Don't Look Back (19 page)

I tried to remember when I'd first noticed the marble lady. It was hard to be exact, but we reached the enormous gates without any sign of her.

‘She was definitely visible from the path,' I said.

James looked at me sceptically, which made me wonder if I'd dreamed the whole thing. I ran forward, thinking back to when I was riding my bike and I saw her head shining through the greenery. She wasn't anywhere to be seen. Puzzled, I delved into the undergrowth. It didn't take me long to see the white marble form. My voice was high with excitement.

‘Here she is. She must have moved. No … that's not possible. The bushes must have fanned out and covered her.'

James ducked his head through the leaves and joined me. He grinned broadly and ran his hands across the
smooth marble. ‘Eurydice,' he said proudly. He looked around. ‘But where's Orpheus? They never should have been separated.'

‘Are they a couple?'

‘Of course. Don't you know the myth?'

I shook my head.

‘Orpheus and Eurydice,' James said. ‘Greek legend tells that she died on her wedding day. Orpheus was overwhelmed with grief and played such mournful songs on his lyre that the ferryman allowed him to cross the River Styx alive and descend to the underworld. The king and queen of the underworld were also moved by his music and allowed Eurydice to return to earth … but there was one condition. Orpheus should not look back at her until he reached the mortal world. But … he looked, and she was taken from him for the second time and he couldn't see her again until he died.'

I couldn't take my eyes from the statue. It had weathered with age and eroded in places, but was still beautiful, rust-coloured veins running through the almost white marble. I was transfixed by the curves and the fluid shapes, amazed that anyone could sculpt anything quite so lifelike, from the bloom of the flowers in her hair and the folds in her long dress, to her perfectly sculpted fingers and toes. Eurydice, lamenting, was already half turned as if she was about to be spirited away.

‘What's that wrapped around the base?' I asked suddenly.

James bent down to investigate. ‘It's a grass snake. Don't panic – it's dead.'

I stared down with disgust at the scaly green skin with distinctive black bars.

‘What a weird coincidence,' James said. ‘Eurydice died because she was bitten on the foot by a snake.'

My face darkened. ‘I don't believe in coincidences any more. I bet Patrick's left it there for me.'

‘Why would he do that?'

I scrunched my face. ‘Erm … Eurydice is another link to the underworld … Saint Patrick was supposed to have chased all the snakes from Ireland … the wall mural showed people with hair made of serpents … Patrick's still showing me different images of the afterlife.' I threw up my hands. ‘Or maybe I'm just clutching at straws.'

‘Orpheus spent his life mourning Eurydice,' James said pensively, ‘just waiting to die. He should be here. They're eternally linked.'

‘Orpheus could be Patrick's next clue,' I said hopefully.

I was glad the trail hadn't gone completely cold, but Patrick was still testing my patience. I walked around in circles, trying to make my brain work, to slot the pieces into place. James tried to help but he was listless, picking daisies and making them into a chain. I walked over to him, unable to fathom his melancholia.

‘All this talk of the afterlife,' he said quietly. ‘Do you ever wonder what happens … after you die?'

I shrugged. ‘Doesn't everyone? But … it's always going to stay a mystery.'

‘But what do you believe … really?' he persisted.

I took a deep breath. ‘If I said I believe we're just part of the nitrogen cycle and we rot in the earth to nourish the soil, would you believe me?'

‘No,' he answered.

I stuck out my chin. ‘OK … I think something survives – memories or consciousness or … the soul if you have to call it something.'

‘And what about love? Can that survive death?'

‘I don't know.'

‘But what would be the point of love if it wasn't everlasting?' James took hold of my fingers and rubbed them.

‘You know I have a boyfriend,' I reminded him, still smarting at his rejection and guilt-ridden over Harry.

‘He's not right for you,' James said simply.

‘What about those girls I saw you with?'

James winced. ‘They meant nothing. It's been a long time since any girl looked at me and … I went a little crazy –'

I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Girls must hit on him all the time.

