Beltane Page 10

  Pushing her hair away from her face she sat up, yawned, and blearily reached for her watch on the bedside cabinet. It took a moment to focus on it. The hands weren’t in the position she expected. How could it be nearly half past nine? She’d set her alarm for eight. She never slept through it.

  Throwing back the bedclothes, she stood. Exhaustion saturated her body but she kept moving. There was something she needed to do. She just couldn’t remember what. Throwing on the first clothes she saw she hurried downstairs.

  The kitchen was empty. A place was set at the head of the table. Zoe reached for orange juice, poured cereal into a bowl. Concentrating on eating and not looking through the French windows at the stone table outside, she wondered why she felt so damned tired after she’d had so much sleep. She heard footsteps. Offered a half formed prayer that it wasn’t Maeve and felt instantly relieved when Helena said, “Good day.”

  Zoe opened her mouth to repeat the greeting. The words died on her lips. A bruise blackened Helena’s eye and cheek. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I walked into a door.”

  “Oh my God! Does it hurt?”

  “Not really,” Helena said, her voice expressionless, as she stacked dirty mugs and plates on the kitchen counter.

  “Sorry to be so late for breakfast. I slept through my alarm.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  Surprised at the response, Zoe raised her eyes from her muesli. The Australian stared out of the kitchen window. Then as if she felt Zoe’s gaze, she forced an unconvincing smile and said, “Do you want coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks.” A few minutes later, Helena put a cafetiere and brown toast in front of her. Zoe poured herself a cup, adding an extra teaspoon of sugar hoping it would kick-start her sluggish brain. As she sipped it, she suddenly remembered Tanya. She’d been really worried about her last night. How had that fallen out of her head this morning? “How’s Tanya? I hope she’s feeling better. Dave was really worried about her last night.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You mean you’ve not been to check on her?” When Helena shook her head, Zoe said, “Well, I’ll go up in a minute.” The flash of irritation brought last night back into sharper focus. She’d been pissed off with Helena when she wouldn’t call the doctor and insisted on waiting for Maeve’s return.

  “Let me know if she wants anything.” Helena brushed her hand over her damaged cheek and winced.

  Seeing that, Zoe’s anger evaporated. “Look, tell me to mind my own business if you want, but are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Helena’s chin wobbled.

  “If there’s something you’d like to talk about then...” Zoe broke off when, tears streaming down her face, Helena met her gaze.

  “I’m leaving that’s all.” Helena scrubbed her hand over her cheeks. “But I can’t talk to you about it,” she sobbed and then ran clumsily from the room.

  Staring after her, Zoe shook her head. This place went from bizarre to bizarrer. Tanya had better be on the mend because promise or no promise she was getting out of here today.

  When she’d finished her breakfast she walked slowly upstairs and gently knocked on Tanya’s door. “Come in,” she heard.

  The room smelt of stale sweat and sickness. In the dim light of the closed curtains, Zoe saw lines of pain creasing Tanya’s face. A sheen of sweat and the smudged remnants of last night’s make-up clung to her pallid skin. Dark circles pooled under her eyes.

  Zoe looked at the bowl of vomit. “Bad night?”

  “Awful,” Tanya said. “I can’t even keep water down. My head’s pounding and I’m absolutely freezing.” Feeling as if she channelled her Mum, Zoe touched Tanya’s forehead. She was burning up.

  “I’ll get rid of this. Then we need some fresh air in here.” Nose wrinkling, Zoe carefully picked up the bowl.

  Tanya turned her head on the pillow. “Please....don’t....I...”

  Someone has to and you can be sure it won’t be Maeve, Zoe thought as she disposed of its contents in the bathroom. Returning to Tanya’s bedside, she said, “You need to see a doctor.”

  “I thought I should see what Maeve says first. It’s just that...” Tanya trailed off, biting her lower lip.

  “What?”

  “You did tell her I wasn’t well, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. I told her yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t explain it then.” Tanya looked intently at her hands as they pleated the bedclothes.

  “I’m sorry you’ve lost me. Explain what?”

