by Heidi Perks
Her heart broke for little Mason’s parents. They had no hope now—all they had was a finality that didn’t make anything better. She wanted to write and tell them how sorry she was, and that she understood how their lives must have shattered. Only she didn’t understand. Because Harriet still had hope. So instead she wrote down her thoughts in the little Moleskine notebook that she kept hidden under a floorboard in her bedroom, and wished they were getting comfort elsewhere.
More comfort than Harriet was getting. She and Brian swept like ghosts around the house that now groaned with loneliness. He would reach out to touch her, utter words in her ear, but they weren’t comforting. Each step she took on the wooden staircase echoed eerily back at her. In the hallway the Ikea lamp no longer cast any warmth, just a long, menacing shadow along the floorboards.
The living room looked as if it had been swept clean of any trace of Alice. Harriet’s fingers itched to grab hold of the plastic toy boxes so perfectly stacked in a corner and overturn them, making it look like her daughter was still there. Had she been the one to hastily tidy them away once Alice had gone to bed last Friday night, or was it Brian who’d meticulously set things to order, restoring the room to a child-free area?
But Harriet knew she couldn’t start throwing Alice’s toys all over the house. She could imagine what Brian would say if she did. It would give him another reason to convince her she should have taken the medication she knew didn’t exist.
At times she would just sit on Alice’s bed, running her hand across the pink duvet embroidered with birds, still ruffled from her daughter’s last sleep. Harriet would look for the indent in the pillow where Alice’s head had last lain, imagining her blond hair splayed around her in a fan, but the image was rapidly vanishing.
Now there was just Hippo on the bed, where she had carefully placed him after finding him wedged next to Alice’s car seat. It broke Harriet’s heart into two clean pieces to think of Alice without the gray hippo that had always gone everywhere with her.
Over the week, the sense of Alice in the little girl’s bedroom had diminished until Harriet was left wondering what was imagination and what was real. It was so frightening that Harriet started writing everything down in her book again.
Eventually she entered the bedroom less and less, but the thought of Alice somewhere else, sleeping in a place she couldn’t imagine, opening her eyes and not being able to see her string of butterflies hanging in the window, was slowly and painfully killing Harriet.
• • •
ONE WEEK HAD passed since Alice had vanished and her disappearance was still hot news. A handful of journalists continued to hang around outside their gate now that Mason’s body had been found, and there was more interest than before.
Harriet still read everything she could, however painful. Often she would lock herself in the bathroom with Brian’s iPad and scour websites to see what people were saying. Then she would delete the search history. Brian wouldn’t understand her need that had turned into an obsession. He would only point out how unhealthy it was.
Maybe he was right. She didn’t need strangers voicing their opinions about them. It was Angela’s opinion that counted. She was the person living Harriet’s hell with her, yet she was giving little away.
Harriet liked having Angela in her life. She thought they could have been friends in very different circumstances. Harriet wondered what Angela was feeding back to her bosses at the station. It was her job to watch and cast judgments on their tiny family, so she must have opinions. What did she make of them, dancing around each other like two strangers trapped in a prison of their own misery? Angela had eaten with them, waited while they slept, seen them at their worst. What was Brian telling her when Harriet wasn’t in the room?
When Angela had left that evening, Brian turned on Harriet. “I’m not the only one who’s worried about you,” he said, shuffling far too close to her on the sofa, the smell of stale coffee drifting off his breath.
“What do you mean?”
“Other people have noticed, too,” he said. “I’m only telling you this for your sake.”
“What are you talking about, Brian?”
He sighed, rubbing his hands up and down his jeans. “When you went out for a walk the other day, Angela specifically told you she didn’t want you going out on your own, but you ignored her and went anyway. Why are you doing this to me, Harriet?”
“Angela never said that,” Harriet said, slowly shaking her head as she thought back.
“Yes she did, my love.” Brian turned around to face her, furrowing his brow and cocking his head to one side as he studied her. His eyes drifted to her hairline and he reached out to gently push her hair back. “You said you needed to go out for a little walk, but Angela told you it wasn’t a good idea and asked you to stay in the house. Yet you were insistent. Even when she told you it wasn’t safe,” he said, his hand remaining on her scalp.
Harriet stared at her husband.
“I just need to understand why you’re doing this to me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you. Angela didn’t tell me I shouldn’t go out,” she said again.
“Oh, Harriet, you don’t remember, do you?” he said, inching nearer still. He took hold of her arms, rubbing his thumbs across the fleshy skin above her elbow. “I knew this would be the case,” he continued.
“Brian. I know Angela didn’t say that to me. I would have remembered. If she had told me not to go out, I wouldn’t have.”
“Oh, Harriet.” He shook his head again. “Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I’m trying to deal with Alice and I can’t worry about you, too.” He gripped her a little harder. “There are things you choose to forget.”
When Harriet didn’t answer, he carried on. “We’ll go back to the doctor. I’ll make an appointment for Monday morning.”
“I don’t need to see a doctor.” She would be firm over this. She would not have a doctor brought in again.
With one last squeeze he let go of her arms and stood up, pacing over to the window. Brian’s head hung low. She watched his shoulders heave slowly. Up, down, up, down.
