I want you holding me in the night.”
His lips were dry, but he was no longer cold.
“You can say something now.” A flicker of humour crossed her face.
“Of course I’ll stay. There’s nothing I’d like better.”
She looked down at her knees. “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, not much more than a whisper.
She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, desperate not to break the fragile connection.
They stayed that way for a little while longer, holding on to each other yet still maintaining a short distance between their questioning bodies; intimate strangers waiting for some kind of sign or signal. Then, when the film ended, they went wordlessly upstairs to bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THIS TIME ABBY is aware of sitting up in bed and turning to face the door. The room is dark; the shapes of the furniture are somehow threatening, as if they are poised to pounce. She feels as if she might be in danger, but she isn’t sure what form it will take.
She walks across the room, shedding her nightgown. She is hot; her skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat. She opens the bedroom door and steps out onto the landing. The door to her daughter’s room is already open and light spills out across the carpet. Shadows caper across the walls. Abby is holding her breath. If she lets it out, she might disturb whoever is in there.
She moves slowly towards the room, her arms hanging down by her sides, hands open. Her skin prickles, excitement makes her blood run faster.
She enters the room and there is no one there. The homemade totem, the stack of Tessa’s things, looks larger, taller; its tip is now almost touching the ceiling. She cannot remember adding anything new to the pile. She has not touched it for quite some time, as if some residue of fear has kept her away.
She walks across the room and stands before the conical mound of her daughter’s belongings. Things have been rearranged. The photo of Tessa’s face is no longer there, and toys she does not recognise have been added to the construction.
She kneels down and closes her eyes.
“Tessa, Tessa, Tessa... bless her, bless her, bless her... come back to me.” She recites the familiar prayer without even thinking about it. She does not hear the words as they pass her lips.
She hears the creaking, rustling sound of the totem shifting. She does not open her eyes. If she sees what is happening, it might break the spell. Something touches her face, brushing softly across her cheek. It feels like a tiny hand, but one that is not fully formed. The fingers are fused together and the skin feels soft and inchoate.
Whatever it is pulls away, making a louder rustling sound this time as it is sucked back into the mass of the totem.
Abby opens her eyes.
She is no longer inside the room, or even in the house.
She is kneeling at the centre of a grove of oak trees. It is dark. The sky is black and starless. There is no moon. The ground is covered with leaves.
Figures are hiding in the undergrowth, standing silently, watching her. The figures are small, slight, like malnourished children.
“Hello...”
The figures do not move. Their eyes sparkle behind a screen of foliage. White teeth are bared in either smiles or snarls. There are three of them, and slowly she begins to realise that they are waiting for her. In unison, they raise their hands above their heads, open their fists, and each of them drops a handful of black leaves onto the ground.
She stands and walks towards a clear spot between two trees, where the overhanging bushes have been forced apart to form an archway. She passes through the archway, feeling leaves brush eagerly against her skin, and makes her way along a narrow, ill-defined pathway. The trees and bushes on either side of her sway, as if dancing. Her bare feet sink into the soft loamy ground.
Before she has time to be afraid, she emerges from the grove and is standing in a clearing. The figures are standing up ahead, at the top of a slight rise. She can see them clearly now, despite the lack of natural light – still there is neither moon nor stars to light her way. There are, as she suspected, three of them, and they are little girls. The girls are wearing tattered clothing – torn coats and dresses, shoes that are falling apart