Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense (8 page)

G
oldie had disappeared
from his position outside the French windows. The gate at the foot of the back garden had swung open. A narrow road ran along the back of Cherry Vale with hedgerows on either side. At one end it swept around to join the main road leading into Anaskeagh. The other route led to the headland. Beth followed the curve until it ended on the bottom slopes in a boundary of ash and willow. It was easy to find an opening through the thicket. Soon she was walking over clumps of stubby grass that squelched under her feet. Boggy moisture seeped into the thin soles of her trainers and the bottom of her jeans. This was a spent area that had been flattened and dug, leaving trenches of bog water and scaly steps hacked into the earth.

She strained her ears, hoping that Goldie would bark. The moon became visible, a pale disc that lit the trail, but once she moved from the path the dense shadows of rock and gorse were almost impossible to penetrate. She switched on the torch she’d grabbed from the garage before leaving Cherry Vale. Slate-grey clouds banked behind Anaskeagh Head. The peaks, the rocks, the black jagged trees rising above her were fleeting impressions, a nightmare glimpsed through a swirl of descending mist.

Sara crouched under Aislin’s Roof. She was kneeling, her stomach thrust forward, the pale blue dress rucked around her waist. Goldie lay beside her. He whimpered, licking her ankles, shivering. This was the picture Beth absorbed when she finally stumbled upon them, illuminated in the glow of the torch. A tableau that was to imprint itself forever on her mind.

‘I’m here, Sara.’ Beth collapsed on the grass. Her heart hammered with panic and exertion.

Her sister did not look up. She seemed incapable of focusing on anything other than the pressure that fused her body into the downward contraction and tore a shuddering gasp from her. Her hands gripped the edge of the rock. When the moment passed and her body relaxed she began to sway backward and forward. The sound she made, a humming monotone, seemed to rise through the roof of her mouth, almost inaudible.

‘Are you having the baby? Tell me what’s happening to you.’ Beth put her arms around Sara. She sobbed with terror because she didn’t know what to do. She lifted Sara’s hair, pushed it back from her face, wiped her hand across her sister’s cold, damp forehead. The swaying movements ceased. Sara stared at her. No recognition flickered in her eyes as she pushed Beth away. She crawled into the shelter of the overhanging rock and crouched in the darkness.

‘No one can see me.’ She ground the words between her teeth. ‘No one can see me… no one… no one can see me.’

‘Are you having the baby now?’ Beth repeated, trying to follow her. She shone the torch under the slant of rock. Framed in the glow, Sara hunkered against the sloping wall, cornered. Her body was in spasm, her breathing heavy and fast. Goldie barked, responding to her panic. Mindlessly she touched his head, shushing him. He pawed the earth, scattering damp muddy clay. Beth noticed he was digging in a hole that was already partly dug.

‘Sara, I’m here with you… it’s Beth. I’ve found you… everything’s going to be all right… Come out from there and let me help you—’

‘Get away… get away! Don’t come in here… get away,’ Sara hissed. She pressed her face into her knees and waved her hands outwards as if she was pushing against an invading force.

As Beth came to terms with the unfolding tragedy she realised that Sara had not just fallen into the earth to give birth. Aislin’s Roof had been carefully chosen. The rock, embedded on a flat shelf of earth, offered shelter and protection. But Sara was restricted by the low level of the ceiling and the tight space into which she had wedged herself. If Beth was to help her sister she must concentrate only on what was about to happen, not on what had happened. Softly she coaxed Sara forward.

‘You should be out here. Sara… it’s safe out here. No one can see you… it’s the best place to be.’ She reached out one hand, continuing to talk softly, concentrating the beam of the torch on the ground in front of her, using it to beckon the young girl forward.

Clouds parted. The moon shone on Sara’s upturned face. She leaned back into the rough grass. Her elbows supported her weight. She drew her knees forward, tensed her feet, arched her body like a bow then sank again into the earth. Time had ceased to have any meaning. Beth had no idea how long she crouched there, comforting Sara when she screamed, waiting for each spasm to pass and bring her sister to that final, terrifying moment. When Sara screamed again, the sound was different, more primal, and Beth knelt in front of her, spontaneous actions, intuitive knowledge. She reached into the dark space between Sara’s legs and her hands felt something moist, solid.

‘Sara. I’ve touched the baby’s head, push again, it’s coming – coming – push, you have to push harder, Sara, push!’

The young girl looked outwards, unseeing, her eyes opaque with terror. Beth sensed her travelling beyond the moment, her mind moving away even as her body pulsed and prepared to give life. A sundering cry was forced from her – a hard cry of denial. Beth placed her hands over the emerging head and drew her sister’s child into the moonlight. Still kneeling, she held the baby in her arms. She ran her hands over the tiny frame, hair slicked smooth with blood and mucus. She touched the smooth incision between the baby’s thighs. A thin wriggling body that could slide so easily to the ground.

