Eloise (24 page)

And with that, he stormed off to bed.

I lay awake in the narrow bed of my little writing house. There was a full moon, and I left the curtains open to watch it. The soft silver light was so beautiful, illuminating my little desk by the window, reminding me, but gently, of the dreams I had had of writing novels, and the hours I’d spent with Eloise talking about Daphne du Maurier. The wind was up again, but it didn’t sound threatening like last night. It sang a lullaby to which I gradually succumbed.

‘Aah, you remember those times, don’t you, Cathy? When we would sit here, just the two of us, drinking wine, talking
about our favourite books, and how we both longed to write a novel? Well, you will, Cath. When all of this is over, you will.’

I smiled in my sleep. Lovely, soft Eloise. How could I ever have thought her threatening?

‘And you’re on my side now, Cathy. You have lost your fear. And that gives me strength. When you meet Jack, everything will become clear. And after you have helped me, I can rest. And you can rest as well. Don’t worry about Chris. He loves you, truly loves you. You are so blessed. Everything will be fine, my dear, dear friend. We will both be happy. Believe me, Cath.’

I woke up, still in a dreamy frame of mind. I couldn’t face Chris just yet, so I decided to have breakfast at the beach café and wandered down the lane to the sea. Although it was early, there were already families on the sands. I sat at one of the wooden tables outside, and ordered tea and a bacon sandwich. I watched the little ones with amused affection, lost in hazy memories of early motherhood, wishing they were my babies splashing around in the tranquil surf, and that Chris and I had no more complicated a relationship than that of loving parents, trying to do our best for our gorgeous children.

A shadow came between the sun and me. I looked up; a tall, thin figure dressed in black was already seating himself at my table. Father Pete. I felt enormously embarrassed.

He smiled at me. ‘Hello, Cathy. How are you?’

I laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, you know, Father. Mad.’

Now he frowned. ‘Don’t say that. It’s not true. You shouldn’t keep putting yourself down.’

I sighed. ‘Well, if I’m not mad, what on earth explains my behaviour the night before last? Hysteria?’

‘You were obviously overwrought, but the mistake was mine for misjudging the situation.’

‘Meaning that you hadn’t realised quite how batty I was when you suggested the exorcism?’

‘No, I don’t mean that at all. What I think is that I was too quick to dismiss your initial concerns about Eloise. I’m a priest, Cathy, and sometimes we get things wrong. I’ve held services of Deliverance before, and they can be astonishingly effective. But that’s because the person I’m trying to help genuinely believes they are possessed by evil. And you don’t. Your motive in trying to help Eloise is totally Christian. You want to intervene in a situation which, however unlikely, you yourself, not just your friend, believe poses a genuine threat to her children. Now, because Eloise has passed on, nobody believes you. Especially given your recent medical history. But I see a deep sensitivity in you. A rare intuition. And I don’t think you’re mad at all. But because you feel things so much more deeply than most of us, sometimes it’s more than your mind can take.’

He took my hand and looked into my eyes. ‘I think you are someone very special. Someone with a unique degree of empathy, which sometimes makes you suffer. And you need support, not judgement; certainly not condemnation.’

‘Thanks, Pete. But, you know, welcome as your support is, and I mean no disrespect, the fact that my husband is so completely pissed off with me that he’s talking about getting a divorce means that my life, because of all this, is ruined. But that’s why I agreed to the exorcism. I thought it would get rid of the haunting and let me find happiness with Chris again.’

‘Would you like me to talk to him?’

Good heavens no, I thought. If the priest talked to Chris I knew there would be carnage.

‘Pete, you are very kind. But I’m afraid it’s gone beyond that. Chris thinks I’m potty, and a disgrace to him and our children. With the best will in the world, you aren’t going to persuade him I’m sane by telling him I have Christian values.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘No, of course I see that. Well, I won’t approach Chris. But I want you to know that I’m on your side. I made a mistake the other night, and you may need my help. Please call me if you need me.’

He got up and walked back up the hill to the church. I did feel grateful, although I was sceptical that anything Pete could do would help me in Eloise’s vast enterprise. Because
I now had a glimpse of the scale of it. And it was daunting beyond belief.

Now I had to decide what to do next. I longed to see Chris, my old Chris, the Chris who would cuddle me, take me to bed, reassure me that I was great, that I was pretty and desirable. I hadn’t felt either for ages. When you’re depressed, the first thing you lose is self-esteem. Anyway, it was obvious I wasn’t going to get any comfort from Chris, so I decided to call a cab to take me out to Bodmin Moor.

As soon as I got back to the cottage, I realised how futile this was. Where would I go on the moor? Ask the driver to take me on a tourist excursion? Ridiculous. I opened the kitchen door, dreading seeing Chris. He was there, lounging on our little yellow sofa, reading the papers. I cringed, expecting the inevitable verbal assault. But to my amazement, he looked up from the
Telegraph
and smiled. For the first time in what felt like weeks, my husband smiled at me.

‘Hello,’ he said, almost shyly. ‘Would you like to go out to lunch?’

‘Why?’ I asked, stupidly.

‘Because it’s nearly lunchtime, and you must be hungry. You didn’t eat last night.’

‘I had a bacon sandwich at the beach earlier.’

‘Even so. Let’s go out. Just the two of us. We need to talk.’

‘That’s not what you said last night.’

‘I know, but I was tired and angry. I bitterly regret what I said.’

