by Heidi Perks
Soon Harriet was swimming, further out till she had to tread water to stay afloat and keep her blood circulating. Each time she sank her head under, only the basic desire to survive brought her back up again.
Despite telling Angela she couldn’t swim, there was actually a time when Harriet swam in the sea every week of the year. Christie, her friend from university, had got her into it. Harriet loved the euphoria she felt when she let the water consume her. Nothing compared to that moment of pure bliss when she became part of nature and it a part of her.
Then one day she stopped. It was six weeks into her wonderful new relationship with Brian. He had surprised her, turning up at her door with a large picnic hamper, and even more when he drove thirty miles to take her to the beach.
‘I know it’s your favourite place,’ he said and she felt herself falling even deeper. She remembered praying nothing would jeopardise their relationship. No one had ever made her feel so special.
On the sand Brian laid out a checked blanket and they talked and laughed and fed each other strawberries.
‘Doesn’t it look inviting,’ she said, nodding towards the water as they held hands and wandered to its edge, paddling as the waves lapped around their feet. The tide pulled out, further than before, and sent the water swishing back to them rapidly and much more forcefully. Harriet shrieked with childish delight but Brian had leaped back, a look of ridiculous panic on his face.
‘I’m going to sit on the rug,’ he said and turned on his heel, leaving her no choice but to follow.
Back on the safety of the picnic blanket, Brian’s face was flushed with embarrassment as he admitted that not only could he not swim, he also had a fear of water. She begged him to open up to her but the more she pushed the more he withdrew until he eventually snapped, ‘It’s not something I like to talk about. But something happened to me as a child and I’d rather not think too hard about it.’
He looked away and Harriet didn’t say anything, just reached out to him, touching his leg. Brian flinched and said quietly, ‘My mother wasn’t that attentive. She thought it didn’t matter if I went into the sea on my own when I was six years old. Didn’t even notice I’d been dragged under the water till some stranger shouted out to her.’
‘Oh, Brian,’ Harriet said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s really not a problem,’ he said with a sudden change of tone and began packing up the unfinished picnic. Harriet knew she needed to do something. The day was turning sour and she could already feel Brian slipping away from her. With an overwhelming sense of pity and fear that she might lose him for good, Harriet told him the first thing that came into her head, which was that she couldn’t swim either.
Brian turned to her and stopped packing away the food. He cupped her face in his hands, and with a serious look told her, ‘I’m now absolutely certain that we’re right for each other.’ He seemed so grateful for her little white lie and she immediately felt their closeness again. At the time she didn’t think about its consequences – that while they were together she would never be able to go into the sea. But then she was so in love with Brian it seemed such an easy thing to give up.
Harriet had lived with her lie ever since. She’d lost touch with many of her friends, including Christie, not long into her relationship with Brian, so there was no threat of him finding out the truth by accident. The subject rarely came up now, but if it did Harriet had simply got used to telling people she couldn’t swim.
That Sunday morning Harriet drove home and was back in the house by seven-forty a.m. Brian was still asleep so she crept into the bathroom, burying her wet costume at the bottom of the laundry basket where he’d never find it. The smell of salt water was hard to hide and, as she let the warm water of the shower cascade over her body, she wondered what Brian would actually do if he found out.
‘All I ask is that you’re truthful with me, Harriet. It’s not too much to ask for, is it?’ He always begged her for honesty. As if there were much honesty in their marriage.
The following morning Harriet’s phone pinged with the alert of an unexpected text.
‘Everything OK?’ Angela asked as Harriet stared at the message.
‘Yes. I’ve just heard from an old friend.’
‘Oh?’
It was a surprise to her too. ‘It’s funny,’ Harriet said, ‘I was only thinking about my university friends yesterday and now one of them has texted me.’
‘What does it say?’ Angela asked as she filled a bucket with water. She’d offered to clean the kitchen floor, though it looked spotless to Harriet.
