“Who were they?” said Becca.
I looked down at the table, watching the flickering light of the candle. “We’d all been – friends – for ages, but we’d never had a holiday at the same time. Do you see?”
“Yes.”
I took a sip of wine. “The McGaskills had a daughter. She was the same age as me. Jessica–“ my voice cracked again and this time I took a gulp of wine. “Jessica. Her name was Jessica. We were best friends.”
“Ah,” said Becca, smiling. I felt a pang, knowing that what I was going to say would wipe that smile from her face. I knew she would be upset and distressed. But how could I spare her, when she wanted to know, and why should I spare her, anyway? I had to live with this every day. Let someone else share the misery, for once.
“We were best friends,” I repeated. “We were both only children and we lived in the same village back at home, up in Cumbria. We went to the same school. We even looked alike, you know, skinny and blonde and little. We liked to pretend we were sisters, it was almost as good as having a real sister. People often took us for sisters. Mrs. McGaskill – Jane – she was like a mum to me. I know people always say that, but she really was.”
I’d drained my glass of wine. Becca saw me swallow.
“More?”
“Yes, please. Could I – sorry to ask you, but would you mind if I got myself a brandy before I go on?”
Her eyebrows went up. “Of course. But don’t worry – I’ll get it.”
She went to fetch the drink. I sat back in my chair, trying to breathe deeply. I felt panicky, trapped underground with the rest of my tale to be told. Over by the toilets, I caught sight of a flash of bright blonde hair and felt my stomach clench in fear. God – not now. I shut my eyes for a brief moment. I was not going to crack up now. Becca was coming back to the table, glass in her hand. I took a cringing look over her shoulder. No blonde woman in sight. Get a grip, I told myself.
The brandy helped. I tossed it back in one and felt the burn of it light a fiery trail all the way down to my stomach.
“Easy,” said Becca.
“I’m okay,” I gasped. I took a deep breath. “Where was I?”
“You were telling me about the Mc-somethings. The McGaskills.”
“Yes. Jessica and I – we had such a good time – we’d go to the beach and go walking, bike riding. There was a farm next to the cottages where we used to go to look at the animals and help feed the calves if we could.” Remembering this, I smiled. “I’m sure the sun didn’t shine all the time, but it seemed like it did.”
“A golden summer,” said Becca, in a non-committal tone.
I looked at her. “Yes. Yes it was. It didn’t matter so much to me, growing up without a mother, you know, because I had Jessica and her family. That was why–“ my voice failed for a second. I coughed. “That was why it was so terrible, what happened. It ripped us all apart.”
“What happened?”
“I’m coming to that.” I took a deep breath. “There was an – an ancient place near the cottages. An ancient place of worship for the druids, or the Celts – there’s similar places all over Cornwall. Not exactly a stone circle, but there’s this one stone with a hole in it, and another you can see through... Jessica and I – I don’t know – we just got obsessed by it. There was lots of folklore about it, you know. There still is. In the old days, the villagers used to take their sick children down to the Men-an-Tol at midnight and pass them through the hole, to heal them.”
“The what?”
“The Men-an-Tol. It means ‘stone with a hole’. Jessica and I made our own folklore up, except we kind of forgot we’d made it up and I think we almost believed it. She did believe it. Jessica said that when it was full moon, at midnight you could climb through the Men-an-Tol and you would go back in time.” I saw Becca smile and smiled myself, unwillingly. “Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous now, but you know what kids are like. We were so romantic, we just yearned for it to be true. I think we did honestly believe it.”
I stopped talking for a second. The bar had become very crowded, people pressing in on our tiny table from both sides. People shouted and called across the room to one another and laughed loudly. I was glad of the tumult; it made me feel safer. I was too close to the story; I felt as if I could be pulled back into the past at any time.
“What happened?” said Becca. She leant across the table towards me, frowning.
I took another sip of wine. My tongue felt as if it were coated in glue. There was a part to this story that I was going to leave out, I just decided. It didn’t have any bearing on what happened anyway and it was – private.
“That summer we were there, when we were ten... Jessica found out there would be a full moon during our holiday. Well, you can imagine how excited we were. We were going to go to the Men-an-Tol at midnight and climb through the hole. Jessica had planned it all. She was always more of the ringleader. She came up with most of our schemes but, you know, I was happy to go along with her. Anyway, we plotted and planned the whole thing. We were going to meet by the farm, by the hedgerow, and walk up to the circle, just before midnight.”
I stopped talking.
“And? You did?”
I didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t. She did.”
“What?”
I felt tears prick at my eyelids. “I meant to,” I said. I pinched my nose to stop myself crying. “I woke up and got dressed and went downstairs. I got to the front door and I – I-”
Becca held my hand again. “It’s alright.”
“I meant to,” I said. My voice wobbled. “I got scared. I didn’t go. I – I told myself that Jessica wouldn’t go, either.”
A teardrop escaped and hit the polished surface of the tabletop. We both looked at it. I smudged it with my finger. I had the image of the front door in my head, slightly open; outside the night frosted with moonlight, the sky filled with ragged clouds and star-specks and behind it all, an abyss ready to pull me in.
“I just got scared,” I said. “I’d never been out at night on my own before. The world just looked too big.”
Becca squeezed my hand. “Well, I don’t think that’s so terrible,” she said. “You were only ten.”
I snatched my hand back. How dare she misunderstand? “Jessica did go.”
Becca raised her eyebrows. “She did?”
“Well, we think she did,” I said. I looked down at the table. “She went somewhere. She disappeared.”
“What?”
“Just that. She disappeared. She was never seen again.”
Becca’s mouth fell open. “What, never?”
“Never.” I clenched my hands together under the table. “I don’t think her mother ever forgave me.”
Becca didn’t appear to hear my last sentence. “But – but – wasn’t there a search? Didn’t they find her?”
“Of course there was a search,” I said. The brandy and wine were mixing uneasily in my stomach. “It even made the news, there were reporters down there and everything. But they never found her or her body. She’d just vanished.”
Becca’s eyes were wide. “My God. That’s – that’s terrible.”
“Yes.”
“My God. They never found her. Never?” I shook my head. “Jesus,” she said, “What do you think happened?”
I pressed a hand to my stomach. I was feeling steadily sicker. I could see the outline of the door in my head, the shadow behind it.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you alright?”
“Not really.” I pushed myself up from my chair. “Sorry, Becca. I’ve got to go.”
“What, now?”
“Yes. Sorry.” I grabbed my bag and coat and pushed my way through the crowded room. I could feel my stomach start to cramp. Bent double, one hand over my mouth, I just made it to the toilet in time.