The Grieving Stones Page 5

  “Tony was a strong man. I liked that strength – I always have done. What I didn’t realise until it was too late was that sometimes his strength turned into something else. Something toxic. It didn’t happen often, just a few times. Every few years he’d buckle under the strain of life and hit me. He was always so sorry afterwards – couldn’t do enough to try and make it up to me – and stupid cow that I am, I always believed him when he said it would never happen again. I’m such a fucking cliché.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s a common reaction. We always want to believe the best of the people we love, and we always think we can save them.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t quite like that. It wasn’t that simple. You see, I always felt that he was the one who could save me. His strength, his temper…I liked it, apart from those few times when it became a negative energy. Most of the time he used his darkness to push himself forward in life, but in a situation like that you’re always going to have a few problems.” She laughed, barely able to believe that she was still making excuses for him. “In the years before he died, it got worse. I think I knew what was coming. That day, when I came home and found him hanging from a makeshift noose in the guest room, I didn’t feel shocked when I saw him there.” She stopped. Could she go on with this?

  “What did you feel?”

  “Relief, I suppose.” There, it was out. She’d said it, and, amazingly, Clive didn’t seem to be judging her.

  “Really, that’s an understandable reaction. It’s a very human reaction.”

  “I haven’t grieved properly because I’ve felt so ashamed for feeling relieved about his death. I haven’t allowed myself to grieve properly. I hold it all in, choke it down, swallow it. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.” Her eyes were wet; she was looking at him through a fine mist.

  “It’s okay.” He stepped forward now, and took her hands, squeezing them gently. “This is good. It’s a first step. You’ve done all the hard work now, and you didn’t even have to go through it in a group situation. I think you were ready to tell someone about this.”

  “There’s more,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready to tell it all.”

  His smile was so open and understanding that it was almost holy, something from a biblical fresco. She half expected it to bleed light. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to rush. It will all come out when it’s ready – when you’re ready. I’m here whenever you need me.”

  I can still see you. I can always see you.

  But, no, he hadn’t said that. It was all in her head. Those words had belonged to Tony; his catchphrase, a funny line when he covered his eyes. This man wasn’t an abuser; he was here to help her, and to allow her to help herself.

  “Thank you,” she said, and she meant it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By the time they got back to the house dusk was falling, filling the nooks and crannies of the day with a light grey dust that swallowed the light.

  “I hope they managed to get some food together. I’m starving.” Clive walked ahead and opened the door.

  “Me, too,” she said to his back. There was a sharp tightness in her stomach, and a roiling sensation close to her crotch. She hadn’t felt this hungry in a long time. After Tony’s death, she would often deprive herself of food as a form of punishment. She had lost a lot of weight, but it felt good to be in control of her body. She could pretend that she was strong, and that she was in control of everything else, too. This illusion of control helped her to cope. If she focused on it, she could ignore the shadows at the edge of her world, the ones that kept trying to creep slowly towards her. One of those shadows, she knew, had Tony’s face. Its hands were covering its eyes, but it could still see her.

  Always, she thought.

  There was music playing. Moira and Steve were dancing clumsily in the middle of the room. Jake was smiling at them from an armchair. “We got bored,” he said, as if that explained the strange scene.

  The cottage was tidier than it had been when they first arrived. Alice assumed they must have started work, clearing up a little bit before dinner. They’d done a good job; despite still being cluttered, the house felt more spacious, as if previously hidden corners had been exposed and it was being allowed to breathe.

  Clive didn’t seem to notice. “Did you manage to prepare anything to eat?”

  “Yes,” said Moira, giggling and breaking away from her dance partner. “There’s a huge pan of pasta with a spicy sauce. We’ve been waiting for you to get back. Didn’t want to start without you.”

  Steve wandered over to the other side of the room and picked up his iPad. He switched off the music. “Intermittent 4G access to the Internet,” he said, “But I have music downloaded and the electricity is running.”

  “Let’s eat,” said Clive, moving towards the kitchen.

  The dining table was set for five, with four bottles of red wine as a centrepiece. “I see you have your priorities right,” said Alice. “I could murder a drink.”

  Smiling, Jake grabbed an open bottle and filled a glass. Handing it to her, he smiled even wider, like a child begging for praise.

  “Thanks,” she said, raising her glass, and then she took a sip. It was decent stuff; strong and fruity.

  They all sat down. Clive poured himself a glass; the others already had theirs. Steve waved his hand over his half-filled glass and shook his head. “I’m not a big drinker.”

  “I’ll be mum,” said Jake, and stood again, moving towards the stove and the large pan that was resting there. “We had a few problems trying to get the cooker lit, but we got there in the end.” He brought the pan to the table and served using a huge soup ladle.

  “Enjoy,” said Moira as they began to eat without ceremony.

  The pasta was overcooked; the sauce was too spicy. But once she started to eat, Alice realised just how hungry she was. It was as if she had not eaten in weeks. Her stomach threatened to cramp as the food slid inside it. She finished one bowl quickly and asked for another.

  “Of course,” said Jake, eager to serve her again.