No apology, though, I thought bitterly. Then I caught myself. He was in a conciliatory mood. Don’t poison it, you stupid woman, I told myself. Take him at face value. For now.

We drove to our local pub, the Jubilee Inn in Pelynt. Thank God it was a short drive, not much more than five minutes from our cottage. Even so, it was an awkward journey, both of us anxious to avoid the subject of Eloise. Instead we talked disjointedly about the children, about Tom and how well he’d settled down at university, about the good results we expected from Evie’s GCSEs. But the tension in the car was palpable, stifling, and it was a miserable drive. We were both unhappy, unsure about where we stood. Our communication was brittle, of course it was. We hardly knew each other at the moment. He was worried about his career, the book he was so behind in writing, and, above all, his marriage, probably wondering if he was now no longer in love with his wife. I knew I was still in love with my husband, but I was likely to lose him because of my devouring interest in a ghost, and I was still angry with him for drugging me, for talking about divorce.

When we got to the pub, we sat outside in the garden. Chris ordered a crab sandwich, but I went for comfort
food: scampi and chips. After we ordered, the waitress brought us some wine. When she’d gone, Chris raised his glass to me.

‘To us,’ he said, with yet another smile.

I was astonished. Where had all this bonhomie come from? I awkwardly toasted him back, then said, ‘Chris, I’m sorry, but I really don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me today. I mean, last night you were … ’ I trailed off.

‘Horrible?’ he suggested. I just nodded.

‘I know, Cathy. I’m sorry. Like I said, I was very angry, but I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Sam really told me off over supper in Polperro. At first I was furious with him, too, but after we got back and you’d gone to sleep in the cabin, I began to think about what he said.’

I felt enormous relief sweep over me. Sam clearly hadn’t told Chris he was ashamed of me, then.

Chris continued. ‘When I was in bed, I started to think of everything you’ve been through. And how I, of all people, a practicing psychiatrist, should know about that. I deal with people like you all the time. And to them, I’m sympathetic and non-judgmental. How appalling that I should be so much less of a rock, for you, my wife, than I am for them.’ He paused. ‘Actually, it was Sam who said that to me. And I feel really ashamed. I’m sorry, Cath.’

I held my breath. I tried to think of something nice to say
to him, but I felt nothing but confusion – and, yes, apprehension. I didn’t know what was coming next.

‘And now you’ve told me you no longer think Eloise is haunting you, and you realise how deluded you’ve been all these months, then I think, I really do think there’s a good chance I can make you better. Of course it will take time, but once you’re away from here and back in London we can get really stuck into some excellent therapy. Just as long as you truly know there’s no such thing as ghosts. I can’t be doing with that again.’

My mind was racing. Of course I’d lied to him that I was free of Eloise, but something much more threatening was contained in his words.

‘Thank you for saying that, Chris. I know this has been hard for you. And you’re right.’ I forced myself to chuckle. ‘I won’t be seeing any more ghosts. But I hope you don’t mean we need to go back to London straightaway?’

‘Well, not immediately. Tom and Eve are coming down tomorrow, and I know they’re looking forward to a long weekend. But after that, I see no reason why we shouldn’t all go back together. We’ll shut the cottage up for the summer, and then I think we should put it on the market.’

Sell our little house? Take me away from Talland Bay for ever? No, I would never let that happen. Chris was looking at me.

‘Cathy, I know you don’t want to leave Cornwall. But honestly, there’s no other choice. This place is bad for you. I’ve always thought your fascination with mysticism made you vulnerable, and since we’ve been spending so much time down here, it’s become an obsession. I need to get you back to the land of the living, to the practical day-to-day stuff of running a home, taking care of the kids, and getting a job again. I can’t do that while you’re spending so much time down here, so I’m going to have to insist we put this place, beautiful as it is, behind us.’

Here it was. The ultimatum I had known was coming. It was absurd, though. I knew I would never leave Cornwall. But I had to be cunning. I needed to buy time to talk to Jack and keep Eloise’s children safe.

I pretended to be deep in thought. Then I said, ‘All right, Chris. I’m sure you’re right. We’ll go back to London sometime next week.’

I was crossing my fingers behind my back. Childish and wrong, I know, but there was no way in the world that I was abandoning Cornwall, no way in the world I would let down Eloise.

That night we shared a bedroom again. But nothing else. Although he did put his arms around me after we’d gone to bed, I couldn’t bear it. We were so far apart, it was like hugging a stranger. I murmured that I was too tired, the age-old
excuse, and with an annoyed grunt he accepted it, turned over and went to sleep.

I tried to relax, but knew everything was coming to a head. I could feel it. I was glad my family was here, but I had less than a week to sort this out. In a few days, Eloise’s battle would be fought.

On Saturday, Juliana called. ‘Jack’s here,’ she said happily. ‘He’s anxious to meet Eloise’s friends. So what about lunch sometime soon?’

‘Here, tomorrow. Sunday lunch. You’ve cooked for us far too often lately.’

‘Darling,’ she laughed. ‘You know I can’t cook. It’s not me that does the kitchen slavery bit.’

‘I know, but please come here. I can’t promise you Heston Blumenthal, but I’ll do my best to produce a decent roast.’

‘Is it OK if I bring Arthur as well as Jack? He’s awfully keen to see Evie.’

‘Juliana, if you didn’t bring Arthur, Evie would hyperventilate. Suffice it to say there would be no joy at our table tomorrow.’

‘Great. We’ll see you at around one tomorrow.’