She read the text aloud. ‘I don’t know if this is still your number but I saw you on the news. I want you to know I’m thinking of you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ Harriet looked up. ‘It’s from my friend, Jane. She was one of my best friends at uni. She, Christie and I did everything together.’
‘That’s nice that she’s got in touch with you.’
‘Yes, it is. I haven’t seen her for ages. Well, neither of them, actually.’
‘Why’s that? Did you just drift apart?’ Angela turned off the tap and heaved the bucket on to the floor. Harriet wondered if she was expected to help clean, but it was the last thing she wanted to do.
‘No,’ she said. Angela paused expectantly, the mop poised in the air. ‘Well, maybe we did; I don’t remember exactly what happened,’ she said, absently running a finger over the phone. Of course she remembered every detail.
‘I liked Jane and Christie a lot. I never had many friends at school; I wasn’t one of the popular girls and I guess it didn’t help that my mum kept me so—’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘What’s the word I’m looking for?’
‘You mean, the way she was so protective over you?’ Angela asked.
‘Yes. She didn’t let me out of her sight really. It’s hard to make friends when your mum is always hovering nearby.’
Angela dipped her head away before Harriet caught her expression. Did Angela think she was becoming her own mother? It was painfully clear there were more similarities than Harriet would have liked.
‘Jane was like me,’ she went on. ‘Studious and sensible. Others probably thought we were boring.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Christie was wilder, though. Not into clubbing or anything like that, but she was more adventurous. She had this crazy, curly, red hair. It was her who got me into—’ Harriet stopped abruptly and fiddled with her top. How easily she’d nearly revealed the truth. It went to show how little she talked about her old friends. ‘Christie loved travelling. When we left uni she went backpacking; she wanted me to go with her.’
‘But you didn’t?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I’ve never even been abroad,’ she smiled sadly. ‘Can you believe it? I’ve never had a passport.’
Angela dipped the mop into the bucket, splashing water over its edge. She looked up at Harriet. ‘Really?’
Harriet could see Angela was shocked, but surely it wasn’t that unusual.
‘You really don’t need to do that.’ Harriet pointed at the floor. ‘It’s not that dirty.’
‘I just wanted to be helpful,’ Angela smiled. ‘So do you miss your friends?’
‘I didn’t think so, but hearing from Jane now …’ Harriet trailed off.
‘Then text her back and tell her how nice it is to hear from her and say you’d like to speak. It’s not too late to get back in touch, Harriet. Good friends will be there, no matter how much time has passed.’
‘Only I don’t think I was all that kind to her,’ Harriet said softly.
‘What happened?’ Angela asked, genuinely surprised.
‘It was a couple of months after I’d started seeing Brian. Jane used to invite me to stay at her flat but the invitation never openly extended to him. I didn’t mind because it was nice seeing her on my own, but Brian didn’t like it. He said if she was such a good friend then she wouldn’t be trying to keep me away from him.’ Harriet remembered how upset he was. She’d told
him over and over that she was sure he’d be welcome too but Brian blankly refused to listen.
‘The thing is, I don’t think Jane was too keen, but she was too nice to say it. Only Brian wouldn’t let it drop. He’d say to me, “She doesn’t like the fact you have a boyfriend, Harriet. Girls like her can’t stand it when their friends are happier than them.”’
‘Schadenfreude, my love,’ he would say to her. ‘You must have heard of it. It’s completely obvious Jane is jealous of you and will only be happy if you are miserable.’
Of course Harriet had heard of it, but that wasn’t Jane. Jane had raced out of her exam when she found out Harriet’s mum had died, scooping her up from the floor of the hospital corridor where she’d still been curled up in a ball half an hour later. She’d stood by her side at her mum’s funeral, and when Harriet went on stage to accept a Promising Student award, it was Jane who sat in the allocated family seats, loudly whooping for her best friend.
‘I took Brian’s side and asked Jane if she was jealous of me. She said I was crazy, and I tried telling Brian he’d got it wrong. But he said, “Of course she’s saying that, she’s completely manipulating you.”’ Harriet took a breath. ‘I believed him,’ she said, with a thin smile. ‘No, actually I never believed him, I just chose him.’
