“All packed then?” she asked.
“Yep.” Too late, Cassie saw Dora’s eyes flick to the vivid red hatch marks streaking up her arm. Hurriedly she pulled down her sleeves and threw herself onto her bed. She blocked out her sister’s horrified look and, willing her not to say anything, returned to frantically scribbling in her diary as a heavy silence settled around the room.
Dora took the hint and grabbed an old Cosmopolitan magazine from a stack next to Cassie’s bed and began flicking through the pages carelessly. “So, what time are you off?”
“Mum’s dropping me at the station at nine.”
There was another pause.
“You’re so lucky.”
“Am I?”
“Yes! You get to escape, start afresh, somewhere completely new.”
Cassie eyed her sister. “University isn’t exactly the be-all and end-all, you know, Dora. It’s just glorified school. You still have people telling you what to do and when to do it, what assignments to write and when to hand them in…which books to read and exams to sit. It’s not real freedom. It’s not real escape, is it?”
“It’s better than nothing!” Dora wailed plaintively. “I’m going to be stuck here on my own. Just me and Mum…and Dad, when he’s around.” Dora paused for a moment to stare at a “position of the month” feature, her eyes boggling, before flicking the page. “Can you imagine anything more awful?”
“Mmm…” Cassie was chewing on her pen lid. She wouldn’t want to be in Dora’s position either. “It’ll be all right,” she lied. “You’ll be out of here too before you know it.”
“Can I come and visit you sometime?”
Cassie went quiet for a very long time. “Yes, of course. If Mum and Dad let you, that is.”
Dora nodded. They both knew how sporadic and strange their parents’ moods could be now; how one minute they would be cloyingly protective, demanding to know the ins and outs of every single social interaction or engagement, only then to be weirdly absent and distracted the next, as if they barely remembered the girls existed at all.
“Sometimes I’d give anything just to get away from here,” Dora announced suddenly. “I can’t understand why Mum and Dad stay,” she continued. “I think it’s making things worse. You know, if we had all just left, had a fresh start somewhere…or gone back to London. Maybe it would be a bit easier. Maybe we would feel like a family again.”
“Maybe,” said Cassie.
“But then if Alfie is out there, somewhere, he wouldn’t know how to find us, would he?”
Cassie shook her head. Dora still didn’t get it. “I don’t actually think Mum and Dad want to go back to how it used to be. That’s the problem,” Cassie said. “They enjoy the misery. They love wallowing in it.”
“I don’t know…” Dora was skeptical. “They don’t look like they love anything at the moment.” Dora chewed on her lip. “Cass…?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think about him much?”
“No,” Cassie replied bluntly. It was another lie.
“I do.”
Cassie didn’t want to talk about Alfie. She sat up, slammed her diary shut, and threw it down onto the bed, hoping to bring a swift end to the conversation. As her diary thumped onto the duvet, a collection of sealed blue envelopes slid out from between the covers. They were all addressed to Cassie and whoever had sent them had taken the trouble to draw a tiny heart above the i in her name, where the dot should have been. Cassie snatched them up quickly and stuffed them between the pages of her notebook, but it was too late: Dora had spotted them.
“Aren’t you going to open those?” she asked, eyeing the letters.
Cassie shrugged. “Nope.”
“Who are they from?”
Cassie sighed. “Sam.”
“What? Sam from last summer?”
“Yep.”
“What does she want?”
Cassie shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t opened them, have I?”
“Why not?”
Cassie scowled in frustration. How was she going to explain to Dora that the very last thing she wanted to do was confront whatever Sam had written inside those blue envelopes.
But it was as if Dora could read her mind. “Don’t you ever feel like it was our fault?” she asked in a small voice.
Cassie didn’t say anything; she just pushed the diary under her pillow and sank back onto her bed, closing her eyes.
“You know, I can’t help but think…if we hadn’t gone to the Crag…and if I hadn’t left you all to go and get those stupid ice creams…”
“Dora, shut up, will you?” she snapped.
