Blood Bonds: A psychological thriller (28 page)

“You gonna stand there all night?” he said to the ghost. But the ghost wasn’t there anymore, and in its place was the steam-frosted mirror. He took another drink from the bottle and continued to sip away at it till he was sucking on air. He dropped it into the bathtub and watched it fill with water, the neck rising briefly like the bow of a stricken ship before the weight of it dragged it under completely and all that remained was the drifting away of a few soap bubbles on the scummy surface that plopped, one by one, out of existence.

His mind was being taken over by that welcome creeping blackness again, the colours of the real world merging into a thick, dark impasto. And in amongst this swirling, eddying other world he perceived a shadow deeper than its background. It hovered in his vision; only he didn’t see it, not see it in the real sense, he felt it the way one feels someone is looking at you.

At first he thought it might be the ghost, but then he had the feeling that it might be granny, because he could smell her perfume. So he held out his hands and felt her soft hands grip his like silk handcuffs. He grinned.

He didn’t mind the pain that flashed across his wrists. It was no more than the pain that flashed across his soul day in day out. The world continued its progress towards a dark sludge and the sound of his heart galloped like a sluggish farm horse in his ears. Just as everything turned completely black he saw his granny for real.

“Hello, Bernard,” she said.

Bernard grinned.

*  *  *  *

I have been writing so much about the past that it came as a sort of surprise to find I have now almost reached the present. Reached the point where I am sitting here writing this in my room. In my prison.

But it’s strange how recent events can seem foggier than those of the distant past, which come to me crystal clear like a sharp cloudless dawn. I find I am struggling to dredge up the most recent recollections. I think this is because of what happened to Ruby. Most certainly it’s because of that.

The memories have been partially blacked out by pain…

I stood long into the night staring out of the window, the room behind me in darkness.

I tried to sleep, but I guess it was natural that in spite of my eyes searing their sockets as if they were hot rocks, sleep would be difficult to find that night. And the wind continued to howl, teasing a loose pane of glass that made an uncanny whirring sound in its frame as the wind played constantly over it. Though I touched each in turn I could not discover which was the offending piece of glass, and so gave it up and stared instead, hoping sleep would eventually force me back into my bed.

It didn’t. Annoyingly my mind became all the more active.

I felt small puffs of cool air beating at my hand from an unseen gap in the window, as if a pair of invisible elfin lips were determined to keep me awake as well. Once or twice I had the feeling that someone else was indeed present, lurking behind, beyond and within the shadows, watching me every bit as intently as I was watching the elements rage about the island. I even turned quickly to catch it out, whatever ‘it’ was, and shook my head at my own stupidity when my gaze landed on the same gloomy stretch of blackness interspersed with even deeper pools of black.

Through narrowed eyes I thought I saw the moonlight flicker over the distant ocean like a cold white fire, and at the same time that feeling of another presence in the room. I resisted the urge to turn, but a faint scuffing on the carpet caused my head to spin around and my heart to go up a beat.

“Ruby!”
I said in a whisper.

She closed the door softly behind her and her bare feet made hardly a sound as she floated spectre-like towards me through the charcoal fug. I caught the smell of her perfume. No, not perfume. It was her I could smell; that familiar, heady, musky scent that she’d always carried with her. It intoxicated me. She wore a flimsy satin dressing gown loosely fastened over a flowing nightdress, and the impression as she glided towards me was one of someone sporting a cape beneath which the wind had taken hold. The next second her finger was on my lips stemming any further enquiry.

“I can’t be long. Max is asleep, but he might wake up. I’m going to try and arrange for the boat to come back and pick you up. Tomorrow if the weather holds up. Do you think you can be ready?”

The wind, as if protesting, pummelled the window. I saw her glance towards it, made out in the dull metallic light a frown creasing her forehead. “It looks like it’s getting worse, not better,” I said. “I doubt Popeye will come out in this.”

Maybe the touch of humour in my voice unnerved her, but her own voice grew distinctly graver. “You’ve got to leave, Philip,” she said.

I shrugged. “Yeah, I know I should never have come. But…”

“You don’t understand. You’re in danger here.”

I stared at her for a moment or two, and then let out a tiny laugh. “Just listen to what you’re saying, Ruby! Being rather theatrical, aren’t we?”

