The Things You Didn't See(89)

‘It’s just along here,’ Holly says.

I don’t need her to tell me this, I know this place; it features in my nightmares. Clive has his office in the wing at the far end that houses the locked wards, where people arrive screaming and leave mute. Last time I was here was two years ago, my discharge meeting.

Do you remember, Mum? I was told I was finally sane but still you wouldn’t let Victoria come home.

Inside the office, they’re waiting.

Dad doesn’t look like he slept a wink, though he must have or they couldn’t have conducted the test. I take the empty seat by the window, and wait for Clive to tell us what the test shows. He fumbles with his paperwork, though I can tell it’s more from nerves than anything else, and this worries me: I’ve never seen him looking this uncomfortable.

There’s a clock on the wall, an old-fashioned one with marquetry in the mahogany, that’s probably an antique. It keeps the seconds, along with my heartbeat.

Holly takes a chair at the back of the room. I know she doesn’t want to be intrusive, but also she’s watching and monitoring everything. I’d rather she were sitting beside me.

‘Go on, then,’ says Dad, leaning back and sighing deeply, ‘tell us.’

In the silence that follows I can hear seagulls screaming outside.

‘Hector’ – Clive clears his throat, glances at the floor, then back at Dad – ‘your sleep test indicates no evidence of sleepwalking at this time. The home monitoring also confirms a regular sleep cycle. Neither test shows any sign of sleep disturbance.’

I knew it: Dad lied. ‘Now’s the time to tell the truth, Dad. You were protecting Ash, weren’t you?’

‘No, I’m not protectin’ Ash.’

Dad lowers his head, I can see the vein throb in his forehead. A seagull lands on the windowsill, taps its beak on the glass. I feel trapped, back in this place of insanity. Why won’t he tell the truth? The game is over now, he must know this.

Holly finally breaks the silence. ‘Could Hector’s medication have skewed the results, Clive?’

Clive sighs deeply, in and out. ‘Medication masks the symptoms but not the brain patterns. There were simply no markers for a sleep disorder – nothing that would suggest a sleep disorder so profound it could lead to non-insane automatism.’ He finally pushes his paperwork aside. Now he’s empty-handed, as if wanting to absolve himself from any involvement. ‘Sleepwalkers may not have disturbed sleep every night, but their brainwave patterns would be erratic and there would be indications. But there were none. No reading at any point to support the idea that Hector could have shot Maya in his sleep.’

Dad keeps his head bowed, and nurses his bad hand. I move to him, kneel at his feet and take his bad hand in mine. His is shaking and he won’t look at me, but now turns his head towards the window. I know him – he wants to be outside, where he belongs.

‘It’s over, Dad,’ I say. ‘Time to tell what really happened. You can’t protect Ash any more.’

‘I’m not, Cass.’ He’s breathing heavily. The seconds mount. I imagine the clock ticking faster or maybe it’s just my heart. Still, he won’t look at me. The seagull flies away. The North Sea is an expanse of cold dark water and I long to be there, beside the water, and out of this place. Just like the first time I was here.

‘You’re protecting him just like you did back when he shot me, defending him even when I was injured. But he shot your wife, for fuck’s sake. How can you still be on his side?’

‘Ash wouldn’t hurt Maya.’ Dad reaches for me, a rare thing, his good hand feels like a weight on my shoulder as he pulls my face closer to his. ‘I had to lie, Cass.’

‘Why?’

Dad says, so softly I have to lean in to hear him, ‘Your sleepwalkin’ has got worse, hasn’t it?’

The sharp twist in the conversation takes my breath. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? You lied!’

‘I lied to protect you,’ he says sadly. ‘We all did.’

And there, it is said. It feels like a trick; they’re going to keep me here, aren’t they? I’m going to be locked away like last time.

‘No, I’d never hurt Mum!’ The words hang in the air. I begin to shake, turning desperately to the other people in the room. ‘I don’t even know how to use a gun, Clive. You believe me, don’t you, Holly?’

‘Cass,’ she says, walking slowly towards me as though I’m a cornered animal that might escape. ‘When I saw you in the wardrobe, at the farm, you had no idea how you’d got there . . .’

‘No . . .’

‘There’s something else,’ she says, coming to my side, kneeling at my feet as if she needs my forgiveness. ‘It wasn’t Ash who shot you when you were twelve. It was my brother.’

‘What?’ I can’t understand how this has changed so suddenly, how I’m now at the centre of things. And Holly is looking up at me, crying.

‘I was there,’ she says, her voice wet. ‘I ran away, and I’m so sorry I did. But Ash can’t take the blame any more. I should have told you right from the start about that Halloween. I kept it back and that was wrong. We were just kids, out ghost-hunting. And I wasn’t sure what I saw, not until I saw you in the wardrobe at the farm. Then I realised you’re a sleepwalker, and that I’ve seen you do it before.’