Lynda Plante - Sleeping Cruelty

‘They say the storm’s passing over,’ Max said, as justification for speaking to Justin. Their proximity had given him the confidence that no harm would come to him, but he saw Justin flinch. ‘How much longer do you think it’s going to last?’ he asked.

‘As long as it takes, Max.’ Justin’s voice was low, and his eyes bored into the boy’s fearful face. He wondered if it would appear too much of a coincidence if Max were to drown like Matlock. But the crew were everywhere. He would have to think of some other way, but he felt so tired.

He watched Max slither back to the shelter of the little cabin. Maybe the storm would toss the boy overboard without any assistance from him: it was not blowing over by any means. The rain had only just started to fall and would come down much heavier. The distant booms of thunder would soon return seaward.

Max hovered close to the cabin door, and was told to go below deck. But he preferred to cling to the guard rail. ‘It seems to be getting rougher,’ he said, and was frightened by the seamen’s looks as they dragged on their rain capes and hooked safety harnesses to their belts.

‘You go below when we tell you, son,’ one man shouted.

‘Isn’t the storm over?’ Max shouted.

‘No,’ came the reply.

Justin focused on the mounting angry waves. He wondered how long it would take to drown and be really free. How would it feel?

William wore a cape and sou’wester. The rain dripped off him as the speedboat cut through the swell. They had made radio contact and discovered the route the mail-boat would now be taking. William planned to overtake it. He hoped he had not misjudged the journey. He had no intention of trying to get aboard mid-way, sure that Max would be safe until they had landed. He just hoped to God he would get there in time.

The storm was at its zenith when William landed on Tortola. He stood at the quayside waiting for the first sighting of the mail-boat. He knew he had overtaken it, but worried now that perhaps it had anchored in one of the inlets until the storm blew over. It was almost ten o’clock. He bought a bottle of brandy from the Harbour Bar. He felt stiff and cold. It had been the longest day and night of his life. Nothing he had ever been through had made him so emotionally drained yet so positive. He was there for Justin and he hoped to God that Max had come to no harm.

Max clung to the sides of the cabin as the boat thudded and rolled, the waves crashing over the deck. He was now wearing a cape and a safety harness hooked to the guard rail. He had gone below for a moment, but had started to vomit so had returned to the deck. Tears of fright mingled with the relentless rain; he could see nothing but blackness. The crew had started pumping out the bilges — they had taken in a lot of water. Using a rope and hook to edge along the railings of the deck, one of the crew made his way to the stern. He was shouting for Justin. There was no reply. He called again, screaming against the wind.

Then, to his horror, Max saw him, balanced like a trapeze artist outside the rails, arms raised, face tilted back.

‘Justin! Justin!’ Max’s voice, too, was lost in the howling gale.

Justin remained upright for a few seconds. Then the boat banged against a twenty-foot wave and Justin sailed into the air, as if he was flying. His body lifted above the boat then dropped into the churning sea.

‘Man overboard!’ the cry went up.

‘Justin! Justin! ’ screeched Max.

The crew risked their lives in leaning over the edge of the boat to find him in the swirling water, and the skipper turned on a searchlight, but there was nothing. Only the deafening howl of the wind, and the thundering waves. They searched for over an hour, before the skipper accepted that he was dead.

At midnight William saw the old mail-boat cruising into the harbour. The coastguards had been informed of a man overboard, but had been unable to launch a rescue craft. When the old boat dropped anchor, there was no mistaking the despair of the crew over the recent loss. William searched for Max. He was sobbing, but safe, being helped down the gangplank on to the jetty. His relief was short-lived however— ‘Where’s Justin?’ he called, running towards Max.

Max’s teeth were chattering, his whole body shaking, as he stammered. ‘Overboard!’

William sagged. He didn’t want to hear this. It couldn’t be true.

The sun rose, an amber globe that turned into a deep crimson ball and seemed to come up from the sea-bed to send shimmering rays across the now quiet waters. William was on his way back to the island. All the way he scanned the ocean with his binoculars. As they passed the two jagged rocks, he looked up at Suicide Point, hoping to see Justin, but no one was there.

The coastguards had been searching, and reported that no body had been found. With the storm at its height when he went overboard, he might have been swept for miles down the coast. They continued their search, in small coves and inlets, but they knew there was no hope of finding him alive after twenty-four hours.

William left the boat and went up to the house for breakfast. He had not eaten for hours, and he wolfed down the food, though he tasted nothing. As the perfect day took hold news spread round the island. William saw huddles of gardeners whispering. One man, older than the others, was squatting on his heels, sobbing loudly. The boat-boys sat side by side, their legs dangling over the jetty, arms around each other. They had loved him too. Everyone here had loved Justin. He was there in every blade of grass, in every secret path, even in the air, perfumed by the blooms he had chosen.

As William was about to enter Laura’s room, Dahlia appeared and drew him aside, inching the door shut behind her. They walked a short distance before she spoke. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said.

‘Have you told Laura?’ William asked.

She shook her head. ‘On the night of the storm, she woke up. It was about ten o’clock. She seemed frantic. Then...’ Dahlia started to sob. Eventually she blew her nose and her face puckered. ‘She turned to me and said, “Justin has gone now. He’s never coming back.” I tried to calm her and said everything was all right, but she said, “No, Dahlia, Justin isn’t ever coming back.” How did she know?’ William could say nothing to comfort her. As she gradually became calmer, she wiped her eyes. ‘I said I would sit with her, and she thanked me. She didn’t cry, Sir William, it was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever experienced. She said she didn’t need me as he was with her, Justin was taking care of her.’

William entered the room and looked down at Laura. He was as mesmerized by her as he had been from the first moment he saw her portrait in his bedroom. Her silken hair was loose around her shoulders, her eyes were clear, the helpless look had gone. Her face, devoid of make-up, had a luminous quality.

‘Hello, Laura.’ His voice was a hoarse croak.

‘Hello, Willy,’ she said, patting the bed for him to sit beside her and reaching for his hand.

He was unsure of what to say. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.

‘That he’d gone? Well, how could I not?’ Her voice didn’t waver. ‘We have always read each other’s minds. Since we were children.’

‘I loved him,’ William said, head bent.

‘I know you did. He couldn’t believe you meant it. You see, Justin always believed he could control everyone. But when you grew to love him, he didn’t know how to handle it and then... you said something to him. You killed him,’ she said.

William gasped. ‘No — no! I never wanted him to leave.’

‘Ssh.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘You couldn’t have understood. You told him you wanted to be like a father to him. Isn’t that what you said?’