  “It’s just that I’ve not seen her since my healing session yesterday.”

  “I can’t believe that she’s not...” Seeing Tanya’s forehead wrinkle, Zoe bit back her rant. “This is a lot more than a healing crisis,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Maybe you’ve got some bug or a virus. Whatever it is you need to see a doctor.”

  When her friend nodded weakly, Zoe ran downstairs. How could Maeve be so unfeeling? Tanya was suffering and she’d just left her for Helena to take care of. And now Helena was having some kind of meltdown and didn’t seem to care either.

  Zoe wandered through the downstairs rooms calling Helena’s name. There was no response. She stepped into the porch and scanned the garden. Dylan and Kyle were hard at work again. They told her that they’d seen Helena head out of the gate a few minutes before.

  Zoe returned to the hall and stood for a moment trying to figure out what to do. She had to find a number for the nearest surgery. She ran back upstairs and grabbed her mobile. No signal. Not wanting to disturb Tanya to borrow her phone, she realised she’d have to do this the old fashioned way.

  There wasn’t a telephone directory in the lounge, kitchen or dining room. Finding herself in the hall, Zoe stared at Maeve’s office door. That was the obvious place to keep directories.

  With her hand an inch above the door handle, Zoe hesitated. She was pretty sure Maeve would have a fit if she found her in there. Then she gave a tiny shrug. If the healer didn’t want people in there she should take better care of her guests. Looking around, she eased open the door. Stepping inside she left it slightly ajar, figuring that way she’d have some warning if someone came.

  Half packed boxes cluttered the office floor. Framed watercolours and old photographs were stacked against the walls. Focusing on the shelves above the untidy desk, Zoe scanned the spines. There were a load of really old volumes with titles that had almost disappeared with age, glossy hardbacks on gardening and a selection of classic novels. On the second shelf she spotted the Yellow Pages and next to it the telephone directory.

  Reaching up, she pulled the directory down and balanced it on a pile of papers. Flipping through it she found the number for the Glastonbury Surgery. She looked around for something to write with. A biro was lodged under a pile of books. Trying to extract it, she dislodged the top volume.

  The sound of it hitting the wooden floor was impossibly loud. Zoe froze. Seconds passed unbelievably slowly. She released the breath she’d been holding and bent to pick up the book.

  It had fallen open, its pages splayed either side of the spine. Lifting it she saw a folded sheet of paper and snatched it up with her free hand. The smell of ancient dust filled Zoe’s nostrils. The pages were thick and marked with little brown smudges.

  As she put the bookmark back, her eyes read the first sentence. ‘The holder must renounce his staff by breaking it. The pieces must be burnt in the fire kindled in the centre of the circle.’ Beneath was a diagram. She scanned the circle of dots with crosses in its centre. Read its title. ‘Fig. 148: configuration of the circle.’

  A thought flickered in her brain. As she tried to pin it down she heard a noise. Her head jerked round. Her eyes scanned her limited view of the hall. All she could see was a sliver of polished floorboards and cream walls. But if Maeve came in and found her holding this book...

  Zoe thrust it on to the desk. She grabbed the telephone directory and held it in front
of her chest like a shield. It was her reason for being here. But she knew Maeve wouldn’t care. She would be totally and terrifyingly furious.

  Painfully conscious of her heart pounding, she stared at the doorway. She heard the noise again. Her grip on the directory tightened.

  A flash of white. Persia curled around the doorframe, stopping to rub her head against it. Zoe’s hand rose to her throat. Damned cat.

  She reopened the directory and, with trembling fingers, scribbled the number on her hand. Returning it to the shelf, she carefully lodged the biro under the pile of books and balanced the black volume on top. Printed on the spine in faded gold letters was the title, “The Seventh Book.” For a reason she couldn’t identify, Zoe’s stomach clenched.

  At the door she listened. Heard the gurgle of the dishwasher and Persia’s claws clicking on the floorboards. Peeking out she saw the hall was empty. She stepped out and, eyes darting, slid the door closed.

