by Heidi Perks
We continued to drift further away into nothing. I no longer looked back at the beach. I told myself a lifeboat would soon be on its way. Shortly it would race down the slipway and into the water, gathering speed as it approached us. Would they reach us in time?
I hugged my arms tightly around myself. Now the sun had disappeared it felt so much colder. I buried my head into my knees, biting a finger to stop my teeth from chattering.
What if it didn’t reach us? What if one hadn’t even been called? There was no way of knowing for sure. My life hung in Brian’s hands, as it always had, and as renewed fear bled through me I knew that somehow I had to take back control. I couldn’t give up. What kind of mother would that make me?
I shuffled my legs beneath me, pulling my finger out of my mouth where my teeth had been clamping down harder than I realised.
I couldn’t trust Brian. I was sure he didn’t trust himself any longer and if I let him continue dragging us out into the black sea he would win. I had to stop him once and for all. But did that really mean I had no other choice than the thought that had begun rooting itself in the corner of my mind?
Quietly I pushed myself off the bottom of the boat and, still crouching, on to my feet. I had the upper hand, I reminded myself. Brian couldn’t swim and he didn’t know I could. I repeated the words inside my head until they drowned out the part of me that knew what I was thinking was preposterous.
My heart pounded heavily as I rocked on to the balls of my feet. As soon as I stood I would have to lunge forward quickly and catch him off guard but I feared my legs wouldn’t move me fast enough. Even as my mind formulated my next steps, I still couldn’t believe I was capable of what I was about to do.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up and leapt towards Brian, my hands grabbing on to his shirt. The boat rocked and Brian whipped around, his own hands reaching for my arms to steady himself.
‘What are you—’ he began to scream, and with every bit of strength left in me I pushed him backwards towards the edge of the boat.
I knew that, whatever happened, Brian would keep his promise that he would never let me go. If he went over the side, I would too.
His eyes flicked between me and the water beneath us that stretched for eternity. I filled my head with thoughts of Alice waiting for me. Brian’s would be filled with the dread of falling into the icy darkness that lay no more than an arm’s stretch away, and with that image I thrust forward, and together Brian and I toppled into the water.
The sea was ice cold, stinging my skin the moment I hit it. With every breath I took, pain shot through my chest. Brian’s eyes widened as he followed, his arms still grappling to keep hold of me. As he opened his mouth to scream he bobbed under the surface, his mouth filling with water before he rose back up, choking and spewing it out.
I saw the horror burn its way deeper inside him as he struggled to hold on to me. He knew he would go under again, and was prepared to take me with him, but his hands shook on my arms and already I felt them loosening.
It was a bittersweet moment as my husband thrashed wildly, his limbs flailing uselessly, as I kicked my legs as strongly as I could to tread water.
Still holding on to me, when Brian submerged he pulled me down too. I had already inhaled a deep breath but he somehow managed to tighten his grip again and his frantic kicking took us deeper.
I needed air and, as I pushed us both back up to the surface, I wondered how many times I could allow him to take me down again.
The beam of a flashlight curved in the sky above us, closer than the lights from the beach. It had to be a lifeboat and, when Brian’s panicked eyes followed my gaze, searching for signs of help, it hit me how someone who might have been so prepared for us both to die looked like he wanted nothing more than to live.
I had the power, I told myself again. He had none any longer.
I felt a fleeting pity for my husband. There were two things he’d been so scared of all his life: being left to drown and losing me. In some ways it felt like his life was coming full circle.
He didn’t deserve to die.
Did he?
The lights were getting closer. The lifeguards would be with us soon.
My heart raced and I looked into his eyes. Cold. Dark. I fell for those eyes once, had thought them powerful and protective, but I had seen them too many times in the years since controlling me. Making me his.
Drawing up my legs as much as I could, I drove them into him, feeling his thighs against my feet as I pushed him away. His hands slid off my arms, his eyes searching mine. His arms thrashed above his head.
Did he realise I could swim? I wondered.
As Brian sank under the surface I waited a few seconds, all the time knowing I could dive under and save him if I wanted.
The tide was slowly dragging me away from him. I counted to five but Brian didn’t reappear. Frightened, I swam forward to where the ripple of water spread in swelling circles.
The lifeboat was nearby now; its light swept across the sea catching me in its beam.
Then finally I lay on my back and pushed myself away from Brian. They would pick me up in a moment. By then it would be hard to tell where he was.
Harriet
‘Where’s your husband?’ The lifeguards were understandably concerned that they couldn’t see any sign of him. I gestured vaguely into the water. I was struggling to breathe; the icy coldness had hit me hard and pain was spreading rapidly through my body.
