Free I Do Not Sleep by Judy Finnigan Page A

intuition fastening onto her words, I couldn’t take it in at the moment. I felt ill, nauseous. The room was swirling around my head; I had vertigo. I was desperate to sleep. Above all else, oblivion was what I craved. I felt, rather than heard, Queenie leaving. There were murmured voices on the landing. And then, mercifully, I was left alone. No one else disturbed my solitude. I was allowed to sink again into dreams, into the borne of peace I longed for above all else.

Later, much later, Adam crept into the room. ‘How are you, love?’ he murmured. ‘I think you should have something to eat. You must be starving.’

‘No, not now, Adam. I feel sick. I need to sleep.’

‘But you’ve been sleeping all day. Should I get a doctor?’

‘No. I’m just exhausted. I’ll be better tomorrow, I’m sure.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Look, Molly. I know why you feel so bad, and it’s my fault for bringing you down here to Cornwall. I should have realised how much it would affect you. We’ll go back to Manchester, tomorrow if you like. Danny and Lola can stay on here. They’ll still have a good holiday.’

I closed my eyes. Should I take Adam at his word? I was tempted. Our house in Manchester felt like a beacon to me now, a haven of security and warmth. There, I was used to coping without Joey. I could resume my life. Here, I was beset at every turn with images of horror. Each time I looked at the sea I thought about Joey’s boat as I’d seen it when we hurtled down here in such a panic more than five years ago.

The little fishing vessel was a wreck, completely smashed up against the rocks. It spoke of violence, abandonment and death. There was nothing of my son still on board, not so much as a drink carton or a sandwich wrapper. The deck boards were splintered bones, the hull a gaping hole.

How could I possibly spend any more time here, pretending that I was on holiday, that I was somehow enjoying this time spent with my older son, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter, when every glimpse of the ocean made me nauseous?

My eyes were still squeezed shut. Adam stroked my forehead. ‘It’s all right, Moll. This is all my fault. We’ll go back home. You’ll wake up in bed there and think this was all just a terrible dream. I’m sorry, love. I really meant it for the best, thought you could cope, but I got it horribly wrong. We’ll leave tomorrow, after breakfast. I’ll go downstairs and tell Danny.’

He kissed my cheek and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

I lay there for a long time. Tomorrow I could escape. And I would never come back. A chance to leave this sadness, this emptiness, behind me for ever.

I drifted off to sleep. Dreamed that we were packing the car, waving goodbye to Danny, Lola and Edie. The Volvo was out of the lane, heading back to Looe, to Plymouth and the Tamar Bridge. We crossed the estuary, the sun glinting on the water, the boats bobbing bright and sprightly on the tide, and suddenly we were out of Cornwall. We had crossed over into Devon. I would never have to enter the hell where my son had been lost ever again.

And in my dream, just as I smiled with pleasure and relief that I was on my way home, the skies darkened. There was an enormous, terrifying thunderclap, and behind us the River Tamar frothed and rolled. Forked lightning crackled down on our car, the heavens opened and beyond the tumultuous noise I heard an unmistakable voice: Mother. No. Don’t leave. Find me .

I woke in panic, convinced that I was on the road leading back to the north. Leaving my boy here behind me in Cornwall, unfound and unburied. And then the familiar room, the four-poster, the drapes, the chintzy armchairs showed me I was still here, still in Coombe, still only a couple of miles from the place where my son had been claimed by the sea.

And I realised I had a job to do.

Maybe I could only regain my peace of mind by being on my own, free of family