Dark Places Page 11

  Tomorrow was another day, supposedly. However, when it arrived it was no different to the previous one and Michaela continued to experience a heavy heart, a swirling stomach, and remorse. Sam had not made the slightest suggestion that she was responsible, but she could not remove her shame and interpreted his silence and sad glances as repulsion. Every glimpse pushed her further into torment, and every word, regardless of the meaning, added to her pain. Quite rightly, Sam, or so she thought, had found her irresponsible, careless, and reckless. She had put a child’s life at risk, and as a result, Oliver fought for his life in a hospital bed.

  Gripped by heartache, she raised her knees to her chest and stared wide-eyed into an empty space, unable to block out the terrifying scenes. She imagined Joe and Tricia seated next to their little boy. He took his last breath; Tricia’s scream echoed through the hospital wing.

  Michaela rested her head on her knees and prayed. ‘Please make him better . . . please, please make him better.’

  She inhaled and exhaled, once and twice, and urged her words to travel then tried to calm her tormented mind. However, her fear was deep-seated. Another death could have occurred at Primrose Cottage. Was this how it had been for Catherine? Had the deaths been horrible accidents? Michaela already believed that their lives were somehow intertwined, but now it appeared that they were treading the same path. Both women had begun a joyful journey in this house. Were they both destined to have a bitter end?

  The telephone sounded. Afraid it was Joe, terror penetrated every inch of Michaela and she began to quake as she strained her ears to listen to Sam’s voice. However, he spoke too softly, and combined with her racing heart, she heard little more than yes, no, okay, and thank you. Then his dulled footsteps sounded.

  Perspiring, she tightened her fists and stared to the hallway, her body rigid and her eyes wide.

  He appeared before her. ‘Oliver is going to be okay.’

  Her jaw dropped, her face slackened, and tears wet her eyes.

  ‘He has injured his spleen and broken his arm, but he is doing well.’ Sam perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Joe told you not to worry. It wasn’t your fault.’ He squeezed her sticky palm. ‘He also apologised for not ringing sooner.’

  Sam cradled Michaela in his arms. There, she wept.

  Her tears dried up, but Michaela remained in her room. Sleep had become an overwhelming necessity and recently it had become a rare gift. Even now, as she lay exhausted on top of the duvet, she could not snatch even a minute. Her mind was a fuzzy blank mass, burdensome and oppressive.

  A car door slammed shut. She craned her neck and strained her ears in curiosity. When the house door opened and voices penetrated, she buried her face. ‘Not today,’ she moaned.

  Seconds later, Sam appeared in the doorway. ‘It’s your mother.’

  ‘Tell her to go away.’

  The mattress shifted as his weight dropped onto the edge. ‘She’s suggesting you go for a walk on the beach. It might do you good.’

  ‘I don’t want to. I’m too tired.’

  He pulled her hand away from her body, holding it with one hand and stroking it with the other. Her clamminess lifted and his cool touch soothed.

  ‘Just go out for an hour,’ he said, ‘inhale the sea air, have a coffee, and then tell her you have things to do. I’m sure she’ll understand. She seems pretty keen to see you.’

  She scowled, wordlessly.

  ‘It might make you feel better. I asked her to go easy on you. She said she would.’

  After a little more persuading, she decided it might help her depressed state to remove herself from Primrose Cottage and think about something else. In addition, the thought of breathing in the invigorated sea air appealed, so she relented to his request, freshened up, and greeted her mother. As Sam had said, she seemed to be making an effort and made several pleasant comments. However, her scepticism remained and she struggled to respond. Being nice was the last thing she wanted, and she sat in a stony silence as they headed out of the village, along the main road, and into a small car park along a narrow lane close by.

  Judith reversed the car into a parking bay. ‘I am proud of what you are doing at the house darling.’

  ‘You didn’t think that the other day.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ She studied her daughter. ‘I was just worried that you were taking too much on. I still am.’

  ‘What do you want Mum?’

  ‘Why are you always so suspicious? I just wanted to see you.’

  She frowned. Lacking her usual sparkle, she chose not to persevere, and levered herself out of the car and headed to a path to the beach. There was woodland on the left and shrubbery and grasses on the right. Ahead was a dry-stone wall.

  The intensity of the sea breeze was invigorating, and it awakened her tired pallor, tickling her pores and stimulating her mind. Climbing the stile, she glanced at a few individuals strolling on the sand and listened to the relaxing rush of the waves. The sea was calm with a little swell; it was a patchwork of rippling mirrors, twinkling as the sun burnt holes through the billowing cloud, whilst out in the vastness of the ocean a ship moored, a solitary lifeline for the travellers. Standing on the soft sand, breathing in the salty air, the small gritty particles crept beneath her toes, comforting, massaging.

  Judith drew her attention. ‘How are you getting on with Grace?’

  Michaela was puzzled. ‘Grace?’

  Your neighbour.’

  ‘How do you know her name?’

  ‘You must have told me, darling.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She passed her mother a critical glance. ‘If you must know, we had an argument.’

  Oh, Michaela.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault! I only told her that Jim had lost a child in our pond, yet she lost her temper.’