The next instant she kissed me on the lips. Nothing lingering, but it took me by surprise and I put my finger there when she pulled away. “Don’t argue. Don’t ask why. Just leave, Philip. You see that bay from your window? Maybe not tonight, it’s too dark, but that’s where the boat will land, well away from the main jetty. He won’t expect that.” She spoke to the window, at the scene beyond.

“And what will Max have to say? What happens when the boat comes and I say, I’m so sorry, I have to go because I’ve got a boat to catch’?” I shook my head. “This is all sounding a bit too melodramatic.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Won’t he be annoyed?” I turned from her, back to the window. “And it does seem rather rude of me…”

“Rude!” she said, then caught herself when she realised she’d said it a fraction too loudly. “Philip, you’re in
danger
here. Haven’t I made myself clear?”

My eyes met hers, and the contrived smile that I thought I’d greet her suggestion with withered and died on my lips when confronted by her expression. With the moonlight now catching the side of her face, throwing it half into shadow, the other bathed in a phosphorous electric blue, I began to have doubts that this was indeed the same Ruby I’d known all those years ago, and that maybe time had wrought subtle though terrible changes over her mind. Certainly she’d behaved very oddly since I’d landed. And, strangely it made perfect sense, really; why else had she married Max unless her mind wasn’t as strong or clear thinking as before? It explained a lot, and yet at the same time complicated things a little, for I was as anxious for her as she undoubtedly was for me. So I took her hand, which hung lifeless and cold in my own, and stared into her dark, troubled orbs. “Don’t worry, Ruby,” I said seriously, perhaps even patronisingly, nodding so that she knew I understood perfectly, yet all the while not understanding at all, rubbing her fingers firmly with an action that I hoped allayed her fears and conveyed a sort of compliance of them on my part.

She gave one quick jerk of the head, as if we’d made an agreement of sorts, and then sped from my room and I was left alone with the dull knocking at the window and the buzzing of the loose pane of glass.

The next morning I awoke to silence.

The storm of the previous night had abated, or so I thought, and it was odd, I have to admit, not hearing the soulful keening of the wind which had been there constantly since first stepping onto the boat and heading out.

I’d left the curtains parted slightly during the night because the darkness of the room had been too intense, and as I lay watching the sunshine stream in and onto the carpet, the conversation with Ruby the night before was as in a dream. I began to wonder whether it had really happened at all or whether my tired mind had fabricated everything. I went to the window and drew back the drapes fully, the warmth of the Sun taking me by surprise. I lingered, like a cat before a fire and once again looked out at the vista; yet this time it had changed, no longer threatening or a realm of turgid darkness and turmoil, but a landscape that might have been the result of a careful child colouring in a picture from a colouring book with lurid felt-tip pens, each line rendered uncommonly sharp by the brilliance. Each colour rose powerfully and curiously pulsating as if given an injection of unadulterated energy by the searing ball of the Sun that sat in a now cloudless sky. And the sea was a clean and pale-blue smear, the waves lapping gently – or so it seemed from this distance – at the foot of the many rocks that formed the bay, no longer black and shapeless but brown and green and grey and not half as jagged as I’d imagined. I heard the sound of a bird, a cawing sound, not the cry of a gull. And I laughed to myself.

I descended the stairs cautiously, for the place seemed to be deserted and I had the distinct feeling that somehow I was intruding, my steps light and self-conscious as a result. I was very much aware of the slightest noise I made. I wandered into the large dining room, smelling fried bacon and unashamedly drawn to following the scent. I passed through the room, the picture of the three of us sitting there at the table still hot in my mind, though even this event appeared indistinct, increasingly so, as if this mental picture belonged to another realm, another time, another me, as with Ruby’s visit last night.

I put my head round the doorway at the far end of the dining room and found myself in a narrow corridor which led to another doorway, the door wedged wide open, from which issued the smell of bacon and the overwhelming lure of fresh coffee. I looked behind me, almost furtively, but mainly to reassure myself that the place was indeed empty. I set off down the corridor at a confident pace, the excuse in my mind for my curiosity and intrusion into a part of the house I hadn’t first been invited into being the desire to find someone. Anyone.

“Morning, Collie,” Max said as I peered into the room, which was in fact a small kitchen. He was cracking eggs into a pan of fat that spat indignantly. “Want some?”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect to find you here.” I fidgeted. “I followed my nose, trying to find someone…”

“Do I smell that bad?”

