In Too Deep

by Samantha Hayes

  If this is all true, then I realise why Hannah didn’t protest when Rick took her off the ward. She was going with her dad. She’d have been so utterly relieved to see him, she’d have done anything he said. It was only when he tried to make her leave the hospital that she’d put up a struggle. With all the drugs inside her, she didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘Let me get to her! Why the hell did you take her?’ My throat burns from yelling.

  Rick’s face is filled with pain, his mouth contorted into a twisted grin. There’s nothing kind about it, though for a moment he hesitates, clutches his head . . . almost as if he’s torn.

  ‘Because I needed to warn her that some things just shouldn’t be interfered with,’ he says, screwing up his eyes. ‘When you turned up at the hotel, I had to find out exactly what she knew, make sure she really understood the consequences. That things would be fine for all of us if she just kept quiet.’

  It slowly dawns on me. Fox Court is Phil’s home. Rick’s home.

  And we’ve been staying there.

  I shake my head slowly, staring around the dismal hall of Evalina Street. The news is too much to take in at once.

  ‘How did you . . . ?’ I touch my forehead. I feel sick and faint. ‘But how did you know we were there? If you were Phil . . . then you were meant to be away working and . . .’ Everything is still spinning.

  ‘He didn’t know you were there,’ Susan chips in. She glances nervously up the stairs.

  ‘I did when Hannah answered Tom’s video call,’ Rick says, interjecting as if it will make everything OK.

  Susan ignores him. ‘It was me who invented the booking to get you to come to the hotel, Gina.’

  ‘But why?’ I don’t get it. Susan sounds as kind and honest as ever, her voice almost soothing, yet everything she’s done has been a lie. I trusted her.

  ‘Because . . .’ She hesitates. ‘Because I wanted to find out what you were like. I needed to know who . . . who I was up against.’ Tears collect in her eyes. ‘I never expected to actually like you.’

  ‘Oh Susan—’

  ‘Last year, Tom asked me if I’d deliver a gift to the girl he was in love with. He’d even written her a letter. But I never got to actually knock on the door because as soon as I’d parked opposite the house, I saw Phil coming out. The girl turned out to be Hannah.’

  Susan leans against the wall, looking as pale and exhausted as I feel.

  ‘And then I saw Phil kissing you goodbye on the doorstep, Gina,’ she goes on, staring directly at me. ‘It was more than just a peck on the cheek. I could see there was something special between the two of you. You were in your robe, waving him off.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ Her pain is palpable. Mine is still locked away. It suddenly seems as though Rick doesn’t exist. Never existed.

  ‘It didn’t take much digging after that to find out that Phil was living a double life. He had been for many, many years. I learned all about you and your family, but decided to keep it to myself until I knew what I should do.’ Susan drags her palms down her face, gasping as she emerges, revealing someone I don’t recognise.

  ‘It virtually killed me, finding out all this stuff. Then one of your neighbours told me that Phil . . . sorry, Rick had recently gone missing. I checked the local newspapers online, and she was right. My husband had officially disappeared, even though I knew exactly where he was.’ She flashes Rick a look.

  ‘After that, you and your family became like a drug, an obsession filling my evenings, discovering everything I could about you. I found out about your birthdays, when your wedding anniversary was, spied on your holiday snaps online, and flipped through old pictures you’d put up on your Facebook account. I’d change the settings if I were you, Gina.’

  I can’t listen any more. It’s too much to take in. Paula is suddenly on my mind. I’ve never needed her level-headed logic and comfort as much as I need it now. I try to conjure her soothing voice, imagining she’s right here beside me, guiding me through. It’s some small comfort.

  I take a breath, realising that while every piece of information Susan has revealed is vital, impossible, I will have to face it later. Hannah is my priority.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, fumbling to tap it open.

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance and the police,’ I say, glancing up, but Rick suddenly knocks the phone from my hand with a single swipe. It flies across the hall and skids under a table.

  He is blocking my way to it.