‘It’s a girl, Sara,’ she whispered.

‘Give it to me.’ Sara’s voice was hoarse. She lay still, her legs splayed, milky white in the angled glow of the torch. Blindly, refusing to look, she allowed Beth to lay the child on her stomach. She shuddered at the contact. Her movements were slow, trance-like.

‘Cut the cord,’ Sara cried. ‘Cut it quick. In there – under the rock. The bag, get the bag.’

In the gap under the rock Beth discovered a white plastic bag. Inside it she found a towel, cotton wool, pieces of ribbon and sanitary towels. Her chest knotted when she saw Marjory’s dressmaking scissors. They clanged against the handle of a small shovel from the bronze companion set her mother kept beside the fireplace. When she cut the cord, instinctively using the ribbons to clamp it at either end, her sister’s head flopped sideways, as if someone had released her from the pull of an invisible string.

The placenta came away. A rippling, muscular tremor passed through Beth’s hands when she placed them on Sara’s abdomen. A fusion of smells rose around her: blood, excrement, perspiration – bodily emissions that had swept this tiny life into existence. She needed water. She had seen it in films, steaming cauldrons of boiling water. She needed to clean Sara and stem the flow of blood. She needed blankets. It was cold on Anaskeagh Head and the wind was rising. Sara appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Her body was flat, as if it were being absorbed into the grass. The baby, now wrapped in the towel, lay in her arms. Each time she cried, Sara started awake and gazed with blank eyes at the tiny bundle. When her sister tried to take the baby, she kicked out with such ferocity that Beth froze, afraid a wrong word or movement would send her over the edge and out of reach.

‘We have to leave here, Sara. Can you try and sit up?’

Dully, Sara pulled herself upright. The movement disturbed the child, whose mouth puckered as she turned her face inwards towards the young girl’s chest.

‘Monster… monster!’ Sara screamed suddenly. Her free hand scrabbled in the darkness.

‘Stay easy.’ Beth tried to hold her but Sara drew back from her and, in the instant before the blow was struck, Beth saw her upraised hand, the stone clenched in her fist.

‘No! Sara, no, don’t!’ She flung herself across her sister’s knees, knocking her hand sideways. The blow lost its force and scraped against the side of the child’s forehead. The startled wail – a shrill, outraged cry – reminded Beth of Goldie, scrabbling frantically up the side of the bath.

‘Leave me alone… I have to destroy the monster’s baby,’ Sara sobbed, flailing out.

‘Listen to me.’ She forced Sara’s hand backwards until it was twisted behind her back. The stone fell with a soft thud. ‘I’m here. I’ll help you. It’s your baby girl, Sara. You can’t harm her. Calm down! I’ll take care of the two of you.’

The baby continued to cry. Beth was terrified in case she fell from Sara’s arm or was flung against the rock. ‘Give her to me, Sara. You must rest… sleep.’

‘Fucking monster!’ Sara began the familiar rocking movements, still squeezing the child.

‘She’s a beautiful baby, Sara. They’ll find her if you bury her here. Look at Goldie. Tomorrow the dogs will come and dig her up. Everyone will know you killed your baby. Mammy will know and Uncle Albert—’

‘Oh, Jesus.’ Sara rocked faster. Her face twisted in a grimace, distorted. ‘You left me here… You left me all alone! Bitch! Get away from me.’

‘Sara, listen! I’ll hide the baby. I’ll hide her in a place where no one will ever find it. Give her to me, Sara. This is our secret.’ Beth’s voice lulled her, controlling Sara as she lifted the baby into her arms. She stood up, her legs cramping, pins and needles causing her to stumble when she tried to walk.

‘I’ll be back soon… stop crying, Sara. Everything’s going to be all right.’

It was almost eleven o’clock, only an hour since she’d found Sara. She tried to imagine the terror that had sent her sister crawling like an animal under a rock to give birth and then try to get rid of the child she had been forced to carry. The baby made a snuffling noise as if she was having breathing difficulties. Beth pressed the corner of the towel against the wound. She shone the torch on the tiny face, the withered blue flesh. Panicking, she wondered if she should baptise her because she would surely be dead by the time she was discovered. It seemed hypocritical to chant words she didn’t believe. If she was wrong and there was a merciful God waiting to receive this child then a meaningless ritual should not hinder her progress into the light.

