Undercurrent

by J. A. Baker

  Martyn is in the kitchen when I go downstairs. His hair is ruffled and I imagine, like me, he slept all night in a chair. Is this what our life has come to? Living separate lives, co-existing under the same roof with no real purpose? I wonder how much longer we can go on like this. As soon as I sort out the problem of Anna, I will make more of an effort to help Martyn. God knows he needs it. He’s a monster; of course he is, I realise that, but he too is a victim of sorts and needs me as much as she does.

  I let Tillie out into the garden where she pees for England and then I feed her. While she is eating I make some tea and nibble on a slice of toast. Martyn is sat at the kitchen table looking out of the window. We don’t speak. There is no need. What is there to say?

  After I have showered and got dressed, I take a glass of water through to the bedroom. Anna is laid on her back staring up at the ceiling. She turns to face me as I walk in and I am disturbed by a lone tear that rolls down her cheek and drips onto the quilt. I don’t want to give her any more medication just yet so I squat by the bed and hold her gaze.

  “I know you’re upset but don’t worry. Everything will all right soon enough. I’m going to take the tape off your mouth so you can have a drink. Are you thirsty?”

  She nods vigorously and another tear falls from her eye. This is good. She is upset but not angry. I hold the glass up and she watches it carefully, her face full of neediness. I place a hand behind her neck to lift her head and rip the tape off. She winces and before she has a chance to yell, I hold the glass to her lips and watch as she drains it in one go. While she is still swallowing, I push the tape back down firmly and let her head fall back onto the pillow. As a precaution I take another length of tape and set it over the layers that are already on her mouth. She struggles slightly and cries some more as I push my hands down to make sure it stays in place.

  “Don’t worry. This isn’t going to go on for forever. It’s just for a short while. Everything will turn out for the best, you’ll see.”

  Hot air rushes out from her nostrils which flare as I kneel close to her to speak. She is frightened. I understand that, I really do, but she needn’t be. We’re friends after all aren’t we? I try to placate her by gently stroking her flawless, creamy skin.

  “I knew you would come back to me Suzie. I just knew it.”

  I remove her remaining shoe and dirty socks and without untying her, wash her feet with a warm, soapy flannel, taking care to rub between her toes. She needs to be clean. I want her to be clean. I dry her off and slip a pair of my best slippers on her feet. I don’t want her to be cold or uncomfortable.

  “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”

  Her eyes are full of fire and without warning she begins to buck and writhe. So once again, I make a concoction of Martyn’s tablets and a touch of water. I need her to be still while I administer it. I simply cannot do it while she is bouncing around on the bed like a feral animal. Bending over her I grab a handful of her hair and kneel on it. She stops immediately and while she is pinioned to the bed I rip off the tape and shove the contents down her throat. I’m not happy about doing it but have no other option,

  “There, there. It wasn’t so bad was it? You have to stop jumping about or Martyn will hear you and come up. You definitely don’t want that to happen do you?”

  I hope she can see that all I’m trying to do is protect her. He is a violent, vengeful man and the longer he goes without his medication, the greater his fury will be.

  Within seconds, she becomes sleepy and lifeless, her head lolling to one side. So much better. I’m nearly fifty years old and don’t have the energy to be dealing with a person who chooses to thrash about like a wild stallion when all I’m doing is helping her. Once she is fully asleep, I will clean up the cut on her head and maybe even wash her hair. Eventually she will thank me for it. Until that time, I guess I will just have to put up with her tears and anger.

  There is a noise outside which draws my attention to the window. My heart beats a little too quickly as I shuffle over and peek through the side of the blinds. It’s as I expected really. Mike and Toby are standing at the front of Anna’s house talking animatedly to each other. I squint and try to get a good view of them. Stubble covers both of their faces and Mike looks utterly exhausted. If only they knew she was up here, safe and warm. Not down in the freezing river with its raging current, high and fast again after yet more rain. A tall and young looking man steps out of the house and stops to speak to both of them. A police officer perhaps? He isn’t from Mountain Rescue. Not properly kitted out for it. They glance around and point in various directions before turning to look over at my house. I watch as the young man nods to Anna’s husband before setting off over the road. I hear the familiar crunch of the gravel and brace myself for the knock on the door. When it comes I take a kind of devilish perverse pride in fooling them all. If they insist on being so clueless, then maybe they don’t deserve to have her back. I head downstairs thinking I managed to quieten her just in time. Sometimes lady luck can really play her part and today, for once she is definitely smiling down on me.