  ‘What are you doing? I need to get help for Hannah!’ I have no idea how to calm a man I know nothing about. ‘You brought Hannah here to . . .’ I’m hardly able to say it, but I mustn’t ignore my gut any more. ‘You brought her here to make sure she kept quiet, didn’t you? Were you going to hurt her?’ The thought makes me feel sick.

  Rick’s laugh is demented – loud and nasty. ‘Me hurt her?’ he growls. ‘That’s untrue, but perhaps you should ask her about hurting—’

  ‘Stop!’ comes a voice from the top of the stairs. A thin white hand reaches round the banister.

  ‘Hannah!’

  I make a dash past Rick, but he only has to stick out his arm to stop me, my ribs pressing against the strength of his forearm.

  ‘Hannah, are you OK?’ I shriek, straining to see her, but she doesn’t get a chance to reply because Rick’s booming voice drowns her out.

  ‘She feels much better now that she knows she didn’t kill me.’ Rick’s teeth shine through his vile grin. Teeth I used to watch him brush when we were in the bathroom together.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I struggle with his arm, shoving against it, weakening his grip. He lashes out with his other arm, encircling me in a vicious embrace.

  ‘I’m talking about when our daughter killed me last November.’ He twists round, looking up at her, as if this ridiculous revelation makes everything OK. ‘Come and tell everyone what you did, Hannah.’

  I hear the slow thud-thud of my daughter treading heavily, slowly, down the stairs. Each step is accompanied by a moan and a rasping breath. I imagine the pain she is in.

  ‘Hannah, no, go back up. You’ll fall. I’ll sort this out,’ I call out, even though I have no idea how I will.

  But Hannah doesn’t listen, and eventually makes it down to the hallway, her body bent double, an expression of pure pain on her white face.

  ‘It’s true, Mum,’ she gasps. ‘I thought I’d killed Dad . . . I believed he was dead all this time. I was too scared to tell anyone.’

  She drops to the floor, sobbing, and it’s then that I see blood on the front of her hospital gown.

  ‘You didn’t kill him, love. Look, he’s here. You’re not in trouble.’

  She looks up at me from the floor, panting, crying. Rick stands between us, not letting me get to her. I wrestle with his arm again but it’s no use, he’s too strong.

  ‘I found out about his other family by accident, Mum. I needed to know why. I just wanted answers . . . I had to know for certain if . . . Oh God.’

  Her voice is fading, and her head drops down.

  ‘I felt so dirty . . . I couldn’t live with myself.’ Hannah sobs weakly now, but still enough for the tears to drop on to her bloodied gown. She covers her face with her hands.

  ‘You’re not dirty, love,’ I whisper, hardly able to believe what I’m hearing. ‘Rick, why weren’t you honest with her, for God’s sake? Are you some kind of monster?’

  He yanks my arms cruelly around my back, making me scream out in pain, though I don’t fail to notice something in his eyes – something that reminds me of him, the real Rick. In turn, Susan lunges at him, begging him to stop, but he shoves me violently against the side of the stairs, my head whiplashing back against the wall. I slide to the floor, stunned.

  I’m face to face with Hannah when she speaks – her face tear-streaked and ashamed, as if all the world will stop loving her. Our eyes lock together.

  ‘Tom is the father of my baby, Mum,’ she sobs, crying e
ven more. ‘He’s my half-brother, but I swear I didn’t know. Tom and I loved each other . . .’ She breaks down again.

  ‘Oh love. Oh my darling Hannah,’ I say, crawling across the dirty floor to get to her. A boot suddenly shoves me in the face, then kicks my chest with full force, knocking me sideways. For a second I can’t breathe.

  It’s then I see my phone, poking out from under the hall table. As Susan grapples with Rick above me, thumping him, distracting him, I walk my fingers towards it. I just manage to reach it and a second later, I fingerprint it open. A couple more taps and I manage to touch last number redial just before Rick kicks me hard again. I fly back against the wall, trying to stay focused on Hannah – the only thing keeping me going now.

  Lying across the hall, I see that my phone has connected to Kath. I just pray that she picks up, pray that she hears what’s going on.

