Black Valley (34 page)

She walked carefully, keeping well away from the walls, and trying to ignore the fact that the curve of rock above her head was narrowing, until it became perilously low. The dripping of the
water around her became louder, echoing in her ears, and there was a sound of rushing water ahead.

What if the place has flooded, she thought, and I’m walking right into it?

Unlikely, the calm, sensible voice inside her head told her. Why would the twins set up a studio in a mine that regularly flooded?

Wouldn’t put it past them, a fearful, doubting whisper replied. She quieted the voices, and walked on. The tunnel veered off around a corner and narrowed still further, until she had to
bend her legs and her head, and the walls were close around her. She kept going, her heart in her mouth. The rock was not supported; she couldn’t see any wooden struts, as one might expect in
a mine. This part of it obviously hadn’t been used for many years; it could well be unstable. There could be a fall at any time, burying her in rubble.

She hesitated, and stopped in her tracks. She was going the wrong way, she thought. And it would be foolish to move too far away from the recess. At least there was air to breathe there, and
room to move around.

She shone the torch up ahead, this time scanning the walls of the mine. The rock was yellow, pitted and streaked with red and black. It had been hewn by hand, squared off in places, and left to
curve in others, where the stone was too hard to break. Parts of it hung down like great blunt stalactites. On the ground beneath her feet was a series of ridges, as if a small railway track had
once been laid there, and later pulled up. There was no sign of light anywhere.

She gave a sigh of frustration, and turned round, pointing the torch in the other direction, so she could see what lay there. Just as she did, it gave out. Once more, she was plunged into
darkness.

‘Fuck,’ she said out loud. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Her words echoed around her, mocking her impotent fury.

The panic came back, but this time it was mixed with rage. It didn’t help. She was stranded here in the dark, in fear of her life. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. It was up to
her to deal with the situation, and she’d managed to blow her only chance, taking the wrong route. And now the torch had given out, and she couldn’t see a thing.

She banged her foot on the ground and screamed – a wordless scream of frustration, of panic. When she stopped, all that came back was a ghostly echo. And then silence.

Right. OK. That’s enough of that. The sensible voice took on a scolding tone. Now for Plan B. Stand here for a while, let your eyes accustom to the dark. You might be able to see enough to
guide yourself out. You need to go the other way. The entrance must be in the other direction.

Yes, but the fucking entrance is fucking locked, isn’t it? the panicky voice screamed back. The bloody twins have locked me in here. They want to kill me. And nobody knows I’m here.
And there may be gas in here, and floods, and rockfalls, and—

That’s enough of that, Jessica Mayhew. Call yourself a psychotherapist? You’re just indulging in catastrophic thinking. Imagining the worst-case scenario. You’ve warned your
clients against it often enough, haven’t you? Now pull yourself together, and get on with finding a way out of here.

But I can’t. I can’t . . .

Jess began to sob. Great panicky gasps that escaped from her chest and up into her throat. Her body started to shake. Her legs felt weak, as if they were about to give way under her.

Stop that pathetic blubbing, the voice commanded, sounding like a sergeant major. You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.

Jess did as she was told, took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly, trying to steady herself.

That’s better. Now, can you see anything?

Of course I can’t.

Anything at all?

Jess looked around her. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness. Around her she could see the shapes of the walls, and the rocks above her head, looming over her. She peered ahead, into the
gloom. At the very end of the tunnel, she thought she could see a tiny pinprick of light.

Her heart leapt.

It could just be a chink in the rock, letting in a bit of sunlight, said the whiner. You might get there and find there’s no way out.

Oh, shut up. The sergeant major was impatient. Now, just move towards it. Come on. At the double.

Jess was making progress. Slowly, but surely. The pinprick of light was still far away, but it was getting bigger. She walked carefully towards it, feeling her way along the
walls. Her fear was still there, but now that she’d found a way out, or so she hoped, it was tempered by excitement.

