by R. A. Casey
And the tiredness.
And the spottiness.
And then the missed period.
I’ll never forget taking the pregnancy test on my own in the bathroom. Waiting for that line to show itself. And knowing it couldn’t be Gregg because Gregg had had the snip—we’d decided one was enough for us.
I’d never forget sitting there and waiting for that line.
And I’ll never forget the positive result.
I stuffed it in a load of tissue. Heart racing. Panic taking over. Feeling sick. So, so sick. Knowing I needed a trip to the doctors. Knowing I needed to get rid of the baby immediately.
And I’ll never forget composing myself by the bathroom door before opening it.
And as I opened it, seeing Charlie standing there.
Staring at me.
“Are you okay, love?” I asked.
A little shaken up. Not expecting him to be there. Not at all.
I saw him open his mouth. Saw his wide, brown eyes peering right at me.
Then, I saw him nod, and close his bedroom door, and disappear.
That’s the first day Charlie started acting weird with me.
That’s the first day I started suspecting he knew something about what happened with Glynn and me, after all.
And that was just a matter of days before he went missing.
Before the stress of his disappearance caused a miscarriage, taking abortion out of my hands.
That was the day everything spiralled apart.
Chapter Thirteen
I’m standing in the middle of the school field and trying to remember that day in full detail.
It seems like the perfect opportunity. After all, it’s so sunny. I can feel the sweat rolling down my face. Feel my hands, slightly damp and greasy, just like they were three years ago, almost to the day. If I really focus, really take deep breaths, I can fully convince myself I can still smell the barbecue. I can hear the children. I can feel the buzz all around me.
But whenever I open my eyes, I see nothing but bright green grass, nothing but birds flying overhead, nothing but a few teenagers kicking a football around.
I see emptiness.
No matter what I do, I cannot rewind to that day.
And I cannot change things.
But maybe I can remember something.
I walk slowly along the grass. I see myself here, just three years ago, with Charlie’s hand in mine. I see the way he is distant with me. Detached with me. And I realise that’s why I never brought it up. That’s why I never attributed any relevance to his behaviour.
Because deep down, I knew.
He must’ve seen me. He must’ve seen something going on between Glynn and me. And that’s why he was being so weird with me. So distant with me.
At the time, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I told myself it was probably because of the whole Glynn situation. And the whole pregnancy situation, too. Even though I didn’t know how he could possibly know about that.
Whatever the case, I didn’t think it was particularly off at the time for him to be a little weird with me.
But what if I were wrong?
What if Charlie’s behaviour was something to do with his eventual disappearance?
That’s something I’m starting to entertain more and more by the day.
But how did Calvin fit into the equation?
Was he even here even though Glynn seemed adamant that he knew nobody by Calvin’s name or description?
Still. He didn’t seem particularly convincing on that front.
I walk through the grass. Reach a slight slope. I can see the stage up ahead, even though there’s nothing there anymore. The fete hasn’t taken place in the last three years. They decided not to have it the first year, in honour of Charlie, I like to believe. Nothing to do with not having the funds to cover it, being a small failing school reliant on donations to stay afloat.
And it seemed like that tradition of no summer fete prevailed. It makes me sad, in a way. Because the fete should still go ahead. What happened to Charlie shouldn’t stop the rest of the kids having fun, enjoying themselves.
But it stood to reason that naturally, parents were fearful after what happened.
I remember the police. The lead detective, Brian McDone, a thoroughly unpleasant man who smelled of body odour and seemed more interested in internal police corruption than a missing child, according to the notes I saw scattered around his desk. I remember when the detectives finally started to take the case seriously. When their initial blasé, laissez-faire approach turned into one of panic. When they began to search—truly search—for my son.
And when that search stretched on, and eventually, they concluded he was officially missing.
I often wonder how much that initial delay in searching for my son cost things. There could’ve been evidence pointing towards his disappearance on that first day. Evidence that was cleaned up in the dismantling of the fete. Apparently, it sparked a major inquiry. But naturally, like all inquiries, it came to nothing. A few slaps on the wrist, a few admissions of negligence, but a stance of solidarity that the department “did their best”.
But they didn’t find my son.
They didn’t find a single fucking trace of my son.
How could that be “doing their best”?
But now I’m here again. I’m staring at the area where the stage was placed. Behind it, I can see the tall maize fields shaking in the wind. I remember running through there with Gregg and Charlie once, hand in hand. The maize is so high it towers above your head, no matter how tall you are, at this time of year. We ran so far into it that we lost our bearings, got totally lost. Took us an hour to find our way back.
I reach the edge of it. Stare at it. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s what happened. If Charlie went running into there and got lost. Never came back.
But the police searched it. Had the dogs out. Had the helicopters out. And there was no trace of DNA or footprints or clothes or anything that pointed towards Charlie.
I stand here opposite the maize, listening to it rustling in the breeze when movement catches my eye over to the left.
