Tasha looked up to the top of the ladder.
‘No thinking the worst,’ Rita whispered. ‘The Good Lord isn’t ready for me yet.’ She managed a smile through the pain. ‘I’ll be back in my kitchen before you know it. You see.’
Her eyes moved to Jules’s face for reassurance.
‘Absolutely,’ Jules said. ‘A quick check over in hospital and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all.’
Rita looked grateful, but they both knew she was lying.
Jules lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. When she finally got back to the cottage after Rita was taken away in the ambulance she had been trembling with exhaustion and shock. She made herself a hot water bottle because her period had arrived – thank goodness – and put on a pair of socks to try and warm up her feet. Her grandmother always said it was important to keep your feet warm. She should have picked up the phone and let them know where Tasha was. If anyone was to blame, it was her. She tried to be very still, tried to close her eyes, but whenever she didher brain went into overdrive; flickering images of Rita lying on the barn floor, or her mother unexpectedly turning up, of those bewildering days after her father died and once again her whole being was transported back to her fourteen-year-old self. It was Phoebe who had taken on the role of dutiful daughter. A role she performed with much skill and not a small air of superiority.
‘You always were more Mum’s daughter than I ever was,’ Jules had said to her once.
‘I suppose it’s convenient for you to think that,’ Phoebe had shot back.
It had led to another row, not a shouting, letting-off-steam row, but a carefully controlled outrage of clipped sentences and modulated pitch steeped in bitterness. Did all children have to get divided up, she wondered, one to the father, one to the mother? She did see it often in the maternity unit and vowed that if she had children of her own it would not happen to her. She wondered if that had been the case with Lance and Sarah, but somehow she didn’t think so. Lance was too sensitive to allow that to happen.
Be careful, Jules, she said to herself.He’s kind and funny and considerate. You could easily end up liking him a bit too much. And remember that a lot of people are not what they seem to be.
She had come to the conclusion that the only person you could really get to know and trust was yourself and that was a lifetime mission. And Carrie, of course. She would always be able to trust Carrie, but most other people… better to be prepared for disappointment and then it wouldn’t hurt so much. She reached for her glass of water just as a rush of air crossed the room, rustling the pages of the book she had left on the pillow next to her. She froze for a moment, even her breath stalling as she seemed to feel a waft of air playing with her hair. Surely, she was only half awake – imagining things?
She turned over, placed the book firmly closed on her bedside table, plumped her pillow and closed her eyes again just as voices filtered through the doorway. There was someone here. She propped herself up on one elbow and strained to hear words, but it was quiet once more. It must have been her own subconscious playing tricks, a lucid dream maybe. She lay back down and there it was again, a whispering of words; kindness, helpfulness, generosity, love. She sat up and pushed back the duvet before tiptoeing on to the landing but once more the house felt as if it was holding itself in. There wasn’t anyone here from this world or any other.
If Carrie hadn’t confided in her that the house possessed a presence she wouldn’t have become so fanciful. That, along with the stress of everything else that had happened, had caused her to become susceptible. She’d never believed in spirits. If there was life after death, why had her father not made an appearance to her? Why had he not helped her to come to terms with her grief? Why had he not guided her in her relationships with men? Why had he not protected her from Gavin? No, there wasn’t any such thing as an afterlife. Once you were gone, you were gone. And yet stupidly she half hoped that one day she might be proved wrong…
FEAR
Eliza had heard the scream pierce the night air. It caused the pigeons to flap from their roosting place at the top of the field maple. The scream rooted her to the spot for a moment and then she began to shake. She, too, had screamed like that once. Why would that be? What pain could have caused such a cry? At the back of the garden all the outside lights in the farmyard lit up the night sky. She could hear doors slamming, shouting and barking. She heard the rapping on the cottage door, saw Jules and Tasha climb into Alastair’s jeep. She should go with them, but where was Isaac? She needed him to accompany her. She couldn’t face whatever had happened alone. Eliza paced up and down the lawn. To go or not to go? To wait for Isaac? Not to wait for Isaac? And then he had appeared, striding across the grass towards her.
‘Isaac, where have you been? What has happened? I heard this terrible noise and I didn’t know what to do.’
Her whole form was trembling. He took both of her hands and led her to their seat beneath the willow tree.
‘There has been an accident,’ he said, pressing Eliza down on to the log. ‘It is our beloved Rita.’
Eliza couldn’t keep herself still. It was as if every part of her needed to move.
‘Is she all right?’
‘They called for an ambulance. There was blood, Eliza. She was unconscious for a time.’
He, too, was shaking.
‘And now?’
‘Now she is awake and our guest is tending to her.’
‘Thank goodness. How did this happen?’
‘She fell from the ladder leading up to the hay store. A bat startled her, I think. I tried to catch her,’ Isaac continued, ‘but…’
He lifted his hands momentarily from hers.
‘My powers of protection are not strong enough. I grabbed her around the shoulders to prevent her from hitting the floor headfirst, but she twisted in mid-air and I couldn’t stop her knee smashing into the floor. For a moment there was complete silence, Eliza. I thought…’
‘Shh, my love.’
She put an unsteady hand to his anguished face.