‘I'm not lying,' he protested. ‘You know I've been ill. The truth is, I've never even had a steady girlfriend.' He pressed his forehead against mine. ‘Yesterday … I was so scared … I've never felt this way before and I panicked.
I spent all night wishing I'd kissed you and couldn't sleep, thinking about you.'

My stomach flipped.

‘But I don't want to hurt you, Sinead. You know I can't stay –'

These words suddenly hit home and I wrenched myself away. ‘You leave in … ten days.'

James's shoulders stiffened and he looked at me with reproach. ‘Don't remind me again. I can't let you go, and I can't be selfish enough to ask you to follow me –' He closed his eyes in despair. ‘I promise you every moment I have left is yours. We could live a lifetime in ten days.'

I shook my head emphatically. ‘I'm sorry, James. That's just not enough time.'

I turned on my heel and walked away.

Harry was feeling hurt. I could tell by his reproachful eyes and the way he chopped the vegetables for our stir-fry; the sound of the knife against the wooden board was too quiet and precise – Harry normally attacked everything with gusto. I made an effort to compliment him on his cooking and to clear my plate, which wasn't that difficult because he was a great cook. I, on the other hand, burnt everything, even toast.

‘Thought you were avoiding me,' he said finally.

‘Course not. I've been wiped out, working in that creepy mausoleum, but … I have some news about Patrick.'

‘You've found him?'

‘Not exactly … but he's still leaving me clues. I found a temple in the grounds of the house with the same Latin motto as the mission house. Inside are drawings of the underworld in Greek mythology and an SOS – save our souls – sign, exactly like the ones he used to put outside our house to warn me.'

I was filled with guilt again because I'd deliberately failed to mention that James was helping me. Harry's face seemed to be permanently disapproving, his lips set in a thin line. I tried to make him snap out of it by sneaking up behind him and tickling his back. He almost managed to smile.

‘And I also found a secret room with a concealed priest's hole … but that drew a blank. I still don't know what it means. The clues are all connected to the afterlife though, some Christian, some pagan.'

Harry sighed heavily and I realized that this was taking its toll on him too. ‘I still think you're in danger,' he said, ‘but … you're blind to it.'

‘I had another of those freaky visions,' I continued lightly, but I needed to share this with someone.

Harry frowned. ‘Go on.'

I told him about the dragonfly incident in a half-laughing tone so he didn't think me completely gullible. ‘Apparently dragonflies have long been thought of as evil and when they fly around your head they're actually weighing your soul.'

‘Your mind is so hung up on death, judgement and the hereafter, Sinead, you're probably seeing things.'

‘Probably.' Harry obviously shared my own fears. It would almost be preferable if he had said I
was
insane. ‘Sometimes … it's stupid … but I almost think there's something malevolent in the house … or the grounds … just watching, biding its time.'

Harry had barely touched his food. He pushed his plate aside whereas I had long finished. He began to plead with me again. ‘I don't want to lose you.'

‘You won't,' I reassured him, unable to look him in the eye. Still running through my head were James's words.
I've never felt this way before.
Was he sincere? Why had I reacted so badly? Because he'd said the worst possible thing to me – he couldn't give me any more time.

Harry sat beside me on the sofa and began nuzzling my neck. ‘Missed you.'

‘Missed you too,' I answered robotically.

Harry entwined his fingers with mine and I rested my head on his shoulder. He seemed happy to stay this way, but I was itching to do some research on my laptop. I made a few noises to politely hint at my restlessness, but he kissed my cheek and stroked my hair, forcing my head back into position. I tried to speak and he stopped me by pressing his lips against mine. This gave me an immediate flashback to being close to James. I went through the motions and must have fooled him, because Harry smiled at me and brushed my hair from my face.

My conscience began to prick me again. Harry was happy with so little it just wasn't fair of me. The niggle grew stronger until I felt physically sick. He stroked my arm and I recoiled.

Now he did look puzzled. ‘Is something wrong, Sinead?'

