In the Shadow of the Trees (20 page)

‘The glass is old too, I mean very old. You know glass is a liquid, don’t you? Very dense, but even so it does flow downwards over time. See how it’s very slightly thicker towards the bottom and it’s discoloured with age, tinged with yellow. Yet there’s no tarnishing. The backing, quicksilver or whatever they used, it’s perfect. Not a mark on it.’

‘So, what’s it doing here? In the cottage, I mean.’

‘Well, it used to be up at the house in Sarah’s bedroom. Jason told me how she used to spend hours just looking into it. He brought several things down from the house when he was doing this place up, like the sofa and chairs, so I guess he moved the dressing table as well. I did ask Sullivan about the mirror. He said he hadn’t known it had been moved here—in fact he seemed quite upset. Well, not upset exactly, I’m not sure what it was. But he did act a bit odd.’

‘Well, I expect he knows a lot more than he’s saying. In Sarah’s bedroom, was it? Now that would be the master bedroom, wouldn’t it? So Jane would have used it before her. And Mary, of course. When she had the old furniture moved
into the new house, she probably chose the dressing table for the bridal suite.’

‘And Anne must have used it too. Katherine came over shortly before Anne gave birth to David. And it was after that when she started wandering off.’

We both fell silent for a while, me sitting on the edge of the bed feeling miserable while Liam continued to run his fingers over the carved birds and flowers. He peered into it from different angles, as if he were trying to see around corners. It was me who spoke first. ‘I still don’t understand what it’s got to do with that thing out there in the bush. I mean, how did the mirror bring it here?’

He stepped away from the dressing table and came over to sit beside me. ‘Well, an elemental isn’t a physical being, so distance would mean nothing to it. But it does need a means of access to the physical world, like the tree it developed from. Now, if those stories were true, the original tree was destroyed by lightning.’

‘Which would mean that it could no longer get through, right?’

‘Right. However, didn’t they say that the priests took the wood and made it into various weapons and such things? They could use those to tap into the power of the entity they once worshipped. Can you imagine the shaft of a spear possessed by a force with a craving for blood?’

‘Awesome.’ I shivered, a coldness creeping over my skin. ‘And you reckon this thing’s one of them, that it’s sort of controlled by something with a taste for sacrificial blood? Of course Anne bled to death, didn’t she?’

‘But not Mary.’

‘No one knows how Mary died,’ I said. ‘She had pneumonia, yes. But he carried her out of the house wrapped in a sheet. She may not even have been dead. No one saw the body or what he may have done to it.’

‘And Jane, she’s supposed to have tried to cut her own wrists.’

‘No, I don’t think she did. Well, think about it. Maggie’s mother said she’d lost a lot of blood—there was a pool of it under the tree where they found her. Now, if she’d injured herself that badly how the hell could she go about getting a rope up in a tree. No, it doesn’t make any sense.’

‘So what do you think happened?’ Liam asked.

‘Perhaps she did try to hang herself. Then someone came along and slit her wrists.’

‘Christ…But you’re right, that makes more sense.’

‘Then Sarah told me her husband tried to kill her but no one would believe her.’

We fell into silence again, silence that was all around us as if the world outside the room had stopped moving. After a while I stood up and moved closer to the dressing table. ‘I can understand a spear or a club. But why a mirror?’

‘To focus the energy and boost its power. The frame was carved from the wood, of course, then somehow they set the glass into it. Any reflective surface can be used for psychic vision—water, polished metal. It’s the depth of the image that’s the important factor, being able to see through into another world, a parallel universe. Added to that, certain types of glass contain metallic elements that can retain a charge, like an energy field that can be imprinted with a sort of recorded message. That’s how a crystal ball works.’

‘So this is like, what, a magic mirror?’

‘Yes, I suppose that’s what you could call it.’

‘As in, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”’

‘Yes, if you like.’

‘But that’s a fantasy of course, a fairy tale.’

‘Ah, don’t forget now, traditional fairy tales are a facet of mythology, which in turn has its origins in the collective beliefs
of a culture and is sometimes based on actual events. And if you think about it, in that story the wicked queen was also a victim of the mirror. More so, in fact. If I recall rightly, she allowed it to rule her life and in the end it drove her to murder.’

‘Could a mirror do that?’

‘Not the mirror itself—that’s merely the doorway. It would be some sort of intelligence, some non-physical being that had taken possession of the energy field to gain access to this world.’

‘So, are you saying that through the mirror we can call up this elemental spirit?’