Dora looked stung. There were tears in her eyes. “We never talk about him, none of us. It’s like he never existed. It’s driving me crazy. All I want to do is talk to someone about him. About what happened…Just a few minutes. It’s all I’m asking for.”
“Dora, I won’t tell you again.” Cassie’s cheeks flamed red with anger. “Just shut up! Shut up, or get out of my room.”
“Why won’t you talk to me? We used to hang out together all the time. Now you just shut yourself away. It’s like you can’t bear to spend time with me.”
“Dora, I’m warning you.”
Dora sighed, and then got to her feet. She threw her magazine down on the floor in front of Cassie. “What’s wrong with everyone in this family? You all ignore me. All I want to do is remember Alfie, but I’m forgetting him.” Dora looked close to tears.
Cassie couldn’t stop herself. “Haven’t you ever thought that it might make us all more sad to remember? That’s why we are all trying so hard to forget. And there you are bringing Alfie up every five minutes. It’s not helpful, Dora. No wonder Mum and Dad are barely speaking. That’s probably your fault as well. And it’s no bloody wonder I can’t wait to escape this hellhole. I just want to find some peace away from this crappy place. Away from you! Let it lie will you. For God’s sake, you’re not a kid anymore! Stop acting like one.”
Dora didn’t say another word. She marched out of Cassie’s room and slammed the door.
Cassie lay back on her bed and tried to block out the sound of her sister’s sobs as she fled down the hallway. She waited until she heard the slam of Dora’s bedroom door and then she reached back under her pillow for her journal. Before she could change her mind Cassie seized the four pale blue envelopes and ripped the contents of each one into tiny illegible pieces, watching as the torn remnants floated to the ground like fragments of ash settling after a fire. Whatever had been written couldn’t hurt her anymore. She lay back on her bed and closed her eyes. She could feel the start of the itch, crawling up the inside of her arms. She tried to ignore it but it grew more and more insistent, until, unable to resist it any longer, she snapped open her eyes and reached across for the little butterfly brooch in her drawer. It was too hard to resist. Cassie grasped it and began to pick at her skin with the bloodied pin.
Her nightmare returned that night. She woke from it with a start, her pillow drenched with sweat and tears, and turned on her bedside lamp. She’d been in the Crag, clawing desperately at its walls, screaming and hammering on the unforgiving rock face for Alfie. Although she was wide awake now, she could still feel the sensation of stone ripping at her hands, torn fingernails and bleeding skin. She shuddered and pulled her duvet up tight under her chin.
She’d thought it was getting better. She hadn’t dreamed of him at all the last few weeks. But then just like that Alfie was back. Damn Dora and their argument. Why couldn’t she just try to forget like the rest of them? God knows none of them wanted to relive last year, night after night, like a never-ending horror movie stuck on repeat.
It had been horrendous.
Her stomach churned.
She looked around her bedroom desperately, trying to find something normal to fix upon, something mundane that would keep the nightmare at bay, keep it from being real. She tried counting the rows of CDs in the rack across from her. One, two, three, fo
ur…but it was too late. Unwanted images came crashing in on her from all directions.
Oh God. There she was, at the far end of the beach, sunburned and foggy from too much spliff, stumbling around the rock pools with Sam. They were both calling Alfie’s name in raspy, panicked cries. Her tongue was heavy with the taste of marijuana and she was thirsty—so thirsty, she could barely find her voice. She remembered a sudden rush of seawater breaking over the rocks and filling her sandals. The water had been cold enough to make her shriek. Then, Sam’s shout. She had turned to see her holding something above her head. Don’t be ridiculous, she’d thought. We’re looking for my brother, not beachcombing for washed-up junk, but then her eyes had readjusted and she’d realized with a horrified gasp that the dark, shapeless object Sam held aloft was, in fact, Alfie’s Superman cloak.
She’d stumbled toward her, falling once and grazing her knees on the rocks, but moving forward all the time until she reached Sam.