  Hannah

  Mum’s got blood coming from her nose. It snakes down her mouth and drips off her chin in a tarry black trail. When she licks her lips, her teeth turn bright red.

  ‘Rick . . . stop,’ she says, panting. Her eyes keep flicking to the phone. ‘Please, just let me get Hannah to hospital.’

  She’s right. I’m trying to keep quiet, not making a fuss in case it angers Dad, but the pain is killing me. I feel weak and hot.

  Dad looks down at me. Somewhere deep within his boiling eyes I see the man I used to know and love. And I still do love him – in a weird way that’s probably just born out of relief at not having killed him. But mainly I hate him right now. I hate him for hurting us, for allowing me to fall in love with Tom, for abandoning Mum . . . for everything.

  ‘What’s the address here?’ Mum says loudly. ‘It’s twenty-three Evalina Street, isn’t it?’ She sounds awkward and shouty, and I know what she’s doing. ‘We need an ambulance urgently. There’s no need for any trouble. We don’t even have to tell the police you’re here, Rick.’

  Mum tries to stand, heaving herself up against the wooden side of the stairs. Her fingers crawl up the paintwork and all the while she fixes on Dad, watching for his next move. She wipes her face on her shoulder, smearing blood on her pale top.

  Dad scowls, not knowing what to do.

  ‘Please,’ I say to him. ‘I’m in pain. Please let Mum call for help.’

  ‘No one’s going anywhere,’ he says, scowling and clutching at his stubbly chin. He seems as lost as on that misty morning on the canal towpath – the morning I’ve been trying to block out of my mind for months.

  I watched him hit his head . . . I watched him go under . . . not come up . . .

  Dad stands there, his breath rasping in and out of his chest, his shoulders rising and falling in time with his crazy thoughts, almost as if he’s reliving that morning too.

  A sharp stab shoots through my body and I double up, trying to stem the bleeding. I daren’t look down. I thought I was done with all this.

  While I’m dealing with the waves of pain, as I’m growing weaker and weaker, wanting to curl up and die, I’m vaguely aware of Susan and Mum distracting Dad, keeping him talking. I just hope the ambulance gets here in time.

  Gradually their voices fade as I allow myself to lie down on the dirty floorboards. I’m tired. I don’t have the strength to stay upright any more, or even remain conscious as my hot and delirious mind drags back over what’s happened.

  And in all this, as Dad listens to them talking, trying to reason with him, cajoling him, I wonder if he had a favourite – Mum or Susan? And after that, I’m thinking about Tom and me and Jacob, and who he loved the most.

  Were we – the Forresters, the not-so-well-off family crammed into our little house, but getting by with love, muddles and laughter – Dad’s nuisance family?

  I hate that it was all fake.

  But as the world grows darker around me, I can’t help thinking that Dad must have preferred the wealth of Susan’s lifestyle, the grandeur of the hotel, the family money that Tom said his mum inherited.

  But how will I ever know the truth?

  My head drops to the boards as my body finally gives up.

  There’s a loud banging. It reverberates through me. A booming voice. Shrieking and terrible crashing sounds, like something being smashed and pounded.

  It takes all my strength but I open my eyes and see feet all around me. Black boots. Dark trousers.

  A bright light to one side floods over me with a stream of cool, fresh air. An open door.

  I push myself up on to my forearms, propping my head somehow. Someone screams and sobs. My brain is lagging, not keeping up with what I’m seeing, hearing, feeling.

  ‘Come on, love, let’s get you up,’ a kind male voice says. I flinch as he takes me by the shoulders.

  I hear someone cry out in pain. It’s me.

  ‘Be careful,’ someone says. Mum. ‘She’s just had an operation. She needs a doctor.’

  I allow myself to be lifted and moved to a grimy old armchair in the living room. It’s barely habitable. Dad told me it’s where he’s mainly been living . . . since I thought I’d killed him.

  Since he made that split-second decision to stay under the murky canal water.

  I couldn’t believe it – he told me it was a snap judgement. That he hadn’t wanted any of this to happen or even planned it, that it just came to him as he was falling. He said if he didn’t do something to change his life, release everyone from all the mess he’d caused, he thought he would break. I was still confused from the anaesthetic. I didn’t fully understand.

