The Grieving Stones (6 page)

SETTLING IN

CHAPTER FIVE

They didn’t do much that afternoon. It was already late and they were feeling lazy and unmotivated after the drive. Alice decided to go for a walk while the others rested up, unpacked their belongings, or chatted in the cluttered living area. She knew that she was being slightly anti-social, but she didn’t care. Besides, a short hike might help shift the lethargy that was clinging like a strange fungus to her bones.

She left the house and walked behind it, heading for the low perimeter fence. The sky was taking on a dark tint; the sun had weakened as the day progressed. She climbed over a tilted wooden stile and paused to look up at the hill. The house was situated approximately half way up this second rise, and she estimated that it would take her less than ten minutes to walk the rest of the way to the top.

“Hang on!”

She tensed, her shoulders stiffening.

“Alice…wait up.”

She didn’t turn around, just waited for Clive to catch up with her. She felt like running but she knew that would be rude. He meant well, this man. He probably even thought that the attention was helping her.

“I hope you don’t mind some company?” He smiled at her.

She shook her head but didn’t say anything.

“I left the others back there, messing around and trying to sort out some food and stuff from the van to cook dinner for us all. I thought you might like me to show you around… give you the tour, as it were.”

“If you like.” She started walking again, not entirely indifferent to his soulful gaze and his charmingly floppy fringe. He had deep brown eyes. They were his best feature, even boxed in by the lenses of his glasses.

“This hill,” he said, drawing level with her. “It’s well known in the area for being a spiritual place. The standing stones are just over the top of the hill, and over the years a lot of people claim to have experienced things up here.”

“What kind of things?” She slowed down, interested.

“Ghostly sightings. Weird lights in the sky. That kind of thing.”

“And do you believe it? ‘That kind of thing’?” Echoing his language made her feel uncomfortable, as if they were forming a bond.

He shrugged. “In all honesty, I don’t know. I try to keep an open mind, but sometimes it’s difficult. I think a lot of people are certain that this place has some kind of power, but belief and reality are often different things.”

They were almost at the top of the hill now. The sky seemed lower; the ground underfoot was hard and uneven, despite the recent rain. Alice stopped and turned around, looking back at the house. Even at this short distance, the house looked strange, not-quite-real, like a replica of a human dwelling. She wasn’t sure why it seemed this way to her, but there was something fake about the sight. Far away and below them, the surface of Ullswater glimmered between trees like some vast half-buried jewel.

“Would you like to see the stones? The Grieving Stones?”

“Why not,” she said, turning and resuming the climb. “It might be interesting.”

She stumbled, losing her footing for a moment as she walked over the entrance to a burrow or an indentation in the hillside. Clive reached out and grabbed her hand. She regained her balance and kept on walking. Clive didn’t let go of her hand until she pulled away, pretending that she had dirt on her coat and using the hand to brush it away. She gave him a sideways glance, but he was staring straight ahead, towards the summit. He didn’t give much away. She couldn’t tell if this was all just part of his therapy or if he really was attracted to her. Her own feelings were even more confusing. There was a physical attraction, yes; she couldn’t deny it, no matter how hard she tried. Yet she didn’t really
like
him. Clive wasn’t her type: he was much too liberal and what her mother would have called ‘arty-farty’. She usually liked overtly ‘manly’ types, the kind of men who played a lot of sport and would try to dominate her.

Clive didn’t have it in him to dominate anyone.

When they reached the top of the hill she felt as if the earth were falling away from her; she almost pitched forward and started tumbling down the other side. It was a momentary experience, but one that left its mark. About a hundred yards further down the slope, five tall, oblong-shaped stones stood huddled in a small flat clearing. Beyond the stones, the slope became steeper and in the distance she could see a village nestled in the landscape. She didn’t want to think of it as hiding, but that was the thought which came to her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? It always takes my breath away.”

“It is pretty, yes. The quality of the light here is quite magical, too.” She looked across the moors, watching the play of shadow as the sun made its inevitable way across the sky. The earth itself seemed to twitch and writhe as the patches of shadow shifted, passing over rocks and shrubs and small hushed gatherings of trees.

“Come on. Let’s take a closer look.” Clive led her down towards the stones, and she followed without even thinking about it.

When she reached the stones, Clive was standing with his palm held against one of them – the tallest and widest of the group. “If there is some kind of energy here, I think it comes from these stones. They seem to vibrate. Just a tiny movement, but it’s there.” His face was slack, the muscles loose. He looked like he might fall asleep at any moment. When he closed his eyes Alice once again felt a vague connection between them. It wasn’t something that originated in the depth of her emotions, but a feeling that came from outside, an external force – perhaps triggered by the presence of these ancient megaliths.

“I like it here,” said Clive, opening his eyes and smiling at her. “It’s peaceful.” He took his hand away from the stone, allowing it to hover in the air for a couple of seconds before letting it fall to his side. It was a strange gesture, as if he was reluctant to break the contact.

“Why did you really invite me here?” She hadn’t known she was going to ask the question until she spoke.

“Why?” he looked puzzled. “For therapy. Like everyone else, I thought you might benefit from this weekend.”

