She watched them for some time. Mrs. Dinsdale put her baby down to sleep inside the wagon, then sat on the steps and called to William, who came running to her with his arms aloft to be carried. She did not call him William, of course. It was some other name that she used, that Caroline could not entirely hear, but that sounded like Flag. Watching them, Caroline was so torn apart with sorrow and envy that she did not know how to contain it. But she was so angry too, that this family of drifters should flourish when her own had been snatched from her, twofold. She stared at William and she hated him. She hated them all. No more, she thought, I can take no more. The price she had been made to pay was far too high, and though some part of her thought that this injustice must, somehow, be redressed, she knew that it could not be. She sat down in the shadows and cried quietly for Corin, who could not help her.
Chapter 7
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eve-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Frost at Midnight
The stairs take the last of my energy, so when I reach the bathroom door I am gulping, fighting for breath. The light is on inside, tendrils of steam creeping under the door. And the tap still running. With my hand on the door I freeze, shut my eyes for a second. I am so afraid; so afraid of what I might see. I think of Eddie, pushing back Beth’s hair when he came home after school and found her. How I need his courage right now.
“Beth?” I call, too meekly. No reply. Swallowing, I give two tiny knocks then throw open the door.
Beth is in the bath, her hair floating around her, water perilously close to the rim, escaping into the over flow. Her eyes are shut and for an instant I think I have lost her. She is Ophelia, she will ebb away from me, float off into serene oblivion. But then she opens her eyes, turns her face to me, and I am so relieved I nearly fall. I stumble in, sit abruptly on the chair where her clothes are folded.
“Rick? What’s going on? Where are your clothes?” she asks me, pushing the tap closed with her big toe. I dropped them and Dinny’s blanket in the hallway, before I ran. I am wearing wet, muddy underwear, nothing more.
“I thought… I thought…” But I don’t want to tell her what I thought. It seems a betrayal, to think that she would do that to herself again.
“What?” she asks, her voice flattening out, growing taut.
“Nothing,” I mumble. The light stabs at my eyes, makes me flinch. “Why are you in the bath at this time of night?”
“I said I’d wait for you to get back,” she replies. “And I was cold. Where have you been?” she asks, sitting up now, wet hair smoothing itself to her breasts. She bends her knees, wraps shining arms around them. I can see every rib, every bump of her spine, marching down into the water.
“I was with Dinny. I… fell into the dew pond.”
“You did what? What was Dinny doing there?”
“He heard me fall in. He helped me out.”
“You just fell in?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes! Too much whisky, I suppose.”
“And did you just… fall out of your clothes? Or did he help you with those as well?” she asks tartly. I give her a steady look. I am angry now-that she scared me so. That I scared myself so.
“Who’s jealous now?” I ask, just as tart.
“I’m not-” she begins, then puts her chin on her knees, looks away from me. “It’s weird, OK, Erica? You chasing after Dinny is weird.”
“Why is it weird? Because he was yours first?”
“Yes!” she cries; and I stare, amazed by this admission. “Just don’t get involved with him, all right? It feels incestuous! It’s just… wrong!” She struggles to explain herself, stretching her hands wide. “I can’t stand it.”
“It’s not wrong. You just don’t like the idea, that’s all. But you needn’t worry. I think he’s still in love with you,” I say quietly, feeling my own heart sink inside me.
I wait to see her expression change, but it doesn’t.
“We should go, Erica. Can’t you see? We should leave here and not come back. It would be by far the best thing. We could go tomorrow.” Her voice gains conviction, she fixes me with desperate eyes. “Never mind sorting out all Meredith’s things-that’s not why we came here, not really. The house clearance guys can do it! Please? Let’s just go?”
“I know why I came here, Beth.” I am tired of not talking about it, tired of tiptoeing around it. “I wanted us both to come because I thought I could make you better. Because I want to find out what it is that torments you, Beth. I want to bring it to the surface. I want to shine a light on it, and… show you that it’s not so bad. Nothing is as bad in the light of day, Beth! Isn’t that what you tell Eddie when he has nightmares?”
“Some things are, Erica! Some things are as bad!” she cries, the words torn from her, terrified. “I want to leave. I’m leaving, tomorrow.”
“No. You’re not. Not until we’ve confronted this. Whatever it is. Not until we’ve faced up to it!”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shouts harshly. She stands abruptly, sends water cascading onto the bathroom floor, reaches for her dressing gown and shrugs it on violently. “You can’t stop me if I want to go.”
“I won’t drive you to the station.”
“I’ll take a taxi!” she hisses.
“On New Year’s Day? Out here in the sticks? Good luck.”
“Goddamn it, Rick! Why are you doing this?” she swears, anger snapping in her eyes, clipping her words. They echo from the tiled walls, attack me twice.
“I… I promised Eddie. That I’d make you better.”
“What?” she whispers.
I think carefully, before I speak again. I think about what I saw, as the dew pond closed over my head.
“Tell me what Henry was looking for at the side of the dew pond,” I demand softly.
“What? When?”
“At the side of the dew pond that day. The day he disappeared, and I’d been swimming in the pond. He was looking for something on the ground.” I hear Beth’s sharp intake of breath. Her lips have gone pale.
“I thought you said you didn’t remember?” she says.
“It’s coming back to me. A little. Not all of it. I remember jumping back into the pond, and I remember looking up at Henry, and he had been looking for something on the ground. And then I remember…” I swallow, “I remember him bleeding. His head bleeding.”
“Shut up! Shut up! I don’t want to talk about it!” Beth shouts again, puts her hands over her ears, shakes her head madly. I watch, astonished, until she stops, stands snatching at the air, chest heaving. I take her arm carefully and she winces.