‘Yes, that’s right. But it’s far worse than that: through the mirror
it
can summon
us.’

I shuddered. The whole absurdity of it was edging closer and closer to the line of truth.

‘But what can we do? Shouldn’t we destroy it? Surely if we break the glass…?’

‘No, no it might be harder to break than you imagine. Besides, we’ve no idea what effect that may have. No, best not to interfere with it.’ Liam was lost in thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘You say Bramble won’t come in here?’

‘No. Well, she won’t for me. You try her. She was outside a moment ago.’

He went out to the deck and called her. I heard her claws skidding on the floor as she ran to him and I knew she would jump up, paws on shoulders while he patted her back and she licked his face.

‘Come on, Bramble, come and say hello to Regan.’

And she trotted behind him as far as the door, but as he stepped into the room she froze. He walked over to the mirror.

‘Come on, girl.’ He squatted down, arms out ready for a hug or a tumble. But she stood the other side of the doorway, head down and legs rigid, whimpering softly.

‘Bramble’—more sharply—‘come here.’

She turned and fled.

‘Right, that does it,’ he said, ‘you’re out of here.’ And with that he started opening drawers and cupboards, tossing my clothes onto the bed.

‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Saving your life, probably. Now, where’s your suitcase?’

‘I haven’t got one. There’s a holdall, and if there’s any packing to be done I’ll do it, thank you. Don’t you think there ought to be some sort of discussion about this?’

‘No. I’ve tried talking to you, and so has Fleur, for all the good it’s done.’

He yanked the bag onto the bed and started stuffing my belongings into it. I pulled a pile of T-shirts away from him and tried to fold them properly while he wrenched another drawer open and grabbed a handful of something.

‘I said I’d do that and I already told you I’d leave. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the day after. Just a few more hours to finish the piece.’

‘Look, you haven’t got till tomorrow. As far as your future’s concerned there may not be a day after. I don’t give a damn what you do with your bloody carving, but you’re not spending another night in this room. In fact you’re not setting foot in this building again. Is that understood?’

‘All right, all right! Just stop waving my knickers about, will you!’

‘What?’

Liam looked at his clenched fist and realised what it was he’d been threatening me with. He threw the items into the holdall and I’ll swear his face went red behind that beard. Anyway, after that he let me do the packing while he stomped about muttering to himself. Then he snatched up the bag, strode out of the room and onto the deck.

‘Hey, what about the rest of my stuff?’

‘I’ll come back for it in the morning. Will you come away out of there now.’

My head was gyrating. The world had shifted on its axis a dozen times since lunch and I wasn’t even sure which way up I was. It was easier to follow the line of least resistance, so I did as I was told. I managed to grab the CD player and my laptop on the way out, and then ran behind him through the trees towards the woolshed. Once he was certain of me following him he strode on in silence.

‘Liam?’

‘What?’

‘Do you think I’m going mad?’

‘No, but I think you might do if this were allowed to go on much longer.’

‘I’m sorry I got you mixed up in it. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you everything.’

‘It’s not your fault. That thing’s got inside your head and you don’t know what you’re doing. It could just as easily have been me.’

‘Except you’re not a woman.’

‘Yes, there is that, of course.’

Once inside the woolshed, Liam dumped my bag on the table. ‘Thank God for that,’ he said. ‘Here, sit down, I’ll make us some tea.’

I sat in silence while he filled the kettle, hardly noticing when he placed a mug beside me. Then he slumped into a chair, threw his head back and closed his eyes. He blew an exaggerated sigh into the lock of hair that had fallen over his face, making it flutter.

‘So, what now?’ I asked.

‘Well, I think you’re safe here, safer anyway. You’ll stay here the night so I can keep an eye on you. Tomorrow we’ll make definite arrangements to get you away from here completely.’

‘Oh, will we? And what if I have other plans?’

‘Well, if they involve spending yet another night in this place you can forget it.’

‘God, you’re an arrogant sod, aren’t you? Don’t you ever ask? What happened to “why don’t you”, or “would you mind”? You know, there are phrases in the English language that allow other people to participate in a conversation.’

Of course it was an accumulation of everything that had happened that day and long before. I could have screamed, I suppose, or burst into tears, but shouting at Liam seemed an equally good way of channelling blocked emotion. And once I’d started the outburst it was impossible to stop.

‘You never ask, do you? It’s always “do this” or “do that”.’

‘What are you on about, woman?’ He struggled to his feet and stared at me, his jaw hanging.

