The Well (7 page)

Sammy shook her head. “Can I have some milk, Mummy? And biscuits?”

Abby sat Sammy on the kitchen table while she poured them both a glass of milk. She grabbed a packet of biscuits from the cupboard. “Come on, Sam,” she said, “let’s go and snuggle up on the sofa.”

They sat for a while in silence, drinking milk and munching biscuits. After a while, Abby asked, “Are you alright now?”

A darkness flashed across Sammy’s face, but she nodded and smiled. “Can we stay up a bit longer, please?” Abby kissed Sammy’s nose. “Sure. Why not? You still a bit scared?”

Sammy nodded. “I know it’s not real, but it
felt
real,” she offered. There was a pause and Abby let her daughter continue.

“I was stuck in a dark place. It was cold and wet. And small.” Sammy was struggling to remember now, her forehead furrowed. “I was me and I was someone else, both at the same time. Like I could see this other girl, but she was me. Sorry, Mummy, I know it sounds silly.”

“It’s a dream,” said Abby. “Silly things happen in dreams, but they seem real at the time.” Sammy nodded but didn’t look convinced.

“I was scared,” she continued. “I tried to climb out but I couldn’t. And there was someone else there. But I couldn’t see him. But I knew it was a boy because –”

Sammy halted, partly because she didn’t quite understand how she knew it was a boy, but partly because she felt that her –
the other her
– and the boy had wanted to do
something dirty
. Something she didn’t want to tell her mother about. She flushed and Abby let it pass.

“It was a horrible place.” Abby felt Sammy shudder. She gave her a comforting squeeze. “But I knew it was going to get badder – really bad, I mean. I think there was
someone else
there, not just the boy. Someone
very bad
. I don’t think the other me knew about it, but me, the me-me, I did. It scared me too. A lot.” Sammy burst into tears again and Abby pulled her closer, gently rocking her back and forth.

It disturbed Abby that Sammy, who could normally communicate with a maturity way beyond her years, was talking just like any other eight-year-old.

“It’s OK darling,” said Abby, “It’s OK.” Even as she said it, Abby knew that she was lying and wondered if Sammy could tell. She’d woken, terrified, from exactly the same awful dream, just seconds before Sammy had cried out. But unlike Sammy, Abby knew what the dream meant – and that scared her more than the dream itself.

She cradled Sammy for almost half an hour, until her sobbing ceased and she had drifted off to sleep. Then she carefully picked her up.

She passed Sammy’s bedroom and took her into her own, placing her gently between the sheets of the double bed. She watched for a few moments as Sammy settled down. She was sleeping deeply: a child’s gift for self-preservation that so often eluded adults.

Abby quietly went back to Sammy’s room and grabbed her favourite stuffed doll, Lady Mango (named by Sammy, who insisted that was all the doll ever ate – and that she
was
a
real
lady).

Once she was sure that Sammy wasn’t going to wake, she took her mobile phone from the bedside cabinet and left the room, pulling the door almost, but not quite, closed. She went downstairs and through to the tiny sitting room behind her shop. Sitting on the small couch, she took a deep breath and pressed the first number on her speed-dial list.

A groggy voice answered. “Hello?”

“Helen, it’s Ab.”

“Abby? It’s three-thirty. Please tell me you’re not just feeling randy. Is everything alright?”

Abby hesitated; she didn’t know how to answer.

“Ab, you OK?”

“No, I’m not. Can you come over? I really need to talk. Me and Sam, we – we both just had the same dream.” Abby burst into tears. “My God, Helen, I think – I think it’s happening.”

2

It had been light for less than an hour when Becca woke, with only a vague recollection of having slept. In the depths of the well, the air seemed colder than the day before. She was chilled to the core; even in her sleep she’d been restless and shivery.

Her eyes were much more accustomed to the darkness in the well. Her bottom felt numb and her legs stiff. She shifted her weight a little.

Beside her, Matt was quiet and still. Their hands were still together, though hers were so numb that she couldn’t feel anything properly. She moved her fingers. They felt stiff, bloated and unfeeling; Matt’s hands were cold and unyielding.

