The House of Tides

by Hannah Richell

  If anything, the second day was worse than the first. The house quickly filled with police officers and well-meaning friends who descended upon them, everyone desperate to help, but no one really knowing what to do. They flapped and flitted from room to room, conducting intense, hushed conversations while Helen remained seated at the kitchen table in a state of disbelief, watching the machinations of the search revolve around her. Her head remained fixed in one position, turned toward the telephone, waiting for Richard to ring with the triumphant news that they had found Alfie.

  At lunchtime she glanced out of the window and saw several cars and a large white van parked at the end of the driveway.

  “What do they want?” she murmured to a passing police officer, carrying a tray of tea out of the kitchen. She noticed absentmindedly that he had used Daphne’s best china cups.

  The man followed her gaze up the drive. “The vultures are circling,” he said apologetically. “The media have gotten a whiff of the story.”

  Helen shrugged. “Perhaps they can help? Perhaps if they cover the story someone will remember something important from yesterday?”

  The policeman gave a polite nod and left her alone in the kitchen.

  Betty bustled in moments later. “Do you want me to fix you some lunch, Helen? You really should try to eat something…”

  Helen shook her head. “I couldn’t, really.”

  Betty looked worried. “Well, what about the girls then? Can I do something for them?”

  Helen shrugged. She hadn’t seen either of the girls since breakfast. Cassie had shuffled into the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea, and taken herself off somewhere. Dora had gone out at first light, following Bill and Richard at a distance down the driveway. Helen had been glad to see her go.

  “You’re very kind but really, we’re fine. I’m not sure anyone is terribly hungry.”

  “Well at least let me fix some sandwiches for those nice policemen? They’ll need something to keep them going.”

  Helen nodded and then excused herself from the kitchen. She didn’t think she could stomach the sight or smell of food. She felt like a gulping gray fish, washed up on a sandbank, drawing in her last gasps as the tide sank farther and farther away from her. Each breath she took physically hurt, a terrible searing pain that gripped at her insides, each breath signifying another moment without Alfie.

  Helen was in the conservatory, so deep in thought that Dora had to cough to get her mother’s attention.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Helen turned back to the garden with disappointment.

  “Mum, there’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”

  Helen swung around again, eyeing Dora carefully. “Go on.”

  “Yesterday, when I left the Crag, there were two people near the cave. They were lying in the shade of the rocks. Grown-ups. A man and a woman. I remember he smiled at me and waved. It was a bit strange.”

  Helen felt her breath catch in her throat.

  “The man had long dark hair,” Dora continued, pulling at her T-shirt sleeves nervously. “I thought he was a woman at first. He was wearing jeans. And a T-shirt, red I think. Yes, definitely red.”

  “Did you see the woman?”

  “No. I didn’t get a good look at her. She was lying down.”

  Helen felt her heart begin to pound wildly in her chest. Witnesses. They must have seen something. Why hadn’t they come forward yesterday? They might be able to tell them which direction Alfie had gone in. They might be able to help. It was something to cling to.

  “Why didn’t you say anything yesterday?” she snapped, rising quickly from her chair.

  Dora backed away slightly. “I forgot. There was so much going on.”

  Helen looked at her with disbelief. “You forgot?”

  “It was confusing. I was so worried about Alfie—”

  Helen could feel her body trembling. She stalked to the doorway, grabbing Dora’s wrist as she went.

  “Come with me.”

  They half ran, half walked all the way down the oak-paneled hallway until they reached the door to Helen’s study. She pushed it open without knocking—it was her house, goddammit—and blurted her words before the officers inside could speak.

  “My daughter has just remembered something. Something important.” She looked down at Dora. “Go on; tell them what you told me.”

  Dora looked up at her with alarm and fear.

  “Go on,” Helen urged. “Quickly!”

  Richard was out all that day and late into the evening. He eventually returned home exhausted and gray. Helen knew from the look on his face not to ask how the search had gone.

  “The police want to talk to us in a moment, in the lounge. Are you feeling up to it?”

  Helen nodded.

