by Heidi Perks
‘Then how come it feels like it did?’ I said in a whisper.
Before hanging up Audrey reminded me about the school social the following Wednesday. ‘You should come along.’
‘It’s another six days away,’ I said. ‘Anything could happen by then.’ I didn’t want to think what I meant by that but my hope was that Alice would be found. The thought of another week passing and still no news was unimaginable.
‘Of course, and God hoping little Alice will be found safe and sound. But think of the social as a time for you to speak to the people you believe are talking about you and then you can put your mind at rest.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Seriously, Charlotte, you should.’
I promised Audrey I’d consider it but I knew I wouldn’t go. I’d rather carry on hiding than face the mothers who’d be watching me with fascination. As soon as I put the phone down, it rang again. It was DCI Hayes asking if I would be in for the next hour. I told him I wasn’t going anywhere and mindlessly watched CBeebies with Evie as I waited for him.
When he arrived I took him into the kitchen, making small talk as I poured a drink for Evie, who had followed me through, demanding a snack and asking if the policeman would play with her.
‘No, Evie,’ I said, handing her a packet of raisins and an apple. ‘Go back to the other room and I’ll be in soon.’
‘Sorry,’ I said to the detective once she was gone. ‘Do you have kids?’
‘Yes, I have two,’ he said gravely. ‘Mrs Reynolds, I have some news.’
‘Oh?’ The look on his face told me it wasn’t going to be good.
‘I’m afraid we’ve found a body.’
Harriet
‘What does this mean?’ Brian paraded back and forth in the small kitchen like a caged animal.
‘We don’t know,’ Angela told them.
‘But the body wasn’t that far away?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Less than five miles from where he was taken.’
‘And it’s definitely Mason?’ Brian asked.
‘Yes, I’m afraid he’s been identified.’
‘That poor family,’ Harriet cried. ‘I can’t even imagine how they’re feeling. I can’t even think—’
‘Then don’t,’ Angela told her. ‘There’s still nothing that suggests what happened to Mason is linked to Alice.’
‘So what did happen to him?’ Brian demanded. ‘How did he die? Was he killed straight away?’ He had stopped pacing, his hands gripping the back of a chair as he pressed forward, leaning towards Angela.
‘I understand you want to know all this, but I can’t give you the details yet.’
‘And I don’t want to hear them.’ Harriet put her hands over her ears.
Brian moved to his wife’s side and carefully peeled her hands away from her head. ‘And you don’t need to, my love,’ he said, kissing the back of them, his lips lingering on her skin, leaving moist patches when he pulled away. He slid into the chair beside her, still grasping her hands. ‘You shouldn’t have to be thinking about any of this,’ he said.
He left her no option but to think about it, as he continued to ask Angela questions about Mason that she repeatedly told him she couldn’t answer. Brian’s grip remained tight. His face was close; she could feel puffs of his warm breath on her cheeks as he spoke. The scent of his day-old aftershave trickled up her nose and into her throat each time she breathed in.
Eventually Harriet extracted herself, making the excuse that she needed the bathroom.
She didn’t know what finding Mason’s body meant, but her heart broke for his parents. They had no hope now – all they had was a finality that didn’t make anything better. She wanted to write and tell them how sorry she was for them, and that she understood how their lives must have shattered. Only she didn’t understand. Because Harriet still had hope. So instead she wrote down her thoughts in the little Moleskine notebook that she kept hidden under a floorboard in her bedroom, and wished they were getting comfort elsewhere.
More comfort than Harriet was getting. She and Brian swept like ghosts around the house that now groaned with loneliness. He would reach out to touch her, utter words in her ear, but they weren’t comforting. Each step she took on the wooden staircase echoed eerily back at her. In the hallway the Ikea lamp no longer cast any warmth, just a long menacing shadow along the floorboards.
