‘Please, feel free to look in any cupboards,’ I said. ‘None are locked.’
That was the thing with Rick: not only was he warm and loving with the gravitational pull of a planet, but he was honest and open to the core. He’d never miss a beat confessing to anything he’d done – whether it was being late, breaking or losing something, or owning up to forgetting an anniversary, which he only did a couple of times.
‘Is this his only computer?’ PC Boyd asked.
‘He did all his work on that laptop, yes,’ I said. ‘There’s no other computer. And look, his wallet is still in this drawer where he keeps it, along with his chequebook.’
‘We’ll need to take some items, if that’s OK with you,’ PC Lane said kindly. Her head was tilted sympathetically to one side as she plucked Rick’s battered brown leather wallet from the drawer. She put it into a plastic bag that PC Boyd was holding open, and that’s when the room began to spin and the nausea swelled. As he labelled the bag, it suddenly seemed horribly real.
‘You’ll get them back in a few days,’ PC Lane went on. ‘And we’ll notify the Missing Persons Bureau. Following your report on Saturday, Rick is already on the PNC in case of, well, you know . . .’
But again, I didn’t know. My frown prompted PC Boyd to continue.
‘It’s the Police National Computer. It’ll help in case there’s any news from, say, a traffic officer in another county. That kind of thing. Helps us put a name to a face.’ He smiled unconvincingly.
A name to a body, I thought.
‘If it’s OK, we’ll take these couple of files too. They contain bank statements and the like, by the looks of it.’ PC Lane was flipping through one of the folders, reading as she spoke. She snapped it shut before I had time to see what was in there. ‘We’ll contact the bank for activity, see if any attempts have been made to use the cards that may not show up online yet.’
‘OK, fine,’ I said weakly. ‘Anything.’
‘And one more thing,’ she said. ‘Would you have his toothbrush, or perhaps a disposable razor that’s been used by him? We like to have a DNA sample for the files. Once Rick’s found, I assure you it will be deleted from our systems.’
Once Rick’s found . . .
‘Of course,’ I said, heading for the bathroom at the opposite end of the landing. Hannah poked her head out of her bedroom just as I went past.
‘Have they gone yet?’ she whispered.
I shook my head, walking past her to fetch Rick’s toothbrush and the Bic he’d left on the basin last week. I knew for a fact he hadn’t shaved that Saturday morning, saying he’d do all that before our guests came. He always made an effort to look good.
Like the wallet, PC Boyd bagged up Rick’s items from the bathroom. My chest and throat tightened as Hannah watched. Her face froze in an expression I’d never seen before.
‘He . . . he will be OK, won’t he?’ she said to me, rather than the police. She’d crept out of her room and was beside me, clinging on to my arm.
‘They say most come back of their own accord, love,’ I told her, squeezing her. ‘And I’ll be having a few bloody words with him when he does!’ I added, trying to sound light-hearted. No one laughed.
‘Would it be possible to have a chat with your daughter now?’ PC Lane asked. Her eyes flicked between me and Hannah.
‘Of course,’ I said, beckoning everyone downstairs again.
‘In private, if that’s all right,’ she said, remaining on the landing. I looked back up the stairs, watching as Hannah nodded nervously, showing both officers into her bedroom. She quietly clicked the door closed. I felt my heart pound, my face burn.
Why were they shutting me out?
With my heart thumping, I crept back up to the landing, careful to avoid the couple of creaky treads on the stairs. My breath rasped in and out of my chest so loudly I was worried they’d hear me. I knew what I was doing was wrong but I listened anyway, picking out their voices – PC Boyd’s mainly, occasionally woven in with Hannah’s softer tones. Several times there was silence, perhaps a hiccup type of sob, and then the slightly louder but kind voice of PC Lane as she asked questions.
‘How did your dad seem when you last saw him?’
There was a long pause after this question, and a big sigh before Hannah answered. ‘Fine, I guess. I came home from university the week before, though I’d . . . I’d not seen much of him.’
