There was a male clearing of the throat. Dora turned around to see Steven. She’d forgotten he was there.
‘Look, he’s either in here, right? Or he’s found a way out of the Crag? Is that possible? How old is he?’
‘He’s only three . . .’ Cassie wailed.
‘Could he have made it up these footholds and out onto the beach, d’you think?’ Steven’s voice was calm. Dora suddenly realised she was glad he was here.
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
The two sisters looked at each other. It was true that Dora had found it easier getting out than she had getting in but . . . could Alfie have really clambered out, all on his own?
‘I guess . . . if he followed me . . . maybe he could have managed it. But surely I would have seen him on the beach on my way back? Unless he headed the other way . . . you know, over to the rock pools . . .’ Dora’s voice trailed off. None of them wanted to think about that possibility.
Cassie let out a sudden sob. ‘Oh God, we’ve got to find him.’ She turned to Sam imploringly. ‘We’ve got to find him, OK?’
Sam shifted uncomfortably. ‘OK, OK. Let’s think for a moment.’
‘He’s probably just headed up to the ice cream van,’ said Steven, ‘thought he’d find Dora. Let’s do one final check in here and if we’re sure he’s not still in here, head out and start looking for him on the beach. Right?’
‘Right,’ Sam and Dora agreed simultaneously. Dora patted her sister on the arm. ‘Come on, Cass, it’s OK. We’ll find him, all right?’
Cassie didn’t say anything, just turned and ran to the end of the cave, calling Alfie’s name loudly.
For the next few minutes the four teenagers scoured the cavern from top to bottom for signs of Alfie. They looked in vain for hiding places they might have missed, called his name, coaxingly at first, then with increasing panic, and even tried to find little footprints in the silty earth that would reveal where he had gone. He had, it seemed, vanished into thin air. When they met back in the centre, moments later, it was clear to them all that the hunt would need to continue outside the Crag. They were silent as they took it in turns to climb up the rocky side of the cave and drop back down onto the beach.
It was only half an hour or so since she had first left the Crag to buy ice cream and yet as her feet landed back on the hot pebbles on the other side of the cave, it seemed to Dora as if the landscape outside had tilted slightly. On the surface it was still a picture-perfect postcard setting; the sun still shone down on a thousand happy holidaymakers; there were squeals and giggles floating in the air; pink bodies shone under greasy slicks of sunscreen like grilled saveloys under a hot plate; the grassy green slopes of the campsite rose up out of the distance, dotted with colourful tents and caravans winking at them in the brightness of the day. And yet the sun was even more shocking in its intensity. Dora could feel the skin across her shoulders prickle and tighten under its blaze. The seaside chorus of gull cries, the tinny call sign of the ice cream van and the shrieks of children all mingled in the air into one frenzied crescendo. And from somewhere far out across the ocean a breeze had picked up. Dora held a hand up to her eyes and squinted out to sea. She saw white caps topping the waves out towards the horizon and closer to shore her ear tuned in to the unmistakable whoomph of water dumping onto limestone. She looked nervously towards the rock pools. Sea spray flew up, glinted like diamante caught in the sun, and then fell, vanishing into the path of another incoming wave.
The tide had turned.
She swallowed back sticky-sweet bile and turned to Cassie with a renewed sense of urgency. ‘We should split up.’
Cassie nodded but she seemed lost in her distress.
‘We’ll check over by the rock pools,’ offered Sam.
‘Yes, and Steven and I will go back up the beach and see if anyone has seen him. Let’s meet back at the car park in twenty minutes. OK?’ Then louder. ‘OK?’
Sam and Cassie nodded again and then turned, walking quickly towards the rocky outcrop.
Dora wrung her hands.
‘It’ll be OK,’ Steven tried to reassure her. ‘You’ll see. He’s probably making mischief up at the beach shop. Or queuing up for more ice cream as we speak.’
‘I hope so,’ Dora agreed. ‘I really do.’ She felt Steven take her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. Under other circumstances, she realised, she’d be delirious with happiness to be holding hands with Steven Page. Under other circumstances . . .
They looked at the beach spread before them. It suddenly seemed huge.