It all came to the surface in one hot, bubbling eruption of guilt. ‘There is something wrong … very wrong.'

He held me at arm's length, searching my face for an answer. I couldn't hold his baby-blue gaze and dropped my head. The seconds ticked by, each more painful than the last, until I just blurted out the truth.

‘I have … feelings for someone else. I'm sorry … it just happened.'

He ran one hand through his curls and gave a hollow laugh. ‘Is that all?'

Now I had the courage to look at him. ‘Isn't that enough?'

Harry made a circle with his lips as if he was going to whistle but just blew into the air. ‘I guessed as much,' he said eventually.

‘You guessed?' I was mortified because he also must have guessed
who
I had feelings for.

He nodded. ‘You looked at
him,
James, in the coffee shop, and I'd never seen your face that way. It actually lit up … like a lantern.'

There wasn't anything I could say to make it better. ‘Sorry,' I mumbled.

Harry appeared almost upbeat. ‘Thank you for telling me the truth. It can't have been easy.'

I winced because he was letting me off the hook. ‘But … that doesn't make it any better for you.'

He shrugged and there was determination on his face.
I'd forgotten how stubborn he could be. ‘It's OK because … he'll be gone in –'

‘Ten days,' I prompted, shamefaced.

‘Ten days,' he repeated, almost trance-like. ‘But I'll still be here for you … to scare away the nightmares and hold you close when you're upset. I don't have a tan or a surfboard,' he added with a cynical smile, ‘but I'm here.'

‘You have an amazing heart,' I told him truthfully, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. ‘I know you don't want me to go back to Benedict House, but nothing will happen between me and James –'

‘You're wrong,' he said. ‘I wouldn't try to cage you. I have to let you follow your heart and hope it's just for now. If you love someone, you have to set them free and hope they come back to you.'

What else could I say? Apologizing further would only make things worse. I couldn't stop my foot tapping on the floor, each awkward second feeling like a minute.

‘The heat doesn't seem to be breaking,' I said at last.

Harry nodded solemnly. ‘It's going to be a sticky night.'

‘I wish it would rain again.'

‘Me too.' ‘Harry got up and said with forced cheerfulness, ‘Why don't I go to the shop and get you a dessert? You need feeding up.'

I smiled. ‘That'd be great.'

He could read my mind so well; any kind of emotional turmoil made me famished and I was desperate for sweet comfort food. When the door closed I buried my face in
a cushion and then threw it against the wall. How could Harry be so annoyingly understanding and infuriatingly noble? Why didn't he criticize me, shout or get angry? After a few minutes of beating myself up, I calmed down. A weight had been lifted from me, the weight of my guilt. I'd told him the truth, even though it had been one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. Harry was honest, dependable and my best friend. If James made my life turbulent, then Harry calmed the waters and brought me back to shore.

Now alone, I knuckled down to the daily task of updating my mother. I couldn't stomach another conversation and stuck to texting meaningless phrases about trying my hardest to search for Patrick and being hopeful of finding him soon. She didn't even bother replying. Harry came back with a raspberry meringue. He scooped a large portion into the only clean bowl he could find, which meant we had to share. This seemed to break the ice between us. We sat side by side on the sofa, my laptop on my knees.

Harry touched my shoulder hesitantly. ‘How's the freaky nun? Saint Catherine?'

‘You mean
Sister
Catherine.' Something clicked and I stared hard at Harry. ‘Actually you could be right. I think she might have taken her name from Saint Catherine of Genoa. I found a holy icon in her bedroom when I was snooping.'

My fingers busily typed ‘saint catherine of genoa' and I gave a little flourish with one hand. ‘Look at this. “Saint
Catherine of Genoa was shown a vision of what a soul experiences in purgatory. After this she devoted her life to the poor, sick and destitute, suffering the same burdens as them.”' I nudged him. ‘Purgatory leads back to Station Island and Saint Patrick and all the other clues … It's like they're all in this weird circle and I can't find the end.'

‘The end is what worries me most,' Harry said bleakly.