‘Why did you come home?’ PC Lane asked. ‘It’s not the end of term yet.’
I wanted to know the same thing myself. Rick and I had never got to the bottom of Hannah’s return, even though she swore she wasn’t quitting her degree. She just told us she needed time to work out some stuff. We took her at her word, knowing Hannah only too well. Pressuring her was a sure-fire way to create drama. She was either burned-out already, had been dumped by a boy, or somehow her grief for Jacob had been triggered. It happened from time to time, and we knew how to deal with it: space, time, love.
‘Just stuff,’ Hannah said, though her voice was muffled. ‘I needed some time out.’
‘And your dad didn’t seem stressed or worried about anything?’
‘Not really.’ I could imagine Hannah’s face, her non-committal expression, the casual shrug of her shoulders. ‘He was just normal Dad. Tied up with work, a bit concerned about me, of course. But I was up here mostly, keeping out of the way.’
A few minutes later, with nothing discernible to be made out, I crept back down the stairs. I didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping. I sat in my empty living room, and when the officers came down again, PC Lane gave me some leaflets and numbers to call if I needed support.
‘Of course, the best thing right now is to get help from family or friends,’ she said. ‘Is there anyone who would stay with you for a night or two?’
‘Hannah’s here,’ I said, staring at the floor. She was behind PC Lane, almost cowering in the doorway.
‘She’ll need support too,’ PC Lane said. ‘During these early days, it’s important to have a system in place, even for basic things like shopping and cooking meals for you. These things will seem like huge tasks to begin with.’
Early days . . . to begin with . . . Words that meant there were more, possibly many more, days like this to come.
When the officers went, I stood at the front window and watched them leave. As they put Rick’s belongings in the back of their police car, Hannah drew up beside me. I pulled her close, and she rested her head on my shoulder. I noticed that she felt thin – too thin – and added it to my mental list of worries.
‘It’ll be OK, love,’ I said, mustering some strength. ‘Dad will be back soon.’
And when he does, I won’t know what to say to him . . .
But Hannah broke down then. Rivers of tears, unintelligible words, shattered grief, as she poured out her heartache.
Finally, when her shoulders stopped shaking, when her breathing slowed to near normal, she looked up at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed and sore. Her skin was blotchy and sweaty.
‘But Dad’s never coming back, is he?’ she said, almost as if she knew.
Gina
‘You could just lounge around the pool with a magazine and some coffee, if you prefer. Then we’ll go out for lunch later. The rain’s forecast to stop.’ I still can’t convince Hannah to join me in the spa.
She shrugs and pulls a face. ‘What about Cooper?’
‘He’ll be fine up here in the room for a bit. He can come out with us this afternoon.’
I’m about to mention looking round some antiques shops, because that’s what Rick would have suggested, knowing I’d be in heaven browsing through vintage treasures, old books and crockery, but I don’t. Hannah would never come then.
Rick would have followed me patiently from shop to shop, an appreciative glint in his eyes, showing an interest in my love of old things. He’d take note of what I liked and coveted, perhaps sneaking back to the shop while I sat in a café, buying the item for me as a gift.
He loved to see me happy. That’s why none of this adds up. That’s why I know he didn’t leave us of his own free will. And that’s why I stop myself imagining the worst, because thinking about what could have happened to him is pretty much unbearable.
‘Suit yourself then,’ I say to Hannah. ‘I won’t be long. Will you be OK?’
‘Fine, Mum,’ she convinces me. ‘I have my book to read. It helps take my mind off . . .’ She pauses. ‘Well, you know.’
‘I know,’ I say, closing the door softly behind me.
The ladies’ changing room is clean but tiny, with only a few lockers that don’t have keys. Perhaps I was supposed to ask for one at reception, but the desk was unmanned when I went by. But it’s just my clothes in there, so nothing worth stealing. When I emerge into the pool area, I say hello to the only other people there – an old couple lounging on steamer chairs. They smile back.
And then I realise I’m still wearing my watch. It’s not waterproof.
