Dream of Darkness, page 22
At this point Ocen’s sister, Apiyo, arrived. It was clear from every point of view that Ocen would have to leave the house. We all went into the lounge to talk about it. I felt as if I were in a trance. If once I stopped, I would collapse. Then we heard a noise from the dining room. Nigel rushed through and found that you had come downstairs. You were still half asleep, but unfortunately, as Nigel snatched you up, you glimpsed your mother lying in the box. He gave you to me and told me to take you upstairs. But at some point, you wriggled out of my arms and went running back into the dining room.
I finally got you to bed and nursed you back to sleep, telling you you’d had a nightmare, a dark dream, that was all. Nigel and the woman, Apiyo, went off, he with the box in the Land Rover and she driving Sarah’s little car behind. When they came back, Ocen was ready to leave, and he and his sister went off together. I could see the man was genuinely upset but I could feel little sympathy for him. All my feeling was reserved for Nigel and for you.
That is all my story. I took to bed and lay quite ill for several days. It was put down to reaction to the tragedy I suppose. You used to come in to see me. I could hardly look you in the face with the knowledge of what I’d done. Then Nigel told me I must take you home. I refused at first. It would be like living with a constant accusation. But he told me it was my duty, and our lives had to go on, and that I was the best hope for you to have a normal life, a decent upbringing.
So that’s what I did. To start with, I did it for my conscience’s sake and for my brother’s sake. But soon I knew I was doing it for the sake of my love for you.
I am still so much of a coward that I pray you will never have to read this, though my heart tells me that one day you must. Vita will, I hope, and I fear, take you to the truth. She is a woman of great strength. I hope she has great compassion to go with it.
Perhaps if I’d seen someone like Vita after the farm was attacked, after I was attacked, much of this would not have happened. Odd, isn’t it, that my greatest joy, which was bringing you up, could not have happened without my greatest cause of grief and guilt?
I can say nothing to mitigate the harm I have done you. That it was an accident is scarcely the shadow of an excuse, knowing as I do that the ‘accident’ had its roots in my own deficient psyche. All I can say is that my care of you might have started in guilt, but it ended in love. Whatever else you think of me, never doubt that.
You will find that the house and the dogs are yours. Take care of them, the dogs I mean, and they will reward you with unstinting affection. As for the house, I pray that its memories will not be so tainted you can never stay there. You told me recently it felt more like home than anywhere else. So now I give it to you, a home.
Finally, forgive your father. He is a good kind man but he has always lived in a world of action and plotting and this has left him woefully deficient in understanding and insight. He has always needed someone to take care of him. Rather to my surprise, I am coming to believe that Fanny is the right person for him. She fears the world so much that she has to keep it at a distance, but she sees things very clearly from this detached viewpoint. And her attitude to you, which you seem to feel as indifference, might, with a little adjustment, be seen as respect.
But what right do I have to offer you advice? All I should be doing is asking forgiveness, not just for what happened but for concealing it for so long.
Forgive me. At least, try not to think too harshly of me.
With all my love,
Aunt Celia.
Was there nothing but pain, wondered Sairey. Would it ever be possible to read anything again without the anticipation of pain? Everything she touched these days seemed electric with it. She re-read the letter, ignoring the almost tangible impatience of her father. This time, she saw something beyond the pain, and it came to her like a blow that this was not just a confession and a plea for forgiveness, but a farewell.
She pushed past her father and Fanny and began flinging open doors, then downstairs to continue what she knew was a vain search. Seated round the dining-room table like the remnants of a failed dinner party she found Vita, Allan and her grandfather. They looked up in alarm, but she did not stay to offer any explanation.
‘She’s not in the house,’ said Fanny, behind her. ‘I’ve looked already.’
They were in the kitchen. Sairey found herself staring at the huge empty basket by the stove.
‘The dogs. Have you seen or heard the dogs?’ she demanded.
‘I thought I heard a barking from the beach before, when we came back from the track after Mrs Marsden and the cars had gone.’
It was Allan. He and the others had followed to see what the excitement was about.
She pulled open the kitchen door to let in a rectangle of turbulent sky.
Her father said, ‘Sairey, wait. Tell us …’
She turned round and thrust the letter into his hands and screamed, ‘No one is to come after me. No one! Understand?’
At another moment it might have made her feel a twinge of triumph that her vehemence brought a look of alarm and surprise into the untroublable eyes of even Vita and Fanny. But there was no time now for such irrelevancies.
She ran over the garden and through the open gate into the dunes, climbing, climbing, till at last she reached the crest and began descending towards the level gleam of the tide-swept beach. On she ran, with no slackening of speed, not lightly, as when a child, but with will and muscle straining to their limits as each successive stride seemed to plough deeper into the sodden sand. Ahead, against the phosphorescent glow of the receding surf, she could see figures moving and for one beat her pounding heart contracted with hope. Then the figures were racing towards her, barking a welcome, and behind them the line of surf was unbroken.
Now she slowed down, her hands automatically fondling the eager heads of Mop and Polly as they gambolled around her. Before her, on the dark sand, she could see a darker patch, and her hope finally faded when she found herself looking down at the old tartan beach robe. She stooped and picked it up. The dogs woofed enquiringly. Then she put it round her shoulders and sat down on the sand and looked out to the sounding, surging, receding sea. Polly and Mop resumed their game of chasing each other along the water’s edge, but after a few moments they came and sat beside her, one on either side, pressing close against the warmth of the old robe, and watched with her a while before falling asleep. But Sairey did not sleep.
Dawn, when it finally came, was the pinched grey of her mother’s face as she lay in … not her coffin; in a container, it didn’t matter what. This was simple memory now, and she could pick it over at her leisure or leave it alone for ever.
Now, the grey began to flush with pink and gold and the sea’s wraiths eddied and curled above the living waves. Sairey stood up and stretched. Instantly awake, the dogs rose with her. She turned inland and started to walk away. Polly and Mop hesitated. The terrier ran to the water’s edge and barked. The setter took a few hesitant steps after him, looked round at Sairey, made up his mind and went galloping in her wake.
Seconds later the little dog was there, too.
As she clambered up the dunes towards the house, she became aware of figures on the crest looking down at her. Her father, Fanny, Vita, Allan, her grandfather. They were standing slightly apart, as if to force her into an unambiguous choice of who she went to. She came to a halt a couple of yards away from them.
She made no effort to control her voice, but let it come out as it wanted, and it came out strong and even.
She said, ‘She was the best of all of you. The only harm she ever did was by accident. The only motive she ever had was love. She was the best of all of you. The best of all of us.’
No one spoke. She saw them, oddly, as stall-holders in a market, each offering their special ware: love, respect, insight, passion, security. But she herself was no longer coming empty-handed to the market place. Now she, too, had things to offer.
‘If you care to come inside, I’ll see if I can find you some breakfast,’ she said.
And walking past them, with the dogs at her heels, she went into her home.
About the Author
Reginald Charles Hill FRSL was an English crime writer and the winner of the 1995 Crime Writers’ Association Cartier Diamond Dagger for Lifetime Achievement.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by the Estate of Reginald Hill
Cover design by Ian Koviak
ISBN: 978-1-5040-5972-5
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Reginald Hill, Dream of Darkness