  She joined him in the lounge where they sat next to each other, holding hands as a senior-looking police officer took the seat in front of them. Helen watched the careful way the man pulled his trousers up over his knees as he sat and noted the starched collar of his white shirt. He had strong brown hands and a kind face. No doubt he had a loving wife and a happy family waiting for him at home right now, and she felt a sudden stab of jealousy for his simple, uncomplicated life.

  “Your son has been missing for over twenty-four hours now,” he began.

  Helen bit her lip and nodded.

  “We’ve covered off a significant area today with the help of our own search teams and the assistance of local volunteers. I don’t need to tell you that we have very grave concerns for Alfie’s safety.”

  Richard squeezed Helen’s hand tightly, but they both remained quiet.

  “The land search has failed to offer any clues about what might have happened to your son. We’ve found no traces of a possible route away from the cave and no evidence that he might have decided to strike out on his own, perhaps heading to the car lot in pursuit of Dora, or even trying to find his way home. Despite the crowds on the beach we’ve had no witnesses come forward. The only real evidence we have is the clothing found by the rock pools.” He looked them both in the eye. “This is very worrying indeed.”

  Richard coughed. “It doesn’t mean…he’s young, but he’s not stupid, Officer.”

  The policeman gave a slight nod. “I know, Mr. Tide. But the rocks would have been slippery, and at that time of day the tide was turning. Little kids are fascinated by water. It would only take one wave to knock him off his feet, and the shelf drops away steeply off that side of the beach. We know there is a dangerous rip…”

  Helen pressed her head into Richard’s shoulder, trying to block out the mental picture that suddenly appeared before her eyes.

  “This is a very real scenario we are looking at. We need you to be prepared; do you understand?”

  Helen couldn’t move. She kept her face pressed into her husband’s shoulder, concentrating on her slow, steady breathing as she drank in his warm, reassuring scent.

  “What about the couple Dora saw by the cliffs?” Helen asked, turning finally to address the policeman, fumbling desperately for something else to cling to.

  Helen felt Richard shift his weight slightly.

  “We interviewed your daughter this afternoon,” he continued. “Dora does remember seeing a man and a woman near the Crag when she left to buy ice cream. She didn’t get a close look at them but we have a basic description and it’s enough for us to go on for now. We’re going to try to track them down and ask them some questions.”

  “Yes!” agreed Helen. “You have to find them. They might have seen which direction Alfie went in.”

  It was only slight, but Helen saw the policeman hesitate. “Possibly, yes.”

  “You have to find them,” she urged again, hope suddenly surging through her body. “They’re sure to have seen him.” She turned to Richard. “Aren’t they?”

  Richard gave a tiny nod of his head, but he didn’t meet her eye. Helen couldn’t understand why they weren’t all over this, the first real lead. “You know,” she
continued, “I can’t think why Dora didn’t mention this before.”

  The policeman intervened. “I believe, Mrs. Tide, in all the panic and confusion she just forgot. It’s quite normal. And you see,” he continued, “she doesn’t remember seeing them when she returned to the Crag with the ice cream. Only as she left the cave that first time.”

  Richard gave a little cough. “So you have another scenario in mind, Officer?”

  The policeman looked down at his lap and an ugly thought suddenly buzzed in Helen’s imagination, nagging at her like a dirty, pestilent fly. She tried to shoo it away but it buzzed straight back again, loud and insistent.

  “You think they might have taken him?” she said. It was barely a whisper.

  It was the policeman’s turn to look away, averting his gaze ever so slightly to the empty space above their heads. “We want to talk to all possible persons of interest. As soon as we have any leads, any at all, we will let you know.”

  “You can’t just snatch a little boy off a crowded beach! Someone would have seen something. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s out there, lost. He just can’t find his own way home. You have to find him.” Her voice was rising hysterically in pitch and Richard put a hand on her arm, trying to restrain her.

  “Shhhh, darling,” he soothed. “Getting upset now isn’t going to help anyone, is it? It isn’t going to help Alfie.”