  Judith’s steps quickened and she edged ahead along the beach, hiding her expression.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me the child was Jim’s?’ Michaela continued. ‘You must have known about it.’

  ‘I did tell you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. You said you’d lost contact.’

  ‘You are far too confrontational Michaela.’

  She glared at her mother.

  ‘Things happened in the past that are none of your concern. Now please let it go.’

  ‘Don’t I have a right to know?’

  ‘Not when it’s nothing to do with you! And if you have any sense at all, you’ll keep what you already know of Jim’s business to yourself. Don’t spread gossip, and especially not to Grace.’

  ‘Why, what has this got to do with her?’

  She stopped and looked at the ocean. ‘She looks like trouble.’

  ‘You don’t even know her.’

  ‘I know her type. Stay away from her. Please darling.’

  Battling with her need for answers, Michaela continued alongside her mother in silence, passing two eastern European women with four young children, a jogger with a collie dog, and a wrinkled gaunt man slumped upon a bench. The scene did little to distract her from her thoughts, and aggravated by her mother’s behaviour, she passed her a quick sideways glance.

  She should be volunteering what she knew. There shouldn’t be a battle of wills each time she wanted to know something that could affect her life. She was holding back far too much. Why had her family never mentioned Jim, and why had she refused to talk about the drowned child? These family secrets must be the reason why her mother feared her living in Primrose Cottage. Had that been Jim’s motive too, the reason he had suggested they sold their inheritance? It seemed likely.

  Keen to find someone who could enlighten her, Michaela thought of Grace and her standoffish sensitive behaviour. She may be able to persuade her to speak, but she would have to polish her social skills and offer an apology. Peeking at her mother, she knew it would be easier than extracting the truth from her.

  They reached the end of the bay, where the sand gave way to a rocky promontory and a small café nestled on the edge
of the woodland.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ Judith asked.

  ‘Yes, I need a sit-down.’

  She frowned. ‘You’re doing too much. You don’t look good.’

  Sighing, she lowered her head and followed her mother into the tranquillity of the café. Judith ordered the coffees whilst she scanned the homemade cakes inside a glass cabinet. There were fresh cream scones, a sponge cake, and chocolate fudge squares, all arranged on three sparkling shelves. Craving something sweet, Michaela selected a piece of lemon sponge cake and placed it onto a tray.

  Judith gazed at her rounded tummy. ‘You’ll put on weight Michaela.’

  For once, Michaela was grateful for her curved figure. Even though she knew her pregnancy was not yet visible, her yearning to protect her unborn child from her mother’s criticism was deep-seated, and she provided a protective sheath with her hands. Yet it was not enough, and she longed for Judith’s gaze to drift to another direction and felt exposed and vulnerable as the seconds ticked by. Needing an escape, she took the opportunity to freshen up in the ladies room and calmed her anxieties.

  Upon her return, she found Judith at one of the outdoor tables.

  ‘You are looking quite pale, Michaela. Is everything all right?’

  The plastic seat grated on the floor as she sat down. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I have an offer for you,’ Judith said, ‘and I want you to consider it seriously.’

  Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip.

  ‘I would like you to live with me until the work at your house is complete. It would be for the best. That house is no place for you at all.’

  No way! That’s where I live now. I’m sorry you don’t like it.’

  ‘You can do so much better than that. It is dusty and grimy and can’t be healthy. Just look at the state of you. I have never seen you looking so tired for years.’

  ‘You are always so critical. Why can’t you accept that what I do is my choice? I am not a child anymore.’

  ‘I know you’re not darling, but you are stubborn.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘Sam shouldn’t be expecting you to live in those conditions.’

  ‘Don’t bring Sam into this. It’s my decision, and I said no.’

  ‘Why won’t you even consider it?’

  ‘No, I won’t. I like it there. It’s my home.’

  Judith exhaled, cast a disagreeing stare, and took a bite out of her scone. ‘You can’t blame me for trying. I want what’s best for you, that’s all.’

  Stiffening, unable to accept her comment, she looked at a young couple entering the café. The female had lush long blonde hair, bronzed skin, and a slender yet curvaceous figure. In comparison, Michaela felt dowdy and plain.

  She turned back to her mother. ‘Was that why you wanted to see me, to drag me away from my own home?’

  ‘Of course not darling, and I’m not trying to drag you away. I’m just thinking of your health. I thought it would make you happy.’

  ‘That’s not how it seems to me.’

  ‘You really are very sensitive.’

  She folded her arms and leaned back into the chair. A suggestion of a relaxing afternoon was not coming to fruition, and she felt more irritated and distressed now than when she left her home. Judith must have noticed too, as she tried to change the subject to something more amiable, but it was a pointless attempt as Michaela’s black mood had set. Wanting to get away, she took urgent sips of hot coffee and large mouthfuls of cake, chewing with vigour. She had one thing on her mind; she wanted to go home.

  Minutes later, they started back to the car. Judith made a comment regarding the vista, and then followed it up with remarks about a family playing on the beach. Refusing to be drawn, Michaela trudged along in silence, it was a relief reaching the car. During the journey home she was determined not to converse and stared forward without flinching, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an occasional intense glare from her mother.

