Miriam's Talisman (12 page)

‘Chloe?' It was a whisper.

At first I thought it was his voice. Then I realised Paul was nudging my side. Someone was holding a trowel towards me and it was my turn to scatter the earth. I looked up again and he was gone.

It was when we were walking away from the grave that it happened. Just a slight ripple in the air, the gentlest of breezes. Not enough to stir the trees or set the roses nodding upon their stems. But enough to lift one end of a scarf and toss it over my shoulder. Enough to let it slip from my neck and allow the sunlight to glance off the twisted knot of silver. It was at that precise moment that Hannah turned and I saw the fractured beam of light dazzle her eye.

‘Oh, no.' It was barely a whisper, and her clutching fingers twisted the sleeve of David's coat.

For the second time that day her face distorted in fear. Only this time it was more than fear—it was despair. It was useless to pretend I didn't know what was wrong. My hand rose to cover the talisman.

‘No, not you, Chloe. Not you, too.' Her voice cracked in her throat. ‘Why? Why did you take it?'

‘She gave it to me,' I whispered. It was the only defence I had to offer.

‘Take it off.' She stumbled towards me, her hand still wrenching at David's sleeve. ‘Take that thing off your neck!'

Her voice rose to a scream as she lunged toward me, grabbing at my throat. David threw his arms around her and they both stumbled to the ground. At the same time I felt Paul spin me around, coming between us. I lost my balance and crashed against a headstone, scraping skin from my hand and smearing the grave with blood. Hannah
was still on the ground, trying to scramble towards me. Her tights were ripped at the knees and there was mud on her skirt.

‘Make her take it off. Please, David, Paul. Make her take it off!'

Paul and David exchanged looks. No, this could not be Hannah, sobbing and hysterical. The mourners making their way ahead of us had reached the line of waiting cars and were turning to witness the cause of the disturbance. A few came running back to help David drag Hannah to her feet.

And then David was guiding Hannah into a car; someone else followed behind carrying her bag and one of the black gloves.

Paul's arms were around me, trying to stop me from shaking. ‘What the hell was all that about?'

‘I don't know. I've no idea.' I knew I was lying.

‘Let me see that hand. That's a nasty graze. I think we'd better put something on it. Let's get you back to the cottage. Poor little Rabbit, you're trembling. Think you can walk to the car?'

‘Yes, of course.'

Paul fended off further offers of assistance, and as we reached the pathway he half-lifted me into the back seat of the car, closed the door and climbed in the other side. As we swung through the cemetery gates, I looked back at the freshly covered grave.

In the shadowed foliage of a nearby tree, a heavy branch dipped and swayed.

‘O
UCH
!' M
Y
hand pulled itself away.

‘Look, it wouldn't hurt so much if you'd stop bobbing about.'

I was perched on the edge of the bath while Paul attempted to clean up my bruised and battered skin. We had found a curled-up tube of antiseptic cream and a few wrinkled plasters at the back of a cupboard. Naturally, Miriam's home wouldn't contain anything so useful as a first-aid box.

‘Well, as family funerals go, that one was certainly unique.' It was the first comment Paul had made.

‘Didn't you think the service was beautiful?'

‘Hmm, can't say I understood much of it. The music was nice, I suppose.'

‘There was an air of celebration about it. I was dreading it beforehand. I thought it would be morbid and depressing, but I didn't even feel sad. In fact I came away feeling a sort of completeness, as if everything had come full circle.'

Yes, I know that sounds like a load of psycho-twaddle—I can see that now—but I did talk like that sometimes in the old days…well, a few weeks ago.

‘They say a funeral should be satisfying, that you should feel a sense of accomplishment. After all it's a ritual. That's what rituals are for, you know, to help the social group adjust to change. It's designed to bring about a psychological readjustment.'

‘You know you're sounding just like Miriam.'

‘No, seriously, a funeral is a process. It's a way of saying goodbye, of letting go.'

‘And have you?' Paul stopped dabbing at my hand and looked directly into my eyes.

‘Have I what?'

‘Let go of Miriam. Oh, look, I'm sorry. I know it's been a bad time for you, and I'm trying to be as patient as I can. But don't forget that I need you too. I'm almost ashamed to say this, but I keep thinking that maybe now I can have you all to myself instead of having to share you with your grandmother.'

It was then that I realised how forlorn Paul seemed. Perhaps he always looked like that and I'd got so used to it that I hadn't noticed. I saw the ash-golden hair falling in a mop over his forehead, the pale, clear blue of his eyes reflecting my face. I knew the smile that twitched along the edge of his mouth, his lips full and pouting, like a lost little boy. I realised that it had been a long time since we had kissed, not since before the evening Miriam was taken to the hospital. I was suddenly aware of how much I needed physical closeness.

‘Of course, Paul, you can have me all to yourself, any time you like.'

I slid my free hand inside his jacket, pulling myself up close towards him. I could feel the warmth of his body, the muscles of his back taut against his shirt.

‘Hey, Chloe, what do you think you're doing?'

‘I'm giving you all my attention. That's what you wanted, isn't it?'

‘Well, yes, but not right now.' His voice was soft, teasing, but his arm tensed as he held me away from him, stumbling against the hand basin. ‘And certainly not here.'

I could sense that energy again, as if the air were charged. I felt high on it, my head light and buzzing.

‘The bedroom's there, just across the landing.' I was pulling him toward the open doorway.

‘Chloe, stop this.' He was laughing, but it was a nervous, confused laugh, as if I were something unknown, something he didn't know how to deal with.

‘Oh, come on, it could be fun.'

