his wide eyes, the truest sky blue and crystal clear with the innocence of childhood. Trust broken. Innocence lost. She had to find him.
The patio doors – her eyes travelled towards them, refocusing … click … the lens of a camera, shutter closing, shutter opening. She found them locked. She knew they would be, to keep her in, keep the memories out. She moved instinctively, releasing the catch, sliding them open. Wind whipped her hair as she stepped quietly onto the patio, whispering through the leaves on the trees, imploring her more urgently, Hurry, hurry. Her gaze moved to the pool. Sunk into the lawn, it wasn’t there, yet it was, its surface rippling; fracturing like broken glass as the wind stirred it.
‘Oh my God, what have you done?’ She heard her behind her, the woman who’d paraded herself as their mother, who was no mother at all. ‘What have you done?’
No! Laura tried to say it out loud, but though her head screamed it, her lips jammed together and wouldn’t let the sound out.
‘Laura …’ A male voice spoke, snatching her away. Steve. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here in this time and this place, which was another time, another place.
Futilely, she stretched out a hand, trying to hold onto the memory her mother claimed wasn’t a memory as it slipped from her mind back into the water.
‘Come inside, sweetheart. It’s wet out here.’ She sensed him approach her, his tone cautious as she watched the soil fall from the sky to rain down on the soul that would always be lost.
Disorientated, she fixed her gaze on the water as it receded. Soon it would be gone, fading from her mind like an ebbing tide. ‘I have to sssave him,’ she stammered uncertainly.
‘It’s okay, Laura.’ He held her as she took a stumbling step forward, needing to follow him to the place where his spirit never rested. How else would she find him? ‘He’s safe. I promise,’ he said softly, steering her around to face him.
Laura blinked, her focus shifting from the pictures in her mind to Steve’s face, a kind face. She could see under the glow of the floodlight that his gentle features were etched with deep concern.
‘We saved him, Laura,’ he said softly. ‘Do you remember?’
She searched his eyes. He was trying to placate her, but she knew they hadn’t saved him. She hadn’t. She might have, if only she’d known where to find him.
‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’ His voice strained, Steve drew her to him. ‘Ollie’s woken up. We don’t want to scare him, do we?’
Laura frowned. Little Ollie. He was here, upstairs. No, she didn’t want that. Walking falteringly, she allowed Steve to guide her back to the house. But still she heard the leaves whispering over and over, You have to save him.
Eighteen
Steve
The rain was lashing down relentlessly as Steve led Laura back to the house. ‘Almost there,’ he said, and then, ‘Step,’ he warned her, aware that she might be unsteady on her feet. When she was in a deep sleep phase, she seemed to be able to negotiate everything in front of her. When she started to come out of it, though, she would become less sure-footed.
‘Here we go.’ Guiding her from the patio doors through the lounge, he steered her towards the stairs. ‘Let’s get you tucked back up in bed where it’s nice and warm, shall we?’ He noted the small nod of her head and guessed she was on the cusp of waking. Having spoken to her GP for advice, he knew that she was now caught between wakefulness and sleep; that waking her vigorously might disorientate or shock her, causing her to lash out or even attack him. He couldn’t just leave her, though, when she could so easily fall down the stairs or do something else to injure herself.
Though it still petrified him when he found her sleepwalking, he was determined not to let it affect their relationship. Her previous boyfriend would apparently scream at her to wake up, telling her she was a mental case and a danger to everyone around her. She wasn’t. She walked in her sleep, that was all. Yes, it was scary sometimes, but it just made Steve more protective of her.
She’d seemed so nervous when she’d approached him at the hospice, he couldn’t help but feel for her. She’d been sympathetic to his situation with his father, joining him in the communal kitchen whenever he’d taken a