I hesitate, wondering what to do. If I take it all the way back upstairs, I’ll have to get dressed again, so I risk hiding it in my jeans pocket right at the back of the locker under everything else.
It’s not particularly valuable, though Rick gave it to me a few birthdays ago. I liked the heart and arrow hands – each tipped with tiny pink and blue gems. It was another of those things he spotted me glimpsing fondly, before secretly buying it and stashing it away until the right time.
Every time I look at it I think of him, of how he told me it was a rather silly watch, and how Cupid would disapprove. Whichever position the hands are in, the arrow never gets to pierce the heart.
‘I hope the weather clears up,’ I say to the older couple on the loungers as I go past them for the second time, heading to the sauna.
‘Me too,’ the woman says, glancing out through the floor-to-ceiling glass panels at the end of the pool. The view across the grounds is beautiful, with the first hint of green on the hedges and trees. ‘We’re going on a hike later.’ She smiles and goes back to her newspaper.
I go into the sauna, clutching my towel against my chest. There’s no one else inside. A wall of thick, dry heat immediately hits me in the face, and I’m suddenly cocooned in silence, near darkness and the scent of eucalyptus as I close the door behind me.
As soon as I sit down on the hot wooden bench, my muscles start to relax, showing me how tense they’ve become. I spread out my towel and lie down on the highest bench, allowing the heat to penetrate my bones, succumbing to the fierce yet soothing air. It feels so good.
My stomach churns from the sudden temperature change. I forgot to bring my water bottle, but it doesn’t matter as I shan’t be in here long, and there’s a fountain just outside the door.
I breathe through open lips as my nostrils can’t stand the heat, though before long my lips sting too. I close my eyes to stop them drying out, and try to remember the five-minute relaxation technique Paula taught me. She gave me a meditation CD, though I haven’t mastered it yet. My mind wanders so easily when I try, following Rick as he flits through my thoughts, tracking wherever he might have gone. Or, if I attempt it last thing at night, I usually fall asleep, only to wake again an hour or two later, worrying, sweating, shaking.
I try to relax by focusing on my feet first, drawing up my knees so my soles are resting on the hot, creaky wood. But my legs soon slide down again, my calves and thighs feeling heavy and useless in the heat.
I’ve never quite managed to force my body to completely let go of the tension. Paula said that forcing isn’t exactly the point, that it has to be a natural process and that it takes a lot of practice. When she told me about the technique, I wondered how I’d become so far removed from the state she was describing, how my life had balled itself up into a knot of tension and fear.
I blow out, wiping my wrist across my forehead. I won’t last long in here. All I can think about is the pool and a cool drink, but I continue with the relaxation anyway, trying not to allow my thoughts to wander.
I pull my mind back on to the tension stored up in my muscles, how it feels as it melts away. I notice how the sweat stings as it prickles out of me, on my face as well as my body, dripping down my neck, my thighs. The tension in my shoulders dissipates, though not completely, and it’s then I’m hit by a memory of Rick and me on the beach, the firm white sand drilling its stored heat into our tired bones. We’d saved and saved for that holiday – a guilt-ridden experience only eighteen months after we’d lost Jacob. But everyone convinced us it was the right thing to do, that we needed to get away.
My mind drifts further, and I feel the sun beating down on me, so fierce, so unrelenting. There isn’t a cloud in the sky . . . I can hardly breathe, but I feel so relaxed . . . My eyes are heavy, and I’m convinced I’m getting sunburned, but I can’t be bothered to move. Rick’s there, telling me everything’s going to be OK, that he’s only gone to fetch Jacob and they’ll both be back before I know it. I smile at him, watching him walk away . . . I’m so sleepy . . .
And then there’s nothing. No Rick or Jacob, and no me.
Suddenly I’m awake. My eyes burst open, but quickly shut again when the dry heat hits them.
Where am I?
Then I remember. The sauna.
Slowly I sit up, touching my burning skin. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but the way my head is spinning and throbbing, I know it was too long.