  Heart still beating too fast, she rushed upstairs, tapped on Tanya’s door and went in. “I’ve got the doctor’s number. Do you want me to ring them for you?”

  “No. I can do it. You’ve been really kind, Zoe. I don’t know what I’d have done...”

  “Have you got your phone?” Zoe said, as she scribbled down the number, her voice artificially high and bright. “Is there anything else you need?” After taking a thick blanket from the wardrobe and spreading it over the bed, she slid open a window and promised to pop back before she went out.

  In her own room, she leaned against the door pressing her palm against her chest. What the hell had she been thinking? She had to get out of Anam Cara before she got herself into any more trouble.

  After a quick shower, she put on her denim skirt with leggings and a purple t-shirt. Snatching her sketchpad from the bedside cabinet, she stuffed it in her bag and grabbed her velvet jacket.

  When she returned Tanya seemed a little brighter. She’d spoken to the surgery and expected the doctor later that morning. Anxious to be gone Zoe hovered just inside the door, trying not to fidget, as Tanya fretted over how the doctor would get in and whether Helena would try to send him away. Offering to tell Helena to expect him, Zoe escaped. Again she couldn’t find the Australian and, not knowing what else to do, she scribbled a note and left it in the kitchen, and then apologetically asked Dylan to open the gate when the doctor arrived.

  Feeling she’d done everything she could she went straight to the Tourist Information. Which turned out to be a depressing waste of time. All of the available single rooms were seriously out of her price range. It turned out that Anam Cara was cheap.

  Almost too cheap, Zoe thought as she left the Tourist Information, clutching a leaflet about the Abbey’s upcoming mediaeval weekend. Close by was the hostel and she peered through the window. It didn’t look like her kind of place.

  If she still had a credit card then there’d be a way out of this mess. But the credit card had been chopped into little pieces after she’d indulged in one too many ‘cheering up’ shopping trips after the split with Gareth. She toyed with the idea of ringing her Mum and asking for a loan. Ruled it out as she’d worked hard to keep the full extent of her financial crisis from her family. She didn’t want to waste all that effort and she could totally live without the lecture.

  So it came to a choice. Stick it out at Anam Cara. See if the hostel could find her a bed. Or blow her budget on two nights in one of the nice B&Bs and have to go home before the weekend.

  She didn’t want to spend another minute at Anam Cara but it would be really stupid to go further into debt to escape it. What was the worst that could really happen? Maeve had accepted her lie about the doll. If she was challenged about going into the office she had a good excuse. If she stayed out of Maeve’s way, kept a very low profile and only went back to sleep couldn’t she survive another day or two?

  Because she really wanted to be in Glastonbury. The creative vibe of the place was infectious. She felt more connected to her work than she’d done since graduation. If she could just focus and stop being distracted by the total bizarreness of Anam Cara she had a real chance of being ready for the meeting with the publishers. Which was a panic-inducing mere eight days away.

  She glanced at the leaflet in her hand. The mediaeval weekend at the Abbey would be perfect King Arthur material. There’d even be re-enactors doing battle in full armour. She couldn’t miss that.

  And there was always the possibility she might bump into Finn.

  Decision made she went into the hostel. As an almost beggar, she couldn’t be choosy. However basic the accommodation might be, however many people were zipping rucksacks at five in the morning it had to be less stressful than Anam Cara. The desk clerk told her they were fully booked until Thursday. Without letting herself remember exactly how much she hated hostelling, she reserved a bed in the dorm for three nights from Thursday. On asking about cancellations, the clerk told her to ring tomorrow to see if any beds had come free. Zoe pulled out her pad to write down the number. Opening it she saw a drawing.

  Of Finn.

  She stared at it. The clerk recited the number. She heard the words but they made no sense. “Do you want this number or not?” the guy said.

  “Yes. Sorry,” Zoe replied, without looking up from the picture. The man gave her the telephone number again, speaking slower this time as if he thought she wasn’t all that bright. She scrawled it down and left.

  There were metal chairs and tables outside the hostel. Sitting, Zoe took a deep breath and looked at the picture.