  Helen clenched her teeth and fell silent. Damn Dora. How could she forget this vital piece of information? First her blatant disobedience in leaving her brother and sister to go off with some boy from her class, and now this; she had wasted precious police time by forgetting vital details. She was angry with Cassie too, of course she was, but Dora’s thoughtlessness made her blood boil.

  “As I said,” repeated the policeman, beginning to rise from his armchair, “as soon as we have any leads you will be the first to know. We’re doing all we can. Now you both should try and get some rest. Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

  Richard thanked the man and then pulled Helen into his arms. “Stay strong,” he urged. “We have to stay strong.”

  Helen nodded, but inside she felt her heart crumble slowly, like an old fire-eaten log collapsing into a pile of cold ashes.

  That night the rain came. Helen heard it pattering softly on the creeping foliage outside her bedroom window. She looked across for Richard but saw only an empty hollow on his side of the bed, and feeling a rising panic she pulled herself up and ran to the window. The weather was turning.

  The night was dark as ink. Thick clouds shrouded the moon. Helen couldn’t even see as far as the orchard. Alfie was out there, somewhere, and wherever he was, it was raining down on him.

  She shrugged her dressing gown on and padded quickly down the stairs to the kitchen. It was dark and empty, quiet except for the low whirr of the dishwasher. Betty must have put it on earlier. Letting herself out the back door, she stepped out onto the drenched patio tiles, hardly noticing the wetness of the stone under her bare feet or the cold drops of rain as they began to fall on her hair and skin and nightclothes. Cats and dogs. That’s what Alfie would have said. He still hadn’t grasped that the expression wasn’t to be taken literally, rushing to the window to look for animals falling from the sky whenever a heavy rain came. The thought made her wince.

  She moved through the garden, wandering down the sodden lawn toward the dripping trees in the fruit orchard. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t know why. All she knew was that she couldn’t lie there in the house, while her son was out there, somewhere, afraid and alone.

  Rain streamed down her face, mingling with warm, salty tears. She felt her body begin to shiver under the wet chill of her clothes, but she carried on, regardless. Alfie was out there; she knew it.

  “Alfie!” she cried, her voice desperate and high. “Alfie! Where are you?”

  Her cries were met with nothing but the thick splatter of raindrops falling onto the leaves of the pear trees and the distant sound of the surf breaking below.

  “Alfie, it’s Mummy. Where are you?” she called. “Alfie!”

  She listened again, but there was nothing.

  Helen fell heavily to her knees. She felt the dampness of the grass rise up through her nightdress but she didn’t care. It was nothing, nothing to what he would be feeling out there. She needed to feel the fullness of his pain, just to feel close to him again.

  Helen lay on the wet grass, curling up into a tiny ball and clutching her knees to her chest, letting the hard rain wash down over her. And as she lay there she sobbed and sobbed, calling his name out over and over and screaming at the sky Take me, take me instead. I’ll do anything, just give me my baby back until her voice was hoarse and her body was overtaken with uncontrollable shivering. But still she couldn’t move, she wouldn’t move, from that spot until Alfie was returned to her.

  She lay there for a long time, in the cold and the wet, until she felt strong, warm arms lift her gently and carry her back into the house. She felt herself stripped of her wet clothes and wrapped in a blanket. She felt the sting of a hot-water bottle as it was placed in her lap, and the chatter of her teeth as a cup of sugary tea was held to her lips, and the soft sound of Richard’s anxious voice as he phoned for the doctor. And all the while she wanted to cry out in agony Leave me be. Leave me to suffer. Let me feel this pain. Because deep in her heart, she knew it was nothing compared with what Alfie was feeling, wherever he was.

  Even with the little pink pills the doctor had given her, the hours that followed were awful. It was like living on a roller coaster. One minute she would feel a fresh surge of confidence, a conviction that her baby was out there, alive and well, just waiting to be found. But then the smallest thing—the sight of his ketchup-stained clothes in the laundry basket, his toothbrush in the mug in the bathroom, or his shoes lined up by the back door—would be enough to send her plummeting into another spiral of despair and guilt. She slept in small snatches, falling into a fitful sleep until she would wake, with a start, and experience the horror of Alfie’s absence all over again. And all the while, the search continued fruitlessly around them.