‘Over—’ I tried, but it was hard getting the words out. The moment I’d been pulled out of the sea my body started going into shock. I closed my eyes until their voices hovered above me in jumbled whispers. Adrenaline coursed through me but just for a moment I wanted to blank everything out.
The voices made decisions. They would take me back to the beach, they finally agreed; another lifeboat was already on its way. ‘Don’t worry,’ one assured me, close against my ear. ‘We’ll find him.’
I wanted to tell them not to bother. Brian couldn’t swim. He’d be long gone by now. He only felt safe dragging us both out to sea because he didn’t think I could swim either. But my breath came short and sharp and I chose to save it.
In minutes we were on the beach, a policewoman helping me out of the boat, wrapping me in a foil blanket. A paramedic ran towards us as emergency lights still lit up the sky like fireworks. Eventually my shaking body began to absorb the warmth and my head started to clear.
‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘She’s taken care of,’ the paramedic told me, ushering me behind her to the far edge of the beach where an ambulance waited, brightly lit, two or three people milling around it. ‘Can you tell me your name?’
I screwed my eyes up until Alice came into focus, sitting in the back of the ambulance. Charlotte was at her side, one arm around her shoulder, while a man in a green uniform crouched in front. His hand waved some kind of instrument at Alice. I imagined I heard her laugh, which made me smile.
‘Do you know your name?’ the paramedic asked again, slower and louder this time as if I might not understand. Her fingers pressed into my wrist as they searched for a pulse.
‘Harriet Hodder.’
The commotion had by now attracted a small handful of onlookers who stood together in a huddle at the top of the slipway, pointing and nodding and drawing their own conclusions about the drama unfolding on the beach. We must have been an exciting addition to their otherwise boring evenings.
‘I need to see Alice,’ I said.
‘And you will in a minute, but we need to make sure you’re OK first.’ The paramedic fussed around me. ‘Do you know what day it is, Harriet?’
‘It’s Friday. I haven’t seen my daughter in thirteen days.’
‘I understand, Harriet,’ she said to me. ‘And you will soon.’ She released her grip on my wrist and carefully laid my hand down at my side. The sand was damp beneath me. ‘Open your mouth, please,’ she asked. I obliged, allowing her to look in then take my
temperature until eventually I pushed her away and begged her to let me see my daughter.
The paramedic looked up at the policewoman who stood beside us, silently deliberating for what felt like an eternity. ‘OK,’ she said finally, though she seemed unsure.
The two women then took an arm each and helped me over to the ambulance. My legs shook as they carried much of my weight. I was weak from lack of food and drink, from the coldness of the sea and the energy I’d used keeping myself afloat.
Alice cried out to me when she saw me coming, pushing herself off the seat.
‘Sweetheart!’ My voice broke as I pulled away from the women’s hands and stumbled the last few metres to Alice, wrapping my arms around her as I sobbed into her hair. The relief of being able to hold her again consumed me. Every other thought ebbed away and in that moment I didn’t consider what had happened to my husband, or what the future held for us. It was enough just to be back with my daughter.
When I finally looked up I caught Charlotte’s eye. She was still sitting in the back of the ambulance, contorted forward, anxiously balling the hem of her cardigan in her lap. Tears welled in my eyes at the sight of her. I opened my mouth to speak; I needed to thank her, but surrounded by people what could I say? Charlotte nodded, a small movement of her head, but her expression was pained as she watched me.
A paramedic told me he still needed to check me over but I assured him I was fine, and as soon as he went around the side of the ambulance I turned to Charlotte. ‘Thank you,’ I said at the same time as she spoke.
‘Brian?’ she said. ‘Is he – what’s happened?’
I looked out to sea and shook my head. ‘I, erm, they’re still searching for him. I think they—’ I broke off and bent down towards Alice. ‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’ I couldn’t bear to imagine how much she was taking in.
Charlotte stood up and gestured to the seat. ‘Let’s lie her down,’ she said. ‘I think she’d have fallen asleep if she hadn’t been waiting for you.’ She pulled a rough woollen blanket off the seat and, as I picked Alice up and laid her down, Charlotte draped it over her. Crouching down on the floor beside Alice, I stroked her hair.
‘They’re going to want to talk to you,’ Charlotte said quietly.
I nodded, still watching my baby. Already her eyelids were fluttering. It wouldn’t be long until she drifted off; she was obviously exhausted.
‘Harriet,’ Charlotte said, this time more urgently. ‘The police will want to speak to you any moment.’