On her left-hand side, she passed a cavern. She peered into it, but the inside of it was inky black. Then she heard a rustling, and a squeaking. A tiny creature flitted by her head.

Just a bat, the sergeant major remarked. Nothing to worry about.

Sars, murmured the whiner. Ebola.

We’re not in Africa, are we?

Bats are quite sweet, actually, thought Jess. Her own voice intervened. As long as you don’t disturb them, they won’t harm you.

Vampire bats. Rabies.

The voices in her head were beginning to worry Jess a little. Hearing voices was one of the first signs of psychosis. On the other hand, the sergeant major had been quite helpful.

She carried on and the chink of light began to get bigger. Then she turned a corner and it was lost to view.

Oh my God. It’s gone.

Keep going. Just keep walking forward.

I’ll never get out.

You will. Have faith.

She walked on. There was no light, only a soft, black darkness. The walls of the tunnel seemed to close in around her.

The voices ceased.

Have faith, Jess. Have faith. She heard her voice break the silence. She was talking to herself. Come on. Keep going.

She turned a corner, and the light came back into view. She breathed a sigh of relief, and looked around her.

The tunnel had opened out into a chamber, hung with stalactites of ochre rock. In front of her was a great lake, about fifty metres across, filled with water of an intense turquoise blue. Around
it was a path, and above it a shaft of light, shining down from a gap in the rocks above.

She caught her breath. It was beautiful. The most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. She closed her eyes in relief, and she offered up a prayer. ‘Thank you, God,’ she whispered.
She remembered it was Sunday, and she thought of the bells ringing out for evensong in the church beside her house. She’d hear them again, next Sunday, and the one after that. She thought of
the bell-ringers pulling them, hanging on to the ropes for dear life, jumping up and down, and the bells pealing out, all over the world, and she understood why they did it, and why people
listened, and why their hearts were uplifted, and why they found strength in themselves to carry on. It was to give thanks to God for the simple fact of being alive. Whether or not he heard them,
or gave a damn.

She took the path that led around the lake to the hole in the rock face above, where the light was coming through. When she got there, she looked up at the shaft. It had obviously been used as
an escape route before. A series of metal handholds had been set into the rock, leading all the way up to the top. It didn’t look easy to get up there, but neither did it seem impossible.

She peered up at the shaft, and, at the top, saw clouds scudding across a blue sky. The sight thrilled her. She imagined herself climbing out, hearing the soft rustle of the trees. She could
almost feel the breeze against her skin. It was just a matter of time. Time, and effort.

She put her hands on the first hold, and tried to haul herself up to the second. The metal felt hard and cold against the flesh of her palms. Her arms hurt, but she persevered, willing herself
on, inching her way up the shaft. She was breathing heavily. She wished that she were fitter, and the holds closer together.

She was just congratulating herself on reaching halfway up the shaft when she heard a low rumbling noise. The walls around her began to shake. She looked up at the sky again, and saw a few small
rocks tumbling towards her. She dodged her head. The quarry, she thought. The shaft must be right beside it. And they’re blasting.

She edged herself up, an inch at a time, until she reached a small ledge hewn into the rock. It was big enough to squat down on, so she stopped there for a moment, pausing for breath. She
reached out for the next hold, but it came away in her hand. It was damp and rusted. She threw it down the shaft, onto the rock below.

The next hold was too far away for her to reach, so she had to remain where she was. She looked up at the shaft and saw the sky and the trees above, so near and yet so far. Damn, she thought.
Now what the hell do I do? On an impulse, she took Nella’s neon beanie out of her pocket and threw it, as high as she could, up out of the shaft. It disappeared from sight. She hoped it would
attract attention, tell someone she was down here, and in danger.

There was another explosion, this time closer, and louder. More rocks came tumbling down, and there was a ringing in her ears.

Then there was a deafening blast, and the sky went black. She felt the darkness close around her, like a blanket. It had come back for her, reached up out of the mine to claim her once
again.