  Everyone wanted to help; everyone wanted to offer their support and assist with the hunt for Alfie. But no one searched as hard as Richard. As if trying to make up for his absence on the day Alfie disappeared, he barely stopped to rest. He left the house at daybreak and didn’t return for hours. When he did, it would be merely to shower and change his shirt, before heading straight back out again, often stopping to exchange a few words with the band of journalists who remained camped out at the end of the driveway. A little boy lost made tragic headlines and sold newspapers. Helen’s initial acceptance of them had worn thin. She thought them increasingly ghoulish and found it hard not to be rude to their faces, but Richard was more tolerant. He thought their interest in the story might help to throw up a few leads, or keep the police search active, and so he would stop every so often for a few brief minutes to update them on their progress as he came and went.

  And as he searched, Dora followed him like a shadow. Helen saw her come and go from the house, pale-faced and anxious. And once or twice she stood at the kitchen door and watched as Dora sat at the table across from Betty, who held her hand or wiped the tears as they trickled down her daughter’s face. But Helen couldn’t stand to watch for long. She had no words of comfort to offer, so she always left the room quietly, before Dora saw her.

  Cassie was equally quiet and elusive. She spent hours cloistered in her bedroom, only really coming out for any length of time at night, when the others had retreated to their beds. Helen could hear the floorboards creaking as she passed back and forth outside their bedroom door. And occasionally, during daylight hours, Helen saw her out in the garden, drifting through the long grass, brushing the tips of the hot pink Japanese anemones Daphne had planted or caressing the trunks of the sycamore trees, with their leaves turning a slow, burnished yellow. She was a long way away, but Helen could still
see her daughter’s lips moving frantically, as though she were talking to herself, or offering up desperate prayers. No one thought to send the girls to school; no one thought to attempt any sort of normal daily routine because no one could think of anything but Alfie.

  Helen knew she should draw them close. She knew that her daughters needed comfort and compassion, but she had to be alone, with her grief and distress. She had nothing to give, and so they revolved around each other like distant planets, remote and elusive. Each of them was locked in a private sphere of pain; none of them could confront each other; none of them could meet the others’ eyes; none of them could bring themselves to speak of the torment they endured.

  As forty-eight hours became seventy-two, and seventy-two hours became four horrific days without Alfie, Helen, even in her catatonic state, began to notice that the faces around her grew a little more grim; mouths began to set into thin, hard lines and eyes remained downcast whenever she rustled by. She overheard a great deal of discussion about tides and currents in the bay and felt a terrible chill run up her spine the morning she came downstairs and heard one senior policeman discussing the odds of finding a body.

  A body.

  They were talking about Alfie’s body, his chubby little legs, his cheeky smile, and that fuzz of straw-blond hair that refused to stay flat on his head no matter how many times she had brushed it straight. Until then she’d still entertained a small ember of hope that he might be brought home eventually, tired and smiling, wrapped in a blanket and demanding fish fingers and beans before a bath and bed. She’d allowed herself to imagine the indulgent smiles and cheers of the locals as Richard carried him back into the house, hoisted triumphantly on his shoulders. But as she heard the serious talk of the operations around her, she realized, suddenly, that the images were nothing more than an indulgent fantasy.

  And then, midway through the first week, there was a sudden flurry of activity. Police examinations of the registrations at the local campsite had discovered a convicted pedophile had been staying there and had left the very same day that Alfie went missing. To Helen, it seemed perverse to suddenly wish Alfie abducted. But at least that way, there was hope of him being found alive. There was a series of lengthy conversations between Richard and the police that Helen simply couldn’t bear to be a part of. But in the end it turned out there was nothing to suggest the man’s involvement. He had a watertight alibi playing bingo in Lyme Regis on the day Alfie had disappeared. It seemed it was nothing more than an eerie coincidence. And with the two adults Dora had witnessed on the beach near the Crag still frustratingly elusive, it seemed all other leads were drawing to a dead end. They were back on the downward slope of the roller coaster, and it seemed the carriage was speeding faster and faster into a deep, dark tunnel.