Free Don't Be Afraid by Daniela Sacerdoti Page B

asked Margherita. But Clara was not forthcoming.
    â€œThis is great. You are so fortunate to live in such a beautiful place . . .” she said, gesturing to encompass it all.
    â€œIt was Margherita. She turned this place around.” Torcuil gazed at Margherita for a moment, and the love was evident in his eyes. I was reminded of what had been between Isabel and Torcuil, and how it was now truly buried.
    â€œNot true! You did just as much!” Margherita protested, but he shook his head.
    Finally, Torcuil opened a set of double wooden doors and led us into the grand hall, its ceiling painted blue and dotted with silver stars and baby angels. Clara couldn’t take her eyes off the fresco, and she wandered around for a while, looking up.
    â€œAnd that, there, is my house.” I pointed to one of the enormous arched windows. Among the greenery, we could see the whitewashed cottage standing alone across the loch.
    I imagined Bell there, waiting for me.
    We stood outside in the chilly afternoon air. Now that the decision had been made, I was a bit calmer. Clara’s serenity seemed to have rubbed off on me, at least to some degree.
    â€œSo, tomorrow at ten? I’ll text you if there are any problems . . . I mean, if Bell really is adamant that she’s not ready to see you we can work around it, and rearrange . . .”
    â€œTomorrow,” Torcuil repeated, and our eyes met. I could feel we shared the same trepidation, but we also shared the same hope. “She will let Clara in. I know it.”
    I wasn’t so sure, but I knew I would do anything in my power to make this happen.
    â€œWe’ll be fine,” Clara said, and again I felt like I could breathe.
    Margherita broke the short silence. “I was wondering . . . I need to go and get my son at my mum’s, but why don’t you stay for dinner?”
    â€œYou’re very kind, but tonight I’d rather be on my own. There is so much to take in, and I’m still a bit jet-lagged.”
    Margherita was sympathetic. “You must be. It’s a long way from Canada.”
    â€œA long way indeed,” said Torcuil, and once again he looked at Clara in a way I couldn’t decipher.
    I, too, turned down the invitation to stay at Ramsay Hall. I needed time to think. I spent the evening alone, sitting at the window, listening to music. I watched day turn to night and wished it was time to see Bell already, to have her back here, where she belonged.
    And then, after a few hours of tormented sleep and two cups of strong coffee, it was time to go to the hospital and finally, finally take Bell home.

13
Prison

    The place I love the most
Becomes my prison
The world is just a space
Inside my weary heart
    Â 
    Isabel
    When I came back from hospital, everything was exactly how I left it. I couldn’t have handled it if Morag had come and touched my things, and Angus knew that. Only the bed was made, the little orange dots of my nightmare gone. Looking at the bed made me feel sick.
    I’d spent the journey home obsessively listening to The Singing Wheel, my friend Emer’s CD, and trying to forget I was actually outside . As we went through the garden, Angus tried to show me how lovely our late-blooming roses still were – but I preferred the view of my garden from the inside. I stepped into the kitchen, my husband following me with the little bag of my belongings, and then up the stairs, slowly.
    I was so happy to be home.
    I was devastated to be back in my prison.
    I was neither. I was hollow. I was nothing.
    I stopped for a moment in front of the mirror hanging on the landing and studied the shape of my head. I often wondered what had gone wrong in there. Was it an illness? Was it a choice, a personality trait? Was this happening because of what I went through when I was a child?
    Maybe it didn’t even matter.
    â€œBell?” Angus beckoned me up the stairs.
    â€œYes. Coming.”
    I went through the