It’s the strange bloodless man again, naked, his flesh so white. His eyes remain holes caked in dried blood and his groin is still a black, misshapen wound. He stands with an aristocratic bearing, and his empty sockets defiantly confront Jess, the watcher. Izzy stands beside him, smiling. She is once again dressed as Charlotte Gardner and she holds the bloodied stump of the man’s arm that is missing a hand.

‘It’s time,’ the man says, and Izzy and her grisly companion approach the pond.

Jess again finds herself secured within Flo’s wheelchair, her ankles and wrists restrained by straps. But this time, the chair is half-submerged in the pond. From what she can see of her own chest and arms and hands she is dressed in Flo’s ratty leisure suit and her body has aged horribly, is now elderly, her arms as thin as flutes, her skin near transparent. ‘No. Oh, Christ, no!’ she calls out, but though her face is screaming her words are the faint, faltering entreaties of an old woman. They reverse and slide down her throat.

Izzy and the blind, mutilated man wade into the shallows to join her.

Slowly, Jess and the wheelchair are drawn back and into deeper water. As she writhes and struggles against her bonds, the cold water rises up her body to her neck, then her chin. Before going under, she throws her head back to take a final gasp.

* * *

Jess sits up in bed, her head thrown back to complete the desperate inhalation that started in the dream in which she was being drowned. Hair sodden with sweat, she doubles over and pants for air until she catches sight of the figure beside the bed, silhouetted by faint ambient light. A form dressed in a pale gown, the small head tatty.

Flo.

Jess screams.

From out of the darkness, Izzy cries out a startled, terrified response.

Jess yanks on the bedside light. Where the ghastly silhouette of Flo was just standing she sees her daughter, hair mussed. Izzy holds the new soft toy beside her face, and when exposed to a full revelation of her terrified mother, the intensity of her wails increase until Jess is deafened.

‘Baby. Baby girl. Baby.’ Jess opens her arms and Izzy vaults into them and they squeeze each other as Jess sobs with relief. ‘Bad dream. Mums have them too. All it was. I’m so sorry I frightened you. My love, don’t you cry.’

Izzy whimpers and sniffs, her face hidden.

‘All right now. Shush. Shush. Mummy’s here.’ Jess lies back and stares at the ceiling, coming down from shock and clutching her daughter to her chest as if she’ll die before letting this child go again.

29

‘Jess. A word, if you please.’