She turned to look at him, a warning sounding inside her. His head hung down, unmoving, but he looked peaceful. Even though her vision was improved, his face was still little more than a series of shadows. She looked more carefully, reaching over with her other hand to brush the hair from his eyes. Then she realised what was missing: the gross watery dragging sound of his laboured breathing.

She squeezed his hand, fear rising within her. “Matt?” Nothing: although her own fingers were almost without sensation, she could sense that the way his flesh yielded against her squeeze somehow wasn’t right.

In one quick movement she squatted beside him and, with difficulty, untangled her fingers from his. They were uncooperative in a way that was somehow different from the response of a sleeping hand. She shook him. “Matt!” His head flopped to one side. She put a hand to his cheek, but her own skin was so cold it was hard to discern whether his face was warm or cold.

The panic within her was like a physical pain that took away her breath. Tears were flowing from her eyes. Instinctively, she brushed them away, but her hands, dirty and soaked, made her face wetter than ever.

Her voice was desperate, somewhere between a scream and a gasp. “Matt!” She shook him again, hard. It was like shaking a doll. His reluctant, wobbly movements were just the offbeat echoes of her own frantic shaking.

Her screams descended into broken sobs, repeating his name over and over. An overwhelming mixture of emotions hit her. Loss, grief, love and especially guilt: guilt for being asleep when he died; guilt for pulling him down into the well; guilt for stepping up onto the well wall for a kiss. Just a kiss: that was all she’d intended.

Becca curled up next to Matt and cried as she had never cried before.

3

Outside, the tiny town of Bankside stirred into life. It was still early, but the noise of the occasional passing car reminded Abby that, before long, she’d need to open her shop. Saturday was usually busier than a weekday and it was trade that Abby couldn’t afford to miss.

The sunlight, streaming in between the protective steel bars of the shop’s back room window, promised a warm day ahead. She’d had the bars installed after a break-in six years ago. Nothing had been taken; why would it be? Abby’s shop,
No Stone Unturned,
sold only homeopathic medicines, natural remedies and new-age stuff such as rocks, crystals and folklore books. Whoever broke in was probably expecting to find some kind of drugs, but they’d have been better off burgling the chemist down the road. They’d left the place a mess, yet hadn’t woken Abby, who had been sleeping upstairs with Sammy. Just two at the time, Sammy had still been sharing Abby’s bed. Crime was almost unheard of in the small town, and it shook up Abby enough to have the bars and an alarm installed. Hers was still probably one of the few businesses to have done so.

“More coffee?” asked Helen.

Abby nodded. “Yeah, please.”

They’d be more comfortable in the flat upstairs, but they didn’t want to wake Sammy. Hopefully, when Sammy woke, her dream would have faded. But Abby doubted it.

Abby had slowly retold the dream, visibly shaking, while Helen listened intently. Then she’d described how Sammy had woken, petrified, from the same dream.

Helen was a good listener; it was one of the things that Abby loved about her. She had held Abby’s hand gently, her rich, black skin starkly contrasted against Abby’s pale hand. Helen let Abby speak without interruption and only occasionally questioned her.

The kettle boiled and Helen poured the hot water into two cups. It was their third cup of the night.

The silence between them was as comforting as any hug. They’d been friends for five years; lovers for not much less. Only their equally independent natures (and, of course, the small minds of a small town) stopped them from living together. Abby had slept with only one man – and that was for the sole purpose of having a child. It had been her foretold destiny; something she’d never questioned. Until they’d met, Helen had only ever had relationships with men – and had not once been attracted to women. Both believed that their meeting and subsequent love was, if not fate, then not chance either; they enjoyed an intense closeness to which few relationships could even aspire.

Helen taught history at the local school, but since she taught the older children, her relationship with Abby shouldn’t be an issue for Sammy until she moved up to year seven. (Not that the school could officially say anything: Abby was more worried about the inevitable teasing of other children. Helen wasn’t even worried about that – and had once joked that more people would raise their eyebrows because Abby’s partner was black than because she was a woman.)

Helen sat down beside Abby and offered her a steaming mug. “You OK, Ab?”

Abby nodded. “I think so. But knowing about something, expecting something, it’s different. Different from when it happens. You can only prepare so much. I don’t know how strong I can be.”