  The drawing showed him standing on a hill that rose sharply behind him. The sun was a ball, partly hidden by wisps of cloud, sinking - or maybe rising – over his right shoulder. His heavily bandaged hand rested in a sling. Surgical padding protected his collar bone. A wide gash on his cheek bone was taped together. He looked utterly exhausted. The palm of his uninjured hand rested against the trunk of a small tree. Its branches were gone, only stumps remaining. Finn’s head was bowed as if he prayed. Circular rows of streamers fluttering in the breeze obscured the lower part of the trunk.

  Was this the Holy Thorn? She’d seen something similar in the books she’d read back in London. But that tree had its branches intact.

  Shaking her head, she tried to remember when she’d drawn this. She’d felt dislocated all morning but this was major. How had she forgotten waking in the night to draw? She tried to recall what had happened after she went to bed last night. She’d taken ages to fall asleep. But then what?

  Fragments of a dream - grabbing, clammy hands touching her face – resurfaced. She shuddered. Why the hell hadn’t the nightmare forced her awake? Then it’d be safely trapped on the page. Not lurking in the depths of her subconscious making her feel, even in the bright light of day, obscurely frightened.

  If only she could talk to him. She traced his face with her fingertip. How had he got even more banged up than yesterday? She closed her eyes. Tried to think back, to recover any trace of this dream. There was nothing. The dream of the dark room and the clutching hands blocked the earlier one.

  A tall man with untidy, dark hair walked past her. For a moment she thought it was Finn then he turned and she saw his face. Her eyes dropped to the drawing. She had so much to tell him. About Tanya being ill and what she’d found out about karmic wave healing. To somehow find a way to explain about the doll which didn’t make her sound completely insane. And ask the questions she’d not been brave enough to put to him yesterday. But what if she never saw him again? What if the dreams were just dreams and didn’t mean anything?

  But they meant one thing. Finn would be on this hill at sunset (or was it sunrise?) either tonight or some other evening. She didn’t have to wait to bump into him. She could hang out on this hill casually waiting for him to turn up.

  She knew it was a crazy plan but she didn’t care. If this is what it took then she’d do it but first she needed to pin down exactly what she’d drawn. Clutching her sketchpad, she returned to the Tour
ist Information. After a barrage of garbled questions, she learned that she’d drawn a sunset and that tonight the sun would sink behind the horizon at around quarter past eight. Clasping a map of the town, helpfully marked with the location of the Holy Thorn on Wearyall Hill, she stepped into the street and looked at the sky. There were clouds gathering but the sun still shone.

  The possibility of seeing Finn later made everything seem more bearable. Even two more nights at Anam Cara. She ducked into the bakers to buy a sandwich and a Diet Coke for lunch before heading up the High Street to the Chalice Well.

  She couldn’t help glancing repeatedly at the sky as she walked. The sun was her only guide as to whether she’d drawn Finn on the hill later today or some other evening. So far she’d drawn the future the night before it happened. She was clinging to the hope that this would be the same. If it clouded over this evening there’d be little point going to the hill to look for Mr McCloud.

  After paying the entry fee, Zoe wandered through the quiet gardens surrounding the Chalice Well hoping to find inspiration for the story of the grail quest. Peering into the well’s depths she wondered if the story was true. Had Joseph of Arimathea brought the chalice from the Last Supper here? Did the spring water run red and have healing powers because he’d buried it in this spot? It seemed unlikely but she couldn’t deny the sense of peace in the garden.

  She found a seat built into the stone wall, closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the grail quest. It was harder than it should have been. Her mind kept creeping away to thoughts of Finn. Wondering what he was doing, what would bring him to the Holy Thorn. Eventually she focused enough to make some progress.

  She left at about half past five relieved that she’d produced a few basic sketches of Sir Galahad and the grail story. She walked slowly back into the town, aware that she had over two hours to kill before sunset. Despite the nerves filling her stomach, she knew she should eat. She stopped at the Earth Café and ordered a bowl of chips. She ate them distractedly, her mind busy with planning what she’d say to Finn and staring out of the window watching the sky.