Don't Look Back (18 page)

Since I was a child I'd hated confined spaces too. I apologized again, kicking myself for being so insensitive and thinking how dangerous it was that the priest's hole couldn't be opened from the inside. As I put the painting back into position I noticed the back of the wood: there were many deep scratches as if someone had used their nails to try to claw their way out. I shivered. James was already outside the door as if he couldn't wait to leave. I took one final look around to make sure that nothing had been disturbed. My eyes rested on the benevolent features of Saint Catherine, her halo an iridescent band of gold, her head bowed in modesty. I sighed inwardly. There was nothing at all to indicate Patrick had been here.

I followed James down the stairs. He had just slid the panelling back into place when we heard the distinctive sound of footsteps. I stiffened, looking around for somewhere to hide. He pushed me into one corner behind two thick coats suspended from a hook, but our legs were still visible and there was no way we wouldn't be spotted. As if in recognition of this, James turned to the side and pulled me towards him until our faces were pressed together, our lips almost touching. I could feel his heartbeat. Even shaking with nerves I was determined to enjoy every second. A narrow beam of light entered the space, telling me that the door must have opened a fraction.
My breathing was so irregular that James put one finger across my lips and kept it there.

The purposeful footsteps stopped only inches from us. I almost giggled because my nerves were so jagged, but I managed to stop myself. I didn't dare peek out but closed my eyes. Sister Catherine hadn't made another sound, which meant she was probably staring in disbelief, waiting for us to show ourselves. The only comforting thought was that if she did lock me in here for all eternity, at least I'd be with James.

Concentrate, Sinead. You might never get this close to him again.

My eyes were screwed so tightly shut that I could see stars that blotted out everything but the touch and smell of him. Sara had asked me what I was going to do with all the time that I frantically saved, and now I had the answer – stay here with James, never having to move or speak again. This was pure heaven.

There was a slight rumble, a rustling sound and the distinctive thud of someone climbing, shoes hitting bare wood. Somehow Sister Catherine couldn't have seen us hiding. She had gone. I opened my eyes and stared directly into James's. We were so close that his lashes brushed my cheek. He still didn't move and neither did I. Being hidden in this way made me feel safe and lessened my nervousness. Our breathing synchronized and his warm breath entered my mouth. James slid his finger from my lip and traced the line of my chin down to my neck. A surge of desire ran
through me and I closed my eyes again, waiting for him to kiss me. Nothing happened. My hand slowly reached out and felt rough material but there was no solid flesh. I blinked my lids open and found myself alone, clutching some kind of woollen duffel coat. I hadn't heard James leave.

His voice eventually brought me back to reality, an impatient hiss that came from outside the boot room. ‘Hurry up, Sinead. Let's go before she comes back.'

You puckered your lips … you puckered you lips at him and he ran a mile.

Frantically pedalling, to get as far away from Benedict House as fast as possible, I alternated between growing hot and then cold thinking about it. I practically threw myself at him and he walked away. All I could imagine was how pathetic I must have looked, eyes closed, lips pursed, swaying towards him, ready to swoon into his arms. It would have been nice to crawl into a cave to hide.
You puckered your lips!
I silently screamed to a passing lorry, whose backdraught made me wobble dangerously. My face felt on fire, like a bad case of prickly heat.

This was why you never bothered dating, always kept guys at arm's length or as friends. In the space of a week you've completely messed up with two guys – made a fool of yourself over one and unforgivably hurt the other.

I was so mortified I didn't even answer my phone or update my mother. When I checked there were twelve missed
calls. I couldn't help but reflect on how badly everything was going. I hadn't discovered any more of Patrick's clues, and James had found out little about his past except that he was claustrophobic, like me. It was easy to avoid Harry's calls, but my mother wouldn't give up. Eventually I was forced to answer my phone, my stomach curdling.

‘Sorry, Mum. I lost signal.'

