Last Seen

by Lucy Clarke

  A chill shivers down my spine. I turn on the spot in the heavy darkness. I feel in my pocket for the torch, but I must have left it on the sofa. I know I’m standing in the kitchen area, near the hob. I use the light from the screen of my mobile to locate one of the knobs on Isla’s cooker. I press it in and hear the hiss of gas as the ring flames to life.

  I step back, the hut illuminated.

  Isla wouldn’t leave the gas on over winter.

  I crouch to her fridge, open it. The light comes on and I blink into the fridge. There is milk and cheese, fruit and yoghurts. I pick up the milk, open it. It smells fresh. I find the sell-by date – it doesn’t go off for another five days. Isla couldn’t have bought it before she left.

  Then I stand, directing the light from the mobile’s screen on to the newspaper on the counter. I scan the cover.

  Today’s date.

  My breath is short now, rasped.

  Everything is beginning to come into focus. I move towards the sofa and pick up the memory book ready to leave. I need to get out of here.

  But as I move, I hear the creak of the door opening behind me.

  I whirl round, my voice unsure as I stare into the darkness. ‘Nick?’

  46. ISLA

  When you look at the life ahead of you, there are moments stretching into the future that you could never predict or anticipate. I could never have conceived that, a week ago, I would be flying to Chile with Jacob, or that, seven years before, I’d be listening to a coastguard saying he was calling off the search for Marley. Not that. Never.

  And not this.

  I never wanted this.

  When I said goodbye to the sandbank with my plane ticket in hand, I meant it. I’d planned to leave the tensions of the summer behind and get back to my life in Chile.

  But that didn’t work out, did it?

  It was so very strange returning here, crossing the headland in the early hours of the morning when it was shrouded in darkness. I felt alert, each of my senses heightened; it was as if I could feel my heart pumping the blood around my body, a deep pulse of it moving through my chest, my wrists, my neck. When I reached the hut, I stood inside with my palms pressed against the shuttered windows, watching the morning yawn awake through the gap in the plywood.

  That’s when I saw her. Sarah was standing at the water’s edge, arms hugged to her chest, her back to me. I experienced a strange, dislocated sensation, as if I were looking at myself seven years earlier. I’d stood exactly where she was as I’d watched the rescue boats carving empty circles in the water in their search for Marley.

  Then Sarah had turned – looked straight at me.

  My chest constricted and I went to step back from the doors, but then I realized: Sarah couldn’t see me. But I could see her. Her skin was bleached of colour, and her hair hung lank around her unmade face. There was a blankness about her expression that I recognized in myself: she looked haunted.

  What I thought was: Now you know.

  47. SARAH

  I hold my breath as the door opens behind me, the roar of rain and waves washing into the hut. Then a light footstep moves inside.

  I want to believe it is Nick – that he saw the flash of torchlight in Isla’s hut and came to investigate, but I know from the slimness of the frame beneath the raincoat that this is not my husband.

  The figure pulls the door closed, then unzips the coat and hangs it from the back of the door handle. The person turns, facing me in the darkness.

  Isla.

  My mind is stumbling and tripping in its race to understand. Isla is not in Chile, she is standing right here in her beach hut, only feet from me. There are a hundred questions I want to ask …

  Or perhaps there is just one: ‘Where is Jacob?’

  Isla pulls something out of her jeans pocket – and is suddenly crossing the dark hut towards me. I jerk backwards, catching my hip against the edge of the counter, a hot pain shooting through me. Isla merely passes me, moving into the kitchen area. I hear the sliding of cardboard, then a quick rasping sound, and a match flares to life. Isla directs the match towards the gas lantern; a warm orange glow fills the hut and we’re bathed in light.

  I stand opposite her, blinking. I don’t know what I am expecting to see; a monstrous version of Isla with wild eyes and a distorted expression – but that’s not what I get. This is just … Isla. Her damp hair hangs loose around her face, the thighs of her jeans are soaked to a dark navy, her feet are bare and caked in sand. She’s wearing a cream cotton top with a soft crocheted neckline that I bought for her birthday two years ago.

  ‘You broke into my hut,’ she says.