‘You, that’s what I’m on about, you and your giving orders, taking over people’s lives. Herding me about like I was one of your damned sheep. Well, I’ve had it up to here. I’ll decide where I spend the night and I’ll decide if and when I want to leave—’

‘But I only—’

‘And if you call me “woman” once more I swear I’ll kick—’

And that was as far as I got because his mouth was over mine and he was holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe. I suppose it was his way of making me shut up. No doubt it was the same for him: we’d both been living on the edge of a crisis for weeks, and there’s a limit to how much tension can be sustained without something going snap. Well, perhaps that’s how it started but I know there was much more to it than that.

Oh, and how I wish I could say it was perfect. But it wasn’t. All that pent-up emotion might drive you to passion but it does nothing for your co-ordination. I can honestly say it was the worst sex I’d ever had. The earth didn’t move for us, but the bedside table got knocked over. Then his hair got tangled up in my buttons and the dogs kept trying to jump up on the bed.

Somehow we managed to get through it.

Afterwards he sat on the edge of the mattress, stroking my hair. He was still wearing his shirt and one sock.

‘It’ll be better next time,’ he said. ‘I can do better than that.’

‘Me too. Next time.’

‘Would you like me to make us some fresh tea? Your last one ended up on the floor when I threw the pillow at Bramble.’

None of that mattered. Not that I felt romantic or elated or any of those things. I just felt as though I’d been way out on the edge for a long, long time and at last I’d found my way home.

My body is bent over, my head bowed. I am looking into a pool. It is a pool of darkness that cradles the night sky. Stars all around me now, stars above my head and, below my hands, stars strewn on a mirror thick as velvet. My fingers quiver towards the edge where surface tension has moulded a curve. A feather touch and the tension breaks, tacking to my skin. If I lean over I can see myself, a silhouette of blackness against the shimmer of night. I touch the pool again, this time skimming the surface. Unlike water, the ripples that follow are slow and sluggish. I lift my hands and it comes away on my fingers, thick and rich. Like paint it is, like the colours of old that were ground and mixed with pestle and mortar, ground by hand from natural dyes and herbs and living things.

Living things.

I scoop the pigment into my palm, holding it like a palette. My fingers make a brush and sweep lines across the rock. My name, I am writing my name. It is the same clearing, the same sky reflected and the same rock on which I had lain, now emblazoned with my signature. Again I take my fingers to my palm and carry the stain to my arms and legs, tracing lines and whorls in imitation of something primitive and savage. I
am a jungle warrior, painting my body for battle; a bride of the savannah anointing herself with feathers and fur, living things.

Living things.

Another dip into the pool and I lift my hand to stroke lines on my face, my brow. The smell rises, catching in my throat, that unmistakable bite of raw copper. I stagger back from the rock, gasping and retching, running and falling and snatching blindly for some way to save myself and my hands reach out and grasp…

…the frame of the mirror. I knew it by feel alone, the carved branches and the little wooden birds. I clung on to it, still fighting for breath and the smell was still with me. In the darkness of the bedroom I could barely see my face but I could feel the sticky path of lines on my naked skin and I knew what it was and where I had been.

I had thought it was all over. I had thought I was safe and warm beside Liam. Panic took me to the bathroom where a blaze of electric light drove the darkness away. I started the shower and turned it hot and hotter until my skin was red. And I scrubbed and scrubbed until I was raw and the last trail of scarlet-stained water swirled away. And then I found lotions and perfumes to blot out the smell that was gone from my body but still pervaded the inside of my head.

I hadn’t been wearing clothes and there were none left in the cottage. With a rug from the sofa to cover my shoulders against the cold, I picked my way through the branches and back to the woolshed. The door creaked open and floorboards cracked with each step. Both the dogs stirred in greeting, tails wagging. But Liam snored, oblivious of my absence and return. I kicked the borrowed rug under the bed and slipped between the covers. Liam groaned and shifted, throwing his arm across my waist and pulling me to him as if nothing had happened.
My heart was beating so hard that my body seemed to rock the bed and would surely wake him. But I needed to be close. I needed the warmth and the sweet sour muskiness of his skin, and I needed the primitive animal comfort of another human body.

Terrified of sleep, I focused on the square of pale light that was the window and waited for dawn. I must have lain awake for hours, trying to see the whole of it, to make a pattern. That was no dream. The blood was real. I had felt it on my skin, saw it thread the water as I fought to rid myself of its stain. So how did I get to the stone? And how could I have found my way back to the cottage? Through the mirror, it had to be. A gateway. Alice through the looking glass. I tried to remember the other dreams and the occasions when I’d lost time or woken in front of the mirror, but each memory came as a realisation that clenched my stomach and sent ripples of ice along my spine. I knew I had to leave.

