‘Bad dreams.’ Alex hugged her hard. ‘Cup of tea help?’

  She clung to him for a moment then almost reluctantly she nodded. She didn’t want him to leave her. She wanted to tell him everything, but at the same time, she realised suddenly she needed to be alone, to make some sense of the inexplicable fear which had woken her.

  She took a deep breath and uncomfortably she pressed her hands against her ears.

  ‘Maddy!’

  The voice was in the room with her. Pulling the bed covers up to her chin she stared round, terrified.

  ‘Maddy!’

  ‘Alex!’ she called out desperately

  But he couldn’t hear her. He was downstairs listening to the increasing rush of water boiling in the kettle, sleepily staring out into the moonlit garden. The kettle switched off automatically and in the sudden silence he heard an owl hoot. A shiver ran down his spine. For a moment he stood quite still, listening, then with a small irritated shake of his head he turned and reached for the teapot and caddy.

  ‘Here’s the tea, Rachel. Now we’re awake, let’s plan the holiday.’ He pushed open the bedroom door with his elbow and carried the tray in. ‘Rachel?’

  The bed was empty.

  ‘You have to come, Maddy.’ He was holding out his hand. Icy rain was soaking through his shirt, stinging his eyes.

  ‘I can’t!’ She took a step back, aware of the huge waves crashing onto the beach behind her. ‘Please, don’t make me look at him.’

  ‘But he’s alive, Maddy!’ His face broke into a smile. ‘They pulled him out alive!’

  She could feel the hot rush of joy, then hope, then disbelief and then the sicker terror flow over her like a tide. He was alive. He would tell her secret. His life meant her death.

  Ralph had reached towards her and caught her wrist. His hand was ice cold, slippery with salt spray and rain.
r />   ‘Over here.’ He was pulling her with him.

  She could see them now. Four men bending over the body of a fifth. They were covering him with cloaks, chafing his hands.

  ‘Francis!’ She stood staring down at him. He was sitting up now, his face white, his teeth chattering, his expression mirroring hers: relief and love, then wariness and last of all, fear. ‘Maddy! I thought you’d gone. The boat sank. I was trying to follow you.’

  There was a long silence, then, suddenly she had to tell them the truth. ‘We were going to run away together. To France. To a new life where no one would know –’ Without realising it she had rested her hand on her stomach. Ralph, following the gesture with his eyes saw the slight swelling as the wind and rain flattened her gown against her belly. His eyes widened incredulously. ‘You are with child?’ The fury in his voice was vicious. ‘You, my wife, are carrying my brother’s child?’

  ‘Ralph –’ Francis had scrambled to his feet, throwing off the cloaks which had been wrapped round him. ‘Listen, brother, you must not blame her!’

  ‘Must I not?’ The wind was whipping away their words as they confronted one another, shouting. ‘Then who do I blame? My own impotence, perhaps, or you, who in your generosity, came to her aid?’

  The men with them had drawn back out of earshot, muttering uneasily, glancing from one man to the other, then surreptitiously at Maddy.

  Tears poured down her cheeks. ‘Ralph! Francis – ’

  They ignored her. This was men’s business.

  Slowly she turned towards the sea.

  Behind her, Ralph stepped forward. He laid hold of his brother’s shirt and pulled him close, glaring.

  The cold of the waves snatched her breath away. She took one step, then another, staggering under the power of the water. There could be no looking back. When at last the waves swept her off her feet she held out her arms to embrace the water as though it were the lover she had found such a short time before and now irretrievably lost.