Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense (17 page)

E
verything was
clear to him now. A mystery solved when it was too late for understanding. In the garden Sara once loved to tend, Beth told him about the headland and the leaning rocks that had briefly cradled his wife’s child. Grief and fury strained against his chest as he listened to her unfolding story.

‘Who was the father?’ he asked when she fell silent.

‘Sara never spoke his name,’ she replied. ‘There’s so much I didn’t know… Didn’t want to know.’ She shivered, her breath heavy and fast, as if she were reliving every moment she had spent with Sara on Anaskeagh Head.

He wanted to comfort her but his own memories stormed inside him. ‘But you must have some idea―’

‘How can I name someone when I’ve no proof?’

‘She never hinted―’

‘She told Jess he was dead. But their daughter lives and thrives. That’s the one good thing to come out of that terrible night.’

Aislin’s Roof, he recognised the birthing place from Beth’s description – the last photographs Sara took. He had moved them to the attic without even pausing to wonder at their meaning. She must have gone to Anaskeagh after she’d returned from Malawi. What had happened to her during the time she spent there? What ghosts had she confronted? Was that where she’d learned the truth about Lindsey? So many questions that would never be answered. He ached with the need to see her again. To talk as they had never talked when she was alive. Analysing, understanding, forgiving each other. She had lost a daughter, just as he had lost Lindsey. But, unlike him, she had carried the knowledge inside her while he, unaware, uncaring, came to the knowledge too late.

‘I’ve lost everything I’ve ever wanted,’ he cried. ‘My life is over.’

‘No,’ Beth replied. ‘It’s moving on. That’s all we can do, Peter. We have to find a way to move on from this heartache.’

Time had not moved on for Sara. It had etched her future in a dark cavity between the rocks and an unyielding earth – and when she could no longer endure, she willed her ashes to merge with the cold tide lapping the pilings on Pier’s Point.

‘I need to make peace with Sara’s demons,’ Beth said when she was leaving.

‘Is that possible?’ he asked.

‘In Anaskeagh it will be.’ Her arms tightened around him then fell away again, her face taut with knowledge she was not prepared to share with him.

D
ella Designs was razed
to the ground. A swing from the arm of a crane. A blow in its solar plexus from a swaying demolition ball. An instant of indecision, as if brick and mortar could withstand the forces ranged against it. Then the old factory buckled, bowed almost gracefully, before collapsing with a dull whoosh, a mushroom cloud of dust and debris rising in its wake.

Peter felt no emotion, no quiver of nostalgia to mark its passing. When the dust cleared, a new vista opened before him. Rows of houses, swatches of green, the distant estuary flowing under the arches. A heap of stone to mark the passing of Della Designs. His legacy, now dead.

He walked back to Havenstone. Estuary Road was desolate. He ignored the warning signs forbidding entry. Children were fishing off Pier’s Point, just as he had fished with Stewart when they were young, searching for crabs among the rocks, building dams and channels in the soft mud. The new motorway would destroy old ways. As the suburbs edged closer to the city, Oldport was becoming another satellite town, but the pursuits of children would always remain the same.

N
oise
, light, energy. Lindsey could never remember feeling so happy. She was a kaleidoscope, high and spinning through the colours. Water flowed down her throat. It ran through her hair, cold on her skin, drowning her. She rose above the torrent, flailing towards freedom where there was space to dance into infinity. The floor juddered under her feet. The garage walls opened outwards. She reached towards Melanie and Karen, her friends. One mind, one sensation, one body. Not like Uncle Albi… She could never call him that ridiculous name. He was on the radio all the time – at least that was how it seemed – but Lindsey figured she just hadn’t noticed him in the past. His voice was full of authority, boasting about all the things he did for the black spots of unemployment in rural Ireland. She supposed that was what being a politician was all about. The movers and shakers of the world. His emails had been wise and funny. He valued her opinions. He needed to understand the young voice if he was to appeal to the new generations. They held the future in their hands, he said. Young people like Lindsey with her artistic mind, which was capable of seeing beyond the obvious.