The living room looked as if it had been swept clean of any trace of Alice. Harriet’s fingers itched to grab hold of the plastic toy boxes so perfectly stacked in a corner and upturn them, making it look like her daughter was still there. Had she been the one to hastily tidy them away once Alice had gone to bed last Friday night, or was it Brian who’d meticulously set things to order, restoring the room to a child-free zone?
But Harriet knew she couldn’t start throwing Alice’s toys round the house. She could imagine what Brian would say if she did. It would give him another reason to convince her she should be taking the medication she knew didn’t exist.
At times she would just sit on Alice’s bed, running her hand across the pink duvet embroidered with birds, still ruffled from her daughter’s last sleep. Harriet would look for the indent in the pillow where Alice’s head had last lain, imagining her blonde hair splayed around her in a fan, but the image was rapidly vanishing.
Now there was just Hippo on the bed, where she had carefully placed him after finding him wedged down the side of Alice’s car seat. It broke Harriet’s heart into two clean pieces to think of Alice without the grey hippo that had always gone everywhere with her.
Over the week the sense of Alice in the little girl’s bedroom diminished until Harriet was left wondering what was her imagination and what was real. It was so frightening that she started writing everything down in her book again.
Eventually she entered the bedroom less and less but the thought of Alice somewhere else, sleeping in a place she couldn’t imagine, opening her eyes and not being able to see her string of butterflies hanging in the window, was slowly killing Harriet.
One week had passed since Alice had vanished. It was Saturday morning and her disappearance was still hot news. A handful of journalists continued to hang around outside their gate now that Mason’s body had been found and there was more interest than before.
Harriet still read everything she could, however painful. Often she would lock herself in the bathroom with Brian’s iPad and scour websites to see what people were saying. Then she would delete the search history. Brian wouldn’t understand her need that had turned into an obsession. He would only point out how unhealthy it was.
Maybe he was right. She didn’t need strangers voicing their opinions about her and Brian. It was Angela whose opinion counted; she was the person living Harriet’s hell with her, yet she was giving little away.
Harriet liked having Angela in her life. In very different circumstances she thought they could be friends. She wondered what Angela was feeding back to her bosses at the station. It was her job to watch and cast judgements on their tiny family, so she must have opinions. What did she make of them, dancing around each other like two strangers trapped in a prison of their own misery? Angela had eaten with them, waited while they slept, seen them at their worst. What was Brian telling her when Harriet wasn’t in the room?
When Angela left that evening, Brian launched upon Harriet. ‘I’m not the only one who’s worried about you,’ he said, shuffling far too close to her on the sofa, the smell of stale coffee drifting off his breath.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Other people have noticed too,’ he said. ‘I’m only telling you this for your own sake.’
‘What are you talking about, Brian?’
He sighed, rubbing his hands up and down his jeans. ‘When you went out for a walk the other day, Angela specifically told you she didn’t want you going out on your own, but you ignored her and went anyway. Why are you doing this to me, Harriet?’
‘Angela never said that,’ Harriet said,
slowly shaking her head as she thought back.
‘Yes, she did, my love.’ Brian turned around to face her, furrowing his brow and cocking his head to one side as he studied her. His eyes drifted to her hairline and he reached out a hand to gently push a few stray strands away. ‘You said you needed to go out for a little walk but Angela told you it wasn’t a good idea and asked you to stay in the house. Yet you were insistent. Even when she told you it wasn’t safe,’ he said, his hand remaining on her scalp.
Harriet stared at her husband.
‘I just need to understand why you’re doing this to me,’ he said.
‘I’m not doing anything to you. Angela didn’t tell me I shouldn’t go out,’ she repeated.
‘Oh, Harriet, you don’t remember, do you?’ he said, inching nearer still. He took hold of her arms, rubbing his thumbs across the fleshy skin above her elbows. ‘I knew this would be the case,’ he continued.
‘Brian, I know Angela didn’t say that to me. I would have remembered. If she had told me not to go out, I wouldn’t have.’
