I Confess. Alex Barclay
never felt ashamed in his presence before.
‘I’m sure your mother and I have both failed you along the way,’ said her father, skipping past it, ‘and I’m sorry that we did. But my advice to you is this – think of the past as a great big sea. It has delicious things we can feast on, a pearl here or there if we’re lucky. There are other things that are best left there, though. And conditions are not always favourable – unseen currents, waves waiting to crash. It’s best to take a quick dip, never wallow there, and certainly don’t drown.’ And he had smiled.
Her father was a prescient man. Edie still dived into that childhood sea, and fed on those creatures until she was sick. She had wallowed in the waters, crying into them, stirring up waves. There had been times when she hoped they would drown her.
Edie looked up at the walls of the inn. The rain on the granite had always looked to her like an oily film that could fall away from it in a single sheet. She had woken that morning, heaving and sweating, having dreamt that it had, and that she had watched, helpless, as it slid to the ground and rippled across the gravel towards her, and that she had stood, rooted, as it wrapped around her like a cocoon, and that she hadn’t made a sound, even when it started to tighten around her neck. When she woke, she felt that she hadn’t shaken it – not that she was bound by it, but that it hung over her like a threat. Daddy, what was I thinking?
Tonight, she and Johnny would be welcoming five of her closest childhood friends – Murph and Helen and Clare and Laura and Patrick. She waited for the joy to fill her heart. Instead, a thought came in to sink it: Five friends. No sixth – no Jessie.
All she could think of then was: I am the Ghost of the Manor.
The Sisters of Good Grace Convent, Pilgrim Point
31 October 1988
Murph, Helen, Edie, Laura, and Clare were gathered at midnight by the chapel gate.
‘Happy Hallowe’en!’ said Murph.
‘Where’s your mask?’ said Clare. ‘You were the one obsessed with us wearing masks.’
‘The elastic broke,’ said Murph.
‘The size of the head on him,’ said Laura. ‘As if they wouldn’t know you if they looked out. Consolata up there closing her curtains: “Surely, that’s not that six-foot-four Liam Murphy goon running across my lawn. If only I could see behind that tiny plastic circle on his face – then I’d definitely know.”
‘Have you seen the selection down in the shop?’ said Murph.
‘I think we have,’ said Clare, looking around. They were all holding green Frankenstein masks.
‘Monsters, the lot of us,’ said Murph. ‘Is there no sign of Jessie?’
‘I wouldn’t hold out much hope,’ said Laura. ‘She was down town earlier, pasted.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Helen. ‘On her own?’
Laura nodded. ‘Apparently, Consolata was at her again, the silly bitch.’
‘All the more reason for her to come,’ said Murph.
‘I told Jessie I’d meet her,’ said Helen. ‘I don’t know why she couldn’t have walked up with the rest of us.’
‘Leave her off,’ said Laura.
‘She needs to ease up a bit,’ said Helen.
Murph nodded. ‘She needs to get a grip … on these.’ He held up a bag of cans.
They all laughed, but Edie knew they were all thinking the same thing – Jessie shouldn’t be drinking, not as much as she did, not on her own, not at sixteen, not after everything she had been through.
Murph looked up the road. ‘Here she is now. A dog to a bone.’
‘Oh God,’ said Clare, turning to Laura. ‘You were right.’
Jessie waved with a can of cider as she swayed towards them, a white plastic Hallowe’en mask pushed up on top of her head.
‘She shouldn’t be climbing a wall in that state,’ said Helen.
‘Laura can heave her up one side,’ said Murph, ‘and I’ll catch her on the other.’
They all put their masks on.
‘Frankenfuckinglosers,’ said Jessie, spreading her arms wide. She pulled her mask down. ‘Boo!’ She stopped like a soldier in front of them. ‘But what’s even scarier is I’m out of cider.’
They climbed over the stone wall, and ran alongside it, then slipped through the trees, and came out by three flat-roofed buildings that were derelict now, but were once part of the industrial school run by the nuns in the sixties and seventies. Murph stopped at the long, narrow dormitory block, crouched down by the door, and pulled out a key from under a rock next to it. He stood up and flashed a smile at the others, then unlocked the door. They followed him into the pitch-black hallway. Clare closed the door behind her.
‘Ladies,’ said Murph, turning on a torch, ‘this way.’ He kept the beam low as he shone it on the door to the left. He pushed it open, then stood with one foot over the threshold. ‘The living quarters of whoever had to prowl the dorm at night,’ he said.
The others took a look inside. It was a make-shift storage room now, with a timber countertop that ran along three walls and was covered with broken electrical equipment, cardboard boxes, crates of empty bottles, containers, and paint cans. There were more stored under the counter, along with rolled-up carpets and paint-spattered sheets.
‘Now,’ said Murph, ‘can I ask you all to adjourn to the hallway for five minutes?’ He looked at them solemnly. ‘I need to prepare the room.’
When they came back in, there was a picnic blanket spread out on the concrete floor, with church candles on two sides, and three more on the counter above. Everybody sat down.
‘Right,’ said Murph. ‘Gather round.’
‘Story time!’ said Jessie, leaning sideways, steadying herself with her hand.
‘Take the candle away from her,’ said Laura.
‘I’m fine,’ said Jessie. ‘Relax.’
Murph pulled it towards him when Jessie wasn’t looking.
‘Right,’ he said, leaning in. He lowered his voice. ‘It was a bright sunny day—’
‘I thought this was a ghost story,’ said Laura.
‘I’m going for “contrast”,’ said Murph.
‘And bad things still happen on sunny days,’ said Jessie. She knocked back a mouthful of cider.
Everyone exchanged glances.
‘Relax,’ said Jessie, lowering her can. ‘I’m just wrecking you. You can hardly never mention sunny days again for the rest of your lives because of me!’
Murph let out a breath. ‘OK … I’m going traditional: it was a wild night in Beara – raging storm, high seas, trees toppling, roads cut off. Five girls: HELEN, CLARE, EDIE, JESSIE, AND LAURA—’
‘Noo!’ said Edie. ‘Not our real names! You’ll jinx us.’
Laura rolled her eyes. ‘Fuck’s sake.’
‘Leave her alone,’ said Helen.
‘And I want to star in this, if you don’t mind,’ said Clare.
‘Me too!’ said Jessie.
‘Fine,