Lay Me to Rest. E. Clark A.

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СКАЧАТЬ wish I’d been brought up in the country,’ he told me, his grey eyes shining, as we reached the summit of Latrigg. ‘You feel so much more alive.’ He looked round at the view and pulled me to him. The town of Keswick and the beautiful valley of Borrowdale stretched out beneath us. ‘Just look at all this. You, me, and the great outdoors – who could ask for more!’

      How could I have known how transient life could be? I had taken for granted that we would grow old together. After only ten years of marriage, I had been left a widow. It was only now that he was gone that I realized just what I had had. The pain of his loss was physical – a relentless gnawing in the solar plexus. Swallowing my tears, I patted my stomach and whispered to the baby cocooned within.

      ‘Just you and me now, sweetheart. Mummy will take good care of you. I will love you enough for two – don’t you worry.’

      I had to be strong. I owed that much to Graham. He would have been the perfect father. I was determined not to let him, or our child, down.

      The main road was visible in only brief snatches, the majority of it concealed by the high hedge at the foot of the field. The heat in the room was soporific and I felt suddenly and irresistibly weary. I decided to lie down awhile before joining the others for the evening meal. Closing my eyes, I listened to the sound of the birds twittering their last, as they prepared themselves for the close of day. No traffic, not even a distant hum; no raucous voices from passers-by; just the gentle rush of the evening breeze ruffling the foliage of the swaying conifers that flanked the field.

      *

      ‘Anni wyf i.’

      The sense of someone breathing, very close to my ear, awoke me with a start. My pulse accelerated. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up sharply. I must have been dreaming. Since beginning the medication I had not slept solidly, managing only fitful bouts of sleep, interspersed with strange, lucid dreams. I peered at my watch and realized that I was late for supper.

      Without intending to, I had fallen into the deepest sleep I had enjoyed for weeks and now felt quite disorientated. The glorious amber light of the setting sun slanted through the open window, lending the bedroom a dreamlike, almost ethereal quality.

      The voice, which seemed now to be rising from the foot of the stairs, persisted. ‘Anni wyf i.’

      Was someone calling me? It was sexless somehow – familiar, and yet not. The words were muffled. I was still dazed, but dragged myself to my feet. The increasing weight of the baby was beginning to impede my movement somewhat, and I moved stiffly across the floor. A little apprehensively, I peered round the door and down the stairs. I felt relieved to see Peter standing, looking slightly awkward, in the vestibule. It must have been him calling all along. He had not seen me and rapped loudly on the opened door.

      ‘Hello? Anybody home? Are you coming for something to eat?’

      He looked up, startled, as I responded.

      ‘Sorry; I dropped off. Just give me a minute and I’ll be right down. Have a seat in the front room, if you like.’

      I laid a clean pair of maternity jeans and a T-shirt on the bed, before going into the bathroom to rinse my face and run a comb through my hair. Regarding my reflection in the small mirror above the sink, I noted dispassionately that a suggestion of the familiar colour was returning to my cheeks, which had remained so ashen these last months.

      Replacing the comb on the shelf, I took a final glance at myself before leaving the room. The bathroom door was ajar and in the reflection behind me, I saw a grey shadow cross the landing from the opposite bedroom into my own. I was at first surprised, then a little peeved. Surely Peter hadn’t come upstairs? He knew I was getting ready.

      I pushed open the bedroom door ready to confront him, but the room was as empty as I had left it. I shrugged, clicking my tongue at my foolishness for having misjudged him, and dismissed the shadow as a trick of the light. I dressed quickly, collected my handbag and mobile phone and descended the stairs. Peter, who had been gazing out of the window, turned to greet me.

      ‘Will I do?’ I asked, jokingly.

      ‘You’ll do fine,’ he said, smiling. After pulling the door to, we walked down the slope and across to the farm, the sun a huge blood-orange sphere at our backs, sinking behind the distant mountains.

      If I had turned then I might have seen. Might have seen that the shadow that I had mistaken for mere imagination was standing, looking down at us, from my bedroom window. And that the glowing, dark eyes that bore into the back of our unwitting heads exuded what could only be described as resentment and malevolence. I might have had some premonitory sense of what was in store for me and how I ought to flee before becoming irrevocably changed for ever by the terror and intensity of my experience.

      But for the time being I would remain in ignorance of the depth of hostility cast in our direction. And that this was how it would all begin.

Chapter Two

      I ate well in spite of myself, and although I contributed little to the conversation, enjoyed the banter between Peter and Mrs Parry. It became apparent that they had many shared memories and their obvious fondness for one another was touching.

      The resident cat, a beautiful fluffy tabby, had taken a shine to me and, after sitting at my feet throughout supper, climbed up onto my lap, purring. I sat at the table, content to absorb the atmosphere in the warm kitchen; and for the first time in months, I started to take real interest in what was going on around me.

      Mr Parry was a man of few words, so when he eventually spoke I was slightly startled.

      ‘Have you any plans for your holiday, Mrs Philips?’

      ‘Well, not really. I was just hoping for some rest and relaxation. Nice walks and fresh air, that sort of thing. It’ll be good for me, and the baby too. I might even get my sketch pad out at some point!’ I paused. ‘I know there are several places of historical interest on the island, too. I might like to have a proper look round at some point. I’m quite keen on antiquity: ancient buildings and burial sites; folklore, that sort of thing …’

      ‘Well now, are you a believer in ghosts, Mrs Philips?’

      Peter looked uncomfortable but tried to make light of the question. ‘Oh, you’re not going to try and scare her with one of your old wives’ tales, now are you, Will?’

      Mr Parry sat back in his armchair and smiled to himself. He raised his straggly, grey eyebrows a fraction and, looking pointedly in my direction, cocked his head to one side, as if awaiting a response.

      ‘I – well, I don’t know to be honest,’ I told him. ‘I’ve certainly never seen one myself. Why do you ask?’

      ‘We used to have a ghost, didn’t we, Gwen?’ The old man looked to his wife, who let out a sigh.

      ‘Oh, go on with your stories.’ Mrs Parry rolled her eyes as if she had heard it a thousand times before.

      ‘Do tell, Mr Parry. I love a good yarn.’ I was poised to take his words with a very large pinch of salt, but at the same time intrigued to hear what he had to say.

      ‘Well.’ Mr Parry rubbed his huge hands together as if he were about to impart some juicy piece of gossip. ‘Bryn Mawr has been in my family СКАЧАТЬ