Don't Look Back (20 page)

I didn't answer, intent on absorbing the details of Saint Catherine's life and wondering how anyone could be so impossibly perfect. Apparently she used to drink water laced with vinegar as a penance. I could still taste the bitter water in Benedict House. It didn't mean anything, I told myself. It was the ancient pipes. Sister Catherine was probably used to the taste and James remembered it from childhood.

‘All the allusions lead to the same place,' I reiterated.

‘But not to Patrick,' Harry said. ‘He seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.'

A shudder of unease ran through me and for one crazy moment I couldn't suppress the idea that all this was real and my soul was being judged in some way. I felt compelled to pose the question. ‘If you had only a few days to live, Harry, would you feel … confident your soul was … pure?'

Surprisingly he didn't make fun of me. ‘I don't know what the measure is, so how can I know?'

I swallowed and said sorrowfully, ‘My life is littered with good intentions gone bad …'

‘But they're still good intentions,' Harry said.

‘Mm,' I agreed, biting my lip. ‘But I'm a lousy daughter, sister and friend, without any patience or consideration.' I wondered why I was increasingly susceptible to divulging my most intimate thoughts.

‘That's rubbish, Sinead. You do nothing but put your family first. And you've done something good. You've made me incredibly happy.'

This was debatable as well, but I smiled weakly at the compliment. My face scrunched up as I struggled to remember anything really selfless that I'd ever done. The amount of effort this took was disturbing, until a light went on in my head.

‘Well … actually … I did save a baby bird once. It had fallen from the nest and couldn't fly.'

Harry grinned. ‘That's a start.'

‘My mother told me not to bother,' I rushed on, ‘that it would be kinder to let it die, so I kept it secret for weeks and fed it round the clock from a small pipette.' I looked away, embarrassed. ‘I was so happy when it took its first flight but … it wouldn't leave and kept tapping on my window. It broke my heart to ignore it, but I wanted it to be free, soaring in the sky, not trapped in my bedroom.'

‘That's two good deeds,' Harry said. ‘Saving it, and being generous enough to let it go.'

‘Suppose,' I answered, pleased without knowing why.

Harry studied me closely. ‘It isn't healthy to be dwelling on all this. You said yourself, Benedict House is like a mausoleum. Stay with the living and with me.'

‘I'm so nearly there, Harry. I can feel it happening. There's a new life waiting for me and I'm like … that bird waiting to spread my wings.'

This was a bit poetic for me and Harry seemed surprised. He didn't stay and the night seemed to last forever. The heat, my conscience, James's words and all the strange stuff that had happened conspired to disrupt my sleep. I awoke sweating and struggling to get my breath, pushing damp hair from my forehead. My dream was horribly vivid – I was underground, getting deeper and deeper into the earth, unable to turn around. Smoke was clogging my throat and a voice close by was pleading with me to fight.
Don't die, Sinead, it's not your time. Don't die.

James must have heard my bike wheels cutting into the gravel because his face appeared at one of the upstairs windows. He came out on to the balcony, dressed only in a pair of striped boxers. I shielded my eyes to gaze up at him while he leaned over the balustrade to peer down at me. He raised one hand and then disappeared. I figured he must be getting dressed. I breathed the summer scents and watched an industrious bee collecting pollen. A noise made me look up – someone clearing their throat. I had been wrong about James getting dressed; he was barefoot and still almost naked. His hair was attractively untidy and one side of his face marked from being squashed against a pillow. He moved closer until we were only a metre or so from each other.

It should have been no different from seeing him on the beach or in a swimming pool, except that somehow it was. I studied every sinew of his lean frame – the small v of hairs on his chest, the hollows above his collarbone, his ribs, even his navel, which was a gorgeous indent.

Why didn't he say something
?

And yet I didn't want him to in case it spoilt the moment – it felt as if everything on the planet had ceased to exist except the pounding of my heart.

I realized the time and panicked. ‘You should go before Sister Catherine appears. She'll be horrified to find us like this.'

He leaned in and lifted my chin with his finger. ‘Did you know your eyes have a fleck of violet dancing in the sunlight?'