  Twenty

  Time passes too quickly and each hour that slips by leaves Mike feeling more and more hopeless. He imagines Anna being swept downstream, her head bobbing up and down, her small body slamming into all kinds of detritus - old tree trunks, gnarled branches, loose rocks - all of which could injure her really badly. That is, if the power of the current hasn’t already dragged her under, overwhelming her, filling her lungs with freezing cold water. He fights back the tears. How the hell did this happen?

  He looks around the living room which, without Anna’s magic touch, is already beginning to look markedly dishevelled. Cushions sit crumpled and squashed on the floor. He can’t think how they got there until he remembers that one of the boys used them as a pillow while trying to take a nap. They had all refused to go to bed. Somehow, sleeping on the floor of the living room seemed more fitting. Warmth and comfort felt so very wrong when Anna is out the cold and wet and probably terrified. Cups of half-drunk tea litter every surface, everyone too sick and worried to finish them.

  The knock on the door sets his heart battering wildly. Anna? There is a surge of movement within the house as Toby and the boys jump up simultaneously, running to open it.

  “I thought I would come and help you. I heard Anna was missing and felt I had to do something. . .” The lad at the door is a lot younger than Toby but older than Callum and Mason - Toby guesses early twenties - and tall and slim with a sincere expression. “One of the neighbours came in the shop and mentioned that you were looking for her. Everyone is worried sick. Mum wanted to come and help but she’s serving in the shop and couldn’t get away. Anna’s a lovely woman and my mum and dad are really upset and I said I would - well I just want to help. . .” His words tail off as he watches the solemn faces of Mason, Callum and Toby scrutinising him, listening to him with intent.

  The boys give him a nod of recognition and step aside.

  “Simon!” Mike’s hand reaches out through the three bodies and gently pulls him inside. They head into the living room and perch on the edge of the sofa.

  “Simon’s mam and dad own the village shop,” he says to Toby whilst nodding his head as if to assure him of this young lad’s identity, “Anna worked there for a short while after we first moved here.”

  “Wish she still did,” Simon breaks in with a slight smile, “My father needs dragging into the twenty-first century and Anna was the best thing that happened to that place. She nearly persuaded him to set up a website and start taking visa cards which is more than me or my mum have been able to do.” He laughs softly then stops and rests his hands on his knees, looking at the sets of watchful eyes on him, “Anyway, that’s not want you want to hear right now is it?” He clears his throat quietly, “So, have you called the police yet?” Simon looks from one to the other.

  “An hour ago. We have to wait twenty-four hours apparently and then call them again. She’s not
considered vulnerable,” Mason replies, his anger palpable.

  “Really? That’s bollocks,” Simon states flatly. “I know a bit about forensics from my degree and I can honestly say that’s not true. When did she go missing?”

  “Sometime last night. Probably about seven-ish but we don’t know exactly. We went out to the pub. She didn’t want to come. Fancied a walk instead.” Mike dips his head. He should have insisted she join them. Hindsight is a wonderful thing isn’t it?

  “And they’re saying you have to wait till seven tonight to ring back? Jesus.” Simon dips his head and looks away, his distress beginning to show.

  “We’re not going to though,” Toby cuts in. “This is totally out of character and they have to take that into account don’t they?”

  “Yeah, especially as she’s not the only one,” Callum pipes up. His cheeks flush up as he speaks. A small area of acne covers his chin and his hair has a shine that suggests it’s in need of a good wash. At only thirteen years of age, he is still a boy but right now, feels haggard and well beyond his years.

  “The only one what?” Simon asks, looking over to Mike.

  “The only woman who has disappeared round here lately,” Mason adds dejectedly. Dark rings sit under his eyes and his voice comes out as a low squeak.