Eventually sleep overtook me, but this time, thank God, it was the sleep of oblivion.

I was woken by sounds of Liam shuffling around. Although the room was still dim the window was now a watery yellow. He looked as if he were trying to dress without disturbing me, fumbling for buttons and hopping about on one leg. I rolled over and propped myself up on an elbow, wondering if I could persuade him to pose sometime. Sometime when this was all over. Perhaps a head and shoulders cast in bronze to highlight the angularity of that collarbone. Eventually he realised I was watching him and gave me a smile.

‘Sorry, I was trying not to wake you.’

‘What time is it?’

‘ ’bout half six.’ He came over and sat on the bed, nuzzling my face and stroking my hair. ‘There’s work needs attending to.
It won’t take long. You seem to be sleeping enough for the two of us.’

‘Not all night. I spent some time thinking. You’re right. I have to get out of here. Today.’

He looked at me, and then closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping as if a weight had fallen from his body. ‘Thank the Lord for that. The sooner we’re both out of here the better.’

‘You’re leaving too?’

‘This is hardly the sort of place I’d want to call home.’

‘But what will you do?’

‘Ah, there’s always casual work to be found. I quite fancy waiting on tables.’

‘You’d have to get a haircut.’ I took a deep breath, dredging up courage. ‘Look, you wouldn’t consider…I mean…There’s plenty of room at my place.’

A broad grin lit up his face. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he said and kissed me on the forehead. ‘How soon do you want to go? I might have to follow on later.’

‘I thought we’d go together.’

‘Well, I can’t leave straight away. There’s the animals, you see, can’t abandon them. And I’ll have to talk to Sullivan, not that he can be relied upon to look after the place. I’d better go down to Maggie’s, get one of the other hands to keep an eye on the beasts until he can find a replacement. They might even know of someone. No, it’s going to be afternoon at least before I can get away. I can always hitch a ride up there.’

Yes, I could see that he couldn’t just up and run. But neither could I drive off without him. He might not get a lift, or he might get lost, or change his mind. I might never see him again.

‘No. It’s all right. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be all right in here. It’s daytime and a few more hours won’t make any difference. As long as we don’t have to spend another night.’

He thought for a few moments then nodded. ‘Right, I’ll be as quick as I can. Perhaps you could do with some more sleep.’

And that’s what I did, went back to sleep, with the sun pouring through the window like molten honey and cicadas honing the air.

When I woke the day had ripened into a rich, golden noon. I had slept deeply and returned refreshed, as if the very decision to go was enough to restore normality. My arms stretched across the bed to where Liam had lain, trying to catch the last trace of his warmth, but there was only the shape where his head had pressed into the pillow. No matter, he’d be back soon. I rolled over and got up, heading straight for the shower again. Before he returned I intended to demolish the last trace of the waking dream and everything else that went with it. I stood under the jet for ages, the water hot and pounding. In a few hours I would be home;
we
would be home. It felt all right to go back now. All the reasons that brought me here, Jason, the running away, had healed themselves through Liam.

I imagined him in my room, looking through my books, my music albums, telling him who I was by the things that surrounded me. He could get a job in one of the cafés, if that was what he really wanted. I would take breaks from the studio and sit at a pavement table for coffee. He’d pretend I was only a customer and say ‘Madam’ when he wrote my order. Then he’d wink and sneak me extra marshmallows with my cappuccino. Or perhaps he could play his fiddle, go busking on the street corner. I knew some musicians who met to play regularly at a bar nearby and I could introduce him. Yes, I wanted him to meet my friends, the real friends who had nothing to do with being famous.

I’d been so long under water that my fingers had wrinkled. I looked around for a towel. All that emotional stuff with Jason, it all seemed pathetic now, so trivial. Perhaps, when I got back, I could ring Sally. I’d missed her. And there was just one stupid
little towel, barely enough to wrap round me. Damn, I’d left all my bathroom things in the cottage. Surely Liam had more towels than this? And in this heat I’d need some deodorant. I wandered back into the main room, rooting for signs of civilised bathing. There was aftershave on the bedside table and yes, he did possess a comb. That’s what I’d do, I’d ring Sally.

