Don't Look Back (23 page)

‘Sinead … you came early.'

I didn't turn around for a few moments, trying to control my anger. James had annihilated me last night, turned me into dust, and he deserved the same. Anger would only play into his hands.

I confronted him now, my eyes bright, and a sweet and trusting expression painted on my face.

‘Yes … I'm early.'

‘I hardly slept a wink,' he sighed, walking towards me. ‘You felt so close I could almost have touched you.'

‘Yet … I slept like the dead,' I drawled, trying not to sneer. James was wearing jogging bottoms and a vest top, but he had obviously just woken because his hair was attractively dishevelled. He must have detected something odd in my voice because a deep crease appeared in his forehead.

‘Is everything … OK?'

‘Everything's just … brilliant, James.'

He was right in front of me now, his warm breath like a caress on my face. There was no treachery in his huge hazel eyes and I wavered, rooted to the spot, wanting to believe that I was mistaken. He inclined his head to mine
and I didn't pull away. We were cheek to cheek when a scent assaulted my nostrils, a musky perfume that definitely wasn't mine. I took a step backwards.

‘Was it painful?' he murmured sympathetically. ‘Telling Harry?'

I looked at him in astonishment, feigning ignorance. ‘Telling Harry what?'

He appeared wounded and I was glad. ‘About us,' he said uncertainly.

I put one hand across my mouth, acting shocked. ‘You mean … that was serious?'

James's arms folded defensively across his chest. ‘I thought so.'

I inched towards him until our noses were almost touching, my expression one of suppressed amusement. Then I planted a kiss on his right cheek, feeling like Judas.

‘I was just fooling around, James. I thought you knew that.'

‘I do now,' he answered quietly. His eyes lingered for a second longer, studying my face. I saw hurt, confusion and injured pride fighting each other before he turned and walked away.

*

It was a hollow victory. I was so devastated that my throat contracted and I had to slow down my breathing to get enough air into my lungs. I lowered my head and tried to salvage some vestige of pride.

James has gone away with the notion that you're just
toying with him. How much better is that than for him to believe he's broken your heart?

This thought shocked even me. I did have a heart, and it had been shattered by a boy I'd known for less than a week. But he wasn't aware of this and he never would be.

Sister Catherine chose the worst moment to materialize.

‘Are you close to finding what you came for, Sinead?' she asked.

I raised my head and looked at her murderously. ‘You know what I came here for – Patrick and nothing else. You promised me answers.'

Her eyes seemed strangely unfocused. ‘Whenever answers elude us, it is because we're looking in the wrong place.'

‘My mother is crazy with worry,' I growled. ‘Don't you care?'

‘Of course, but my role is limited.'

I rubbed my temples, trying not to lose my temper. ‘When I first arrived you told me the estate had always belonged to God. I know there was a church here before the house–'

She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

‘I want to know where it stood.'

‘I can't tell you,' she replied. ‘You have to find it for yourself.'

‘I can't. The estate is massive.' I threw my hands in the air. ‘You want me to be like you, endlessly walking the
grounds looking for something that's lost? I won't do it. I'm … I'm leaving … right now.'

It was as if I'd had my own epiphany. Of course I should leave. Why was I hesitating?

‘You promised to stay fourteen days, Sinead.'

‘I told you I could walk away any time and that's what I'm going to do.'

*

Once I'd made my decision I couldn't get away fast enough. I grabbed my bike and set off, half expecting Sister Catherine to try to stop me, but she didn't. On my way out I glared at the griffins, who seemed to be watching me with reproach. When I got back to the flat I expected to feel relieved, but the atmosphere had changed and it wasn't peaceful any longer. There was an odd smell in the air, like meat when it's still pink and all the fat is melting, and the heat had brought with it a dozen or so angry flies. I kept finding them on the floor, buzzing, in their death throes. The light was too much for me. I searched for a packet of tacks and pinned a sheet to the window, the thickest one I could find. Then I slumped on the sofa, the implication of what I'd just done sinking in. I'd lost my temper and walked out without solving Patrick's clues. I'd have to face Mum and explain why I hadn't been able to find him.