  ‘I have your spare key.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I have my spare key.’

  It takes me a moment to understand. I couldn’t find Isla’s spare key because she must have taken it back. Which means she’s been in our hut. A steady beat of fear builds in my chest.

  Isla’s gaze travels to Marley’s memory book, which I am clutching to my chest. ‘What are you doing with that?’

  I tighten my grip. ‘Where is Jacob?’

  Isla’s expression is level, emotionless, as she lets silence answer me.

  A shiver travels along the nape of my neck. ‘My God,’ I say, my voice whisper-thin. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘I think the more interesting question is, What have you done, Sarah?’

  48. ISLA

  Over the past week, I’ve only seen Sarah from afar, or heard her voice, played back on my voicemail. Seeing her up close like this makes my breath catch: there’s a deep vertical line running between her brows, and the circles beneath her eyes are so dark they look like bruises. Anger or fear tightens the muscles around her mouth; her top lip twitches. She is wearing an oversized raincoat, water sliding from it to the floor. She is shivering but doesn’t seem to notice.

  ‘The police think you’re in Chile.’

  ‘I flew back six days ago. I’ve been here.’

  ‘Here? That is …’ Sarah turns, taking in the hut, the boarded-up windows, ‘… madness!’

  Actually, I liked it. There was something soothing, quietening, about being here unnoticed. I’ve been free to fall into step with the sandbank, feeling its rhythm, taking long walks across the headland at night, watching the bats swoop, hearing the scuffling of foxes leaving their dens, watching the moon turn from a deep orange to silver-white as dusk moves towards dawn.

  ‘All those messages I left you … You’ve been right here – listening to them?’ Incredulous. Breathless.

  ‘Yes.’ I was the fly on the wall that no one knew about. When the doors of Sarah and Nick’s beach hut were left open, I could hear them only feet away from me – their phone calls, their conversations with the police, their arguments. When there was little wind and the sea was tame, I could even catch the clang of metal pans on the hob, the drone of the water pump as the kettle was filled, the clink and scrape of cutlery. I knew when they cooked, when two plates were laid instead of three, when uneaten meals were scraped into the bin. Invisibility is a strange feeling – both liberating and lonely.

  I wondered if Sarah had somehow sensed me here. I’d see her on the beach, her gaze hovering in this direction, as if trying to decipher a message in the faded wood of my hut. I was surprised when she let herself in – I’d forgotten she had my spare key. I’d been out walking over the headland, like I’ve been doing most nights, and returned to find her and Ross Wayman standing in the doorway. I’d watched from a distance, certain she’d notice something that’d give me away, like the still-warm kettle, or the bowl of fresh fruit on the side. But I suppose we all see what we want to see.

  ‘Why?’ Sarah asks, quite rightly. ‘Why have you been here all this time? What the hell is going on? Where is Jacob? Is he safe?’

  Her questions can wait. ‘Isaac,’ I say firmly. ‘That’s where we’ll begin.’ My voice is level, cool. I barely sound like myself – and perhaps that’s how this needs to be. ‘You never told me he’
s Jacob’s father.’

  Sarah’s back stiffens. ‘Because it’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘You’ve always acted strangely around Isaac. Jittery, that’s the word, like you’re uncomfortable when he’s near Jacob. That struck me as odd when you owed everything to Isaac for saving Jacob’s life. Maybe I should have worked it out – but I suppose I didn’t, because I’d never have imagined that you’d been lying to Nick and Jacob for all these years, too.’

  Sarah glares at me. ‘I don’t need to explain myself to you.’

  ‘Everything that happened the night Jacob disappeared started with you.’ I pause for a moment. ‘I’ve been watching you stalking the sandbank, throwing around accusations and blame – but when have you once stopped to ask yourself what your part in all of this was?’ I fix my gaze on hers. ‘It’s time you took responsibility.’

  Sarah’s eyes widen. ‘My God! Last night … you followed me to Isaac’s hut, didn’t you? I thought I saw someone outside … You were there, listening!’ Her head shakes in disbelief as she realizes. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? The note … the note Isaac was supposed to have written – you wrote it! You manipulated things so Nick would find out—’

  ‘He deserved the truth.’