“No!” she’d shouted. “No, no, no, no, no.” She’d started to cry.
Sam had looked on, shocked and silent.
She remembered running her hands through her hair and pulling it hard, and again harder still, trying to get a grip of the situation as it spiraled wildly out of control around her. She had turned and looked out at the surf crashing onto the rocks closest to the beach, scanning the water for a sign of Alfie.
“It doesn’t mean…you know,” tried Sam, nodding her head in the direction of the waves. “Maybe he was hot. Maybe he took it off and then headed back up the beach, to get ice cream? Perhaps,” she tried again, “perhaps he went to look for your sister?”
Cassie looked at her hopefully. “You’re right.” She ignored the damp bundle of cloth in her arms. “He’s probably up at the car park now, with Dora and her friend. This doesn’t mean anything.” Cassie dried her eyes, suddenly hopeful. “We should go find Dora and Steven, see if they’ve found him.”
“Yes,” agreed Sam.
Suddenly they were both keen to leave the remote outcrop behind. They wanted to return to the main strip, to surround themselves with the buzz and chatter of families going about the normal business of holidaying.
Cassie closed her eyes and swallowed hard. When she opened them again she could see light from her lamp pooling onto the duvet cover, highlighting a small circle of pink roses on the material. She pleated the fabric frantically between her fingers, willing away the scenes flashing before her eyes. But it was too late.
Now there was Helen racing toward her across the parking lot. Even in her state of distress Cassie remembered thinking her mother looked strange. Usually so poised, there she was stumbling and tripping in espadrilles across the tarmac with her face twisted into a terrifying grimace like a theatrical Greek mask, half rage half fear.
“Where is he?” Helen had gasped as she got closer. Then when Cassie didn’t reply, she screamed it again: “Where is he, Cassie?” Her mother had seized her arms and shaken her violently. She remembered going limp like a rag doll, allowing her mother to buffet and bruise her in the painful embrace. There was nothing she could say.
“Er, miss. Are you Cassandra Tide?” A large man in a police uniform was looking at her with concern.
“Yes, yes I am.”
“I need to ask you some questions. To help us find your brother. Would that be okay?”
Cassie nodded her agreement and let him lead her into the shade of the beach shop. It was hot and stuffy in there, but it was a relief to be away from all the staring faces. And she’d answered all of their questions. Even when Helen had burst into the claustrophobic storeroom and stood by the doorway glowering at her with barely disguised disgust, she’d kept her eyes fixed on a strange elephant-shaped stain on the floor and answered each question as best she could. And the only details she omitted were the ones she knew shouldn’t be spoken out loud; like the smoky tang of the spliffs she’d shared with Sam that had burned her throat and coated her tongue; like the slow creep of Sam’s fingers as they traveled up her thigh and under the hem of her denim skirt; like the velvet-soft brush of Sam’s lips on hers and the taste of her tongue, soft and sweet. Yes, there were some details she had left out, but she knew they wouldn’t have helped with the search. They wouldn’t have changed anything.
The horror had been never-ending. She still got chills thinking about the desperate hours she had spent pounding up and down the beach with her mother. Back and forth, back and forth they went until Cassie had thought the clank and crash of the pebbles under their feet would drive her crazy. She remembered, with guilt, that she had actually been relieved when the police had suggested gently that they return home. But the hardest moments were still to come, like when their mother screamed at her and Dora in the kitchen. Cassie had never seen her mother so angry. It was terrifying. It was obvious Helen lay the most blame on Dora for leaving the Crag, for meeting up with Steven, but the words Cassie had wanted to speak, to defend her sister, stuck in her throat and she’d swallowed them back with a burning shame.
Richard had arrived home an hour later. Cassie heard the wheels of his car crunch on the gravel, his quick footsteps, and then the slam of the front door behind him. She’d rubbed her red, puffy eyes and left her bedroom.
