Chapter 18 #2
Beulah was standing in the same place when Jules returned to the bedroom. She was twisting her thin gold wedding band back and forth, a crestfallen expression consuming her face.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She sniffed. ‘I can’t seem to get anything right.’
Jules went and put her arms around her.
‘It’s fine, Mum. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Except I really don’t want either of us to have seven years’ bad luck, Jules.’
‘Me neither,’ she said, bending down to spread out the newspaper and gingerly place the mirror pieces on the sheets, ‘so it’s good that I don’t believe in that sort of thing. Who on earth made that one up anyway?’
‘It comes from the Romans, too. I’ve been reading more about them since we went to the villa.
They thought that humans go through a process of renewal every seven years, in all areas, spiritually, physically, emotionally.
They believed that a mirror reflected your soul and if you broke a mirror your soul would be broken. ’
‘Already been there, done that, got the T-shirt courtesy of Gavin,’ Jules murmured, ‘so you don’t need to worry on my behalf, Mum.’
‘But I do worry, darling, all of the time.’
Jules looked at her mother’s carefully pedicured bare feet.
‘The main thing you have to worry about is getting glass splinters in your feet. I’ll get the vacuum out, but there might still be some bits that escape so I’d put some shoes on while walking about up here.’
She took the parcel down to the bin in the kitchen with Beulah following close behind.
‘Wait,’ Beulah said as Jules placed her foot on the pedal. ‘You can’t put that in there. You have to bury it.’
Jules’s hands hovered in mid-air.
‘In the garden. You have to bury the mirror, preferably under the light of a full moon.’
Do not snap, Jules, she said to herself. Remember your new benevolent attitude of only a few minutes ago.
‘O-kay, except I think the full moon was a couple of days ago and I’m not hanging on to a broken mirror for another month while I wait for the next one.’
‘No, no, no, that wouldn’t do at all,’ Beulah said, ‘and the light from the moon will still be strong so I’m sure it will be almost as effective.’
I have to be patient, Jules thought as she stared at the parcel of broken glass. I can be patient.
‘The thing is, Mum, this isn’t my garden. Someone might dig it up later on and injure themselves.’
Beulah moved to the half-open stable door and looked out.
‘We must be able to find a spot where that’s not likely to happen. What about there, beneath that willow tree? Nobody will try to plant anything beneath that, will they?’
‘No,’ Jules said, resigned to her fate, ‘I suppose not.’
‘Then as soon as it gets dark,’ Beulah said, ‘that’s where we will bury it.’
Jules stood and watched.
‘We probably should have come out and dug the hole before it got dark,’ she said.
‘It’s fine,’ Beulah replied. ‘I can see perfectly well. The moon is guiding the space.’
‘Aren’t willows shallow rooted?’ Jules asked. ‘Won’t it be difficult to find a place to dig deeply enough?’
‘No, no, this is a good place,’ Beulah replied, ‘and we could put a large stone over the top or even move this fallen tree trunk forwards.’
‘No!’ Jules said, surprising herself. ‘Not the tree trunk. We can’t move that. It looks as if it’s been there forever. It should stay in the same place. It would be too heavy for us to move anyway.’
‘Why don’t you go and look for a suitable stone?’ Beulah suggested.
Jules placed the newspaper on the ground and parted the fronds to step back on to the lawn.
She took a deep breath. It had felt so claustrophobic in there and strangely distressing, not calm like last night.
She was amazed that Beulah hadn’t picked up on it.
But perhaps it was bringing back memories of Gavin and how upset he had got when she broke the phone.
Coercive control, she thought. That’s what he had used on her and even though she’d seen evidence of it with others she’d never realised she’d become a victim herself until now.
How stupid she had been. How desperate for him to love her.
He had made her feel weak, had tried to isolate her from friends, had subtly fed her discontent with her mother and sister instead of encouraging rapprochement.
She walked around to the front garden. She could take one of the large stones lining the path and then move some of the others around so that it wouldn’t look as if anything had changed.
But suddenly everything had changed, and she realised with absolute clarity what a lucky escape she’d had.
Jules chose the squarest piece of stone she could find and prised it from its place.
Beulah was taking a rest when she returned, leaning on the spade.
Immediately Jules stepped back inside the confines of the branches she felt breathless and clammy.
This time it wasn’t just a sense of distress she sensed, it was something more menacing than that.
‘I’m all hot,’ Beulah said, wiping her forearm across her forehead. ‘I’m getting too old for digging.’
‘Then perhaps we should leave it,’ Jules said. ‘Tasha, the girl next door at the farm, says that this is a special place. She comes and sits here sometimes, says she feels protected. I don’t need to bury this mirror to move forward without fear, Mum.’
Beulah threw her a curious glance.
‘No, I can see that.’
‘The weather’s getting worse,’ Jules persisted as the branches of the willow creaked above her. ‘Let’s go back inside and just put the mirror in the bin.’
‘Yes, yes,’ the tree seemed to whisper to her. ‘You do that.’
‘Did you hear that?’ she asked, whipping around to look behind her.
‘Probably just the wind,’ Beulah replied, but her eyes were dark with apprehension.
‘No, Mum, it’s more than that. We shouldn’t be here. Someone or something doesn’t like it. Can’t you feel that? You’re meant to be the ultra-sensitive one. Oh! Something just brushed against my face.’
‘And mine. It will just be a bat. One of those ones from the farm which upset your friend Rita. Bats are good. They encourage us to embrace change. A couple of inches more and that will be plenty deep enough,’ Beulah said, plunging the spade into the hole once more.
‘What is that?’ Jules asked, as something pale gleamed in the moonlight.
‘Probably just a bit of root,’ Beulah said.
Jules moved closer.
‘I don’t think so, Mum.’
Beulah fished her phone out of her back pocket and switched it on.
‘You’re right. I must have disturbed some animal bones. A cat maybe or a small dog.’
Jules didn’t reply. Her heart felt as if it was in her mouth. She took Beulah’s phone from her hand and shone the light into the hole.
‘What can you see?’ Beulah asked, grabbing her arm.
‘Something.’
‘Perhaps this wasn’t the right place to dig, after all.’
Jules shot her a withering look.
‘Now you say that!’
Above them the willow branches began to swish backwards and forwards, the whole trunk of the tree seeming to be straining against the wind.
‘Let’s go back inside,’ Jules said, ‘and leave this until the morning.’
‘I can’t leave it until then,’ Beulah protested. ‘Goodness knows how much more bad luck that will attract.’
‘It’ll be pretty bad luck if a tree falls on us,’ Jules snapped.
Seething with irritation, she dropped to her knees and reached down into the hole.
The ground was soft and crumbly beneath her hands, as if someone at some time had dug here before.
She used her fingertips to brush the soil away from something solid.
As she worked her way around the edge of the hole, she almost felt as if there was someone else there, too, someone who was looking down into that space alongside her. Jules knelt back on her heels.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Beulah gasped, as the beam of light from her phone fell upon something curved.
‘Yes, Mum. It’s a skull.’
‘It’s not a cat or a dog, is it?’
‘No.’
‘It’s very small.’
Jules looked up at her in shock.
‘That’s because it belongs to a baby.’