  ‘He deserved to hear it from me. Me!’

  ‘When would that have been, Sarah?’

  Her gaze narrows, bewildered. ‘Is that what this is about? Nick? Are you still bitter that I married him? Do you honestly think you have some claim to him because you were lovers twenty years ago? That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t bear that I have a husband and a son – and you have no one.’

  The punch of her words hits in my stomach, winding me. ‘This is between you and me.’

  ‘Is it? Then why involve Jacob?’ Sarah takes a step towards me so that we are standing only inches apart, her face tilted towards mine. I can smell the sourness of her breath as she pleads, ‘Where is he? Just tell me, please, I’m begging you. Is Jacob safe?’

  ‘That was all I wanted to know about Marley, too. Do you remember all those times I came to your hut, sobbing? I was desperate for answers. Desperate for someone to tell me what happened on the water so I could understand, let go.’ I pause, look her in the eye. My voice is arctic as I say, ‘Only, you made me wait seven years for my answers.’

  49. SARAH

  Blood pulses just below my skin. I’m still wearing the raincoat, and beneath it I’m clammy, sweating, the plastic pinching against my bare neck. I have to get it off. I can’t breathe in here. I step away from Isla, keeping the memory book clutched awkwardly in one hand as I shrug off the coat. A few strands of loose hair must have got caught around the zip and I feel them tearing from my scalp as I shuck the wet coat on to the floor.

  I suck in air, shoulders heaving. The hut is thick with the scents of sweat, mildew – and something else; an earthy smell like damp, rotting wood.

  The rain continues to pound against the hut roof, insistent, loud, as if it’s banging to be let in. I feel trapped in here – the hut boarded up, no moonlight or fresh air filtering in. Just the burn of the gas lantern, our black shadows cast against the wooden walls.

  My palms are damp as I grip on to the memory book, holding the weight of both our sons in my hands. Isla stands with her back to the lantern, her face in shadow, just wisps of hair backlit golden. I don’t know this Isla. She’s a stranger to me. I’m no longer sure who she is – or what she’s capable of. My mobile is in the pocket of my raincoat. I could ring the police, or call Nick. But I sense it would be the wrong move; instead, I say what Isla is waiting to hear. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘The night Jacob disappeared, do you know where I found him?’ Isla begins. ‘He was crouched on the quay, right by the harbour edge. He was soaking wet. Shivering like a dog. He could barely speak.’

  Oh, Jacob!

  ‘Do you know how far offshore Isaac’s boat was when Jacob dived?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Almost a kilometre away. It was even further to the quay – but Jacob chose to put himself at greater risk, swim further to the quay, because he couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the sandbank where you were. I can’t even imagine how terrified he must have been swimming in the pitch black. He knows the danger of the sea better than anyone. But somehow he made it.’

  I swallow, reminding myself to breathe. He made it. That’s what I need to remember. Jacob made it to the quay, alive.

  ‘I dug through my backpack for a towel and clothes he could wear. He was shaking so hard I wanted to call an ambulance, but he told me no, he would be okay. My taxi for the airport had arrived, so I put Jacob in the back seat, telling the driver to put the heating on full. I knew something had happened on Isaac’s boat, but he didn’t say what – not immediately. He just said he couldn’t go back to the sandbank – and asked if he could ride with me as far as Winchester. He told me he had a schoolmate there. It was on the way to the airport, so I agreed.’

  Winchester … Yes, he did have a friend there. The boy’s family had moved there a couple of years ago. Oliver, I think his name is.

  ‘He said he needed to stop at home first to get some clothes from the garage. So that’s where we went. When he was in there, I stayed in the taxi and called you to let you know Jacob was with me, he was safe.’

  I blink, surprised by this detail. Then I remember I’d seen Isla’s missed call. ‘You didn’t leave a message. Why didn’t you ring me back?’