Helen pushed Abby’s blonde hair back behind her ears and kissed her. “Strong enough,” she said. Her voice was confident and knowing.

Abby smiled. “Easy for you to say,” she said, without malice.

“All we can do is wait,” said Helen. “We might find out today who’s missing, though we might not. But we will on Monday, once I’m in school. Until then, we’ll just have to listen out. Other than that, what can we do? Carry on as normal.”

Abby nodded.

“It won’t be easy. But I’m here for you,” said Helen. “I should move in for a bit.” It wasn’t a question and Abby didn’t offer any resistance. It made sense.

“This will be hard for Sammy,” said Abby. “She won’t understand; she’s not ready to understand. The dreams will probably get worse.” Abby held back a tear.

“Hey, we don’t know that.” Helen put down her coffee on the table and wrapped her arm around Abby. “And we don’t know how long this will last. It could be over tomorrow.”

“It might, but I don’t think so,” said Abby, shaking her head. “That’s not what it – what it –
felt
like. It’s going to be agony working in the shop today, just waiting.”

“Look Ab,” said Helen firmly. “This is your moment. You have to be strong. You know what depends on it. And you have to pull through, for Sammy. You can’t change any of those things – but you can change what could happen. You. Only you. But I’ll help as much as I can.”

Abby was grateful for Helen’s strength and clear thinking; she drew upon it and calmed herself. “We need to be sure,” she said. “I’m going up there.”

“Oh, no.” Helen smiled. “Think about it. It’s Saturday. Summer. Odds are there will be people at the quarry pool. You’d be seen – and that won’t look great later, will it?”

Abby nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll go tonight. Late.”

“Engage brain, Ab. You need to be here tonight. You have to be here for Sammy.
I’ll go
.”

Abby started to object, but Helen silenced her. “I know what you’re going to say, but this is something I
can
do. Just a quick look, that’s all we need. I’ll go well after midnight. I’ll take my phone. I’ll call you once I’m done and then come straight back here.” She squeezed Abby’s shoulders.

Abby felt both unnerved and unhappy. “I think I might be safe there, Helen. But I’m sure you’re not.”

“I’m not sure anyone’s safe there, but I’ll be safe enough.” Helen’s voice was, as always, calm and confident but in truth, Helen was worried. Something that had been told to her as a story, as little more than a folk tale, was now coming true.
I accepted it as a story
, thought Helen.
Because I never thought it would come true. But if it is true…
She shuddered. Parts of the story deeply unnerved her, however unruffled she might be on the outside.

“I don’t know –” started Abby.

“The fact is, you need to be here. You know it. Let me do this. I can do this.” Helen paused. “You
need
to be with Sammy and you know it.” Her words were direct, but contained no ill feeling. Abby and Helen had only once come close to arguing; they resolved differences with honest discussion.

They held each other’s gaze for almost a minute and, not for the first time, Abby thought that Helen’s deep brown eyes were (with the exception of Sammy, of course) the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Finally, Abby smiled. It was a warm, grateful smile, radiating something she felt deep within her. “I love you,” she said.

Helen smiled back and kissed her. “I know it.”

The door creaked. Standing there, Lady Mango in hand, was Sammy. Her eyes were bleary and unfocused.

Abby and Helen drew apart, but not because they’d been caught out. They didn’t hide their relationship from Sammy. Indeed, they only kept one secret from her – although that was a biggie. It was something they had hoped to keep secret for a few more years, but the next few days would determine that.

“Hey Sams,” said Abby, opening her arms wide.

Sammy wandered over to her mother and sat on her knee. “Hi Mummy,” said Sammy. “Hi Helen.”

“Hi baby,” said Helen, ruffling Sammy’s already tousled hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said. “What’s for breakfast?”

4

“Come on, sleepyhead.”

Jim screwed up his eyes against the late morning sun and groaned. “What time is it?”

“It’s after ten. Come on, let’s get this day on the road. We’ve missed breakfast, we’ll have to get some out.”

Jim sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was surprised to find that he didn’t have a hangover. He didn’t feel terribly bright, though.