There was a holdall under the bed; I could see a towel through the open zip so I hauled it out. I knew it was his private bag and Liam was a private person but I just needed a towel, that’s all. I didn’t mean to look. But there it was, a small book, thin and covered with dark red fabric. Unmistakable. Embossed with a lion and a unicorn, it was the answer to the riddle.

And I opened it. Of course I opened it.

United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland
it said, and the pages were dark red and patterned with a heavy watermark to deter forgers. The information was all on the last page with his photograph. His hair and beard were shorter and more civilised but he still looked like an axe murderer. But then passport photos always do that, don’t they? I read the date of birth and worked out that he was ten years older than me. Place of birth—Belfast. Name—Patrick McGovern.

Patrick McGovern looked out at me through Liam Connors’ eyes and I flipped through to find a visitor’s visa and a temporary work permit that had expired six months before. That’s what it was, of course, a quick change of name and disappear into the hills before the authorities could throw him out. He didn’t want to go home, that’s all. People do it all the time.

I should have left it at that. But no, I had to dig deeper, didn’t I? I had to push my hand down through whatever else he had in that bag until my fingers felt the cold metal. I knew what it was straight away. Although I’d never actually seen one for real before, I’d watched enough American TV to recognise the shape by touch alone. I lifted it out of the bag, so carefully, as if it were a thing to be revered. It was grey, not black as I expected, lighter
than I would have imagined. It was as if all the weight and the darkness of it had settled in my stomach instead. My limbs felt full of lead and I couldn’t move.

For a long time I stared at it, then managed to put it down while I scrabbled into some clothes, my skin and hair still wet. Then what was I to do? Pick it up again, of course, and the passport, one in each hand, and wait for something to happen. And that is how I sat on the edge of the bed until he returned.

I don’t know how long I waited: it could have been minutes or hours. Then I heard footsteps outside and the door banged open. Liam bounded in, loud and full of himself.

‘Right, it’s all settled. Old Roger from over Benson’s place will come over for a few days until Sullivan finds a replacement. I said I was getting a lift with you as we were both leaving together. I thought—’ Then he saw me and froze.

I stared back at him. The objects in my hands asked all the questions.

‘Be very careful with that. It’s loaded. Do you know about guns?’

I shook my head.

‘Have you touched the safety catch?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then, very gently now, pass it over to me.’

‘No, I won’t. What do you need the gun for, Patrick? It is Patrick, isn’t it? Going rabbit shooting? Or will it be dogs this time?’

‘No, wait, you don’t understand.’

He looked as if I had struck him. His hands were shaking.

‘Is this the gun you used to shoot Badger? Who was your next sacrifice going to be? Was it Bramble you had in mind? Or me perhaps?’

‘God, why would I hurt you? I’ve been trying to protect you.’

‘Protecting me, were you? Or were you guarding me? Keeping me close to you?’

‘Is that what you think last night was about?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more. But you seem to know everything, don’t you? Why is that, Patrick McGovern? That thing out there in the trees that watches me, how come you know all about it? I’m being preyed on by some…some medieval ghoul and the hired hand just happens to be the world’s leading expert on these things. Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘Yes…No, well…This has been happening for hundreds of years. Sooner or later someone who realised what was going on was bound to turn up. There may well have been others before. Heaven knows who’s been involved with this in the past.’

‘And that’s supposed to explain everything, is it? Who you are and why you’re here and why you’ve got a gun? And why you lied to me, Patrick McGovern? Or
is
it Connors? Or perhaps it’s Sullivan? The Irish branch of the family, are you, come to claim your land? At what cost? My blood as a condition of ownership?’

‘Ah, no. Look, there you are again, running off half-cocked when you know nothing.’

‘Well, tell me then. Oh, there’s a reasonable explanation, I’m sure. I’m surprised you haven’t rehearsed it all beforehand.’

‘How can I think straight when you’re waving that gun at me?’

He turned and walked over to the window, hands covering his face. After a while he shook his head, then turned back to me and said quietly, ‘It’s nothing like that. I just want to get you away from here. I want us to be together, yes, but most of all I want you safe. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along? Can’t you see that?’

What he said was true, and that’s what was so confusing.

‘I don’t know any more.’ I felt sobs choking my throat, tears
swimming behind my eyes till I couldn’t think straight. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Leave, Regan. Leave now. If you won’t go with me then go on your own. I won’t stop you and I won’t follow you. I swear you’ll never see me again, if that’s what you really want. But go now, while you can.’

Nothing made sense any longer. I was trying to remember why I was here and why I hadn’t left when all this first started.