I turned my face away. After yesterday I was more determined than ever not to let him play with my heart.

‘I have to find Patrick,' I said firmly. ‘That's the only reason I'm here. Nothing else matters and you must concentrate on your own search. Maybe … helping each other isn't a good idea.'

This didn't seem to faze James at all. ‘If we don't work together,' he said, ‘then you won't find out what I know after talking to my gran.'

‘But … you said she was –'

‘She has lucid moments, Sinead, and she was very clear on one thing –' James hesitated. ‘Both Eurydice and Orpheus were retained by the estate. Orpheus is definitely still here, in the grounds somewhere. Apparently it was me who decided his position all those years ago … but … I can't remember.'

‘We could look for him later,' I said, my face blanching as I heard footsteps.

My eyes silently begged him to hurry, but with teasing slowness he disappeared back through the main entrance. I lowered my head, trying to compose myself, and when I looked up Sister Catherine was approaching. Guilt must have been written all over my face.

‘Will you be able to get the work done in time, Sinead?' Her voice was cracked, like woodsmoke mingled with disapproval.

At the mention of time my lip curled. ‘Time drags here. Haven't you noticed?'

‘Is that not what you've always longed for – more time?'

I was too stunned to answer.
How did she know about my time obsession?

She looked me up and down in a probing way. ‘I hope very soon you will come to realize that you are in the right place; this is where you want to be.'

And why did she keep going on about me staying? It wasn't going to happen.

I fixed her with my hardest stare. ‘I know you have some kind of weird
agenda,
but let's get one thing straight … nothing and no one will ever persuade me to stay here.'

‘Persuasion is not in my nature, Sinead. Your choice will be a willing one. Now follow me into the library.'

She actually crooked one gnarled finger at me. The library was as dull as it sounded: ceiling to floor solid-wood, glass-fronted bookcases that were weirdly empty of books. The more I thought about it, the house was surprisingly bare of personal possessions. It was as if James and his
family had never lived here. I set to work, trying to calm down. My pulse still hadn't stopped racing as I pictured James in his boxer shorts, warm with sleep. It only took a small mental leap to imagine him moments earlier in his bed, before he awoke, and me lying beside him. He would have opened his eyes, looked at me as if I was the only girl in the world, enfolded me in his arms and then … I shivered. I had to stay strong.

*

James came back just after midday. The scorching sun took my breath away and I pulled him quickly away from the house. The dry leaves of the wood opened with a rustle to allow us inside. I noticed the giant trunk of a fallen oak tree and sat on it. I got my sandwich out, staring up at the spread of greenery and branches protecting us. James joined me, his long legs dangling above the ground.

‘The estate is huge,' I said. ‘It'll take us forever to search for one statue. Doesn't your gran have any idea where Orpheus could be?'

James shook his head. ‘No, but apparently it was a special place where I liked to come. I waylaid Sister Catherine this morning, sure she would have noticed it on her travels, but she said she never veers off the pathways and her eyes are only ever fixed on God.'

I rolled my eyes. ‘She is totally weird.' I tapped my hand against the side of his head. ‘It's in there somewhere, James. Think.'

‘I can't. I know the paths, but they're all the same to me.'

I picked bits of bark from the tree with my nails. ‘Your mum said you were close to your dad and you did things together. What sort of things?'

‘Erm … she said we used to hang out in the wood playing Robin Hood, making camp fires and sleeping outside.'

The thought of a young James running through the wood with a bow and arrow was especially sweet. It didn't sound like the same dad who would lock him in a dark hole.

‘You thought you remembered something crashing through the wood after you. You were only a boy. If you felt threatened you would have run somewhere safe … a special place if you had one.'

‘Suppose,' he answered, ‘but how do I find it?'

‘The grounds aren't lit at night,' I said thoughtfully. ‘If you slept outside you must have known your way in the dark.'

James still appeared doubtful and more than a little nervous. ‘To find it I have to go back, Sinead, and that's what I'm scared of.'

‘That's what you're here for,' I told him gently. ‘Your mind hasn't forgotten; it's just … suppressed some things you don't want to remember. I think you can still find that place if you try.'