But he caught my wrist, holding me in check. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?' There was a sudden edge of irritation to his voice. ‘Look, Chloe, this isn't funny. We're at a funeral. There are guests downstairs.'

A door banged somewhere. There was a clinking of china and voices drifted up from the floor below. He was right, of course. I suddenly felt very foolish and blood rushed hot in my face. I stammered words of apology. For a moment he seemed even more confused. Then everything was all right again. This time it was Paul who was hugging me.

‘It's OK, Rabbit. I appreciate the thought, but your timing's way out. Save it all up for later, hey? There's my girl.' Paul was in charge again, holding me, stroking my back. ‘Look, it's nearly all over now. We'll just survive the rest of today, then we can get back to some sort of normality. Don't worry now, everything's going to be just like it was before.'

There it was again, that sensation of drowning. The tap dripped steadily. My face was pressing against his shirt and I noticed that a button was hanging by a thread. Paul needed a wife and I was being dragged down into the undertow and I didn't know how to save myself. Then he was speaking again.

‘That business with Hannah? What was it all about?'

‘Me looking like Miriam you mean?'

‘Well, yes, but I was thinking more about that outburst of hysterics at the cemetery.'

‘I think losing her mother has hit her harder than I expected. When we were outside looking at the flowers, she got really upset and angry. And I hadn't even mentioned any birds.'

‘Birds?'

‘Yes, she's got a thing about them. Sort of a phobia, I suppose. Only times I've ever seen her afraid are when a bird was in the house. Sometimes a sparrow would fly in through the kitchen window, and she'd sort of freeze in a corner and cover her face while David and I chased it out. She can't stand touching feathers, either.'

‘That's not uncommon. Ornithophobia I think it's called. But that scene at the cemetery, that wasn't about birds. What upset her that time?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Oh, I think you do. It was something to do with that necklace you're wearing, wasn't it? That's what she was getting upset about. Some dark family secret, hey? Skeletons rattling in the ancestral closet? Look, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I think you should take it off. If it's going to upset people like that it would be better if you stopped wearing it.'

I pushed myself away from him, putting space between us. He had to see my face so that he would understand.

I said only one word.

‘No.'

It hovered in mid-air, suspended between us, like some fragile crystal globe, and we both were silent, knowing it would shatter if either of us dared to touch it.

After a while he said, ‘Look, I think we should ring David and make sure Hannah's calmed down. Would you like me to do it? Might make it easier.'

‘Oh, would you? You're an angel, Paul. I don't know what I'd do without you.' Yes, what would I do without him? ‘I know I'm being a real pain at the moment.'

‘Yes, well…But right now there's a room full of people down there, and, without Hannah around, you're going to have to play hostess.'

‘Oh, God, yes. I'd almost forgotten. I suppose I'd better go down and face them.'

‘Do you feel up to it?'

I thought for a moment and was startled by the realisation. Yes, I did feel up to it. And, what's more, I was actually eager to get on with it. For the first time it dawned on me that this was my house and those people were my guests, not Hannah's, or David's. As I untangled myself from Paul, I pulled the loose button away from his shirt. Then I turned to the mirror, smoothing my hair into place.

‘Yes, of course. I'll be fine. You go and make that phone call and I'll see you downstairs.'

‘You look very different, you know, with your hair like that.'

‘Do you like it?'

‘I'm not sure. It doesn't look like you somehow.' ‘Oh, but it does. It looks exactly like me.' And then I left the room. Halfway down the stairs I realised I still had Paul's shirt button in my hand. After a moment's hesitation, I tossed it out of the landing window.

I felt very brave until I tried to enter the room and found it blocked with faces. People had gathered in small, disconnected groups, not knowing quite what to do or how they should behave. Others were still arriving from the cemetery. There were discreet salutations. Occasionally a normal conversation would break out above the muted discourse, only to be swallowed up in an embarrassed hush.

I was highly skilled at avoiding social gatherings: it was one of the reasons Paul called me Rabbit. My usual tactic on such occasions was to take refuge in the kitchen and pretend to be helping with the dishes. The atmosphere in the cottage was uncomfortable and so was I, but it was down to me to change it. The wine might help to relax people, I thought. I took a deep breath and snatched a bottle from a disconcerted waitress.

‘There you are, Miriam,' I whispered, ‘a good, full-bodied red as instructed. A libation fit to honour a noble warrior.'

I approached a small group of men who were talking earnestly, their grey heads bent close together. ‘Let me refill your glasses, gentlemen. This was one of Miriam's favourites. She would want us to enjoy it.' I smiled, which gave them permission to smile in return. I left them discussing the vineyards of Bordeaux and holding their
glasses towards the light. Yes, that's how she would have done it, I thought and moved on to another group.

Before long I became aware of the hum of conversation rising, a ripple of laughter, then another. I tipped the bottle, draining it into a glass and the last drops trickled down the side, dripping onto the floor. I touched the hand that held the glass, reassuring the woman, and we laughed together, both apologising. I fetched another bottle and moved on to interlace with the next conversational knot.

I found myself laughing a lot, mostly with astonishment. I was actually enjoying myself, in the most literal sense: I was enjoying my
self
, discovering the pleasure of moving, acting, speaking, causing others to react to my presence. Nothing like the little Rabbit who crouched in a corner, hoping the rest of the party wouldn't notice her. Somehow I had become…what was it? Capable? Confident? Liberated? Yes, that was how I felt. Liberated.

Yet, all the while, there was a strange sensation of detachment, as if I were an observer witnessing my own participation. I felt distanced from the crowd, and from myself also, as if none of this were real, as if we were mere images projected onto a three-dimensional screen.