If she had allowed Sara to kill her, a swift merciful blow that would have crushed the fragile skull, their secret would be resting under Aislin’s Roof, slowly decomposing into the earth. How many babies born in the same secret desperation were mouldering in fields and ditches and rivers, alive only in the minds of those who had shared their brief existence? Yes, Sara would have suffered, remorse ebbing and flowing through her life. But there would have been an ending; a secret in the shade of Aislin’s Roof. Instead, Beth was unleashing a story that was going to have so many consequences. The police could come to their house and arrest Sara, arrest them both. And if the baby died they would stand in the dock accused of murder, their lives over before they’d even got used to living them. Yet she also knew that this frail child had to live or they would never be able to move forward from this terrible night. Her legs juddered as she pushed her way through the narrow trail, treacherous with unseen briars and moss. The path reached a fork, dividing sharply to the left. This was a little-used trail, leading away from the boggy slopes and onto firmer ground. A trail she had travelled many times with Jess when they used to take a shortcut to the farm. She beamed the torch, keeping it low in case it was noticed. Not that she expected to see anyone. Anaskeagh Head was too rough and formidable to attract young couples seeking privacy.

At first, her concern had been to escape from Sara and her rage. The decision to go to O’Donovan’s farm only crystallised when she reached the dividing fork. A light shone in the front porch. Early risers, the family usually went to bed around ten o’clock – except for Catherine, who was on night duty.

In the barn Beth pulled an empty sack loose from the bundle on the floor. Next door in the stable she heard the sick horse coughing. It seemed incredible that on this same day she had fed chickens and walked to the hill farm to call Frank O’Donovan when the vet arrived. She removed the towel and wrapped the baby loosely in the coarse sacking. She laid the bundle in the centre of the porch and knocked hard on the front door. When an upstairs light was switched on she slipped silently back down the lane.

She heard the door opening, voices raised. Her chest ached where the baby had rested. She blended into the night, murmuring. Goodbye… goodbye… goodbye.

S
ara was slumped
against the rock, her hands covered in clay, when Beth returned. She didn’t speak as Beth coaxed and supported her to her feet. They descended slowly, Beth half-carrying her, their feet slipping, thorns tearing their clothes, not noticing until they reached the back garden of Cherry Vale. The knowledge that her aunt’s car would soon be pulling into the driveway filled Beth with terror as she helped Sara into bed. She lifted her dress over her head, noticing with growing horror the seeping bloodstains. She sponged her, crooning words without meaning.

‘Why are you always following me around?’ Sara spoke for the first time since they’d left the headland. Her voice shook, gaining strength. She flung her head from side to side. ‘Leave me alone – do you hear me? Leave me alone.’

Beth slumped on the edge of the bed. ‘Sara, I have to tell you—’

‘No!’ The young girl began to tremble. Her eyes slanted upwards until only the whites were visible. ‘I buried it… deep in the clay… dead in the clay.’ She fell back against the pillow, holding Beth’s arm in a vice-like grip.

‘Sara, that’s not true. Talk to me. We have to talk about this.’

‘Our secret.’ Her grip tightened. ‘Promise. Don’t tell. We’ll forget… don’t tell… don’t! It’s done. Swear to God you won’t tell… ever. Swear it to me.’

‘I swear.’ Beth began to sob, her body swaying in terror. She stayed by her sister’s side throughout the night. The hall door closed. She listened to May’s heavy tread on the stairs. The luminous hands on the alarm clock moved into the small hours. Sara never stirred. Her breathing was so shallow that Beth held her own breath until she made out the faint rise and fall of her sister’s chest.

Towards morning Sara’s temperature began to rise. When she tossed the bedclothes from her shoulders the metallic smell of blood was so strong that Beth recoiled. She sponged her down again, horrified by the amount of blood she was losing. When May left for Mass, Beth washed the dress and put the sheets into the washing machine. The sound of footsteps crossing the landing alerted her. Towels lay on the floor of the bathroom, covered in bloodstains. Sara had returned to the bedroom and was on her knees, frantically rubbing the mattress with a facecloth.

‘Leave it, Sara,’ Beth pleaded. ‘I’ll turn the mattress. It’s going to be all right.’

‘No one must know.’ Frantically Sara kept rubbing, beating Beth’s hand away.

‘Stop it!’ Beth screamed. ‘You’re driving me crazy.’

Desperately she lifted her sister off her knees and half-dragged her back into bed. Sara moaned softly but did not move. Her arms felt rigid; skin, bone, sinew and muscle rejecting any form of comfort. They heard footsteps on the stairs, the bathroom door opening, the startled exclamation. May, finding the bedroom door locked, rapped loudly.

‘Sara, open the door immediately. What’s going on? What happened to my towels?’

‘It’s all right, May,’ Beth shouted. ‘She’s trying to sleep. I’ll be out in a minute.’

‘Open the door immediately. Do you hear me?’ She knocked a second time, louder, prolonged. ‘This is my house, remember? I don’t allow locked doors.’