  ‘When Jacob climbed back in the taxi, he began to talk, telling me Isaac claimed to be his father. He asked me if I thought it was true. I thought about how you’d always dreamed of having a big family – yet when you and Nick couldn’t conceive again after Jacob, you seemed to give up without a fight. It had never made sense to me, as the Sarah I knew would have done everything in her power to have another baby: she’d have had every medical test under the sun; she’d have taken out loans to pay for IVF; she’d have put herself forward for medical trials. But instead, you just accepted it – as if you knew there was no hope.’

  ‘Isla—’

  ‘And then there was the oddness of how you’ve always acted when Isaac’s nearby. So I thought, yes, it was probably true – and I told Jacob this.’ Isla’s head shakes slowly from side to side. ‘He sobbed, Sarah. Just like he used to when he was a little boy. I cradled him in my arms, this hulking teenager sobbing his heart out. I can’t begin to understand how you could’ve done that to him. Lied about something so … vital … all these years – and then left him vulnerable to being told in the way he was.’

  Until I had Jacob, I didn’t know that when you have a child, their hurt becomes your own. Only it is magnified. Each of those tiny slights they feel – the knocks in the playground, a disdainful look from an older kid, the heartache they experience as teenagers – are felt twice over. Imagining Jacob’s devastation when he learned the truth about Isaac squeezes the breath from my lungs.

  Despite everything, I’m oddly thankful that Isla was the one who was with Jacob. He couldn’t have come to Nick or me – and the one other adult he could turn to, trust in, would’ve been Isla.

  But then what? What did she do with his trust?

  ‘As I was sitting in the back of that taxi, I was desperately trying to reframe everything, and that’s when it hit me.’ Isla looks me square in the eyes. ‘I’d always wondered why, when Isaac came across our two boys struggling for their lives at sea, he’d chosen to go to Jacob first, not Marley. That question had plagued me. I’d asked Isaac, over and over, to talk me through exactly what happened on the water. And finally I saw the answer: he’d gone straight to his son.’

  ‘Isla—’ I begin, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head.

  Her gaze bores into me. ‘I realized that if you hadn’t cheated on Nick and screwed Isaac, my son might have been the one who was still alive.’

  Oh God, I can see it now, the distorted equation Isla made in that taxi, wanting to lash out, punish me. ‘You told
Jacob he could go with you to Chile because of what happened with Isaac. Listen, Isla, I promise you—’

  ‘No,’ she interrupts. ‘That’s not what this is about.’

  ‘Then—’

  ‘Jacob told me, Sarah. He told me everything.’

  I freeze.

  ‘I know what happened the day Marley drowned.’

  No, he can’t have! Panic crawls beneath my skin like the scurry of beetles.

  I’ve always known that you can only keep something hidden for so long. The day-to-day mechanics of life willingly offer distractions – yet all the while, it is still there hidden inside you. You know there will come a time when that tightly bound secret is going to start to shift, to breathe, to pulse. When the bindings begin to loosen and that darkness you’ve been concealing starts to move again, it takes on a life of its own and there’s nothing that can be done to stop it.

  I feel the blood leave my head, draining out of me. I’m cold, weightless.

  Isla knows.

  And if she knows the truth, what has she done with Jacob?

  50. ISLA

  ‘I want you to tell me what happened that day.’ I need to hear it in her own words.

  Sarah looks straight at me, fear caught in the edges of her eyes. The air in the hut has grown heavy with anticipation. I catch the faint scent of the gas lamp as it flickers and whirs, its glow spilling across the sharp angles of Sarah’s face. She opens her mouth as if to speak, and then shuts it again. I can tell she’s thinking of how best to slide away from the question, stall for time.

  Eventually, she says, ‘I honestly don’t know what you’re getting at. I’ve told you before that I was washing the hut windows – that I didn’t realize the boys were in the sea.’

  Incredibly, she seems sincere. I wonder whether she’s become so adept at lying over the years that she’s managed to convince herself it’s the truth. ‘How about I remind you what happened?’

  I tell her it exactly as Jacob had told me while the two of us sat buckled in the back of the taxi, the heating on full, the rear windows steaming with condensation. I’d been trying to comfort him about Isaac, when he’d pulled away, his jaw tightening. ‘Mum’s been lying to you.’