‘A chip off the old block,’ he’d said and touched her arm. Gentle kitten strokes, smiling, as if he’d known that sooner or later she would come back to his fancy apartment. The question had refused to go away. Even in the garage with the music mix thudding inside her head, it had been there, demanding an answer.

‘Why did you say I was a bonnie baby?’ Asking the question meant that nothing would ever be the same again but leaving it unanswered was no longer an option.

‘That’s how I always imagined you,’ he’d replied. ‘A strong, healthy child – not a little titch.’

‘Not premature, you mean?’ Lindsey had been unable to continue.

‘What are you asking me?’ He had leaned towards her and stared deep into her eyes.

‘I want to know about my mother. Before I was born… and my father.’ She’d stopped talking when he’d clasped her fingers between his warm, comforting hands.

‘But you know the truth already, don’t you, my poor, hurting child?’ He’d spoken gently when the tears rushed into her eyes and had drawn her nearer. ‘Lindsey, I know how painful the truth can be. But not knowing ourselves is the greatest pain of all. Your mother was a foolish woman in love with the wrong man. Don’t punish her for a mistake that turned into such joy.’ His eyes had glittered with knowledge. ‘Cherish what you have, my dear. Stewart gave you as much love as any father could bestow on his natural child.’

Lindsey had felt no surprise, just an overwhelming tiredness, as if she’d come to the end of long journey that had begun in Havenstone on the night she’d listened to the bitter words Sara had flung at her husband... At Lindsey’s father.

Albert had stroked her hair. His fingers had nestled in the nape of her neck, moving in a slow, circular movement as his voice comforted her. She hadn’t wanted him touching her hair. He had been drinking when she’d arrived and in his eyes she’d seen something unsettling, a flicker, a gleam of satisfaction. He had wanted her to ask the question. Sara had been right about secrets. There was a time when silence was more important than honesty. He had released her secret and she hated him for it.

‘Let me go.’ She’d struggled from his embrace.

He’d held her for an instant longer, his grip hard as steel.

‘Can’t you see his face when you look in the mirror? The sins of the mother visited on the child. The truth is everything but she refused to listen… Wicked girl…’ His voice had broken as if glass had caught in his throat.

She’d walked towards the door, terrified he would try to touch her again. His words had followed her. She hadn’t wanted to hear. He’d stood in his doorway, watching as she’d run down the long corridor towards the elevator. When it glided to a halt and the doors slid noiselessly across, he’d still been standing staring until she was safe in the mirrored space, gliding downwards towards freedom.

She’d walked for a long time. The lights of the city had melted into shimmering walls. The sound of traffic had been loud in her ears. People had moved too fast, jostling against her. Everything had looked the same as before – yet nothing would ever be the same again.

I
n the garage
she could dance into the past. She tapped Peter’s name on her mobile phone, the photograph of his face beside the number. He answered immediately. She was laughing fit to cry and he kept calling her name… Lindsey… Lindsey… But she shouted him down, her voice breaking on the word ‘father’, unable to say it aloud as all the dazzling lights spun her towards the ceiling. She was outside her body, her feet skimming the earth until darkness came like a plunging star and carried her away.

B
eth eased
herself out of bed and entered the children’s bedrooms. Each room was a silent oasis of darkness and quiet breathing. She did not enter the attic bedroom. Tonight, Lindsey was staying at Melanie’s house, celebrating her friend’s seventeenth birthday. The Leaving was beginning soon and the strain was showing on her face: she was tense, distracted, turning resolutely away from Beth whenever she asked questions.

She returned to bed and listened to the night sounds: the creaks and sighs of seasoned wood, a distant house alarm activated, a sudden blast of music and laughter, probably a party somewhere nearby. Familiar comforting sounds which she gathered around her as she drifted back to sleep.