‘I had a dream about Patrick,' she said tearfully. ‘He was a little boy again and we were in the city together, but I let go of his hand and couldn't find him. It was
devastating
. I know what my subconscious is trying to tell me – I've let down my only son. He's out there, alone and without protection, a sheep among wolves.'

‘I'm sorry,' I mumbled again. ‘I think I'm getting closer. He wants to be found, Mum, I know that now. In a way he's helping me.'

‘It's his cry of despair,' she went on. ‘Patrick's so gifted – that's part of his trouble. He can never be ordinary; we should never expect him to live a mundane life like other people. When he's home we must find an outlet for his extraordinary talents.'

I spaced out as she listed his many talents, as if I didn't already know them all off by heart. She finished with her usual refrain: ‘Don't let me down, Sinead.'

I answered automatically. ‘I won't.'

Next morning I was given the privilege of cleaning the dark and gloomy study. My mood hadn't improved and Sister Catherine always managed to get my back up. She couldn't possibly know about my scary visions, but her manner was definitely meant to intimidate. I was determined to let her know she wouldn't succeed.

‘Nothing about this place scares me,' I said. ‘And I can survive any endurance tests you throw at me or any of the other
weird
things that go on here. I'll see this through until I know where Patrick is.'

‘Nothing here can hurt you, Sinead,' she answered. ‘I'm glad you're not afraid. The only thing to fear is fear itself.'

‘Very profound,' I muttered under my breath.

Sister Catherine must have heard. ‘Would you prefer it if I told you to face your demons? That this is the time?'

I glared to let her know how much she was annoying me, but a fleeting look of something almost like affection
crossed her face. It quickly vanished. ‘I'll leave you to your work,' she said curtly.

I looked around the study. There was a collection of murky gold-framed oil paintings on the wall. One was a hunting scene, with lots of red-coated figures on horseback chasing a fox, the master blowing a horn. A smaller painting depicted a dog with a dead pheasant in its mouth and a hare lying on the ground, blood oozing from its wounds. I worked all morning, jittery at the thought of seeing James again, but the hours dragged and he didn't appear. It hurt that he didn't seek me out; he'd seemed so keen to help. But that was before I threw myself at him.

In my lunch break, I headed into the wood with a heavy heart, making for the temple. It was the last place I knew where Patrick had definitely been and I had no further ideas beyond going back to it. At first I'd been afraid of getting lost, but now I could see that the entire estate was circular, and if I doubted my sense of direction I had only to look for the wooded wall. As I walked I recognized markers, remembering how James had taken my hand here only two days ago, and it had felt so natural. I stopped abruptly when I came across a figure lying in the grass, the sun glinting off his blond hair. It had to be James, but he wasn't moving. My heart froze. Filled with dry-mouthed dread I walked closer, but then I saw that his eyes were open and his chest was rising and falling. Relief flooded through me.

‘James, you gave me such a fright.'

‘Did I?'

His expression was utterly depressed, his eyes dull and his mouth turned down. ‘What's wrong?' I asked.

He waved his arm. ‘Can't you see? … It's this place. There's something … hidden that strangles all beauty.'

His words came completely out of the blue, but as I sat down by him and I looked around I could see what he meant; on the surface everything was alive and in full bloom, with the lush tracery of the trees protecting us, but a network of weeds lurked beneath, stealthily destroying everything in their path.

He directed his gaze towards a massive oak tree. ‘I've remembered something else, Sinead. I've remembered how deadly the estate can be.' He held out his hands, and in each was an olive-green mushroom. He watched my face closely. ‘One's edible, a common field mushroom, the other is a death cap, the most lethal of all fungi. Death can occur in less than twenty-four hours.'

‘You can't be that certain.'

‘I can,' he insisted. ‘It's easy to confuse them, but the death cap has a distinctive smell, like rose petals.'

‘Rose petals,' I repeated faintly.

‘Still don't believe me?' James brought one slowly towards his lips. I watched, mesmerized, certain that he was joking until he opened his mouth and the mushroom hovered above his furled tongue.