She fell like a lover into its soft, silent embrace.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a halo of light above her head.

I’m dead, she thought.

There was a loud chugging sound all around her. She wondered whether she was going to be run over.

She gave a scream. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else, high and piercing.

Nothing happened.

A few minutes later, a face appeared in the halo. The face of a man with long, tangled hair and a beard.

That must be God, she told herself.

Her eyes adjusted to the light. He was wearing a filthy knitted cap. He had a plug in one ear.

Maybe not.

There was a look of horror on his face.

It was the Longbeard.

‘You all right?’

She croaked out an answer. ‘I think so.’

So she wasn’t dead.

He held up his hand and she saw that he was holding Nella’s neon pink beanie. He gave it a shake, as if in triumph. He must have seen it fly up out of the shaft when she’d thrown it,
and come to investigate.

‘Stay there. I’ll get help.’

The Longbeard vanished. Jess lay there, looking up at the sky. Her head was throbbing, her hands were burning, and there was a deafening noise in her ears. But the sky was still blue, and there
were still clouds scudding across it. And she was here to see it.

The chugging stopped.

In the silence, she could hear the trees rustling above her head. They sounded religious, she thought. A living cathedral.

The deafening sound stopped. There was shouting.

The man would come back for her, she knew. He’d lay a blanket over her, and then other men would come. They’d wait for an ambulance, and she’d be taken to hospital. Doctors
would look at her head, and maybe put a bandage on it, and tell her to be careful, she had concussion, but it wasn’t serious, and she’d be all right in a few days’ time.
They’d clean up her cuts and bruises, and send her home. Nella and Rose would be there, and she’d tell them she’d had a stupid accident, fallen over on a hillside. They’d be
nice to her, get her a cup of tea. Fuss over her, till she told them to stop.

And then, after a while, everything would go back to normal. The bells would ring out again on Sundays, and she’d be there to hear them. Every Sunday, for now, and for years to come. It
was a miracle, but that was what was going to happen.

Yes. That was how it was going to be. She’d known it all along.

Everything was going to be all right.

Jess was in hospital, in a room on her own. She’d been there four days. Bob and the girls had visited her, but she’d heard nothing from Dresler. And now she was
beginning to get bored. There was no reason for her to stay any longer, as far as she could see. She hadn’t fallen very far in the shaft, but had been hit on the head by some falling rocks.
She’d suffered mild traumatic brain injury, what used to be called concussion, and a series of tests had been done. She’d seen the report. The scans had shown no gross structural
changes to the brain, and there was no cellular damage. However, they were keeping her in for observation, since she had shown signs of ‘post-traumatic confusional state’: cognitive
impairment, behavioural changes, irritability, sleep disturbance.

What they didn’t seem to realize was that there was actually nothing wrong with her. All these so-called symptoms were the result of no one believing what she’d told them about her
experience in the mine, and of being kept in hospital against her will. At first she’d found it profoundly disturbing that not only the medical staff but her own family had doubted her
account of what had happened that day; now, however, the shock had worn off and she merely felt frustrated, and desperate to get out of hospital and go home.

The door opened, and a woman came in. It took Jess a moment to realize who she was – Barbara Brown, a colleague who worked at Whitchurch, the local psychiatric hospital. In the past,
she’d referred a number of her clients to Barbara, sometimes for treatment, sometimes when they needed to be sectioned.

‘Jess.’ Barbara took a chair by the bed. ‘How are you doing?’

Jess had always liked Barbara. She was a woman in her fifties with a mass of unruly dark hair, now streaked with grey, who dressed rather soberly, as if trying to compensate for the hair.
They’d known each other for more than twenty years, and Jess trusted her implicitly; she’d always shown common sense and compassion, as well as a gentle good humour, when dealing with
her clients.

‘Fine. I’m hoping to be out of here soon, actually.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t rush it. You’ve had a nasty shock. You could probably do with a bit more rest.’