‘Should we split up?’ Dora asked, uncertain where to begin.
‘Let’s walk in parallel with each other, one down by the shoreline, one further up the beach. That way we can sweep the width of it together and one of us should spot him.’
Dora nodded, grateful for his calm logic.
‘I guess I should ask what’s he wearing? Can you remember?’
Dora gave a little sob, half laugh, half cry. ‘Oh, I can remember. He’s wearing a Superman costume.’
Steven smiled. ‘Well, that’s certainly original. Shouldn’t be too many Supermen on the beach today. I reckon he’ll be pretty easy to spot.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Dora, suddenly more optimistic. ‘You’re right.’
They started off towards the car park. Steven opted for the harder route, taking the higher path along the shore across the baking pebbles while Dora retraced her steps for the second time that day along the shingle near the water’s edge. Her eyes scanned the water’s edge for signs of a little boy, and every so often she would turn in vain to the ground, looking for some sort of imprint of her brother’s footsteps on the ever-shifting stones. As she got closer to the car park she scanned the camps of families set up on the beach for a flash of red and blue, asking every so often if anyone had seen a little boy in a Superman costume. Every time she was met with an indulgent smile and the shake of a head. And once in a while she’d turn her gaze to the water. The waves were slapping onto the shore with increasing violence. She saw a little girl on a lilo, her father beside her in the water, suddenly flip with the force of a wave and disappear under the wash of foam. She appeared, seconds later, all tangled hair and limbs, her shock turning to hilarity when she saw her father reach for her and she realised she was safe. They chased the inflatable out of the water onto the beach in front of her. Dora couldn’t look any more. She turned her glance back to the bodies strewn across the seashore and tried desperately to banish the thoughts that had suddenly flooded into her head. Alfie couldn’t swim without his armbands.
Steven met her at the sea wall. He shook his head as he walked towards her and Dora felt another nugget of hope disintegrate.
‘Sorry, no one’s seen him.’
Dora bit at her nails. ‘What should we do?’
They decided to split up again, Steven heading into the shop while Dora walked back to the ice cream van and wandered around by the sea wall. There was a smiley old couple sitting on a bench gazing out in silence towards the horizon; a sunburnt family squabbling over who would carry what back up to the campsite; and a harassed-looking father laden with fish and chips. None of them had seen her brother.
Minutes later Cassie and Sam appeared, red-faced and sweating from their walk back up the beach. Dora peered at them, willing the figure of a small blond-haired boy to appear mirage-like beside them. But they were on their own. As they drew closer Dora saw that Cassie’s knee was grazed and bleeding and she held something in her arms. Cassie spotted them and ran over.
‘Is he here?’ she asked with a gasp.
Dora shook her head.
‘Oh, Dora,’ she gasped, holding out a wet tangle of material. ‘It’s his Superman cape. Sam found it on the rocks by one of the pools. It’s soaking wet.’
Dora swallowed. ‘Are you sure? I mean, is it definitely his?’
Cassie didn’t answer. She just gave her a look that made her stomach churn and her eyes sting with tears.
‘Well what now?�
� Dora asked. She realised she could hardly breathe.
Blessedly, Sam took charge.
‘Dora, you should go home. Go see if Alfie has somehow made his way back there. If he’s not there you should call your parents. Tell them what’s happened. The three of us will carry on searching here. I think we need to talk to the lifeguard and maybe even get some more people looking with us.’
Cassie moaned. ‘Oh, Alfie. Oh God, where is he? We are going to be in so much trouble.’
Dora’s mind was whirring. Images of Alfie flooded her brain. Alfie standing on the edge of a rock pool as a giant wave washed in. Alfie being led away from the beach by shadowy strangers. Alfie wandering the lethal laneways of Summertown as a huge caravan bore down on him. Alfie wading into the breakers, his little boots filling quickly with water. Alfie standing precariously on a cliff edge, his cloak flapping wildly in the breeze. The images crowded her mind and kept her frozen to the spot. She didn’t want to leave the beach. Not without Alfie.
‘Dora!’ Steven shook her by the shoulder. ‘Dora, go now. Hurry.’