  Simon nods as he recalls the other lady. He was still living away in his digs at the time but remembers his mum telling him about it. He wants to curse some people’s stupidity when it comes to being near rivers and stops himself just in time. There was a student that tripped and fell the river while he was at university. Swept downstream by the full force of the freezing, swollen current. She hadn’t had a drink like the papers had reported. It was just a tragic accident on a cold and wet winter’s night. Such an awful waste of a life.

  Mike rolls his eyes and suppresses a sob. He hardly gave the other woman a thought at the time. He, like most other people, presumed she had fallen in the river and got dragged away. It happens, especially during bouts of heavy rain when the rivers are high and the currents are strong. You see it all the time on the news, people going missing, last spotted near the Wear or the Ouse or the Tyne or the Tees or any number of rivers throughout the north east and most likely the rest of the UK. People fall into them all the time. Unpleasant but true. But two of them going missing within such a short space of time. Could there be a connection? He hopes not, because if there is, it doesn’t bode well. Thoughts gallop through his head, none of them palatable. The chances of a tiny village like theirs having a madman running loose must be pretty slim. So what has happened to them both? He closes his eyes. His mind goes back to thoughts of the river and that bloody current. . .

  “Yeah, mum told me and I saw it on the news. It’s a bit mad isn’t it? Two of them disappearing. You really need to ring the police again and tell them this stuff. They don’t always make the connection you know.” Simon’s eyes are wide and he suddenly looks very pale.

  Toby nods and pulls his mobile out of his pocket. He didn’t make the connection either. Lack of sleep. Shock. They’re all running on empty.

  Simon leans towards Mike, “I know this might sound a bit daft but do you have any outbuildings? ‘Cos that’s what the police’ll ask when they arrive. In fact it’s probably the first thing they’ll do.” He touches Mike’s arm and nods towards the patio doors and the garden beyond.

  Mike looks over towards the shed and the old coal bunker and feels a tad stupid. She wouldn’t be in there would she? Why didn’t he think to check them? “We have an old shed. It’s full of garden furniture and tools. There’s also a coal bunker. It’s dropping to bits and completely filthy. There’s no way she’s going to be in there. Why would she be? If she wanted shelter she would just come back into the house wouldn’t she?”

  Simon shrugs his shoulders and tries to keep the tremble out of his voice. Studying this stuff is one thing but actually being part of it is another thing entirely. He clears his throat and looks at the forlorn figures in the room. He needs to stay calm and help them out. He can see they’re in no fit state to cope. Probably been up all night as well. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. This whole thing is shit. Stuff like this shouldn’t be happening right here in the village he grew up in. , “Might have forgotten her key. Just trying to cover every possible angle.”

  Mike stands up and gathers all the relevant keys together, “Right. Good point. Mind you the door was locked when we got back last night so. . .”

  “She could have lost it while out walking,” Simon says flatly. “I take it you’ve asked everybody around the area, see if anyone heard or saw anything?”

  Mike nods, “Toby and me did the rounds last night. Woke them up but nobody saw or heard anything. It was a waste of bloody time.”

  “At least you asked . Every little bit of information helps doesn’t it? And word got back to me and mum and dad so at least it’s got people talking. Made them aware you know?”

  There is a short silence as they listen out for Toby talking into his phone in the next room. His voice is raised and it’s quite obvious he in on the point of losing it.

  “You okay lads?” Mike asks Callum and Mason who sit quietly hunched in the corner of the room. What must be going through their minds? Simon stands up, strides over and gives Mason a firm pat on his arm, “It’ll all come right lads. You’ll see. She’ll be back before you know it.” Simon watches them. Poor kids. They nod appreciatively and for the first time in many years, lean in to one another for support, their heads barely touching.

  “Should we go and speak to the neighbours again?” Simon asks Mike. He came to do something and feels pretty useless sat here.

  “Can’t harm can it?” Mike whispers. He too feels bloody ineffective. “Tell you what, you two lads check the back garden and the shed and stuff while we go and speak to the neighbours again.”

  Toby strides in the room, his face flushed with anger. “Said they will send somebody over later in the day. There’s an emergency in town apparently. A gas leak. Like a missing person isn’t just as bloody important.”

