Read The Dig for Free Online Page B

turned off the light. Robert, however, remained sitting up in bed, with the candle burning beside him. Something about the way the shadows fell on his cheekbones made me imagine, just for a moment, that it was Frank gazing back at me. Gravely and with a hint of reproof. Then the shadows shifted and he instantly reverted to being a child.
    “Mama …”
    “Yes, darling.”
    “Do you think Mr. Brown will find any treasure?”
    “I really don’t know.”
    “But you still hope he might?”
    “I still hope so, yes.”
    “I hope so too,” he said.
    “Although we mustn’t depend upon it, you know.”
    “I know that.”
    “Goodnight, Robbie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    “Goodnight, Mama.”
    I lay in bed and listened to the wireless. There was a talk on clothes through the centuries. This was followed by a dance by Wendy Toye entitled
The Blue Madonna
and set to the music of “Air on a G String.” When it was over, I turned out the light and lay there, hoping sleep would come. It did not; my mind would not let it.
    After I had been lying for two or three hours, the house began to creak. The man we bought the house from, a Mr. Lomax, imported timber from the Far East, hence all the wood paneling. Whenever the temperature drops, the wood contracts. It sounds as if the entire house is twisting on its foundations. I lay there for a little longer, then put on my dressing gown and slippers and went across to the window.
    When I drew back the curtain, the garden was white with moonlight. I could see all the way down to the river. The moon itself was reflected in the surface of the water. Even in the reflection, I was able to make out the dark smudges of the lunar seas.
    I sat on the window seat, staring out. Trying to ward off thoughts that came towards me like flocks of angry birds. One memory in particular kept returning: Robert running across the grass with his arms stretched out and his cheeks full of air.And then my pushing him away. I know that I am failing him. The awareness sits there, like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down. Constantly reminding me that whatever capacity I once possessed for motherhood is disappearing.
    All that seems left is this ever-widening gap between the scale of my devotion and my ability to succor him. To protect him. It feels as if I am standing on the brink of his world, forever on the threshold and yet unable to step across. Yearning to match his vigor, his boisterousness, but lacking either the imagination or the resources to do so on my own.
    After a while I went to check on him. It was quite bright in the corridor; light was shining in through the oriel window. I stood outside Robert’s room, listening. I could hear his breathing. Slow and apparently untroubled.
    With no purpose in mind, beyond a vague desire not to remain stationary, I started to walk down the corridor — away from my room. Everything was quiet now; the house had stopped creaking. The strip of carpet stretched out before me. Although I was wide awake, I had a strange feeling that I was sleepwalking. My slippered feet seemed to develop a rhythm of their own. I went through one doorway, then another.
    Soon I was in a part of the house that was scarcely ever used. Even when Frank was alive, we seldom came here, except on the rare occasions when we had guests. On either side, doors led off into bedrooms that no one had ever slept in — at least not in our time.
    When I reached the far end of the corridor, I turned round, intending to retrace my steps. It was at that point that I heardsomething. A knocking sound. Quite regular, like someone marking out time with a baton. It was coming from the room to my left.
    To my surprise, the door was ajar. Coming the other way, I had not noticed it. But now I could see a narrow gap between the door and the frame. A right-angled band of silvery light. Meanwhile, the sound continued: regular, metronomic beats, tapping away.
    I pushed the door open. The room was as white