  Apart from Steve, they drank quickly, as if they were all racing to be intoxicated. There was a strange atmosphere in the room, an edge that hadn’t been there earlier. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, just unreadable. Alice wasn’t sure if she and Clive had just missed some kind of conflict when they arrived, or if it was a simple case of them being talked about while they were gone. She didn’t care. Let them gossip. It was clear that she was Clive’s favourite, but she had little inclination to confront the issue. It didn’t matter; nothing did. The longer she spent in and around Grief House, the more comfortable she felt, and the better she understood that this place was starting to feel like home.

  Home…

  Now where had that thought come from? Alice had not felt at home anywhere in her life, even in the house in which she had been raised by her parents. She’d spent years after leaving the family home just drifting from one rented room to the next, or sleeping on friends’ sofas. Nothing had seemed permanent back then. She thought that might be the reason why she’d been so reluctant to give up on Tony. He had offered her the only sense of belonging she’d ever known. For a long time, he’d been her home. But then that supposed haven had fallen down around her, and she’d been glad to see it demolished.

  Yet things were different here, in Grief House. She hadn’t been here long, but the place was sinking its teeth into her. From the moment she’d first laid eyes on the old building, she’d known that she was welcome here. She had no idea why she’d felt that way; it was just something that happened. She came, she saw, she felt at ease – perhaps if she stayed here long enough she might even begin to feel at peace.

  Home, she thought again. Could it really be so simple? Is that what I’ve been missing all this time, a home, somewhere I might belong?

  Soon they were finished eating. The pasta pan was empty; all the crusty bread had been devoured. Outside the windows, darkness had
crept across the land, enveloping the house. The lights inside were low. Rather than creating a creepy ambience, however, the poor light made Alice feel even more comfortable within her surroundings.

  “I’ll wash up,” she said. Standing, she started to clear the table.

  “I’ll help,” said Moira. “After all, the boys did the cooking.”

  Clive made no move to join them. He followed the other two men into the main room when they stood up, drifting ghost-like through the door. Alice thought he might be deliberately leaving the two women to talk and get to know each other a little better.

  The old-fashioned Belfast sink was huge and deep. When Alice ran the hot tap, it took a long time for the water to run even slightly warm. The pipes gurgled and knocked against the walls. She smiled. The house was speaking to her.

  She didn’t say anything to Moira and the other woman seemed to pick up on her mood. They worked in silence for a while, Alice washed and Moira dried, until Moira decided to speak. “Did you have a nice chat with Clive? Earlier, I mean, when you were out exploring.”

  Alice stopped washing and glanced at the other woman. “I suppose. He’s a nice guy. He tries his best to help.”

  Moira smiled, but there was something underneath the expression; a sad bitterness. “Yes, he does. He tries so very hard.” She finished drying the plate she was holding and put it down on the side. “Let’s hope this weekend helps us all.” Her smile was hollow. Whatever had been behind it was now gone, replaced by a gap.

  Alice pulled the plug and listened to the water as it drained out of the sink, into the pipes and out into whatever primitive drainage system the house had been fitted with. She imagined old pipes under the ground, cracked and covered with mould. That was all people could ever do: imagine what was underneath. Even when things were uncovered, they changed by the very nature of their excavation, mutating as they passed from a buried state to that of exposure.

  “Be careful.”

  She wasn’t sure that she’d heard Moira correctly, so asked her to repeat what she’d said.

  “With Clive. Be careful… just watch yourself.” Then the smile slid back into place – the smile with nothing underneath.

  “What do you mean? I’m not sure I follow you.” Had it been meant as a warning… or a threat? Was she jealous?

  “Oh, don’t mind me.” Moira rubbed her hands on the tea towel, her movements more vigorous than necessary. “I’m just babbling… too much wine, I’m afraid.” Her other smile had returned, the one with something unreadable lurking under the surface.

  “No… tell me what you mean.”

  Moira shook her head. “I don’t know what I mean. I feel a bit tipsy. I’m not used to drinking, you see.” She put down the tea towel and moved away, smoothing down the front of her skirt with steady hands. “Let’s go and join the others,” she said, before hurrying out of the room.

  Alice rinsed out the sink, rubbed down the draining board, and stood staring out of the window above the sink. It was pitch-dark out there; the world was hiding behind a sheet of black. She stared at the glass as if it were a mirror, and her own pale face stared back at her. She looked into her eyes, wondering if her own secrets could be seen moving behind them, writhing like maggots gorged on rotten meat.

  Behind her, she glimpsed movement reflected in the black glass. She shifted her gaze and expected to see Moira coming back into the kitchen, but the woman wasn’t there. Somebody else was standing in the doorway, a person who did not seem to have a face.

  Alice knew that she should simply turn around and speak to whoever it was – probably one of the guys, their features erased by a trick of the night-blackened glass – but for some reason she didn’t want to do so. She wasn’t afraid, not entirely; the feeling she had was one of sadness rather than fear. She stared at the figure, waiting for it to move. The figure remained still.

  “Hello,” she said.

  The figure slowly began to turn.