The telephone rang at two in the morning. Peter made no sense. How could Lindsey be unconscious and in an ambulance when she was staying overnight with Melanie? He was on his way to the hospital and would meet Beth there. Unconscious. Beth kept whispering the word as she pulled on a pair of trousers, fumbled in the wardrobe for a jacket. She woke Robert and told him to look after the younger children. In the midst of her terror, she realised that although he was shocked he was not surprised.

‘What do you know about this?’ She shook him fiercely and he sobbed, terrified by the dread on her face.

‘She messed around with some stuff – nothing heavy. Some E.’

‘E! You mean ecstasy? Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t want to upset you. You were so worried about everything. Dad and all.’

‘She’s unconscious, Robert. She could die. How am I going to feel then? When it’s too late to be upset?’

‘I’m going to ring Dad,’ he shouted. He ran to the phone, his back turned to her as he rang Stewart’s mobile. ‘I want him here. You should never have sent him away.’

She needed him too. His calm solid presence, comforting her.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring him as soon as I reach the hospital.’ She hugged her son, inhaling the musky sleep smell on his skin. ‘Don’t worry. She’s going to be all right. I know she is.’

Peter was sitting grimly in the waiting room between Lindsey’s two friends when Beth arrived. From his expression it was obvious that words had been exchanged. The Gardaí had already been called and names taken. Melanie was crying into a tissue, her shoulders heaving. The second girl stared blankly at the opposite wall.

He rose and came quickly towards Beth.

‘It’s all my fault if anything happens,’ she sobbed. ‘I believed she was staying in Melanie’s house. Why didn’t I check? I always used to check…’

The young doctor who spoke to Beth looked exhausted – gritty eyes, his white coat as rumpled as his hair. Lindsey had become dehydrated and collapsed at a rave. Her body had been wrapped in a ‘space wrap’, a tinfoil blanket, he explained, seeing Beth’s terrified expression, to prevent further dehydration. As her friends were unsure if she’d taken any substances other than E, Lindsey’s stomach had been pumped with charcoal fluid and blood samples taken. Her heart was being monitored until the results of the blood tests came back and her medical team could determine if any of her vital organs had been damaged. Beth shied away from the information so casually offered. Her legs trembled as she followed the doctor towards a curtained cubicle.

‘Can I see her?’ Peter joined them as they were about to enter.

‘Are you her father?’ the doctor asked.

Beth did not turn her head when he replied, ‘I’m her uncle.’

They stared down at their daughter as Lindsey drifted in and out of sleep. Her face was stripped of personality, energy, expression. Only the vital elements showed. In her wide firm mouth and long chin they recognised Della Wallace.

‘Lindsey, what are you trying to do to us?’ Peter whispered.

Her eyes flickered, staring at him without comprehension. She tried to speak.

‘Can you remember anything?’ Beth asked, moving to the other side of the bed. They leaned closer to hear her rasping reply. A rave in the disused garage on Estuary Road. The music mix, the lights circling too fast and a pain, as if her heart was forcing its way from her chest. Then nothing, no warning – she stared at the ceiling lights and at the screens surrounding the bed.

‘Please God make me die,’ she sobbed. Her stomach cramped. Waves of blackness came and went but she was unable to throw up.

‘When will Dad be here?’ she muttered. ‘I want him with me.’

‘He’ll be here soon,’ Beth promised, her eyes locked on her child, both of them excluding Peter.

A nurse entered the cubicle. ‘Your husband is on the phone, Mrs McKeever.’ She glanced at Peter. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave, sir. Only immediate family members are allowed.’

Peter hesitated. When he touched Lindsey’s hair she pulled the sheet over her eyes.

‘I want him to go.’ She sobbed louder. ‘Make him go away, nurse. He has no right to be here.’

Without another word he left.

Lindsey slept and woke again. She shook her head from side to side then lifted her hands, staring at her long tapering fingers, as if she was seeing them for the first time. ‘I want Dad here. Will he be here soon?’

