Dark Companions Read Online Free PDF Page A

mouth. I could see nothing wrong with his eyes. Carol grew hysterical, and it was Lorna who ran to the hospital, perhaps in order to get away from the sight of him. I only made Carol worse by demanding why they hadn’t waited for us at the shelter; I wanted to feel they were to blame. But she denied they had written the message, and grew more hysterical when I asked why they hadn’t waited at the island. The question, or the memory, seemed to frighten her.
    I never saw her again. The few newspapers that bothered to report Mark’s death gave the verdict “by misadventure”. The police took a dislike to me after I insisted that there might be somebody else in the pool, for the draining revealed nobody. At least, I thought, whatever was there had gone away. Perhaps I could take some credit for that, at least.
    But perhaps I was too eager for reassurance. The last time I ventured near the shelter was years ago, one winter night on the way home from school. I had caught sight of a gleam in the depths of the shelter. As I went close, nervously watching both the shelter and the pool, I saw two discs glaring at me from the darkness beside the bench. They were Coca-Cola caps, not eyes at all, and it must have been a wind that set the pool slopping and sent the caps scuttling towards me. What frightened me most as I fled through the dark was that I wouldn’t be able to see where I was running if, as I desperately wanted to, I put up my hands to protect my eyes.

Napier Court
     
    Alma Napier sat up in bed. Five minutes ago she’d laid down Victimes de Devoir to cough, then stared round her bedroom heavy-eyed; the partly open door reflected panels of cold October sunlight, which glanced from the flowered wallpaper, glared from the glass-fronted bookcase, but left the metronome on top in shadow and failed to reach the corner where her music stand was standing. She’d thought she had heard footsteps on the stairs. Beyond the brilliant panel she could see the darker landing; she waited for someone to appear. Her clock, displayed within its glass tube, showed 11:03. It must be Maureen. Then she thought: could it be her parents? Had they decided to give up their holiday after all? She had looked forward to being left alone for a fortnight when her cold had confined her to the house; she wanted time to prove herself, to make her own way—she felt a stab of misery as she listened. Couldn’t they leave her alone for two weeks? Didn’t they trust her? The silence thickened; the darkness on the landing seemed to move. “Who’s there? Is that you, Maureen?” she called and coughed. The darkness moved again. Of course it didn’t, she said, willing her hands to unclench. She held up one; the little finger twitched. Don’t be childish, she told herself, where’s your strength? She slid out of the cocoon of warmth, slipped on her slippers and dressing gown, and went downstairs.
    The house was empty. “You see?” she said aloud. What else had she expected? She entered the kitchen. On the windowsill sat the medicine her mother had bought. “I don’t like to leave you alone,” she’d said two hours ago. “Promise you’ll take this and stay in bed until you’re better. I’ve asked Maureen to buy anything you need while she’s shopping.” “Mother,” Alma had protested, “I could have asked her. After all, she is myfriend.” “I know I’m being overprotective, I know I can’t expect to be liked for it any more,” and oh God, Alma thought, all the strain of calming her down, of parting friends; there was no longer any question of love. As her mother was leaving the bedroom while her father bumped the last case down to the car, she’d said “Alma, I don’t want to talk about Peter, as you well know, but you did promise—” “I’ve told you,” Alma had replied somewhat sharply, “I shan’t be seeing him again.” That was all over. She wished everything were over, all this possessiveness which threatened to erase