‘Oh, Harriet.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I’m trying to deal with Alice and I can’t worry about you too.’ He gripped her a little harder. ‘There are things you choose to forget.’
When Harriet didn’t answer he carried on, ‘We’ll go back to the doctor. I’ll make an appointment for Monday morning.’
‘I don’t need to see a doctor.’ She would be firm over this. She would not have a doctor brought in again.
With one last squeeze he let go of her arms and stood up, pacing over to the window. Brian’s head hung low. She watched his shoulders heave slowly. Up, down, up, down.
When she could bear the tension no longer she said, ‘Fine. I’m sorry. I believe you. I remember it now; I know what you’re saying about Angela is right. So I don’t need to see a doctor again, Brian.’
‘That’s good, my love,’ he said, turning back and smiling at her, his dark, hooded eyes reflecting the light of the evening sun. ‘I knew you would remember in the end.’
NOW
It is clear DI Rawlings has decided she doesn’t like me as she looks at me with scrutinising eyes that frown under her thinly plucked eyebrows. I am not the kind of mum she would want to be friends with, though I doubt she has children of her own.
She is interested in the differences between Harriet and me. Not the glaringly obvious ones like money and houses, but the little nuances that separate us.
‘You were happy to share everything about your life,’ she comments. ‘But Harriet didn’t do the same with you?’
She already knows the answers to most of her questions. I’m sure her intent is to point out my shortcomings.
‘I don’t share everything,’ I say in defence. ‘Many parts of my life are private.’
‘But you talked about your upbringing and the intricacies of your marriage.’
‘With Harriet, yes,’ I say. ‘But Harriet is a friend; it’s what friends do.’
‘Yet Harriet didn’t open up to you in the same way?’
‘Look, I don’t really know what you’re getting at.’ I don’t mean to snap, and wonder if I have overstepped the mark.
‘Don’t you, Charlotte?’
‘Harriet told me what she wanted to. I can’t force someone to talk about their home life if they don’t want to,’ I reply.
‘Or maybe you didn’t try,’ she says and leans back in her seat as if satisfied with her trump card.
My fingers stop fidgeting with my belt and instead clench tightly until I can’t stand the pressure. I know she thinks I wasn’t a good friend to Harriet, that I took more than I gave, but her judgement angers me. She has comfortably positioned herself on Harriet’s side, if there are sides to be taken. Before I even walked in this room she’d probably made her mind up.
‘I’m going to have to take another break if you want me to answer more questions,’ I say sharply.
‘Of course, of course. Take as long as you need.’ She gestures to the door but doesn’t smile and again I wonder if I should tell her I’m not prepared to stay any longer.
Once I get out into the fresh air of the courtyard I call Tom. ‘How are the children?’ I ask before he has the chance to speak. ‘Are they asleep?’
‘Of course,’ he says. He sounds drowsy himself, as if I have woken him up, but if I have I don’t particularly care.
‘What about Molly?’ I say. ‘Is she OK? Has her temperature gone down?’
‘I think so,’ he says. ‘She’s fast asleep, though.’
‘Go and check on her,’ I tell him. ‘If she feels hot, the thermometer’s in the bathroom.’
‘Charlotte, I know where the thermometer’s kept,’ he says. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m fine. It’s turning into a long night. It’s taking longer than I thought it would.’
‘You’re still at the station?’ He sounds surprised. ‘I thought you’d be on your way home by now.’
‘I’m sure I won’t be much longer. Obviously they have a lot they need to get straight,’ I say.
‘But they’re not, you know, suspecting you of anything?’ he asks cagily. ‘I mean, they don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do they?’
‘No,’ I feign a laugh. ‘Of course not. Like I told you earlier, I’m here to help them, that’s all. It’s better I get it done now and then hopefully they won’t need to speak to me again.’
‘Yeah, of course. It just feels like you’ve been there a really long time.’