She took one last look at the three of them standing there in the car park, and then she ran.
HELEN
Present Day
Helen is sitting in the conservatory lost in thought when Dora returns. The slam of the back door signals her arrival. She doesn’t know how long it has been since her daughter broke the news of her pregnancy, but the early evening sun is just starting to brush the tops of the trees and its warmth slants down onto the conservatory, making the old wooden joists click and creak like arthritic joints. Helen knows she has handled things badly, even for her. It’s time to make amends. She stands stiffly and tidies their plates and cups, placing the china back onto the tray and carrying it into the kitchen. Then, wearily, she climbs the staircase.
She finds Dora in Alfie’s room. She’s sitting in the old rocking chair by the window, her face turned to the garden, her legs – now mud-spattered – are tucked beneath her. Unobserved, Helen stands in the doorway and takes in her daughter’s profile; her elegant neck taut with tension; her pale skin and seaweed eyes; her nose, thin and straight; a smear of early freckles on her skin; her unruly dark hair scraped back carelessly into a ponytail. Although now a young woman, Dora doesn’t look all that different from the girl Helen remembers racing around the house just a few years ago, twirling a giggling Alfie in her arms, or curled up in Richard’s lap as they pored over some book or puzzle. How have they arrived at this? Two damaged women unable to communicate with each other in anything but brutal jabs and sharp thrusts of confrontation and pain.
It’s obvious Dora doesn’t know how attractive she is and it comes to her now that perhaps it’s her fault. She tries to remember the last time she complimented either of her daughters and can’t, and allows herself a fleeting moment of regret. She knows she hasn’t been a very good mother. She has neglected each of her children at crucial moments in their lives and now she is paying the price. Is it too late to change? Dora sighs and shifts in the chair. Yes, she is beautiful, beautiful but troubled.
As Helen watches her daughter, it occurs to her that she sits in the very same chair she herself occupied thirteen or so years ago, nursing Alfie day and night and rocking him gently to sleep. She remembers the sweet, talcum powder smell of him, the impossibly soft skin and the rhythmic suck and pull of his mouth at her breast; mother and baby connected in the nocturnal hours to a universal force that is as natural and insistent as the ebb and flow of the waves down on the shoreline. And now, in some strange twist of fate, here is Dora, seated before her, pregnant and distraught.
She’s known this day would come. She’s imagined it in her head a million times, one of her daughters sharing the news that she is to become a mother. She and Richard even talked about it in the early days when the girls were little more than babies, imagining the glorious days of wedding celebrations and the births of their grandchildren. They’d lived with such innocence then, made so many naive assumptions, for she’d only ever imagined those moments to be filled with joy. And she is happy for Dora. Of course she is. But what she hasn’t expected, what Helen hasn’t banked on is the indescribable feeling of jealousy that surged through her body at Dora’s announcement. It had been physical; a violent force that stole the breath from her lungs and left her speechless and shaking with the sheer ugliness of its existence. How could she?
Surely she is a monster; to feel such burning jealousy for her daughter who has been given a fresh start, a new life, while all Helen has left are her mistakes, her regrets and her overwhelming grief? There are no second chances for her. She has had her time and she has squandered it.
But she has, at least, swallowed down her seething jealousy. It is under control and buried now, smothered beneath the more pressing need to make amends with Dora. She wants to go to her, to draw her into her arms and reassure her daughter that everything will be all right; but she can’t. It is as if she is anchored to the spot, pinned down by fear and regret and the aching desire not to make things even worse, and so she just stands there, right where she is, barely breathing until Dora turns suddenly, startled to see her mother watching her from the doorway.
‘I didn’t hear you come up.’ Her daughter’s voice is flat and she turns her tear-stained face back towards the window. She is still angry.
‘No,’ says Helen. She is unsure what to say. She doesn’t know how to start the conversation that hangs unspoken between them but she forces herself to enter the room and sits down on the bed in the corner, smoothing the blue comforter beneath her.
‘I’m sorry.’ Helen pauses but Dora doesn’t interrupt. She knows this is her stage now. ‘I didn’t expect . . . I didn’t know what you wanted me to say earlier . . . downstairs.’ She draws a breath and carries on. ‘How are you feeling? With the pregnancy?’