  ‘None of this should ever have happened, Hannah. It’s not your mum’s fault, or Susan’s, and certainly not you kids’.’ He seemed so distraught, I thought he was going to dissolve. ‘I’m a weak man who loved two women, who wanted everything. One of me had to die, Hannah, and that morning you helped me decide who it should be,’ he told me after he took me from the hospital. He seemed so remorseful that I thought he was going to shatter into a million pieces. I still hated him for it all the same.

  ‘But you hit your head,’ I sobbed. ‘And there was blood. When you fell in the water, I waited for ages for you to come up, but you didn’t.’

  The sight of his face sinking into the murky canal had stayed with me, had been tattooed behind my eyelids. After that, there had just been bubbles. I hadn’t known what to do.

  So I’d run.

  How could I tell anyone that I’d killed my dad?

  ‘I let out all my breath and stayed under as long as I could,’ Dad said in the car. Tears were pouring down his face. ‘Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen that did something to my brain, but I couldn’t face going back. I had no idea how it would all work out, but knew that I had to let you and Mum go. I figured cutting you loose, after everything I’d done, was best for you both. You’d just told me you were pregnant with a boy you believed to be your half-brother, for God’s sake. I knew you were right. I couldn’t stand the pain I’d caused. Besides, I had Susan and Tom to think about. I didn’t want them to get hurt too.’

  He paused, gathering himself, wanting to tell me everything. My body clenched at the thought of his other family.

  ‘There was a risk it could all fall apart, of course, that you’d tell the police. But my stupid logic reckoned you wouldn’t put Mum through the pain of what you’d done, not after what happened to Jacob. Besides, why would you turn yourself in?’

  He was right.

  Dad broke down again then. I waited, hardly able to take it in on top of everything else.

  ‘The last thing I saw was your beautiful face, Hannah. It kept me going. I did it for you and Mum, even though it may not seem like that. I’ve made terrible mistakes in my life, and I couldn’t stand for you to be a part of that a moment longer. I never meant to hurt you.’

  ‘And I never meant to hurt you,’ I told him, sobbing. ‘I swear I didn’t, but after I’d seen those pictures of you with Tom in the letter from his mum, I couldn’t bear it. I’d fallen in love with him and it was all your fault.’
>
  The pain came hot and fast as Dad drove recklessly away from the hospital. I had no idea where he was taking me.

  ‘It was during the time I was home from university that I found out I was pregnant,’ I whispered, clutching myself. ‘It made it all so much worse.’

  He remained silent, occasionally emitting a choking sound.

  ‘I needed answers, Dad. I didn’t know who Susan was then, or that Tom lived at Fox Court. I didn’t want to believe it, but from the letter and photographs I’d seen, it was obvious that you were Tom’s dad too. And I knew what that meant about my baby.’

  Dad made a strange noise then, not exactly an answer, though it showed he was listening, feeling wretched.

  ‘It’s all right, love,’ the police officer says to me, rubbing my back. ‘Try not to get upset. The ambulance is on its way.’

  I look around me, my vision blurry. I don’t know how many police there are . . . three, maybe four – perhaps even more. I recognise one. PC Kath Lane is standing to the left of Dad, with a male officer on the other side. Dad’s hands are handcuffed behind his back, with the male officer keeping hold of his arm.

  This is all my fault.

  ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of grievous bodily harm and kidnapping. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court.’ PC Kath Lane raises her voice because Dad is interrupting her. She carries on regardless.

  When she’s finished he’s still mumbling, the tears flowing down his terrified face.

  The male officer tries to pull Dad away, but his legs give way and he sinks to the floor, his head level with mine. I shift back in my chair to distance myself. He drops low, almost on to me. His shoulders judder up and down.

  ‘Arrest me for murder as well, for God’s sake . . .’ he wails through deep, resonant sobs. He’s looking straight at me. ‘It was me . . . I . . . I killed Jacob.’ He screws up his face then, turning away, burying the shame against his shoulder. ‘I knocked down my own son.’