“But I rarely join in with the group discussions. I just sit there and listen, not contributing. What makes you think I’ll get anything out of this trip?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “It’s just a gut feeling. Call it instinct. I’ve been doing this long enough to think I’m a decent judge of character, and something about you makes me feel that this is exactly what you need. The group – the main group – isn’t for you. I realise that; it’s pretty obvious. But this…” He lifted both arms into the air and opened his hands wide. “All this beauty and tranquillity… I think it might help you open up a bit.”

She shook her head. “You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”

“But that’s what I do,” he said. “I have faith in people, even when they have none left in themselves. It’s an important part of counselling.” He left the impression that there was more to be said on the subject, but this wasn’t the time to talk about it. “Anyway, who the hell
wouldn’t
respond to all this? You’d have to be crazy not to.”

She laughed. “Crazy. Isn’t that a word you should be careful of using in your profession?”

“We’re all crazy.” His smile fell away. “Every single one of us is crazy in some small way. Accepting that is the key to any kind of self-improvement. We must each embrace our own madness.” The way he said that final line made it sound as if he were quoting it from a textbook. She suspected it was something he’d used before, perhaps even part of his repertoire.

She walked around the stones, inspecting them, examining their weathered surfaces. They looked as if at some point they’d been smooth, but standing here for so long had worn them down and created pits and furrows in their surface. “So what’s the story?”

Clive stood next to her, watching. She felt his gaze, a burst of warmth against her skin. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. I know there’s a local legend – something about witches – but I don’t know all the details.”

“Is that why people think they’ve seen things here – because of the legend?”

He nodded. “I guess so. People have a need to pin meaning to things. We’re all searching for stories, linear plots to make sense of the world. In reality, nothing makes sense. It’s all just chaos. But it makes us feel better to think of ghosts and wraiths and the spirits of the dead being tethered to places like this. We have a deep-seated desire to cling to this stuff.”

“This stuff?” She took a step away from him and looked out over the moor. “You mean the people we’ve lost? The ones who have died…”

He didn’t respond.

“Maybe we can’t let them go, even those we didn’t like. Perhaps it’s the dead who cling to us and not the other way around. What if we want to let go but the dead won’t allow it?” She turned towards him, trying to smile but not quite getting there. “I’m sorry. Just ignore me.”

“No.” He made a move to step closer but then thought better of it. “This is what I wanted you to do. Open up. Tell me
your
story.”

“It isn’t that interesting.”

“I bet it is.” That disarming smile. As she kept noticing, he was indeed a handsome man, but not in a conventional way. His eyes were too wide, his nose too long, and his unkempt hair made him seem scruffy, as if he’d spent a few nights out on the streets.

“There are things… things I’ve not told anyone.”

“Then tell me.”

“My husband used to hit me.” The words shocked her because they came out so easily. She’d never told anyone about this in, so it should have been difficult to admit, but it wasn’t. It was all so simple; the admission felt so natural, to unburden herself in this way, in this place – to this man.

“Go on.” He was still smiling. The expression had not dropped, even under the weight of her revelation.

“Tony was a strong man. I liked that strength – I always have done. What I didn’t realise until it was too late was that sometimes his strength turned into something else. Something toxic. It didn’t happen often, just a few times. Every few years he’d buckle under the strain of life and hit me. He was always so sorry afterwards – couldn’t do enough to try and make it up to me – and stupid cow that I am, I always believed him when he said it would never happen again. I’m such a fucking cliché.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s a common reaction. We always want to believe the best of the people we love, and we always think we can save them.”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t quite like that. It wasn’t that simple. You see, I always felt that he was the one who could save me. His strength, his temper…I liked it, apart from those few times when it became a negative energy. Most of the time he used his darkness to push himself forward in life, but in a situation like that you’re always going to have a few problems.” She laughed, barely able to believe that she was still making excuses for him. “In the years before he died, it got worse. I think I knew what was coming. That day, when I came home and found him hanging from a makeshift noose in the guest room, I didn’t feel shocked when I saw him there.” She stopped. Could she go on with this?

“What did you feel?”

“Relief, I suppose.” There, it was out. She’d said it, and, amazingly, Clive didn’t seem to be judging her.

“Really, that’s an understandable reaction. It’s a very human reaction.”

“I haven’t grieved properly because I’ve felt so ashamed for feeling relieved about his death. I haven’t
allowed
myself to grieve properly. I hold it all in, choke it down, swallow it. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.” Her eyes were wet; she was looking at him through a fine mist.

“It’s okay.” He stepped forward now, and took her hands, squeezing them gently. “This is good. It’s a first step. You’ve done all the hard work now, and you didn’t even have to go through it in a group situation. I think you were ready to tell someone about this.”

“There’s more,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready to tell it all.”

His smile was so open and understanding that it was almost holy, something from a biblical fresco. She half expected it to bleed light. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to rush. It will all come out when it’s ready – when
you’re
ready. I’m here whenever you need me.”

I can still see you. I can always see you.

But, no, he hadn’t said that. It was all in her head. Those words had belonged to Tony; his catchphrase, a funny line when he covered his eyes. This man wasn’t an abuser; he was here to help her, and to allow her to help herself.

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it.

CHAPTER SIX