‘What are you doing,' I yelled, knocking his hand and sending it tumbling. ‘I believe you – there's no need to do something stupid.'

James rolled over on to his back and stared up at me, an unreadable smile on his face. ‘I could die in your arms, Sinead.'

‘I'd rather you stayed alive,' I said, trying to sound normal. ‘It would be a horrible, drawn-out and agonizing death.'

He threaded his fingers together and put his hands behind his head. ‘I can think of worse ones … slower, infinitely more painful, until you beg never to see another sunrise.'

I was angry with him for him for talking like this. ‘I could never imagine wanting to cut short my life,' I said. ‘It's so precious – time is precious.'

James's head lolled to one side and I noticed that even upside down he was still beautiful. ‘Time's only precious when it's running out, Sinead.'

‘What's wrong?' I asked again. ‘Did something happen in the village?'

He sighed. ‘Nothing happened in the village – that's the point. Everyone I spoke to said my dad was some kind of saint that everyone loved, a great squire, friend and regular Santa Claus … oh, and he and my mum were blissfully happy together.'

‘Maybe that's the truth then. Why would they lie?'

‘Because they don't want to upset me. But I know they're lying – they can't look me in the eye.' He screwed up his face. ‘You know … I came home expecting to find my hero, the white knight, and I'm scared of what's happening.
I'm scared of my mind, the dark places where bad things lurk.'

‘We all have those places,' I tried to reassure him. ‘Maybe your mind is confused and is … kind of punishing your dad for leaving you?'

James took a shaky breath and I realized how difficult this was for him. ‘When I was locked in the priest's hole … I was a little boy again and I could smell something on my clothes that made my stomach turn … whisky and cigarettes … it was in my nostrils, choking me … I think it was his smell. I think he used to put me in there, shut me in the dark, and I gouged the wood until my fingers bled trying to get out.'

‘You don't remember him doing that?'

James shook his head.

‘But … you could have been accidentally locked in there, by a friend playing a joke, like I did.'

His eyes were huge and haunted. ‘Something else … The other day, in the wood … when you covered my eyes … I was terrified of something … or someone … thrashing through the trees … The shadows are getting closer, and they're frightening me.' He looked so tragic that my heart constricted.

‘You must wish you'd never come back.'

He angled his head to look at me. ‘I could never wish that. I'm just beginning to realize why I did come back.'

I tore my eyes away.
Don't look at him, Sinead, he's
working his magic again. Remember why you're here. Remember Patrick.

‘I'm going to the temple to look for more clues,' I said abruptly.

I got to my feet and headed further into the wood. I didn't wait to find out whether James was going to follow me but I could hear his footsteps behind me. I deliberately kept my pace brisk and walked in the centre of the path so we couldn't walk side by side. As soon as we entered the temple I sensed the oppressive atmosphere. It felt as if the wood had come alive again, as if the climbers might break through the glass roof and choke me. I mooched about, talking through Patrick's clues, keeping my face expressionless. I knocked his sticks off the plinth, annoyed because this had proved such a dead end.

‘Which statue used to stand here?' I asked James casually.

He didn't have to think. ‘Eurydice. She was my favourite.'

‘What does she look like?'

‘She's gorgeous,' James said, and I almost felt jealous. ‘Long dress, flowers in her hair, graceful … hand on her forehead –'

My heart missed a beat. ‘I saw a statue like that in the grounds when I first arrived.'

‘But … I'm sure they were all given to the museum.'

My forehead creased. ‘I don't think I imagined it. She was luminously white and she had one hand on her brow.
She really spooked me at first because I thought she was real.'

‘Could you find her again?'

‘I … think so. She wasn't that far from the main gates.'

We set off together and I maintained a fast pace, annoyed with myself for missing something so obvious. Patrick had chosen that particular plinth for a reason, and I needed to find out why. After a while James was almost panting and I noticed again how exhausted he still was, beads of sweat shining on his upper lip. His lethargy and the marks on his arms still bothered me and I kept throwing him covert looks.