‘Yeah. I’ve heard how hard you’ve both been working, and I wanted to come and see how your first day was going.’
Grace flicks the little kettle on the desk on. ‘That’s really nice of you. Has Bea come here with you?’
‘No. She’s had to stay and work.’
There’s a silence, which is softened by the bubbling kettle. Grace glances across at Noel. He has been a part of Grace’s life for as long as she can remember, since those early, bright days that seem so out of reach.
‘How is Bea?’ Grace asks him, busying herself with cups, not really wanting to think about Bea at all, cursing herself for asking.
‘She’s okay.’
And then, because she has had a big day, and because it’s been so long since she has seen him, and just because she wants to, Grace puts the cups down, moves forward and hugs Noel.
A long time ago, the worst time in Grace’s life, a time filled with screams and horror and nightmares and loneliness, Noel made things slightly more bearable for Grace. She was only sixteen then, and full of jagged emotions that made her feel as though she might tear open at any moment. Grace hasn’t hugged Noel for a long time, but now his solid, strong arms are around her again, his clean, musky scent transporting her back in time, she remembers that when she did hug him all those years ago, she felt safe and still for that moment, as though nothing was moving.
With Eliot, everything is moving, all the time.
Grace sighs, and breaks away from Noel. ‘Come on. It’s almost time to close.’
Louisa, 1960
Louisa was in her bedroom when it happened.
She hadn’t been thinking about her mother to start with. She’d been lying on her bed with her feet up on the wall reading Bunty, when the strips on the pages before her became fuzzy as though they were hot.
This had happened before: it always happened before a vision. Louisa’s sight became silver around the edges and her head ached, as though what was in it was too big for her mind. And then she would see something that was about to happen. Louisa was the only girl she knew who had such premonitions. She delighted her friends by telling them what would be for school dinner before it had even been served, or what colour Miss Kirk’s dress would be before she came into the classroom.
So now, as Louisa’s head began to pulse with pain, she knew that she was about to see something that would happen shortly. It won’t be anything of interest, Louisa thought, for it never was. She shook her head, wanting to continue reading her strip about The Four Marys, but a stubborn image floated before her eyes, as though she was watching television. She scratched her leg idly as the vision began, but her body stiffened when, in her mind, she saw her mother wander out of their tall house, across the cool sand and into the roaring sea beyond. Louisa felt a suffocating pain in her chest as the sharp picture in her mind showed her mother’s skirt billowing out with water, as she moved further and further out to sea until she had vanished completely. The image disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Louisa tasted salt and fear, and then nothing.
She flung her magazine onto the floor and sped downstairs to the kitchen, where she had heard her mother clattering about a few minutes before. Her mother had been more and more distracted lately, and Louisa had felt as though something might be the matter with her. There had been more of the nightmares than ever before. Twice in the night, Louisa had heard her mother moaning and crying. Those blue, anxious hours came back to her now, as she stood alone in the kitchen.
‘She’s fine. What I just imagined meant nothing,’ Louisa said to herself, her voice too loud in the empty room. She tried to make herself calm down a little, but her breaths had become short and sharp, and her heart was light and trembling.
Louisa called her mother, but there was no answer. She looked all around the kitchen for a note, a sign that her mother might be back any moment, but all she found was a half-finished cup of tea and an uncooked blackberry pie. She thudded upstairs, into all the empty rooms, and then fled back downstairs to the kitchen, knocking the pie from the kitchen table as she flew past it and out of the back door into the whipping, salty air.
‘Mum,’ she tried to call. Her limbs dragged along as though they were being pulled back, and her shout for her mother was sucked back into her mouth. She could not speak. She could not yell. Come and find me, she pleaded silently.
Louisa searched and searched and searched; she waited until her voice returned and bellowed for her mother over and over again; she wandered up and down the beach until her feet were numb and prickled with sand. Eventually she gave up and walked from the beach to Dr Barker’s house.
Dr Barker lived a few streets down from Louisa and her mother. Dr Barker tells me what to do too much, her mother used to say. But Louisa liked him. Something about him made her feel safe.
Louisa rapped on the blue front door. There was an immediate fumbling coming from within: a shift in sound and movement. Louisa tensed as Dr Barker loomed towards the glass window. She had never visited him alone before.
‘Louisa, what can I do to help you?’ Dr Barker said as he appeared in the doorway. A single white crumb of bread, or perhaps cake, dangled from his beard like a charm from a necklace and Louisa wondered how long it had been there. She didn’t imagine Dr Barker was the type of man who looked in the mirror very often so the crumb could have been there for hours, perhaps even days. For a very short moment, this thought eclipsed Louisa’s day so far. But as soon as it passed, the bright, burning memory reappeared.
‘I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to go to. It’s my mother. I think she might be in trouble. I think she might have gone into the sea,’ Louisa said, noticing when she had finished speaking that her face was wet and that she was crying.
It was as though Dr Barker knew exactly what had happened. He didn’t make an urgent attempt to reach for his big leather bag that he kept by the door. He didn’t swoop his big brown cloak over his gigantic shoulders. He just held out an old, papery hand and stroked Louisa’s head kindly, and gave her a grey handkerchief to dry away her seawater tears.
Louisa stayed in Dr Barker’s living room whilst he went out to try and find her mother. She sat alone with his half-eaten cheese sandwich (that explained the crumb, then), his ticking clock and his scratchy carpet. She kicked her heels against his fuzzy green chair, and realised that whenever she saw a cheese sandwich from now on, she would think of her lost mother wading into the sea.
She lifted a leg and kicked the plate from the table so that the sandwich split and fell to the ground.
Had her mother seen that from wherever she was now?
Louisa sprang to her feet and reassembled the soft spongy bread and waxy cheese. She put it on its plate and back onto the table, muttering something about kicking it by accident.
Just in case.
When Dr Barker returned, his face was puckered into a strange, sympathetic bundle of features. He took Louisa’s hand in his.
‘Louisa, my dear.’ Louisa waited for him to say more, for more words to come out from the depths of his beard. But none came. He shook his head and his eyes filled with grey water and turned pink around the edges. She looked down at his paper hands and at hers inside them.
‘You shall sleep here tonight,’ Dr Barker eventually said. ‘I’ll find you a blanket.’
So Dr Barker found Louisa a blanket and she found herself thinking about how much her mother would have liked the blanket because her mother loved colours and the blanket was made of hundreds of different colours, all wrapped around each other.
Louisa’s