When she couldn’t bear the tension any longer she said, “Fine. I’m sorry. I believe you. I remember it now; I know what you’re saying about Angela is right. So I don’t need to see a doctor again, Brian.”
“That’s good, my love,” he said, turning back and smiling at her, his dark, hooded eyes reflecting the light of the evening sun. “I knew you would.”
NOW
It’s clear Detective Rawlings has decided she doesn’t like me, as she looks at me with scrutinizing eyes that frown under her thinly plucked eyebrows. I am not the kind of mum she would want to be friends with, though I doubt she has children of her own.
She is interested in the differences between Harriet and me. Not the glaringly obvious ones like money and houses, but the little nuances that separate us.
“You were happy to share everything about your life,” she comments. “But Harriet didn’t do the same with you?”
She already knows the answers to most of her questions. I’m sure her intent is to point out my shortcomings.
“I don’t share everything,” I say in defense. “Many parts of my life are private.”
“But you talked about your upbringing and the intricacies of your marriage.”
“With Harriet, yes,” I say. “But Harriet is a friend, it’s what friends do.”
“Yet Harriet didn’t open up to you in the same way?”
“Look, I don’t really know what you’re getting at.” I don’t mean to snap, and wonder if I have overstepped the mark.
“Don’t you, Charlotte?”
“Harriet told me what she wanted to. I can’t force someone to talk about their home life if they don’t want to,” I reply.
“Or maybe you didn’t try,” she says, and leans back in her seat as if satisfied with her trump card.
My fingers stop fidgeting with my belt and instead clench tightly until I c
an’t stand the pressure. I know she thinks I wasn’t a good friend to Harriet, that I took more than I gave, but her judgment angers me. She has comfortably positioned herself on Harriet’s side, if there are sides to be taken. Before I even walked in this room she’d probably made her judgment.
“I’m going to have to take another break if you want me to answer more questions,” I say sharply.
“Of course, of course. Take as long as you need.” She gestures to the door but doesn’t smile, and again I wonder if I should tell her I’m not prepared to stay any longer.
Once I get out into the fresh air of the courtyard, I call Tom. “How are the children?” I ask before he has the chance to speak. “Are they asleep?”
“Of course,” he says. He sounds drowsy himself, as if I have woken him up, but if I have I don’t particularly care.
“What about Molly?” I say. “Has her temperature gone down?”
“I think so,” he says. “She’s fast asleep though.”
“Go check on her,” I tell him. “If she feels hot, the thermometer’s in the bathroom.”
“Charlotte, I know where the thermometer is,” he says. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s just taking longer than I thought it would.”
“You’re still at the station?” He sounds surprised. “I thought you’d be on your way home by now.”
“Hopefully I won’t be much longer. Obviously they have a lot they need to get straight,” I say.
“But they’re not, you know, suspecting you of anything?” he asks cagily. “I mean, they don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do they?”
“No.” I feign a laugh. “Of course not. Like I told you earlier, I’m here to help them, that’s all. It’s better I get it done now and then hopefully they won’t need to speak to me again.”
“Yeah, of course. It just feels like you’ve been there a really long time.”
“I have, Tom, it’s been nearly four hours,” I say, glancing at my watch.
“Right.” I can tell he’s trying to figure out what is really going on, wondering if there is anything I’m not telling him. But then Tom thinks I tell him everything. Just as the clever detective pointed out—people like me tell everyone what’s going on in their lives.
“And is there any other news?” he asks. “You know—about—”
“No,” I say as I rest my head against the wall. “Not that I’ve been told.” I don’t know if they would tell me anyway.
“Okay, well, look after yourself.” I guess he’s ready to go back to sleep. “Call me when you’re out.”
“I will. Thank you,” I add, hoping he won’t ask me what for, but I’m grateful he is there for me, caring for me in a way I no longer expect anyone else to.
Soon after Jack was born I remember Tom saying something to me that hadn’t had much resonance at the time. “You’ll always be the mother of my children now,” he’d told me. “Whatever happens, I’ll never stop caring for you.”
I had brushed him off then, but now I know he meant it, and as reassuring as that is, it makes the distance between me and my family stretch unbearably further apart.
When I hang up I head back into the station, my heart feeling as heavy as my legs as I drag myself to the vending machine for another coffee. As I wait for the cup to fill, I catch sight of Detective Rawlings at the far end of the hallway, ushering someone inside through the front door. As the detective steps to one side and the bright lights flood the front entrance, I realize she’s speaking to Hayes, who must have just arrived. And while I should be relieved to see a familiar face, I can’t help but feel my heart sink a little lower.
BEFORE
HARRIET
On Sunday morning, eight days after Alice had disappeared, Harriet woke at 6 a.m. and walked out of the house. She had checked first to make sure Brian was still sleeping. He was, which was no surprise as he’d been scratching around downstairs for most of the night, only coming to bed in the early hours of the morning.
