Page 41 of The Blue Hour

He is woken by a loud beeping. He forgot to turn off his alarm. He sits up in the darkness, head thumping, stifles a groan, scrabbles around on the nightstand for his phone. He knocks something over.

Shit.

It’s not his alarm, it’s a WhatsApp call, it’s Helena.

‘Beck? Can you hear me?’ Her voice is full of tears, there’s an echo, as though she’s in an empty room.

‘Yes, I can, what’s going on?’

‘Oh!’ She starts to cry and his heart stops.

‘Helena, what is it? Where are you? Helena?’

‘There’s blood. I’m bleeding.’

‘Jesus, where are you? Are you in London?’

‘No, I’m home, I’m in the bathroom, I—’

‘OK, OK.’ He tries to keep the panic out of his voice. ‘Is it … how much blood? Is it spotting?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Her voice is tiny.

‘Call an ambulance. No,I’llcall an ambulance. No,fuck,I can’t. I don’t have service.Youcall the ambulance, I’m going to call Sebastian and tell him to go round to wait with you. Get out of the bathroom, Hels, go downstairs, unlock the front door. Do it now, I’ll ring Seb.’

‘OK.’ She makes a strange noise, somewhere between a laugh and a cry. ‘I’m frightened, Beck.’

His hands are shaking as he calls Sebastian. It rings and rings; he hangs up, tries again, and again. The third time, Sebastian picks up.

‘Helena’s bleeding, you have to help her.’ He is trying not toraise his voice, struggling to keep the lid on his terror. ‘You have to go to her, now! Don’t ask questions, please, please, just go!’

‘I’m going,’ Sebastian says, ‘I’m going now!’ Becker has barely ended the call when he remembers the tide. He throws his clothes on, sprints through the living room to the front door, he runs outside. Water is just starting to lap the causeway. He runs back into the house, grabs the rest of his things. He needs to leave a note for Grace, he can’t find anything to write on. He grabs handfuls of paper from the box Grace left, letters and cards – he can’t write on those. He finds a receipt in his inside coat pocket and scribbles on that. As he’s writing his eye snags on a word on the letter at the top of the pile:Division. He grabs the letter and stuffs it into his jacket and runs out of the door.

26

When Grace opens her eyes, she sees the chair at her bedside, its upholstery a dull, faded orange, and behind it a bare wall. She feels disoriented for a moment, and then she remembers that she is in Vanessa’s bed. She stares at the wall, trying to remember what used to hang there, which of the paintings it was that Vanessa would look at over her head when Grace sat at her side.

What was it?Dawn in Winter. A painting of the channel, an ice-green sea drawing away from the land, the causeway leading the eye to the mainland, to the snow on the hills. One of Vanessa’s earliest Eris landscapes, one of her enduring favourites. So many of those early ones were morning pictures; she loved to be out on the sands or on the hill with the day dawning, hope springing, revelling in her freedom. Fairburn hasDawn in Winternow. Grace wonders where it hangs; she can’t quite picture it under spotlights in some grand, vaulted gallery. It was a humble, everyday sort of picture.

She can ask Becker! It occurs to her then that she is not alone, that she has someone to talk to.

Glancing at the clock next to the bed, she realizes that she has slept through low tide. She rolls over; through the gap betweenthe curtains, she spies a blue sky. She feels a little surge of joy: she’s heady from last night’s wine, though Becker drank quite a bit more of it than she did. And she is rested, she has slept long and soundly, and it’s thanks to him. Thanks to the comfort of having him here with her.

It waswonderful, last night. Cooking for someone again, breaking bread, drinking wine, talking into the small hours. She wonders whether she might be able to persuade him to stay another night? There is pasta, and sausages from the butcher, and—

She feels a pang, a sharp jab to the stomach. She told him about the morphine. That was reckless. But he confided in her, too, didn’t he? He told her about his marriage, about the trouble he was having at Fairburn. They’ve bonded, they are friends now. She can trust him. They can trust each other.

She checks the time – it is almost nine. She should wake him. In the shower, she plans their day: coffee, a quick breakfast, a walk through the wood, up to the rock. They can visit some of Vanessa’s other favourite painting spots along the southern side of the island on the way back. Then perhaps more time in the studio? A walk on the beach? And an invitation to stay a bit longer. Like someone who doesn’t realize how hungry they are until they have the first bite of food, Grace has not acknowledged how lonely she’s been feeling, not until Becker turned up.

She allows herself to drift into reverie, to a time in the future where Becker comes to stay at the island for days, weeks even, sometimes bringing his wife and the baby, sometimes coming alone. They go for walks on the beach and Grace cooks and they sit up late, drinking wine, talking about Vanessa. She is invited back to Fairburn, Sebastian Lennox sees her differently now, as a person of value, an asset, someone with a contribution to make. She helps with the archiving of Vanessa’s notes and correspondence, she has a role, a new purpose.

It’s a daydream. She’s not a fool. And yet there’s no denying the bond between her and Becker. They are linked by Vanessa, and now by Eris Island, but their connection goes deeper than that. She’s looked him up, she’s read about him: he’s not like the Fairburn people, he doesn’t come from money. He’s like her, he’s a striver, he’s had nothing handed to him. She suspects that she understands some things about James Becker in a way neither his moneyed wife nor his boss can.

Back in the bedroom, she pulls the curtains open. Glorious. A lively sea, tropical aquamarine in the sunshine and deep Atlantic blue where clouds throw shadows. The air is clear, the view so crisp Grace can make out the gannets roosting on the cliffs of Sheepshead. From the top of the rock, they’ll be able to see forever.

She dresses in walking trousers and warm clothes – sunshine or no, it’ll be chilly – and slips quietly out into the hall. As she walks through the living room she notices that her bedroom door – the spare-room door – is already open. He’s up! He’s not in the kitchen, though; he must have gone for a walk. She is making coffee when she notices the scrap of paper weighted to the table by the pepper mill.

So sorry – had to go – emergency. Will email later to explain. Tks for everything. B

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