Sarah was wide-eyed. “Mrs Shaw had a lover?” She thought of the black-clad, stern-looking old woman she had known as a child.
“I know it’s hard to imagine. She was very reserved, wasn’t she? But she and my father were very much in love. She loved life, in every way. And so do I.” And with that, Winter looked straight at Niall, and through him, inside him. His face turned crimson.
“Was it you who left the letters?” asked Nicholas suddenly. His tone towards Winter was harsh, almost accusing. Everybody tensed.
She nodded. “It was me, yes. Before you all arrived. My mother had taken them away from this house. She died three years ago, and when I found the letters among her things, I thought I’d wait for you to come back and hand them over.”
“That’s funny, man. This people-of-the-sea thing!” Mike chipped in. He wasn’t very interested in the mechanics of delivering letters. “Being able to turn into an animal, or something. I wish I had some really cool powers like all of you.”
“Well, in a way, we all belong to an Element,” Winter remarked. “Human beings too. I mean, Lays. Non-Secret people.”
“Do we? So what Element am I? Out of curiosity,” asked Mike.
“You’re …” Winter tipped her head to one side, studying Mike’s face. “You’re earth. Yes, earth. And so is Sean, with a touch of fire. Elodie is air and water. Sarah is air and fire.” Winter smiled at her. “And you, Nicholas …” Nicholas had been looking down, lost in thought. Upon hearing his name, he raised his head with a quick, jerky movement. “You are fire.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and it was Winter who looked away first.
“I’m freezing,” said Elodie. “I’ll go get changed. Come, Winter, I’ll get you some clothes.”
Niall and Mike watched in awe as the silver-haired girl walked slowly upstairs, the light from the stained-glass window making her hair shimmer like the inside of a shell.
36
Don’t Let Me Sleep
A child who asks, “What’s happening?”
And then silence begins
Islay, May 1985
Dear Amelia,
Life has been quite complicated around here. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. The time has come. Mairead’s dreams have started. She screams throughout the night until she’s exhausted, and everybody else with her. She’s refusing to tell me anything of what she sees, or to write anything down in the dream diary we gave her, which means we can’t use her dreams at all. She’s worse than my sister was. Hamish says she’ll grow into herself. I have to believe she will.
She does all she can to stay awake. Last night she went for a walk down to the beach, hoping the cold would prevent her from falling asleep. I know that trick, my sister and I used it too. Her brothers followed her from a distance to make sure she was safe. She walked up and down that beach until the small hours of the morning, until she couldn’t stay upright anymore. Stewart carried her home and laid her on her bed, but she kept trying to get up, and when she realized she couldn’t stand, that her legs couldn’t carry her any longer, she started throwing herself off the bed, hoping that hitting the floor would keep her awake. We couldn’t have that. I asked Stewart to hold her down, and she struggled and thrashed, with Stewart begging her to stop, to let herself go and surrender to sleep. He hated every minute of it, my poor son. What that girl puts us through!
In the end, she couldn’t resist anymore. She’s still a child, after all. She started nodding off and waking up with a jolt, over and over again, until sleep finally took her just as dawn was breaking. I stayed in her room. I knew I had to watch her, lest she tried to throw herself out of the window, like my sister tried to do when her dreams started. Mairead woke again two hours later, screaming and crying, begging me to make it stop. But how can I? What am I supposed to do? There is no way to stop the dreams, and we need her to dream. The family requires her to dream. But will she listen? Of course not.
So here I am, writing to you while she plays the piano downstairs, a terrible, haunting song she wrote herself. At least she has her music to keep her busy.