‘Oh, Harriet,’ Angela sighed. ‘I’m sure Jane will forgive whatever happened in the past. She obviously cares enough about you to get in touch, and besides,’ she said, resting the mop against the sink and reaching out to take Harriet’s hand, ‘I think you could do with a friend right now.’
‘I don’t deserve her.’ She withdrew from Angela and began fiddling with cups in the sink.
‘Do you keep in touch with anyone else from your past, from the school where you worked in Kent?’ Angela asked.
Harriet shook her head, thinking of Tina. The reason they had moved to Dorset. ‘No. Everyone else disappeared from my life too,’ she said flatly.
Angela opened her mouth as if she were about to speak, but before she had the chance her mobile rang. ‘It’s Hayes,’ she said, gesturing towards the hallway. ‘I’ll take it through there.’ She answered the phone as she left the kitchen. ‘What the hell do you mean?’ she said quietly, disappearing into the living room and closing the door behind her.
Harriet stepped forward. Angela’s voice was muffled but she could just make out what she was saying.
‘Who? Brian? But why would he do that? No, you’re right,’ Angela sighed. ‘This changes things a lot.’
Charlotte
When the doorbell rang on Monday morning, I’d been lost in thought. None of us expected a whole week would come and go with no news of Alice. I had dropped the children at school, Evie at nursery, and phoned the office to explain I still couldn’t face going in, and as was frequently the case my mind wandered to thoughts of Harriet and Brian.
When the bell blasted a second time, I answered the door to a man who looked vaguely familiar. He had a goatee and eyes that bulged under a fringe that hung slightly too long.
‘Charlotte Reynolds? I’m Josh Gates,’ he said, holding out a hand, a gaudy, gold signet ring glistening on his little finger. I shook it tentatively. ‘How are you today?’ he asked, in the irritatingly confident manner of a salesperson. I told him I was fine.
‘I’m with the Dorset Eye.’
‘Oh.’ Now I knew where I’d seen him. He was the journalist at the appeal who’d accused me of being on Facebook when Alice disappeared. The one who’d subsequently written a piece in the paper. ‘I have nothing to say,’ I told him and started closing the door but as quick as a flash Josh’s foot stopped it. ‘Please,’ I said, ‘can you move your foot?’
‘I wondered if you’d like to tell your side of the story? Make sure people know the truth?’
‘I told you I don’t have anything to say. Now please get your foot off my doorstep.’ I pushed the door again but it wouldn’t budge.
‘Actually, I don’t mean about this case. I mean the other story, Charlotte.’
‘What other one? What are you talking about?’
‘Beautiful place you have here,’ he said, peering over my shoulder. ‘Must be worth a fair bit. Maybe I could come in so we can chat inside?’
‘I asked you what you’re talking about,’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Well, I’ve heard this isn’t the first time you’ve lost a child.’
‘What?’
‘And that one time your little boy, Jack, went missing.’
‘I don’t, I—’ I shook my head. In the corner of my mind, I saw a flash of Jack and the memory of the time Josh was talking about. I saw the only person who knew what I’d done, and I saw tiny pieces of my loosely-held-together world falling apart.
‘Apparently he went off one afternoon and you didn’t realise he was gone?’ He raised his eyebrows in dramatic shock.
‘Who have you been speaking to?’ I cried, though of course I already knew who it must be. I just couldn’t believe Harriet would do it.
‘So it’s true?’
‘Get off my property,’ I hissed and kicked Josh’s foot out of the door, slamming it shut. ‘Get away from my house,’ I screamed. ‘I’m calling the police now.’
‘I can always speak to the newsagent who found him if you’d rather?’ Josh shouted back.
‘Just piss off!’ I cried. ‘Leave me alone.’ I slumped back against the front door, sliding down it, burying my head in my hands. The hallway spun around me, bringing with it waves of nausea. Why was everyone so interested in me? They should be focusing on the monster who had taken Alice but instead their attention was on me. Why was everyone so keen to make sure I was the one to blame?