But what about me? Surely I deserved some attention and understanding? I was so cut up over James I felt physically sick, but also tired and weepy. In the last week
my emotions had gone completely haywire. I really wanted to talk to someone, and my mum was the only person I could think of. I knew we weren't close, but she'd been a teenager once; she must remember how it felt to have your heart broken for the first time. I needed some of her time, and Patrick would have to take a back seat for once. In a weird way this might actually bring us closer. I drank about a litre of coffee before I could pluck up the courage to phone her.

She didn't even say hello before jumping down my throat. ‘Have you found Patrick, Sinead?'

‘I think his trail's gone cold, Mum. I don't know what else to do. I've tried my best –'

Her voice rose sharply. ‘But … I don't understand. Patrick would never break off like this. You must have missed something. You need to retrace your footsteps.'

‘Thing is, Mum –' Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked. ‘Something happened when I was at Benedict House. I met this boy and—'

‘You met a boy?' she interrupted.

‘Yes, I met a boy … and everything was great between us, but I found out today he's been seeing someone else. I feel so miserable and … stupid –'

Her voice became low and almost sinister. ‘So let me get this straight. While you were supposed to be looking for your brother you were actually making a fool of yourself chasing some boy.'

‘It wasn't like that. We found we had loads in common,
and he knows the Benedict estate and he was helping me look for Patrick.'

There was an ominous pause. ‘That's the problem. I can see it now. Patrick left the trail for you and you alone, but you've allowed a stranger to get involved. This is private
family
business, not to be shared with every passing Romeo. You must go back.'

‘I don't think I can,' I said feebly. ‘I can't face him again – it hurts too much, and I'm tired of the endless work.'

‘Stop being so selfish, Sinead. It's a bitter lesson to learn, but this boy has probably seen the real you. It's only possible to keep it hidden for so long.'

I sniffed and pulled some tissues out of my bag. ‘What do you mean … the real me?'

She didn't hesitate. ‘This is a hard thing for a mother to say, but there's something cold and
twisted
in you. I used to think it was my fault, but now I can see it's always been there … I've known it since you were small. I'm sorry, Sinead, but you must have realized you're different.'

I didn't even protest. My mother had just confirmed my worst fears. No matter how often Harry told me I was a nice person, I didn't really believe him.

‘Now you have a perfect chance to do something good,' she continued, ‘to find your brother. I can't believe you're wavering.'

One, two, three, four … come on, Sinead, I'm not far away. Five, six, seven eight … follow my footsteps, it isn't difficult.

‘I'll go back,' I said wearily, recognizing that I was beaten. ‘Maybe … we could have a meal together first. I could come home now and we could—'

My mother's voice was coldly brusque. ‘You really shouldn't come home again, Sinead, until you've found your brother – until you bring Patrick back to me.'

*

I would have to go back to Benedict House after all, but the prospect of shaking off Patrick didn't seem liberating any more. What sort of life would I have to look forward to afterwards? Sara was right: I managed to alienate everyone around me and I was going to end up isolated and lonely.
This boy has probably seen the real you.
Him and everyone else. I couldn't run away from what I was any longer. I curled up on the sofa in a tight ball, my hands hugged around my body, desperate for oblivion.

I zoned out and had the strangest sensation of being awake and dreaming at the same time. I was outside Sister Catherine's white room, trying to walk down the staircase only to find it shifting beneath my feet. I pressed my palms flat against the walls but they were moving too, and hot air was rising from somewhere, fanning my body. I looked down with horror to find myself descending further and further into a black hole, hot gas and ashes flying upwards, and the voices weren't whispering any longer, they were howling in pain. And Patrick was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to greet me, his eyes crazed with hate. My feet were desperately trying to climb back up, but I kept
sinking further towards him. I could feel myself growing weaker, overcome by the fumes. I reached into my pocket and took out a tissue, pressing it against my mouth and nose. There was something else in there; my hand closed around his Saint Christopher medal. I threw it into the pit and emerged into sunlight, so dazzling that it blinded me.