Dora’s gaze remains fixed on the blossom outside. ‘Sick most mornings, and so tired by the evening. I’m tired like I’ve never been before, as if it’s burrowed deep in my bones.’
‘I was the same with Cassie,’ Helen remembers with a small smile. ‘It should pass in a few weeks.’ Another pause, then, ‘Was it an accident?’
She sees her daughter flinch. It is the wrong question. She tries again. ‘What I mean is, you seemed so upset earlier. It threw me. I thought, perhaps this was something you weren’t pleased about.’ Helen wonders privately if Dan is giving Dora a hard time. He seems like a nice chap but you can never be too sure.
Dora sighs and finally turns to her mother. ‘I’m scared.’
Helen takes a moment to form her response. ‘Well, that’s completely natural, most first time mums are. Your body is going through an enormous transformation. All those hormones rushing around—’
‘No. It’s more than that,’ Dora interrupts. ‘I’m scared of the past. Of what happened. I’m scared it could happen again. I already feel like I’ve lost one family. Starting another is too much responsibility . . . it’s too much to lose all over again. I can’t do it. It would break me.’
There. It has been said. Helen closes her eyes momentarily, trying to find words of comfort. ‘What happened was terrible . . . tragic. But it’s done now. It’s in the past.’
‘How can you know that, Mum? I mean, honestly, none of us would have thought, you know . . . none of us would have imagined what happened . . . the impact it had.’ Dora’s words trail off again. She seems unable to continue, but then she finds the words in a rush. ‘I don’t think I can handle the responsibility of becoming a mother. You know, I still wonder whether things might be different if I had acted differently that day, if I had been different. I mean, how can I possibly be ready to be a parent when I still feel like a child inside, the same child that I was on the beach that day?’
‘But that’s exactly it, Dora. You were just a child, a girl.’ Helen puts her fingers to the crease between her brows and tries to smooth away the headache she can feel building. ‘I think we’d all do things differently a seco
nd time round,’ she finally admits. God knows she would if she could. She has so many regrets of her own to bear. She wonders if now is the time to admit her own guilt, to air her own dirty little secret. But Dora is speaking again.
‘I can’t let it go. I think about it every day.’
‘We all do, darling. But at some point, you have to. You have to say to yourself, “This was not my fault.” ’
‘Wasn’t it?’ Dora looks at her mother searchingly. ‘Do you really believe that?’
Helen swallows. She knows what Dora needs to hear. She knows Dora needs to be absolved of her guilt. And she could say it out loud now. Helen could say the words she has rehearsed in her head over and over since that day. Say it. Say it, she wills herself. But again, a stifling fear prevents her and seconds later she sees the hope that flared in Dora’s eyes die as quickly as it arose. She burns with shame for her cowardice and tries another approach. ‘Some days, I wake up and just being here, in this house, well, it brings me great comfort. Other days it’s different. I know before I even open my eyes that I can barely muster the strength to get out of bed, because to do so means facing another dark day; another day when we all face our future, and our lives, stuck in this horrid black hole.’ Helen pauses, looks at her daughter pointedly and adds, ‘Without him . . . without each other.’
Dora nods. She understands. They’ve been ripped apart and scattered on the wind, each locked away in their own private purgatory. ‘Do you ever wonder if the police got it wrong?’
Helen gazes out at the garden. ‘No,’ she lies.
‘I do, all the time.’
Helen thinks of all the possible scenarios she has churned over night after night and winces in pain.
‘Sorry, is this too hard for you?’ Dora asks.
‘No, it’s good to talk about him. We’ve never . . .’ She breaks off.
Dora nods. ‘Dan says this is our opportunity. He thinks that we should grab it with both hands. He thinks this baby is a chance for me to start over, but he doesn’t understand. There’s no such thing as a “fresh start” is there? There’s no full stop. No clean page. Our lives just carry on. And yet, I had to come here. I can’t let go of this feeling . . . it’s the not knowing.’ She stops and rubs her belly unconsciously. ‘I have dreams.’
Secrets of the Tides Page 15
