Chapter 9
That night, I see it again. A strange ship far out at sea. But not on the horizon. Above it. A ship in the clouds, moving through the sky. A ghost ship.
I sit at the window, riveted by the sight: three tall masts and billowing white sails.
The world seems to recede around me. I am no longer in a room at an old inn where a long-dead girl in a portrait once looked out at the same view.
I am no longer a modern-day mum of two trying to figure out what the heck to do with her life.
As I stare at the ship, the world seems frozen in time like the glassy swirl of a marble.
The ship is a messenger… a harbinger of doom…
The thought jolts me from my reverie. I look again – the ship is still there but it’s hazy now, fading away. Hurriedly, I take out my phone. My hands are shaking as I aim the camera out the window, and, zooming in, take the photo. But already, I know what it’s going to show…
Nothing but clouds and an empty horizon.
There is no ghost ship. No preternatural message.
I should feel relieved and comforted. Not… disappointed.
I continue to stare out of the window as the moon rises in a crescent above the dark line of the sea.
In my mind, I go over the events of the day.
The history festival – with the headlining act of meeting Ollie, and the promise of seeing him again.
Is that what I want? To be swept away by a Pirate King, taken on board his old-fashioned barque, and sail away into the sunset?
Hell yes.
Smiling, I get into bed and close my eyes.
Perhaps the ship I saw was Ollie’s barque, the Halcyon, on a night-time sail.
I must remember to ask him when I see him next.
That would obviously make more sense than seeing a ghost ship.
I may be living in an old inn with a bloodthirsty past, but that doesn’t mean I need to believe every spooky tale Cliff and Elspeth recount.
And surely, the ship just appeared to be above the horizon – a Fata Morgana, I think it’s called.
Next time we go into Penzance, I should stop in at Specsavers and get my eyes checked.
As my mind begins to drift, I start to wonder if I should feel guilty over making plans to see Ollie again.
While I’m starting to see the positives of having Aiden out of my life, I’m not looking to jump from the arms of one man into those of another.
Right now, I value the time I have to discover myself again – or at least, I want to value it.
In actual fact, I’m feeling lonely in this new place where I’m struggling to belong.
And since we’re technically on holiday, surely I deserve to do something more enjoyable than clearing out a deceased relative’s books and papers and planning the renovations on an inn that someone else will eventually run.
I deserve my moment of happiness, the breathless flush of a new beginning.
I’m sure it won’t happen, but does it hurt to dream?
Apparently, it does, though I’m not thinking about that when I hear the scream. I wake up from a deep sleep and sit upright, my body on high alert. Outside my room, I hear heavy footsteps, the groan of floorboards, the creak of a door.
‘Mum!’
It’s Bridget. I get out of bed and fling open the door, expecting to see her running towards me. But although the footsteps are receding down the corridor, there’s no one there.
My knees feel liquid; I grip the doorframe. ‘Bridget,’ I call out. ‘Are you OK?’
The air in the corridor feels unnaturally cold and heavy and there’s an odd smell like a stale breath.
I make my way quickly down the corridor to my daughter’s room.
She’s sitting up in bed with her lamp on, the phone charging on the nightstand.
Her forehead is beaded with sweat, but she’s hugging herself like she’s cold.
‘What’s the matter?’ I say.
‘There was someone standing there.’ She points to the edge of the bed, her eyes squeezed shut.
‘Who was it?’ I say, panicked.
‘I don’t know. But there was blood all over the end of the bed. So much blood. I’m scared, Mum, really scared.’
I go to her and sit down on the bed. She allows me to put my arms around her – it’s been a long time since she’s done that.
‘It was a dream, honey,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing here. No man, and no blood.’
She pulls away.
‘It wasn’t a dream,’ she says. ‘Go back to bed if you don’t believe me. I’m calling Dad tomorrow. I’ll have him come pick me up.’
I don’t try and hug her again, but I do remain seated. ‘You can do that,’ I say. ‘But do you really want to stay with him and his new girlfriend?’
‘It’s got to be better than staying here.’ She shivers. ‘This place is so creepy. So… dead.’
It’s hard to argue with that, so I don’t even try. ‘I know this whole thing has been difficult,’ I say. ‘For you and Connor, as well as for me. And all I can say is, I’m sorry.’
She turns back to me and glares. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she says. ‘Dad is a scumbag. I mean, to have a fling with an intern? It’s just so cliché.’
‘It is,’ I say slowly. Never has she taken my side before, or expressed any feeling about what her dad did, other than a vague annoyance about the disruption to her life. ‘And I’m not going to lie – it hurt a lot.’
‘I know you’re doing your best.’
‘You… do?’
Something glacial inside of me shifts infinitesimally.
‘Yes, I guess so. I mean, you brought us here on holiday, and it’s kind of good to get away. The place turned out to be a dump but you didn’t know that. At least the beach is nice.’
‘It is,’ I say. ‘I’m glad you’re getting something positive out of this whole mess.’
‘Yeah.’ To my even greater surprise, she shifts over in the bed. ‘Mum, do you… um… want to sleep here tonight?’ she says. ‘I mean, only if it’s no trouble.’
‘I do,’ I say, smiling. I get under the covers, warmed by her body. Lying beside her, I breathe in her smell and feel such a powerful love that tears come to my eyes. My baby… now almost grown. We have our differences – too many to count. But right now, she needs me.
This journey is worth it, if only for that.