Book Club Reads: 3-Book Collection: Yesterday’s Sun, The Sea Sisters, Someone to Watch Over Me
future?’
‘I think that’s the one thing that will always remain a mystery. The journal shows how the brass mechanism was engineered, but the timepiece was an instrument to count down the hour, not dictate where the reflection would lead to. It’s clear from the notes that it can only be the dial that makes the choice. How it does that, I don’t honestly know, but it does seem to choose a critical point in the traveller’s life.’
‘Or death,’ added Holly morosely. ‘Have you brought the journal with you?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s in the basket. Once we’ve finished with our picnic, you can have it. I don’t want it any more.’
‘How did you get hold of the journal, anyway?’
‘Mr Andrews, the old gardener at the Hall, came to see me not long after Harry bought the moondial. Though he had never used the dial himself, he had been a close confidante of Edward Hardmonton. I’ll tell you all about it later, but I think you need to read the poem in full first. Ready for the next verse?’ insisted Jocelyn.
This path too was practically clear, with pretty clusters of lichen around its edges, though not enough to conceal the engraving.
Like a hand upon the water
No imprint shall there be
Like a drop of rain on glass
The choice of path may not be free
Holly stared at the words and tried to make sense of it. A shiver passed through her body as she remembered her footprints in the snow and the dust on the mantelpiece during her last vision and she realized that the first part of this verse fitted perfectly with her own experience. She had visited the future but left no imprint, any impression she made disappearing just like the poem said, like a hand upon the water. The meaning of the second part, however, eluded her, or perhaps she was simply evading it.
‘The choice of path isn’t free? What does that mean? Does it mean I have no free choice or does it mean something else? You said there was a price to pay.’
‘A little of both, I think. The best way of explaining it is to picture raindrops on a window like the poem says.’
Holly wasn’t convinced that picturing a pane of glass would ease her confusion, but she did as she was told and let Jocelyn guide her through the image developing in her mind.
‘Have you ever tried to follow a particular raindrop as it makes its way down the glass?’
Holly nodded in agreement but said nothing. As a child she had spent hours watching the rain trickle tears down her bedroom window.
‘As it hits the window,’ continued Jocelyn, ‘you would think it’s setting off on its own journey. But at some point, it will cross the path of another raindrop. You may not be able to see that path and you may think that there’s not even a trace of it there, but then suddenly, your raindrop veers in a new direction. It’s following its predecessor, no longer on its own journey but one that has already been laid before it.’
Holly hadn’t realized but she had her eyes closed as she followed an imaginary raindrop on its path down her old bedroom window. When she opened her eyes, Jocelyn was watching, her gaze infused with sadness.
‘Life, it seems, demands a certain balance. Even when you think you’re choosing a new path, it can sometimes lead you to the same place.’
‘Oh, my God,’ gasped Holly. ‘It means no matter what kind of health checks I have, if I get pregnant with Libby then I can’t avoid dying in childbirth. That’s what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry, Holly. I wish I could say the last verse will give you hope, but I can’t. The moondial’s rules are cruel, there’s no way of softening the blow. Just remember that the dial is giving you a chance to save your life. Try not to lose sight of that. Try to see it as a gift.’ Her voice had the hushed tones befitting a funeral parlour.
‘A gift? How can this horror that I’m being forced to go through ever be called a gift?’ Holly demanded, anger burning the back of her throat.
‘If it keeps you safe, and I know it will, then yes, it is a gift. Come on, let’s read the last verse,’ Jocelyn said, her tone still soft and unnervingly sympathetic.
The last path was covered in a thick carpet of moss and as Holly scrubbed away the stone’s living shroud, she felt her heart sinking.
If evading death you seek
Then the dial shall keep the score
A life for a life the price to pay
Never one less and not one more
‘A life for a life,’ Holly repeated. ‘What does it mean, “keep the score”?’
She had asked the question, but Jocelyn wouldn’t answer her. She just looked at Holly and waited for her to interpret the poem for herself.
‘My life for Libby’s? I have to erase my beautiful baby’s life for the sake of my own. Please, Jocelyn, please tell me I’m reading it wrong.’
When Jocelyn’s continued silence gave Holly the answer she hadn’t wanted to hear, a crushing weight knocked the wind out of her and she let herself sink to her knees. ‘Oh, Jocelyn, I don’t think I can bear this any more!’ she cried out. Then she did something that she had never done before in her entire adult life. She let herself cry without restraint. In a matter of moments, she was howling sobs that had been a long time in the making.
Jocelyn laid out the picnic in the rose garden, picking the location because it was out of sight of the moondial circle. The food remained untouched but Jocelyn had insisted that Holly drink some tea, which was, as always, sweet and hot.
Holly had quelled her tears and, despite the shock, she wanted to hear more about the dial. She needed to understand how it had been used in the past. She had to be sure that there were no other options before she gave Libby up completely. ‘Tell me what happened to you, Jocelyn,’ she asked. ‘You told me how you were going to be driven to suicide, but how did the rules apply to you?’
Jocelyn played with her teacup, swirling its contents as if she would find a path back to the past. ‘I think I need to start at the beginning. Is that all right?’ Jocelyn asked, her eyes already glistening with unshed tears.
‘Take your time. I’m here for you too,’ offered Holly as she leaned over and squeezed the old lady’s hand.
‘Mr Andrews didn’t mention time travel the first time he visited me at the gatehouse. He had simply come to hand over the wooden box and the journal – with some reluctance, I’d have to say. I think he was torn between letting the secret of the moondial die with the Hardmontons, or leaving it to its new owner to decide. He warned me to read the journal first and not to resurrect the moondial unless I was prepared to accept the consequences. By the time he returned a few months later, I hadn’t just read the journal but I’d experienced the power of the moondial first-hand.’
‘The dial chose to take you to that point in time when you’d committed suicide.’
Jocelyn nodded. ‘I went through the same nightmare you probably did, questioning my own sanity. The journal seemed to confirm everything I’d experienced, but I was more than willing to dismiss it as fantasy. When Mr Andrews realized I’d seen my future, he helped me accept that what I’d seen could really happen. We took this exact same walk to the Hall and the stone circle where he helped me interpret the poem exactly as I’ve done with you.’
‘The raindrop on the window pane,’ confirmed Holly.
‘When I realized that the “life for a life” rule meant that someone else would have to die in my place, I simply resigned myself to my fate and for two years, I did nothing.’ Jocelyn shrugged her shoulders by way of any further explanation.
‘But then you used the dial again and saw what Harry would do to Paul. That’s why you changed your path. But