James looked at me for a few moments and then stood
up. He squared his shoulders and blew out as if he was about to run a race.

‘Try not to think or reason,' I said. ‘Just feel your way … your body might instinctively remember the route … I'll follow behind,' I reassured him.

James set off, looking bewildered and more than a little apprehensive. He glanced back once or twice as if checking I was still there. But then his posture changed and became much more purposeful. He gained speed and I had difficulty keeping up. My feet had to negotiate every bump and crater in the ground, but his didn't falter; they knew the way. When he came to a fork in the path he didn't hesitate. I was right; he could have done this in the dark. When James checked behind him now, his eyes didn't see me; they kept looking around wildly at something unseen. I could see fear on his face and his breath was coming in gasps. I remembered that feeling from when I first arrived, the blind panic that had consumed me when I thought the foliage had come alive and was bearing down on me. I called to James but he was deaf to my voice. He cut his arms on twigs but didn't seem to notice. He ran like a boy again, his head down, his feet churning up the narrow path. On and on he ran until he stopped dead by a weeping willow, out of breath and sweating. He looked around blankly and seemed astonished to see me. He shook himself as if suddenly remembering where he was.

I bent over with my hands on my knees, panting, my chest tight. When I looked up James had triumphantly
moved aside the yellow ground-length fronds of the weeping willow and I could see Orpheus in all his glory. I studied the skilfully chiselled features and then looked at James, unsure who was the more perfect. I spaced out for a moment, imagining the two statues back together: Eurydice, desperately tragic because she was about to be spirited away, and Orpheus, forlornly gazing on her for the last time, knowing they were about to be separated again.

I walked past James and slipped inside the fronds to take a closer look, the long dry grass tickling my legs. I could see identical rust-coloured veins running through Orpheus and noticed the same attention to detail; the lyre in his hand was exquisitely sculpted. James stepped inside with me and the natural light faded. No wonder he had liked it in here when he was small – it was completely secluded. I waited for him to explain if he'd remembered anything else or if he knew what he'd been running from, but his expression was curiously peaceful.

‘You seem to be able to find the answers better than I can, Sinead.'

‘I just used logic,' I replied. ‘I'm detached from the situation, so it's easier for me.'

I took a tissue out of my pocket and wiped the blood from his arms. I could feel his eyes on me.

‘When you're with me, you chase all the bad stuff away.'

‘You're not afraid any more?'

He shook his head. ‘This place becomes beautiful
again. You seem to know me better than I know myself,' he added softly.

I tried to distract him. ‘Orpheus is so lifelike I can almost hear his music.'

James hadn't taken his eyes off me. ‘He was so skilled at playing the lyre he could charm any living creature, even objects like stones and rocks.' Like a magician he plucked something from between Orpheus's fingers. He took hold of my hand and placed a white stone in it. I could feel how smooth it was.

‘Please don't run from me,' he said.

I took a few steps back, my arm skimming cold marble. James's sudden piercing voice stopped me in my tracks.

‘Stop, Sinead! Whatever you do, don't move backwards another inch. Walk towards me.'

Convinced that a snake was about to bite I froze, unable to move at all, a foot raised in the air. James stepped forward and let me fall into his arms. I twisted my neck and stared down at the ground. Serrated metal teeth grinned up at me.

‘It's an animal trap,' he said, his hand cradling the base of my skull, pulling me closer. My heart was still thudding and I wanted to stay in his arms, but very deliberately I extricated myself. I watched him pick up a stick and snap the jaws shut. Realizing what could have happened, I looked away in horror.

‘It's all coming back to me now,' he said thickly. ‘Dad loved hunting … rabbits, hares, foxes … These traps
have been illegal for years, but he still used them. They wouldn't kill, only maim, and the animal would be left squealing in agony until he came back and put them out of their misery. Sometimes he'd forget, and when I was lying in bed I could hear them crying all night. His study was filled with the animals and birds he'd killed. They were put in glass cabinets and given staring glass eyes. I wouldn't ever go in there – it was filled with death.'