“No, I meant… Well, the bacon.” I pointed to the cooker. “Smells good,” I said.

He indicated a small Formica-topped table with his grease-shiny spatula. “Sit down; I’ll have some served up in a jiffy.”

I did as I was told, listening to him whistling softly. I tried to catch the tune, but as soon as I recognised it as something I was familiar with it changed and became something else. “The weather’s calmed down,” I said, resorting, I know, to the tried and trusted.

“Don’t let it fool you. It’ll change before a few hours are out.”

I looked to the window and the sunlight glistening off the green foliage beyond. I found that hard to believe.

“Sleep well?”

I thought for a brief, tense moment that he was aware of Ruby’s visit, but then I replayed his voice back in my head and on second listening could not detect anything other than a vacant pleasantry. He resumed his whistling and splashed fat on the eggs. “I slept very well, thank you,” I said. “You want me to help?”

He shook his head and opened a cupboard, taking out a couple of plates. He flipped a couple of eggs onto each and speared rashers of bacon with his fork. “I thought I’d show you the island today,” he said as he slid a plate in front of me and then rummaged through a cutlery drawer. “If that’s what you’d like.”

“I don’t mind at all.” I set about the breakfast with as much gusto as if I’d not eaten for days, my appetite signalling an unaccountable change in emotion, which signified I was starting to enjoy myself. Again. It might have been the sunlight, I don’t know. Perhaps the bad weather and the pressing of an unusually dark Stygian night had contributed to my gloomy demeanour, I told myself, as if I needed an excuse. I conveniently forgot Ruby and that she was Max’s wife. Maybe I blotted this fact out because that was the only way I could begin to cope with my feelings, and set it against the renewal of a friendship that I deemed very special at one time. Whatever, I looked forward to seeing more of the island. But I couldn’t stop thinking of Ruby entirely.

“Where’s Ruby?” I asked with suitable detachment.

“Asleep,” he returned. “She doesn’t sleep well at night; lies awake. Insomnia of a kind, I guess. Catches up on sleep when she can. She might not be down before midday. I’ve known her sleep all day long.”

“Oh,” I said. And following both the chewing over of this information and a tough piece of bacon, I asked, “And what does she do now? I mean, she was getting on pretty well when she…” I caught my words. “Before we parted,” I continued.

“She doesn’t work, if that’s what you mean.”

I looked at him, astonished. “Nothing?” I couldn’t hide the incredulity in my voice. Ruby had been a career woman from the outset, and she’d risen in the managerial ranks pretty sharply. I hadn’t expected her to abandon everything she’d worked for, even if marrying Max meant there was no need financially to ever work again. Ruby had always been her own woman.

“She doesn’t need to,” he explained calmly. Then he gazed at me for a moment. “She doesn’t want to.” His forehead creased a little. “She
can’t
work, not just yet…” He jabbed a fork in my direction. “Look, Collie, I know what you must have thought when you first saw her. I wanted to tell you, but, well, it’s kinda hard, you understand? You being a friend and everything. You two being…”

I gave a nod, but stared down at my food. I’d suddenly lost interest in it. “It’s difficult,” I said.

“Sure, I know that. I’m not totally insensitive. But there are other things you should know about Ruby…”

I looked at him and frowned. “What kind of things?”

He shrugged and waved his hand. His expression was grave. “Forget it. It’s none of your concern now. She’s
my
wife. My problem.”

“Hold on a minute, Max, you’re forgetting I was her husband too, once. Is something wrong? She’s not ill, is she?”

He shook his head slowly and took in a breath. “Not ill, no, not in the way…” There was a pause while he tweaked his earlobe and grimaced fractionally. “You might already be aware that she’s been – well, she’s been acting strangely.” He looked at me for confirmation. How much did he really know about Ruby’s visit last night? Had he known all along? Dare I tell him in case he was still ignorant of her nocturnal wanderings? And what would he say if he knew the histrionic content of what she’d said? Or was he aware of that also? I was torn between coming clean and upholding the confidentiality Ruby expected of me. I doubt I hid my mind’s fluster at all well.

“I – I have to agree, to some extent. She does seem rather fraught,” I said.

Max’s head snapped up and looked at the doorway. I heard movement behind me, and my gaze followed his. I must without a doubt have gasped in shock, for standing there was the impossible. Standing there was Connie Stone – young, as radiant as ever, and very much alive.