‘As soon as he can,’ Beth promised.

‘He’ll kill me.’ Her mouth trembled.

The doctor re-entered the cubicle. ‘Why should your father do that when you can do the job just as easily yourself?’ He stood at the foot of her bed and checked her chart. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked. He did not sound sympathetic or even interested in her reply. He shone a torch into her eyes and felt her pulse. ‘Do you often make such serious attempts to kill yourself?’

‘It wasn’t like that…’ She sunk her chin into the sheet, too embarrassed to continue, and touched her flushed throat, raw where the tube had rubbed against it. ‘I took some stuff, tabs. I didn’t care.’ She spoke so softly that Beth had to bend forward to hear. ‘I went to his apartment and asked him…’ Tears trickled from under her closed eyelids.

‘Whose apartment?’

‘Your uncle told me the truth.’

Beth tried to speak but her lips seemed frozen, her mouth so dry she was unable to swallow.

‘Albert?’ She forced herself to utter his name. ‘Are you talking about him?’

‘I thought he was lonely. He told me about Anaskeagh and about Sara when she was a little girl, and all the relatives I’ve never met. He seemed so kind. But the last time, it seemed as if he hated me for something. He said—’ She stopped suddenly and lay silent, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

‘What happened? Tell me, Lindsey. You have to tell me everything. Did he harm you in any way?’

‘He told me about my father. My real father.’

Beth saw a tremor pass over her child’s face and accepted that the moment she had dreaded but anticipated since Lindsey’s birth had arrived. She had rehearsed what she would say many times, but explanations seemed futile, so hollow when measured against the loss she saw in her daughter’s eyes.

‘Why wasn’t I told?’ Lindsey cried. ‘Didn’t I have a right to know?’

‘To know what, Lindsey?’ She gripped her hands, relieved when her daughter did not pull away. ‘To know that you wouldn’t have had a loving father if it wasn’t for Stewart? He was with me when you were born. Such happiness in his eyes when he held you, his daughter, his beloved child – our beloved child.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t turn back the clock, my darling. No one can. You were always surrounded by love. You’ve no idea the difference that makes.’

Lindsey leaned over the side of the bed, retching violently. Beth grabbed a sick tray and held it under her chin, wiping her face with a damp towel. She tried to make her understand: old secrets, bare bones, breaking hearts. How could she explain dead passion to a young woman who faced the truth of her existence and found it wanting?

Beth gently laid her daughter’s arms under the sheet and sat by her bed, watching over her. Raucous voices carried from the accident and emergency ward. Screams, arguments and tears, they were quiet noises compared to the clamour in her head. She had spent her life running from a monster, never realising he was always two steps ahead of her. He had dominated her sister’s will and sought to do the same to her. He was her monster and now he had entered the nightmares of her child.

Stewart would arrive soon. He would demand to know everything. His fury would make any contact with the politician impossible, his fledgling company destroyed by the truth.

As if sensing her thoughts, Lindsey stirred and grasped Beth’s hand. ‘Is Dad here yet?’ she murmured.

‘Not yet… but soon. He’s going to be very angry, Lindsey. He trusted Albert Grant… just like you did.’

Lindsey’s mouth quivered as if she could no longer bear the enormity of her thoughts.

‘Make everything all right again, Mum.’ It was a childish whisper, repeated once more before her eyelashes closed over her bruised cheeks.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you all.’ Beth held her daughter’s hand as Lindsey sank back to sleep.

‘I will destroy you, Albert Grant.’ She whispered the words fiercely to herself, as she had never whispered them when her sister was alive. ‘I will destroy you utterly.’

An insect, crushed under her feet. The sole of her shoe stamping him into a smear of blood that would be washed away forever in the rain.

Stewart rang again. ‘I’ll be with you soon,’ he said. ‘I’m driving as fast as I can.’

‘We’re waiting for you, my love,’ she replied. ‘Hurry.’