I see someone at the edge of the woods.
It isn’t a thickly wooded area, so it isn’t particularly ominous. Just a small bunch of trees, not tightly packed together. People often walk their dogs through there. So again, it isn’t anything I should be too concerned about.
But for a moment—just for a moment—I swear I see someone there.
Standing there.
Watching.
And I don’t know why, but it feels like this figure is looking right at me.
I walk towards them. Faster now. Up the slope in the grass. Past the two teenagers playing football, their Bluetooth speaker blaring out some shitty rap music.
And as I get closer to the trees, I realise I don’t see that figure anymore.
I don’t see anyone anymore.
I step into the woods.
Feel the atmosphere shift straight away.
It is sheltered in here, so it is cooler.
The warmth of the sky is gone.
The light and heat from the sun.
I look around. I saw someone. I’m sure of it. Man? Woman? I don’t even know. It was so brief I could barely even take that much in.
But there was someone here.
I’m sure of it.
I start to turn around, to head back towards the fields, towards the sound of the teenagers kicking their football and laughing as their rap music blares out when I see something.
A glint of something, over on the ground.
My heart picks up.
My stomach churns.
It can’t be what I think it is.
Not here.
Surely not?
I walk over to it. Slowly. My whole body tense. My heart pumping so fast I can feel my skull vibrating.
I walk over to the tree. Crouch down to pick it up. Hardly wanting to touch it. Because touching it
makes it real.
But then I pick it up, and I see what it is.
Exactly what it is.
Exactly what I feared.
I stand there holding it in my hand when I hear rustling behind me.
I spin around. Let out a little cry.
A man stands there walking his Golden Retriever. Young man. Mid-twenties, I’d guess.
“Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I shake my head, my whole body shaking. “It’s—it’s okay. Sorry.”
He looks at me like I’m weird, and then he walks off with his dog, back out into the sun.
And there I stand in the darkness.
Shaking.
Cold to the bone.
Holding the item I’ve discovered in my hand.
Wondering how the hell I’ve found it here.
But knowing one thing.
This can’t be a coincidence.
This can’t be all in my head.
Someone is doing this to me.
Chapter Fourteen
It’s late, and I’m sitting at the dinner table, and even though I have barely eaten a thing all day, I have no appetite whatsoever.
I stare down at the arrabbiata pasta dish Freddie has cooked for the pair of us. Another one of his classics. Simple dish, really. Garlic, tomatoes, shallots, Birds Eye chillies. Covered with a hefty helping of grated parmesan.
But sometimes, it’s the simple things in life that pack the biggest punch.
I know this too well.
I smell the garlic in the air. The shallots. The heady aroma of the warmed crusty bread smothered in butter. The glass of Merlot.
But I cannot even entertain eating a thing.
I glance up. See Freddie looking across the table at me. Wide-eyed. Half of his bowl already finished. And I know he’s concerned.
And he has every right to be.
But really, how am I supposed to act?
I ran into Glynn, which shook me up.
But that’s nothing compared to what I found in the woods, right by the school field.
He puts his knife and fork down. Reaches over the table and takes my hands in his. “Sarah, talk to me.”
I look up at him. Look up at my gorgeous, doting boyfriend. And I see that lost puppy look to his eyes again. That sense he wants to help me. That he just wants to reach inside my head and see what I’m hiding from him.
I can’t even begin to start.
Especially not when it comes to what I found in the woods today.
I’ve tried not thinking about it. Tried pushing it into a compartment, deep in my mind. But I know as much as I push it away, as much as I try to resist it taking over my thoughts, it’ll creep up on me.
Probably when I’m in bed, trying to sleep.
Or when Freddie is fucking me.
I see myself like I am outside my body. My eyes are dead. I’m staring up, and I’m doing all the right things and making all the right noises.
But inside, I am somewhere else.
I may be here physically.
But mentally, I am absent.
I am elsewhere.
I.
Am.
Not.
Here.
“You’ve barely said a word all night,” Freddie says. “You’ve barely touched your food. And it’s my arrabbiata, too. You love my arrabbiata. That’s how I know something’s wrong.”
He tries to joke, bless him. Tries to lighten the atmosphere, lift the mood.
There are things I want to tell Freddie.
There are so many things I want to tell him.
Things he won’t believe.
Things I barely believe myself.
But I fear telling him everything. Because as patient as he is, as much as he insists he won’t judge me for anything, I know he will see me differently if he knows the truth.
The same way the doctor looked at me differently earlier when she consulted my medical records.
And I am tired of being looked at differently.
That’s what I love most about Freddie. I am a blank canvas to him. I am something new to him, even though we have been together for eighteen months.
I do not have the muddy grime of the past dripping from my skin.
And it makes me feel like maybe I can be a new person again because of it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s—it’s just been a tiring few days, to be honest. The move. All the stuff with Charlie’s anniversary around that time. And… And yesterday.”
