Bitterhall by Helen McClory (story books to read .txt) 📕

Finally

The book was on the floor – I had panicked, caught in a confined space, drunk and too tired, and I’d dropped it. Again. At least not into water this time. I rushed and picked it up, cradling it in my hands. Some part of the back had come loose – stupid, I thought, stupid, stupid. I licked my thumb and tried to smooth it down. The corner came unstuck completely and I began peeling it from the leather, swearing at myself.

In the gap between the back sheet and the binding was a folded piece of paper. I gingerly tugged it part of the way out and saw handwriting. I knew I must look at it, knowing there was a clue in there – there must be, or I wouldn’t have found it. But I couldn’t – I couldn’t, my heart was beating like something was going to burst. I put the book back in my pocket and burst out of the wardrobe instead, expecting to walk into the dazzling white length of the corridor. But I was in another place – a room. And in the room Órla, looking up at me with concern. There was a window ahead of me and I had a horrible sensation – raised hairs on my neck – that the window had just been vibrating as if struck. As if I’d banged it with my fist.

I folded myself up and backed onto the bed. After a while I said, ‘Órla, something’s happening to me.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘I know it is. I’m sorry.’

‘I went into the place in the diary and he was there,’ I said, putting head in hands not knowing if I wanted to tell her – just letting the story come out. My throat was burning like I had shouted. My words rasped; I hadn’t taken a breath in too long. If I had done anything to harm her, it would be unforgiveable.

‘Did I hurt you?’ I asked.

‘You’ve been hurting yourself,’ Órla said. She came over to the bed and sat at the opposite end from me. I wanted her arms around me; anything. I wanted not to feel myself like a pulled tooth, flimsy and rotten. Someone came to the door, and Órla barked an order for water. I pushed my head down into the pillow.

‘I want to know,’ I said, ‘but I’m so tired.’

I think I must have seemed drunker than I was. Órla had taken off my shoes, jacket, tie, shirt, at some point. I was warmer without them, under the covers, but looked around for the book until I had it near me, held to my chest. Órla spoke calmly.

‘Yes, I think we all have questions about what’s going on, with you. I hesitate to say with “us” since that’s not—That’s not—’

I am alone, I thought. I’ve never been scared of that; who isn’t alone? But then, just then, I was. It hit me in my guts, it tore at me. I am alone.

Then a small voice inside me whispered; you are not and will not be alone, not with me here.

‘Daniel’s getting water I think,’ Órla said, ‘though he seems just as fucked as you. What a party, eh? And you know these people. These fucking folk. I don’t think they’ve noticed anything,’ she was talking on and on in a reasonable voice. I was grateful for it, amazed to be honest that she could be so free of drama. I shifted position; the book was in my hands under me, and I pulled it out and put it against my forehead. Cracked soft cloth. It smelled – faintly – of the stables.

‘Here,’ she said, and took it from me, ‘I’m just putting it down so you can stretch out. Get some sleep.’

I tried not to get worked up. If I said anything more to her I don’t remember. I did something with my eyes closed – something like I slept, but a busy sleep.

Red Room

In the red room there for a bit I must have slept and under that I was remembering the urgency of the diary page hidden – beneath the folds – and the strange eroticism of the man in old fashioned clothing biting the sliver of wood out of my finger. As I came and went from myself I felt a body lying beside me, at first stiff, then soft with sleep. And then there was a second standing over me, watching, breathing. I kept my eyes closed for safety. I felt better, less unhinged. I wondered if the drinks had been spiked – that would account for the disorientation. I did feel faintly sick. I kept my eyes smartly closed and I thought about what I might have missed in the times between going into the wardrobe and waking up standing in this room with Órla there and the look on her face. It felt like being stolen from myself. I thought, ‘Okay, something terrible has happened to you – what now do you need to get over it and feel all right?’

Órla sat up beside me.

‘Just off for some water since Daniel’s not come back with any,’ she said. ‘Dying of thirst. Don’t go anywhere.’ The bed released and she was gone.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

I pretended to be asleep. The worst thing now was if Mark came – I could just about cry at the idea of explaining I needed more time. But no, it was Daniel there in the doorway. He stood – the light fell around him, making him a silhouette. Like here, you standing by the window, a silhouette with the stars at your back, candle flame illuminating your hand. Like that yes, a dream almost. Exactly. Then Daniel was fully there and the door closed behind him with a boardroom click. Light from the low lamp bathed his face, extending shadows on him. Then or now. I felt like this was the first of many future times I was