  “No, wait.” She had no idea who this was, but she was certain it wasn’t one of her companions. They were all in the other room; she could hear them talking softly.

  The figure was turning more slowly than was natural, like film footage slowed down to half speed. Alice realised then that what she was seeing was the back of the figure’s head. That was why it had no face: it had entered the room backwards.

  How strange…why would anyone do such a thing?

  The figure continued to turn. Before long, she would see its reflected face.

  “Hello,” she said again, but quietly. She didn’t want to scare it away.

  When the figure turned all the way around, Alice was once again looking at the back of a head. She was confused; her senses seemed to have tilted, as if she were experiencing some kind of motion sickness.

  The figure backed slowly out of the room. Its movements were jerky, giving the impression that this was a projected image rather than something that was actually, physically there. Alice grabbed the edge of the sink, and then she spun around.

  The doorway was empty. There was nobody there.

  Still she did not feel afraid. Instead, she felt disappointed. She had wanted to communicate with whoever had been standing in the doorway – the figure without a face, whichever side of its head was turned towards you.

  She walked out of the room to join the others, wishing that none of them were here, that she was all alone in this house of wonders. Maybe then whatever resident she had almost seen would reveal itself to her, and she could talk with it about what was only just starting to happen to her in Grief House.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “My son died of a brain aneurysm. It was very sudden. He wasn’t even ill before he left us. But you all know that anyway.” Moira’s eyes were filled with tears but she battled gamely to keep them inside. “It ruined my marriage, of course. Lenny – that was my husband – he couldn’t cope with the loss. He started to drink heavily, and then he began to spend a lot of money on gambling and prostitutes. Then drugs. The last I heard, he was hooked on heroin and living in some squalid little squat. The stupid, stupid man…”

  Alice wriggled on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. Moira had never said anything about her husband’s reaction to their son’s death before. It had been something she’d withheld during normal group sessions, focusing instead on how the situation had affected her.

  “I’m not sure how I managed to keep it all together, to be honest. I didn’t start drinking, didn’t take a lover…I just kept soldiering on, as my old mother used to say. That’s all any of us can do, isn’t it? Soldier on.” She looked around the room, at each of their faces, hoping for an affirmation.

  “Yes,” said Jake, taking the bait. “Of course…what else can we do?”

  Moira talked for the best part of an hour. She’d taken over the conversation and the others had allowed her to run with it. Alice was tired; she suspected the others were too. They would all get their chance to speak, but it was probably better that Moira got it over with first. That way, they could front-load her with sympathy in the hope that it would satisfy her for at least a little while.

  She knew it wasn’t a nice way to think of the woman, but the more time she spent with Moira, the less time she wanted to be with her.

  Finally, Moira’s dam burst and the tears began to roll. Steve put down his iPad and sat down next to her. She slid into his arms, her face pressing against his chest. He stroked her hair. “It’s okay,” he said. He glanced at Alice. His face was blank, showing no expression, not giving anything away regarding how he felt towards any of them.

  “Well,” said Clive. “I think that’s about it for the first night. Well done, everyone. Good work.”

  Alice yawned without being able to control it. “Sorry,” she said.

  “No, I’m sure we’re all tired.” Clive reached out and squeezed her forearm.

  When she glanced over at Steve, he was glaring at her as if she’d done something unforgivable. She didn’t understand; she h
ad not meant to offend anyone. “Sorry,” she said again.

  Steve looked away. His face relaxed. Had she misread him in some way? There was no reason for him to be annoyed with her.

  “Would anyone like another drink?” Jake was holding up a wine bottle, offering it left to right.

  “No thanks,” said Clive. Steve said nothing. Moira continued to weep, but silently.

  “Yeah, why not.” Alice made to stand but Jake was already on his feet and pouring her a glass. “Cheers,” she said.

  “I think I’ll visit the little boys’ room and then call it a night,” said Clive, standing. His long, lean body cast a thin shadow as he tottered across the room, slightly drunk. “We have an early start tomorrow… lots of work to do.” He was speaking quietly, talking more to himself than to the others.

  “Yes,” said Moira, taking the hint and pulling reluctantly away from Steve. Her cheeks were shiny. “I should hit the hay as well. Thank you, everyone.” She stood and smoothed down her skirt, smiled shyly, then headed for the door that led to the rickety stairs.

  “I think I’ll turn in, too.” Steve stood without making eye contact. He left the room and shut the door quietly.

  “Just us, then.” Jake sounded delighted.

  Shit, thought Alice. This is all I need. She hoped he wouldn’t make a drunken pass at her. That would make things awkward for the rest of the weekend. She hadn’t given out any signals that she was even remotely interested, but a man like Jake – confused, insecure – might not concern himself with such minor details and plough on anyway, hoping for the best.

  “I’ll just finish this then go up,” she said.

  Jake stood and crossed the room, sitting down heavily beside her. He was too close; his thighs brushed against hers. She shifted sideways, pressing herself up against the arm of the sofa, but he didn’t get the message and moved with her, maintaining the contact.

  “So,” she said. “That Moira, eh? She’s been through the wringer.”