It was three years ago when Jack went missing. I’d walked home from the shops with the children, Molly asleep in the double buggy, her baby sister next to her screaming all the way, while Jack scooted a few metres ahead. As soon as I let us into the house, I needed to feed Evie before she woke Molly up.
‘I hope you’re not going to be this demanding forever,’ I murmured, lifting Evie out.
I pushed the pram into the hallway and settled Evie on my lap in the living room. Jack was quiet and I assumed he was playing with his new set of trains.
With Evie latched on, silence filled the house. I rested my head on the back of the sofa, closed my eyes, and let the tears of exhaustion trickle down my cheeks. My body ached with tiredness and it didn’t take long for me to drift off to sleep while Evie fed.
When I woke with a start, Evie’s eyes were fluttering closed in the early stages of sleep. I didn’t want to disturb her but I called out quietly to Jack anyway. He didn’t answer, but then he didn’t always, so I lay my head back and shut my eyes again.
When the phone rang I ignored it. I didn’t want to move and I was loath to transfer Evie to the buggy where Molly was still sleeping. When it rang off and immediately started ringing again, I carefully manoeuvred Evie on to the sofa and got up to answer it. As soon as I walked into the hallway the first thing I noticed was that the front door was wide open.
‘Jack, where are you?’ I called out. I was sure I’d closed it behind me. Evie started crying again. I could see her squirming on the sofa that I knew I really shouldn’t have left her on, but Jack was still not answering.
‘Jack?’ I checked my watch. We’d been home for over half an hour. ‘Jack?’ His name caught in my throat as I sprinted up the stairs, looking into each of the rooms. ‘If you’re hiding you need to come out right now.’
The phone rang once more and when it stopped it began again. It must have been the fifth time when I picked it up and cried, ‘Yes?’ into the receiver, only to hear the calm voice of Mr Hadlow from the corner shop telling me Jack was at his counter. Someone walking past had found him outside.
‘Why did you never tell me that?’ Audrey asked when she turned up fifteen minutes after Josh Gates had left. I was still sitting on the hallway floor when she arrived.
‘I didn’t t
ell Tom either.’
I couldn’t tell my husband because it would have confirmed I was failing. I couldn’t tell my mother, who would have reminded me three children was more than I could handle, and I didn’t tell Audrey because she would have assured me ‘these things happen’ but I would have still seen the shock on her face. Audrey locks the front door behind her; she doesn’t leave car doors wide open all night by mistake. She doesn’t lose her sunglasses case or her watch or her children and Audrey would never ever lose someone else’s child.
‘But you told Harriet?’
‘Is that the important bit right now?’ I said, though I did feel guilty. I couldn’t tell her I’d confided in another friend because I wanted to tell someone who didn’t judge me. Not when I was well aware Aud was the only friend not judging me right now.
‘Yes and no,’ Aud said. ‘She’s obviously talked to this horrible Gates character.’
‘I only told her to make her feel better about herself,’ I admitted.
‘How?’
‘She was panicking about something utterly unimportant, like forgetting to pack a spare nappy for Alice. I don’t even remember what it was. It was a year after I’d lost Jack anyway. I wanted her to realise that mums aren’t perfect, even the ones she seemed to think were.’ We both knew Harriet put me on a pedestal. ‘I told her to make her feel better and made her promise not to tell a soul.’
‘Well she’s done that all right.’
‘I said, “Don’t even tell Brian,” and she said, “Oh God, no, I would never tell Brian,” so I didn’t worry about it going any further.’
‘That’s an odd thing to say.’
‘What is?’
‘“God, no, I would never tell Brian.”’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’d never say that about David.’
‘Oh, Aud,’ I sighed. ‘Does it really matter?’
‘No, it probably doesn’t,’ Audrey said. ‘But I still think it’s odd.’