As she’d descended the staircase, she’d seen her parents in an embrace in the hallway. Her mother had her back to her but she could see half of Richard’s face lit by the lamp shade hanging in the hall. He held Helen to him and murmured low while she sobbed and clung to him tightly. He must have heard Cassie’s footsteps on the stairs because he looked up as she approached and Cassie paused on the stairs, suddenly unsure whether to join them. For a moment it was as if they were all suspended in time, Cassie frozen on the stairs, one foot in midair, and Richard looking up at her, his hand pale against Helen’s brown hair while he just stared and stared. She couldn’t read his expression—it was as if he wasn’t really seeing her at all. Then, suddenly, the moment was gone. With a nod of his head, he beckoned her to them and she flew down the stairs, Richard opening his arms and the three of them clinging to each other, crying and hugging.
She remembered they stood there like that for a long time, holding on for dear life, as if they were drowning.
Drowning slowly in the tight embrace.
She was wide awake now. She knew it wouldn’t matter if she reached across now or in an hour or so to turn her bedside lamp off; she wouldn’t sleep again that night. It was all upon her at once, raw and unbearable. Seven months on and it still felt as fresh as if it were that first night. She glanced across at her bedside table. The alarm clock showed 3:14 AM. There were still hours of darkness to get through. She pulled her duvet up to her chin and closed her eyes but it was no use.
Sam had phoned around the same time the police had packed up and cleared out. Cassie’s heart had sunk as Richard had handed her the phone. She’d known it was too much to hope she might just disappear with her parents and never be heard from again, but she’d clung to the thought anyway. She didn’t want to talk to her. It was best they just stuck to their story and tried to forget all about it. She took the phone from her father and turned her back on him.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. It’s Sam.”
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
Cassie didn’t know what to say so she stayed quiet.
“Is there any news?”
“No.”
It was Sam’s turn to remain silent and there was nothing but the distant hum of the telephone exchange and the quietness of the two girls breathing for a moment.
“Have the police talked to you again?”
Cassie looked around for her father. He was gazing out the window, washing up mugs in the sink, and looked to be a million miles away. She cleared her throat. “They took statements from all of us…but they don’t think they’ll find anything now. They think he was swept off the rocks.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She could still hardly bear to say the words.
&n
bsp; Sam made a funny strangled sound. “God, Cassie, it’s so awful. I can’t bear it.”
“You don’t have to, do you? He wasn’t your brother.” As the words left her lips it dawned on her that it was the first time she had used the past tense to describe Alfie. She felt sick.
“I know, I mean…” Sam struggled to find the words. “I’m sorry. It’s just so awful. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what to say.” She paused again. “Cassie, do you think you should have told the police about—”
Cassie didn’t want to hear any more. “I have to go now. Someone needs the phone. Thanks for calling.”
“Wait, Cassie, don’t go—”
But Cassie had hung up before Sam could say another word.
“Who was that?” her father asked, his face still turned to the window.
“Oh, just a friend from school—they wanted to say sorry about Alfie.”
Richard gave a nod. “Good of them.”
“I guess.” She left the room before he could ask anything else.
Cassie had waited and waited for the sledgehammer of blame to come crashing at her door. She knew it was only a matter of time, and as the house emptied of well-meaning strangers and police officials, there was nowhere left to hide. She braced herself for her parents’ questions and recriminations. To look into her parents’ eyes and admit yes, it was all my fault would be more than she thought she could take. But it was what she deserved and it would be a relief in the long run, she decided. She spent hours in her bedroom, braced for the knock at the door.
But it never came.
Instead, the fights began.
They started over the funeral.
Richard wanted one. Helen did not.
“There’s no body,” Helen had said as she stacked the dishwasher in the kitchen one morning, carelessly crashing plates and cutlery into random spaces. She spoke in the flat monotone her voice had taken on ever since the police had left. “Why would we have a funeral if we don’t have a body? That inquest was a joke, nothing but pure conjecture and speculation. I don’t know how you sat through it like you did.”
The House of Tides Page 22
