Chapter 58
It’s strange to go back to normal after the drama of the last few weeks.
Lucy struggles to concentrate much of the time.
With Edgar gone, so has the point of her studies here.
Her feelings are still so confused, so full of conflict, that she’s finding it hard to move on.
The image of his dead body haunts her dreams.
A couple of weeks after the funeral, Rachel messages, asking Lucy if she’d like to come for supper.
It’s a Friday, the night of another Formal Hall, and Lucy accepts Rachel offer with enthusiasm, relieved that she won’t have to get through a night of insinuation from the likes of Alexandra and Jessica.
They’ve been friendly since Edgar’s death, but not in a way that seems genuine, questioning her about the scurrilous details like vultures picking through carrion.
Lucy picks up a bottle of wine en route and makes her way to the house.
It’s a balmy evening, the sky clear, a light breeze tossing around the last of the blossom from the trees.
Hard to believe the situation she found herself in just a few weeks ago.
The headaches have stopped now, the wound fully healed.
She’s missing Edgar less than she was. With him gone, the spell of the obsession has been broken.
She can see now how much she had latched on to the idea of him, looking for any source of support.
It’s good that Rachel has been able to forgive her for her affair with Edgar. Lucy is not proud of what she did.
Rachel hugs her when she arrives. She’s lost weight, her shoulders bony under Lucy’s hands. It must be tough. The hall is lined with cardboard boxes full of paperwork, the screens from the loft piled up in the study at the front of the house. Rowan’s asleep in a pushchair in the hall.
‘It’s going to take months to sort through it all,’ Rachel says.
‘I’ve asked college if there’s anyone who could help me.
Presumably they’ll want to archive some of his earlier research material – his life’s work is here.
It might be useful one day – parts of it, anyway.
’ She stops, hitting herself gently on the head with the heel of her hand.
‘I’m being so stupid. Would you help me? ’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’re the perfect person. You worked so closely with him at the end. I’ll let college know I’ve found someone – if that’s all right with you?’
‘I’d love to help.’
They go through to the kitchen. It’s still homely, but the warmth has gone, dust on surfaces, brown leaves on some of the plants. There’s a fragrant smell coming from a pot on the stove, though.
Rachel pours a glass of wine for Lucy, one for herself too, and they sit at the kitchen table.
‘How are you?’ Lucy says.
Rachel shrugs. ‘It’s hard. I keep thinking he’ll walk through the door. He’d be so sad to see all his work dismantled like this.’
‘I remember what it was like when my mum died,’ Lucy says. ‘It took me ages to realise fully that she wasn’t coming back.’
They sit together in silence for a moment before Rachel pushes herself up to her feet.
‘Would you like something to eat?’
Lucy nods. Rachel dishes up, a chicken tagine. It’s hot, savoury; the more Lucy eats, the more she wants to eat. Food’s tasted like cardboard the last while, but this is cutting through. It’s not the meal, though; it’s sitting with someone who understands what’s happened, what they’ve been through.
‘You look tired,’ Rachel says. ‘Aren’t you sleeping?’
‘Not that much. I’m finding it hard to settle. Waking up early.’
‘Me too.’
Lucy keeps eating. Whenever she comes close to the end of her glass of wine, Rachel tops it up, and she dishes a second portion on to Lucy’s plate as soon as she’s finished eating.
‘Thank you,’ Lucy says. ‘It’s so kind of you to be looking after me like this.’
‘Good to have something else to think about.’
By the end of the meal, Lucy is replete, full as she hasn’t been for some time. Perhaps it’s that fullness, or the wine, but she’s beginning to feel drowsy. It must be because she’s starting to relax. It’s hard to keep her eyes open.
‘Looks like all those sleepless nights are catching up with you,’ Rachel says. ‘Do you want to go and lie down?’
Lucy wants to say no; she wants to make a start on Edgar’s papers right now, help Rachel out.
Rachel is the one who has suffered the real loss, after all.
But she’s losing her battle with sleep. The suggestion of stretching out on the sofa, lying herself down, sleeping for just an hour or two, is too tempting to resist.
‘Would you mind?’ she says, hardly able to articulate the words.
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Rachel says. ‘Go and lie down.’ She points to the sofa that runs the width of the kitchen. With an effort, Lucy gets up and lies down on it.
‘I’ll just get you a blanket,’ Rachel says. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
Lucy’s too tired to reply. She tucks her head more comfortably into a cushion, asleep as soon as she shuts her eyes.
Someone’s clawing at her wrist, shaking her. Hissing in her ear.
Wake up wake up WAKE UP NOW.
Lucy doesn’t want to wake up. She can’t. Her eyes won’t let her. She wants the noise to stop. It’s not stopping, though, it’s carrying on, intensifying, and now someone has pulled her to her feet.
‘Keep her moving,’ a male voice says. ‘She needs to wake up.’ It sounds familiar, though she can’t place it.
Lucy wants to tell him to leave her alone, let her sleep. She can’t say the words. She’s slumping on to the hands that are supporting her, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Someone’s screaming in the distance, and there’s a smash of glass breaking.
Footsteps are coming closer now, a heavy tread. She’s been picked up, the weight of her taken into someone else’s hands, and she’s lying down again, if they would just leave her alone—