‘That was stupid,’ I mumble, groaning and peeling my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
I force my feet on to the floor, but when I stand my legs feel like jelly. Reaching for my towel, I work my way along the wooden benches to get to the door, knowing that fresh air and cool water aren’t far away. I just need to get into the pool.
I push the door open, but it doesn’t budge. Then I pull, in case I’ve got it wrong, but that doesn’t work either. I swear it opened outwards, so I try again, but it really won’t move. There’s a small square of glass in the door so I peer out, hoping to catch the attention of the older couple. But their loungers are empty. They’ve gone.
‘Damn,’ I say, trying not to panic. I drop my towel and use both hands to shove the door. It’s firmly closed and won’t even give a little. I yank it inwards again, but it’s no use. My lips and throat burn from the heat as my breathing quickens, making me cough. I cup my hands at the glass again, straining to see as far as I can each way. The entire pool area is empty.
I tap on the glass with my fingernails, then knock much harder with my fists.
‘Hello, is anyone there?’ The glass feels thick and the door well insulated. ‘Help!’ I call out, thumping the glass. No one is there to hear me.
Then I see the red panic button to the right of the door. Relieved, I reach over to press it, hoping it will alert someone in reception. But it falls away from the wall under my touch, as if someone has broken it and temporarily hooked it back on.
‘Oh, that’s just great,’ I say, my fear growing.
I turn and lean against the hot panelled wall in frustration, but pull away because the scorching wood burns my back. Sweat is running down my face and body, and I can hardly breathe because my lungs are on fire. I feel as though I’m going to pass out.
‘Hannah?’ I call out with my face close to the glass again. My hot breath bounces back. I know she is up in our room and won’t hear me, but I don’t know what else to do.
‘Help me,’ I cry weakly, sliding down to the floor. I sit on my towel, bending up my knees and resting my head on my arms for a moment.
I can’t stand this much longer, so I scan around the interior of the sauna. The light is dim and there isn’t much in here except a small slatted wooden headrest lying loose on a bench. Forcing myself off the floor, I crawl across to it. I tell myself that I’m not going to die.
Grabbing hold of the headrest, I get up, trying the door one more time. I hurl myself against it, throwing my full weight at it. Then I try to lift it and loosen it, shoving it on its hinges in case that mak
es a difference. But it’s still completely stuck.
Screwing up my eyes and turning my face away, I raise the wooden wedge above my head and bring it down on the glass with all my strength. Painful vibrations shoot up to my shoulder as my arm bounces off the door. When I look, the glass isn’t even cracked. I try again and again and again, screaming out, using up the last reserves of my energy, even though I know I should preserve what strength I have.
I flop down on a bench, dropping my head between my knees. I feel dizzy and sick. I have no idea how to get out. I force myself to think of Rick, asking him what he would do, but my mind is melting and my thoughts are running into one another, bleeding from reality into another place as my head and then my body drop down on to the wood.
My eyes close and my lips peel apart as hot air rasps in and out of my lungs. Crazy images shoot across my eyelids as the heat engulfs me. I don’t know if I’ve passed out, if I’m asleep, or if I’m dead . . .
There are antiques shops and dogs, swimming pools and watches, sets of keys, long drives, Hannah and Hannah’s tears, bottles of wine – hundreds of them, chilled and refreshing, cooling my mouth – giant chess pieces running across the lawn, beautiful pens writing nonsense across my hot, sun-scorched body, people holding hands . . . lovers, children, and animals that turn into mad drivers mowing down the chess pieces . . . It’s mixed up and stewing and stinking inside my head – a head which doesn’t belong to me any more. Nothing to do with my life. I’m a pressure cooker . . . a boiling pot.
I’m at the edge of hell, and I know this because everything around me has melted . . .
‘Mrs Forrester? Gina, can you hear me?’
A cool waft of air. Something touching me. I try to open my eyes but they’re stuck together.
‘I think you spent too long in the sauna and passed out,’ a kind voice says. A woman’s voice.
In Too Deep Page 10