I glance up at him. Hope to catch his eye. I’m torn between wanting to talk about Calvin and not wanting to go into it at all because I know he’ll just look at me like I’m crazy.
But he just nods. Half-smiles. “I get it. Sorry. I don’t mean to be so pig-headed. I just… sometimes I find it hard to get through to you. Like, it’s like you want to talk to me or want to say something. Or you’re keeping something to yourself. But as much as I try to find out… I feel like you’re getting further away. Slipping between my fingers.”
I nod. I can’t take that too personally. I know he’s right. But it’s for his protection. He might not realise it, but it’s for his protection.
He can’t know everything. He simply cannot.
Some things in life are choices. Others are immovable. Unchangeable.
This is one of those things.
“To be honest,” I say. “I think… I think it’ll help when I get started back with work.” It’s a lie, of course. How am I supposed to let what I found go? How am I supposed to let the whole Calvin thing go?
But how am I supposed to tell Freddie any of this without him thinking I am insane?
I think about what I found in the woods.
I think about showing him.
Showing him and showing him that I’m not crazy.
He smiles at me again. Sips his wine. “You know, I think it’s good you’re thinking about work.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“Just… hear me out. Your mum and dad. They haven’t even been round to see this place yet.”
I think on my feet. “They’ll be around in no time. It’s just their way. Never in a rush.”
“Don’t you think…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, go on.”
“It doesn’t matter, Sarah.”
“It sounds like it does matter.”
“I just… Don’t you think it’s weird that I’ve been seeing you for eighteen months, we’ve moved in together, and I still haven’t met your parents? Met anyone to do with you, for what it’s worth? Any friends? Family? Anything?”
I hesitate for a second. He’s right. It is weird he hasn’t met my mum or dad. Or Cindy. My sister, Elana? Not so much. Lives over in Sweden, after all.
Or is it Norway?
I forget sometimes.
“I’m sorry. I know it seems weird. I just… I guess after what happened with Charlie, I’ve sort of learned to compartmentalise different aspects of my life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Freddie asks. Tomato juice dribbling down his slightly stubbly chin.
“I just… I don’t know. My mum and dad. They were a bit weird about what happened between, erm. Between me and Gregg.”
He looks up at me. Narrows his eyes. “What about it?”
I realise I’m stepping into treacherous waters now. Freddie is lovely, but he has a jealous streak when it comes to other men. As much as he is so far out of the picture, my ex-husband is a particular bone of contention. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“It sounds like it matters.”
“Look, Freddie. I’ve had a rough day.”
“And I’ve had a rough day too,” he says, raising his voice slightly. “I’ve got clients complaining because I’m leaving work in a hurry. Or not quite getting my work done up to standards. All because I’m worried sick about you. Texting you. Checking up on you. And it just feels like… Oh, I don’t know.”
I swallow a lump in my dry throat. “No, go on. Say it.”
He leans back. Looks beyond me. “I just feel like… I feel like even though we’re close, there’s an aspect of you I barely know. Like I… It’s like I barely know you sometimes. I know about you. And I feel close to you. I love you. But I don’t know you.”
My throat tightens. My heart starts to pick up. I can feel tears burning behind my eyes.
He looks at me. Right into my eyes. “Your mum. Your dad. Your friend, Cindy. It’s like… I don’t know. Sometimes it just feels like I have this idea of you and your life and the life you used to live. But I feel like I’m only getting… a version of it. A surface-level version of it. And I guess I want to know what’s under the water. I want to see the rest of the iceberg. Dodgy, lumpy icy bits and all.”
He smiles again. An attempt to crack a joke. To inject some humour into this conversation.
And I can only smile back.
Even though I feel like shit inside.
I take a deep breath, and I think about what I found in the woods.
And then I sink my fork into the pasta and force a cheese-drenched lump of it into my mouth.
“I’m trying,” I say. “I’m doing my best. And I’ll do better. I promise.”
I say these things to Freddie, but I see the way he looks at me.
I see I am proving the point he just made.
I see I am an iceberg.
I see the mass of ice beneath the surface.
And I push it back down.
Because nobody wants to see that.
Nobody.
Especially not me.
But you’re going to see it. Because it’s surfacing. Whether you like it or not.
Chapter Fifteen
I know I cannot hide from the truth any longer.
I am lying awake in bed, Freddie snoring beside me. His snores don’t annoy me like snores usually annoy people. They reassure me. Calm me. Remind me that no matter what, despite everything, I am not alone.
I stare up at the ceiling. I swear I can see something moving up there. A spider. Or something else. Sometimes, it’s like the whole ceiling is moving with footsteps when I’m drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes, I swear I hear things up there. And sometimes, I swear I wake up and see eyes staring down at me from the darkness above. Feel breath on my skin. Hear talking. Whispering.