The flat bell startled me, a loud, insistent buzz. I was surprised to see that it was evening. I pressed the button, sure that it must be Harry. James's voice made my heart soar and then plummet. I frantically checked my hair and face in the mirror before letting him in. He looked gorgeous but hostile; his face was set like stone, his body language standoffish and his voice clipped. He launched into his obviously well-thought-out speech with the air of someone who was here on sufferance.

‘Sister Catherine is concerned by your absence. You shouldn't stay away because of me, Sinead. I know exactly where I stand and I won't bother you again.'

I was so full of conflicting emotions that I simply closed my eyes. James seemed at a loss what to do next.

‘This is the wall mural?' he asked. He stepped closer to take a look. ‘It looks like Dante's nine circles have been merged into one.'

‘Nine circles?'

‘Of hell,' he finished.

‘What … makes you say that?'

‘All those bodies writhing around in torment, and the giant snake …'

I scrunched up my face. ‘I know there were people with serpents in their hair … but I don't remember a giant snake.'

He pointed with his finger. ‘Here it is … a really ugly one with the head of a man and a forked tongue.'

‘Let me see.'

I moved James aside and stared at the image. I felt hot, then cold, and an acute weakness swept over my body and drained my little remaining strength.

‘That wasn't there before. I'm certain.'

James didn't respond as if I was deranged, although his eyebrows knitted together. ‘Your snake connection?'

I gave a small, uneasy nod. ‘Maybe … but that means someone's been in the flat again. It has to be Patrick, so … he must be OK. Right?'

James went over to the door and examined the chain. ‘This is useless. Someone could just reach their hand inside and unfasten it. Who fitted it?'

‘Harry,' I whispered. ‘He's not very practical.'

A fly dived at James and his face was filled with disgust. ‘You shouldn't stay here,' he said. ‘The gatehouse is empty. Why not come back with me? Stay a couple of days until things die down, or you feel better about everything.'

After what had happened between us I looked at him warily. As if he'd read my mind he said, ‘I mean … there's no reason why we can't still be friends.'

I nodded gratefully, feeling as if I'd been thrown a lifeline. I couldn't go back home, and I didn't want to
stay here. I flapped around, completely disorganized and getting nowhere fast. I had begun to haphazardly throw things into a small holdall when gentle fingers on my arm made me stop.

‘There's nothing you need, Sinead.'

I was so drained that I took James at his word and walked out of Patrick's flat in just the clothes I stood up in. James's car was waiting outside, and I gratefully slid inside. James leaned across and fastened my seat belt for me, gently attentive as though I was ill or in pain. He gave me a final searching look before he pulled off into the city traffic.

Sleep that night was unusually deep and refreshing. When I awoke the thin duvet covering me was hardly disturbed, as if I hadn't moved in the night. James had left me with instructions to make sure that all the doors and windows were secured, but these fears seemed ridiculous on an enclosed estate on a bright summer's morning. Inside, the gatehouse had the appearance of a child's playhouse. After the grand scale of Patrick's flat, with its high, echoing ceilings, I expected to feel closed in, but it was like being enfolded in a warm blanket. I padded around in my bare feet, on tiles already warmed by the sun. The surfaces were free from dust, which made me think that someone had lived here recently. It couldn't have been Patrick, because there was a definite feminine smell, something old-fashioned and floral.

It didn't take me long to work out that there was an immediate problem. James had encouraged me to bring nothing. This was one of the rare occasions I regretted
not listening to my mother's advice about carrying spare underwear for whatever disaster she envisaged. I thought about asking Sister Catherine for a loan of clothes, but there was little point unless I fancied wearing her spare nun's habit.