‘I have, Tom, it’s been nearly four hours,’ I say, glancing at my watch.
‘Right.’ I can see he’s trying to figure out what is really going on, wondering if there is anything I’m not telling him. But then Tom thinks I tell him everything. Just as the clever detective pointed out – people like me tell everyone what’s going on in their lives.
‘And is there any other news?’ he asks. ‘You know – about—’
‘No,’ I say as I rest my head against the wall. ‘No, not that I’ve been told.’ I don’t know if they would tell me anyway.
‘OK, well look after yourself.’ I guess he’s ready to go back to sleep. ‘Call me when you’re out.’
‘I will. Thank you.’ I hope he won’t ask me what for but I’m grateful he is there for me, caring for me in a way I no longer expect anyone else to.
Not long after Molly was born I remember Tom saying something to me that hadn’t had much resonance at the time. ‘You’ll always be the mother of my children,’ he told me. ‘Things have changed; there’s almost another dimension between us. Whatever happens, I’ll never stop caring for you.’
I had brushed him off then but now I know he meant it and it makes the space between me and my family stretch unbearably further apart.
When I hang up I head back into the station, my heart feeling as heavy as my legs as I drag myself to the vending machine to get another coffee. As I wait for the cup to fill I catch sight of DI Rawlings at the far end of the corridor, ushering someone in through the front door. As the DI steps to one side and the bright lights flood the entrance, I realise she’s speaking to Hayes, who must have just arrived. And while I should be relieved to see a familiar face I can’t help feeling my heart sink a little lower.
BEFORE
Harriet
On Sunday morning, eight days after Alice’s disappearance, Harriet woke at six a.m. and walked out of the house. She had checked first to make sure Brian was still sleeping. He was, which was no surprise as he’d been scratching around downstairs for most of the night, coming to bed in the early hours of the morning.
She’d noticed his habits and sleeping patterns had changed in the last week. The previous day he’d taken himself fishing but only an hour had passed before he returned to the house to be with Harriet. And while she’d always been the first to bed, Brian usually followed shortly after. But during the past week Harriet had lain in bed alone, barely sleeping while Brian
stayed up until two or three a.m., prowling around beneath her. What he was doing she had no idea.
Harriet crept down the stairs, slipped on the shoes that were tucked under the coat pegs and carefully opened the front door and closed it behind her so she wouldn’t wake her sleeping husband. She was grateful there were no journalists awaiting her this early as she took a deep breath of the morning air and climbed into her car.
As she drove along the nearest stretch of coastline, she glanced out at the cliffs. They were high and jagged with sheer drops to the sea below that would crash into the rocks when the wind picked up. The unlit road could be dangerous at night and there had been a few occasions when a speeding car had driven over the edge. A dented barrier ran parallel to the road, a sobering reminder in the daylight.
Harriet drove for another five minutes until she reached a sharp turn where she pulled off and headed down a stony track to a car park.
She loved it here. The beach itself was tiny and very pebbly. Alice always complained that she didn’t like walking over the stones to the sea because they hurt her feet, but Harriet thought it was beautiful. The water was as clear as glass and she could sit at the edge and wiggle her toes while Alice filled up her bucket with stones.
Harriet opened the boot, pulled out a small bag from under the picnic blanket and walked to the sea. It looked so peaceful, she thought, as she pulled off her dress and laid it on the stones. Fiddling with the straps of her red swimming costume she walked into the water, one tentative step at a time, keeping her eyes on the horizon. The cold didn’t bother her. It numbed her and she needed not to be able to feel anything, even just for a moment.
With each pull of the tide, the water gradually built up over her body, as inch by inch it devoured her. It crept up her thighs and lapped around her waist, slowly edging up to her armpits until the rest of her was submerged. Harriet plunged her head under and held it there as long as she could before she needed air. The release was instant. She felt anaesthetised and it was a glorious sensation, but one that never lasted long enough.