  When they arrived back home, desperate for privacy and feeling sullen, she rushed straight upstairs and threw herself onto the bed. Her mother’s audible whines, as she offloaded to Sam, did nothing to improve her mood, it only served to deepen her scowl and tense her body.

  ‘She is not looking good,’ Judith said.

  ‘She is just a bit tired. She’ll be okay.’

  ‘I have suggested that she lives with me for a while, at least until the house is in better shape.’

  Michaela pressed her head into her pillow and covered her ears with her arms. She didn’t want to hear his response and wanted to scream at them both. However, deep inside her abdomen, something stirred. Pains transmitted along her genitals, lower back, thighs and buttocks, and she yelped in agony. Tears cloaked her eyes; she scrunched up her face.

  Sam rushed to the bedside, shadowed by Judith. ‘Michaela, what is it?’

  Pressing her hands onto her front, she shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘Is it the baby?’

  She managed a nod and her face scrunched as she suffered continuing pain. As she considered the fading life in her womb, flashing images of Oliver’s accident appeared in her thoughts. Regrettably, she sensed there was a connection.

  This was her punishment – she was to pay the ultimate price for her carelessness.

  Chapter 14

  1905

  The chilling autumn air drifted across Catherine’s skin as she paused by the window and gazed at the yellow-brown leaves on a willow tree. The gusty wind whooshed and a new surge of foliage floated to the ground, meandering in irregular circular motions before resting upon the fine grass protrusions. She closed her arms into her body, looked at the dark clouds gathering, and felt her hope slip.

  Her future was bleak and added to her burden of the prospect of cold days and long dark nights. There was no chance of bright cheery weather giving her a speck of hope, and little chance of her baby son, Edward’s health improving. He was breathing his last breaths, and it was a fact she must bear. A heavy weight swelled in her abdomen.

  Catherine turned around. Her young son rested in his crib; his face was pale-pink and his eyes closed. For the moment, he looked peaceful, but it was a temporary respite. Edward was a sickly child and struggled for his tiny breaths; he coughed and spluttered, and often refused his liquid feed. Frustrated and anxious, her negative emotions reached unprecedented levels. She blamed herself for his challenging behaviour and considered herself an unfit mother.

  The arrival of her son had left her in a state of bewilderment, and she was unable to comprehend that the tiny life had grown inside of her. Spellbound, she traced his soft pink skin with her fingertips, eager to memorise every millimetre of his flesh, and smiled at his beautiful round face framed with fine blond wisps of hair, and prodded his podgy skin and tiny toes.

  However, her pleasure had been short-lived as she had struggled to breastfeed her young baby, a task so natural, or so she had thought. Tormented by swirling emotions of self-hatred, Catherine had to force herself to cradle her child. Surely, Edward would know of his deprivation, and surely, he would wonder why she had failed in such a simple task of motherhood.

  In the privacy of her room, she had cried until the moisture glistened on her reddened puffy skin. Alongside, she listened to his pitiful wailing resonate through the walls. She had urged him to stop, urged his forgiveness. He provided neither. Unable to resist his pleas any longer, Catherine had pressed open the nursery room door, and each time, or so she insisted, she had witnessed Edward’s scorn. His gaze penetrated like a knife into her heart and caused her inadequacy to pound through her veins. She had failed her child, she had failed Jack, and she had failed herself. Nevertheless, through her torment, Catherine persisted with caring for her baby, though the substitute feed was a regular reminder that she was not a complete woman; something that only a tiny, innocent baby had been able to emphasize.

  Regrettably, as the weeks progressed, Edward’s condition had deteriorated. Frantically she acqui
red assistance, but her baby’s health failed to improve and she was told there was little more to be done other than hope and pray. Terrified she was losing him she counted his coughs, monitored his poor feeding pattern, and watched his strained breaths, all the while feeling as though his illness was a reflection upon her.

  Watching her little son was an agonizing experience, and she wanted his pain to subside. Edward was helpless in his condition and at her mercy, yet she could do nothing of any consequence. If only she could take away his hurt and substitute it with well-being, but she was not God; she was not a figure of significance.

  For now, Edward was sleeping. Catherine tiptoed away and headed to the door before taking one last peek at her son. Satisfied that he was in a relaxed slumber, she dragged her feet onto the landing and headed downstairs to return to Amelia in the parlour. Listening to her sister’s excited recounts of her life did not fill her with joy and enthusiasm.

  Their lives had changed since her marriage to Jack. Catherine had become less communicative and spent most of her days tending her husband and son, whereas Amelia had gained independence by working with the women’s social and political union, formed two years’ ago. Campaigning for women’s suffrage, a cause now close to Amelia’s heart, she wrote articles and letters and travelled to demonstrations.

  Fatigued, Catherine thought of her sister’s freedom with a growing envy. Amelia had visited cities Catherine could only dream of, and she remembered, from the early days of her sister’s trips stories of the people, the buildings, and the hustle and bustle of city life. Her sister had even described the smells in fine detail. How Catherine longed for a taste of Amelia’s extraordinary life.