Beth tried to ease herself from Sara’s grip but her sister held her, entreating her to stay silent.

‘We can’t hide it any longer.’ Beth prised her hands free and stood up, protecting Sara from her aunt’s shocked gaze.

May still had her hat and jacket on. ‘Sweet heart of Jesus!’ She gasped, looking at the bed. ‘What’s going on here? Speak up will you? What’s wrong with you, Sara?’

‘She’s sick… she’s haemorrhaging… we have to call the doctor.’

Sara shook her head from side to side, whimpering. She stared dully at May. Her eyes glittered, the flush of fever on her cheeks.

‘How long has this been going on?’ May demanded.

‘Since last night…’ Beth bowed her head.

‘Last night?’ May pressed her hand against her chest, then pointed towards the door, shouting at Beth. ‘You get out and wait downstairs. I’ll deal with you later.’

An hour passed before she came downstairs. ‘Who else knows about this?’ she demanded.

Shakily, Beth got to her feet. ‘No one.’

‘Marjory? She must surely know?’

Beth shook her head. ‘No one but us. Is Sara going to die?’ she sobbed.

‘It’s a heavy bleed and an infection. She’ll recover. I remember enough from my nursing days.’ Hard-faced she stared at Beth. ‘The whole town’s talking about an abandoned baby left outside O’Donovan’s. Jesus Christ! How could she have allowed this to happen in my house? And you – didn’t you think about me? That I had a right to know?’

‘I didn’t know myself until last night.’

‘I don’t believe you. You were always a liar, Beth Tyrell. If it was you I wouldn’t be surprised. But Sara—’ Perspiration shone on her forehead. She dabbed her skin with a tissue, touching her lips, smudging lipstick, hardly aware of what she was doing. ‘I don’t want to know the whys and wherefores of what your sister’s been getting up to but it’s obvious she was doing more than taking photographs in her spare time.’

‘What about the baby?’

‘As dead as makes no difference.’

‘Dead!’

‘With a fractured skull it probably is by now. And just as well too. What luck would it have coming into the world the way it did?’

‘Why are you blaming Sara?’

‘Because it always takes two to tango and Sara has landed us in a fine mess. Any shame on your family reflects on mine. That baby is probably in the morgue by now and Albert’s name could be dragged into this sorry mess. Dear Jesus! You Tyrells have bad blood in you and that’s a fact. Between yourself and your father you’ve caused enough tongues to wag in Anaskeagh and now this—’

‘He’s to blame… Albert… ask him…’ She was unaware that she had sobbed his name aloud until she saw the shock in her aunt’s eyes.

May sat down suddenly. Her face sank, grew old. ‘You disgusting little slut! How dare you use my husband’s name in that vile way? Has your sister been making those accusations?’

Beth shook her head. ‘She doesn’t have to. I know.’

‘You know nothing.’ May’s bosom heaved.

Beth stepped backward from her fury. ‘I know everything.’ She was unable to control her tears. ‘That’s why I ran away. He’s to blame… he is… he
is
…’

‘Get out of my house,’ May’s voice rasped with fury.

‘I won’t leave Sara.’

‘I’ll take care of your sister because, and only because, she’s my niece. If you dare utter one word – one word – that could damage my husband’s good name I’ll drag you through every court in the land for slander. Do you hear me, Beth Tyrell?’

‘I’m not leaving her with you… and him.’

‘Get out! Get out! Get out!’ Unable to restrain herself any longer, May ran from the room, her breath wheezing. She flung Beth’s clothes into her rucksack then walked past her as if she didn’t exist. Downstairs, she flung the hall door open with such force that it slammed back against the wall. A crack appeared in the frosted glass; a hairline fracture running through fragile bone.

‘I have to see Sara before I go,’ Beth gasped. ‘Please let me say goodbye.’

‘Get out… Get out.’ May continued to chant the words. Saliva had dried on the corners of her lips. She flung the rucksack into the garden. Then Beth felt herself gripped by the shoulders and shoved forward. ‘Get out of my sight and don’t ever darken my door again.’

R
ain whipped
her face as she struggled towards Aislin’s Roof. Last night when she returned from O’Donovan’s farm she had been unaware of anything except the need to get Sara back to Cherry Vale. Now she saw that the hole had been filled in, the loose clay already flattened into mud. She picked up a twig and loosened the mound, finding what she had expected to find. Quickly she scrabbled the clay back over the placenta. She allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks. They rolled into the corners of her lips, hot, salty.

The rain continued to fall as she turned her back on the headland. It seeped into gorges and ancient fissures where streams murmured and roared, splashing white over rocks or free-falling into space, seeking hidden ravines to shape their journey through the centre of Anaskeagh. The earth was being cleansed, baptised.