She noticed his sleeping patterns had changed in the last week. The previous day he’d taken himself fishing, but only an hour had passed before he’d come home to be with Harriet. And while she’d always been the first to bed, Brian usually followed shortly after. But this past week Harriet had lain in bed alone, barely sleeping while Brian stayed up until 2 or 3 a.m., prowling around beneath her. What he was doing she had no idea.
Harriet had crept downstairs, slipped on the shoes that were tucked under the coat pegs, and carefully opened and closed the front door behind her so she wouldn’t wake her sleeping husband. She was grateful there were no waiting journalists this early as she took a deep breath of the morning air and climbed into her car.
As she drove along the nearest stretch of coastline, she glanced out at the cliffs. They were high and jagged with sheer drops to the sea below that would crash into the rocks when the wind picked up. The unlit road could be dangerous at night and there had been a few occasions where a speeding car had driven over the edge. A dented barrier ran parallel to the road, a sobering reminder in the daylight.
Harriet drove for another five minutes until she reached a sharp turn where she pulled off and headed down a stony track to a car park.
She loved it here. The beach itself was tiny and very pebbly. Alice always complained that she didn’t like walking over the stones to the sea because they hurt her feet, but Harriet thought it was beautiful. The water was as clear as glass and she could sit at the edge and wiggle her toes while Alice filled up her bucket with stones.
Harriet opened the trunk, pulled out a small bag from under the picnic blanket, and walked to the beach. It looked so peaceful, she thought, as she pulled off her dress and laid it on the stones. Fiddling with the straps of her red swimming costume, she walked into the water one tentative step at a time, keeping her eyes on the horizon. The cold didn’t bother her. It numbed her, and she needed to not be able to feel anything, even just for a moment.
With each pull of the tide, the water gradually built up over her body, as inch by inch it devoured her. It crept up her thighs and lapped around her waist, slowly edging up to her armpits until the rest of her body was submerged. Harriet plunged her head under and held it there as long as she could before she needed air. The release was instant. She felt anesthetized and it was a glorious feeling, but one that never lasted long enough.
Soon Harriet was swimming, farther out till she had to tread water to stay afloat and keep her blood circulating. Each time she sank her head under, only the basic desire to survive brought her back up again.
• • •
DESPITE TELLING ANGELA she couldn’t swim, there was actually a time when Harriet swam in the sea every week of the year. Christie, her friend from university, had gotten her into it. Harriet loved the euphoria she felt when she let the water consume her. Nothing compared to that moment of pure bliss when she became part of nature and it a part of her.
Then one day she stopped. It was six weeks into her wonderful new relationship with Brian. He’d surprised her, showing up at her door with a large picnic basket and driving thirty miles to the beach.
“I know it’s your favorite place,” he’d said, and she’d felt herself falling even deeper. She remembered praying nothing would jeopardize their relationship. No one had ever made her feel so special.
On the sand Brian had laid out a checked blanket and they’d talked and laughed and fed each other strawberries.
“Doesn’t it look inviting,” she said, nodding toward the water as they held hands and wandered to its edge, paddling as the waves lapped around their feet. The tide pulled out, farther than before, and sent the water swishing back to them rapidly and much more forcefully. Harriet shrieked with childish delight, but Brian had leapt back, a look of ridiculous panic on his face.
“I’m going to sit on the blanket,” he’d said and turned on his heel, leaving her no choice but to follow.
Back on the safety of the san
d, Brian’s face was flushed with embarrassment as he admitted that not only could he not swim, he also had a fear of the water. She begged him to open up to her, but the more she’d pushed, the more he’d withdrawn, until he’d eventually snapped, “I don’t like to talk about it. But something happened to me as a child.”
He’d looked away and Harriet hadn’t said anything, just reached out to him, touching his leg. Brian had flinched and said quietly, “My mother wasn’t that attentive. She thought it didn’t matter if I went into the sea on my own when I was six years old. Didn’t even notice I’d been dragged under the water till some stranger shouted out to her.”
“Oh, Brian,” Harriet had said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s really not a problem,” he’d said with a sudden turn of tone and began packing up the unfinished picnic. Harriet knew she needed to do something. The day was turning sour and she could already feel Brian slipping away from her. With an overwhelming sense of pity and fear that she might lose him for good, Harriet told him the first thing that came into her head, which was that she couldn’t swim either.
Brian had stopped packing away the food and turned to her. He’d cupped her face in his hands, and with a serious look told her, “I’m now absolutely certain that we’re right for each other.” He seemed so grateful at her little white lie that at the time she didn’t think about its consequences—that while they were together she would never be able to go into the sea again. But then she was so in love with Brian, it seemed such an easy thing to give up.
Harriet had lived with her lie ever since. She’d lost touch with many of her friends, including Christie, not long into her relationship with Brian, so there was no threat of him finding out the truth by accident. The subject rarely came up now, but if it did, Harriet had simply gotten used to telling people she couldn’t swim.
• • •
THAT SUNDAY MORNING Harriet drove home and was back in the house by 7:40 a.m. Brian was still asleep, so she crept into the bathroom, burying her wet suit at the bottom of the laundry basket where he’d never find it. The smell of salt water was hard to hide, and as she let the warm water of the shower cascade over her body, she wondered what Brian would actually do if he found out.