  “Right. Well, why don’t we all go out and have another look around? Talk to neighbours again. Worth a try isn’t it?” Simon smiles at them all. “And by the time the police turn up she may well be back home, telling you lot off for not looking hard enough eh?”

  Mike laughs, a short, sharp bark. Better than crying he tells himself as they slope off outside.

  After my father died, I hoped things would improve. He passed away the winter after Suzie’s death, on a day when the snow was so deep, the ambulance took over two hours to reach us. Ironically it wasn’t his liver that gave up. His bronchitis had developed into pneumonia and doctors told us that even if he had got to hospital sooner, there was nothing they could have done.

  Mother and I spent the next few weeks rattling around in our suddenly too large house, Suzie’s old bedroom a constant reminder of our predicament. My visits to Dr Tavel ceased, the only positive to come out of it all. What little money my mother had received when my father was alive, appeared to have stopped and everything suddenly became too difficult to manage. The days were dark and long and inexorably miserable. There were many times when mother struggled to get out of bed and I would find myself on my own, wandering around the house searching for clean underwear and uniform, scratching around for food before getting myself off to school. Usually by the time I came home on an evening, she had managed to get herself up and dressed and the house was marginally less messy. She would push my plate of food over to me with a weak smile and a stream of feeble, half-hearted apologies for oversleeping, assuring me it wouldn’t happen again. It did. Of course it did. Day after day after day. And then as if being ordinary looking wasn’t difficult enough to deal with, I began to look grimy. My clothes were unwashed, my hair dirty, my fingernails bitten and ragged. I was one of those children in the playground who stood alone, friendless and ignored, too grubby for even the most unpopular pupils to befriend. Nowadays,
I would be counselled for my bereavement and referred to social services for neglect. But of course that didn’t happen. What did happen was that I was subjected to bouts of prolonged bullying for simply existing, for the dreadful crime of having a mother who was undergoing a complete nervous and mental breakdown after the death of my sister and father in quick succession.

  I had hoped that as the winter passed and the memory of two funerals in such a short space of time lapsed into the further recesses of our memory, she would improve but unfortunately it was not to be. It was a bright, crisp day when my mother left me. Daffodils were pushing up through dark saturated soil and snowdrops were peeking t heir heads up towards the thin, feeble rays of sunlight on the day she died. Spring was most definitely in the air. I was left to cope alone after a concoction of painkillers and vodka were found at her bedside. She had taken the extra precaution of slicing open her wrists in case the huge amount of killer drugs she had ingested didn’t quite work. And that was how I found her upon returning from school one sunny afternoon in late February. The previous day she had seemed better. She had chatted and smiled and that evening we had even sat and watched TV together. She had asked me about my day, told me things were about to improve. I hadn’t realised she meant only for her. She had it all sorted in her mind. Her death was a fait accompli and I was no more than a helpless onlooker.

  The house was silent when I entered, which wasn’t unusual. Untroubled by the quiet, I had wandered into the kitchen expecting to find her standing in front of the sink washing pots or sitting at the table staring at the wall with a blank expression on her face. Unfortunately that too, was the norm. But she wasn’t there. It was at that point, a certain amount of trepidation began to tap at my brain. I dropped my schoolbag onto our battered old couch and ran upstairs expecting to find her napping in her room. I opened the door and saw the familiar form of her body under the sheets. But unusually the whole of her body was covered including her head. As quietly as I could, I tiptoed over and gently tapped a lump which I assumed was her back. No response. The curtains were drawn and it was difficult to see clearly so I wandered around to the other side of the room and pulled them aside telling myself it was the right thing to do. She wouldn’t want me to leave her sleeping. Not this late in the day. As I moved closer to her I could see a discolouration seeping through the pale blue sheets. I knew they wouldn’t have been changed for some time and was mentally trying to work out how use the washing machine when I noticed the smell. A metallic, sour odour that seemed to be emanating from where my mother was laid. I slowly padded over to her lifeless form and let out a small gasp when I saw the scarlet pattern spread over the blankets. As carefully as I could and with trembling fingers, I peeled back the coverlet. It must have been my wails and cries that alerted the neighbours to my plight, as that was where they found me, hunched over the blood drenched body of my mother, dumbstruck and quivering and almost on the point of collapse.