‘I know,’ I said, standing so that I was face to face with her. ‘What have you told them? Why do they think you’re here?’
‘They haven’t spoken to me yet, but they will and I don’t know what—’
‘Just say I asked you to come here because I was scared. Say you knew nothing more,’ I told her, thinking quickly. ‘That way there’s nothing that links you. Where’s my dad?’ I said. ‘Is he OK? Is he conscious?’
Charlotte began scratching her wrist until bright-red streaks appeared. I grabbed hold of her hand and held it still. ‘He is OK?’ I asked again.
‘He was unconscious when the paramedics got here,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Harriet, I know this isn’t what you need to hear. He didn’t make it. I’m so sorry but—’
‘No.’ I shook my head manically. ‘No, that can’t be true.’
‘He wasn’t in a good way, but he wouldn’t have known what was happening or been in any pain and the paramedics did everything they could—’
‘No,’ I cried out, clamping my hands over my ears so I couldn’t hear what she was saying. If I didn’t hear it, it might not be true. Just as I’d believed when I’d seen my mum’s empty hospital bed.
My father couldn’t be dead. Not when I had so much I needed to say to him.
‘Harriet.’ Charlotte was taking hold of my hands, prising them away from my ears. ‘You need to be careful,’ she whispered urgently. ‘There’s too many people nearby.’
‘But I haven’t told him I’m sorry,’ I sobbed. ‘He’ll never know.’
He’d never know that if I could turn back time I would in a heartbeat and I’d go back to the day he walked into my life again. And this time I would never have asked what I did of him. I would never have put him in a position where he couldn’t say no.
Grief balled in the pit of my stomach, expanding with every tight breath I inhaled. Not my dad. Not the man who’d risked his life for me and Alice. This was all my fault and now it was too late and there was nothing I could do to make any of it better. ‘He only took her to keep us safe.’
‘Harriet!’ Charlotte said. ‘You can’t do this. Someone will be watching.’
I knew what she was telling me. The police would be monitoring my every action. I wasn’t supposed to show remorse for the man who had taken my child. But I couldn’t help myself. Bile rose into my mouth so quickly, so forcefully, that, before I could stop myself, I threw up outside the back doors of the ambulance.
Charlotte’s arms were around me, stroking my hair, making me sit down on the seat next to Alice who had thankfully fallen asleep already. How much I wanted to lie down with her, have sleep take me away too. Turn this into nothing more than a bad dream.
‘You cannot break down. He took your daughter, remember,’ she said so quietly only I could hear.
‘But it’s all my fault,’ I whimpered. She knew that, of course, but still she continued to stroke my hair and tell me I needed to pull myself together.
Yet the pain wrenched at my insides, tugging them apart, scrunching them back together again haphazardly until they felt like they weren’t a part of me. A searing heat spread through me like fire until I could feel nothing else.
I couldn’t let them think my father was responsible. Not now he was dead. I lifted my head up, surveying the sight around me. Taking in the chaos, the panic, the pain. Everyone was only here because of me.
‘How can I live with myself if I don’t tell the truth?’ I murmured.
‘Harriet, look,’ Charlotte snapped, turning my head to the left. Alice was curled up in the shape of a peanut. Her breaths slow and deep. Oblivious – as she should be. ‘How can you live with yourself if you do?’
I couldn’t understand how, after everything I’d done to her, Charlotte was trying to protect me but I never got the chance to ask her why. Or indeed whether she would be prepared to lie for me. At that moment a police officer appeared at the back of the ambulance, introducing herself as DI Rawlings, and while she murmured condolences for nothing specific she went on to ask both Charlotte and me to accompany her to the station where she and her colleague would like to ask some questions. Another officer would stay with Alice, she assured me as she led me to the car waiting at the top of the slipway. I never got the chance to tell Charlotte how sorry I was before she was led in for questioning. And I never got the chance to ask how far she was prepared to go.
NOW
From the moment my dad agreed to what I’d asked of him, I’d always known there was every possibility I’d one day find myself lying to the police. I tried convincing myself he would get away with hiding Alice for me and did my best not to think about the many ways it could go wrong but I knew, of course I knew, how easily it could.
Sometimes I imagined myself in a police interview room – my only idea of them conjured from TV dramas – and I’d be sticking to my story, persuading the investigating officers I had nothing to do with my daughter’s disappearance.
What I never considered was that I’d also be lying about murdering my husband.
Was it murder? I left him to die but I didn’t actually kill him. Is there a difference? My fingers tap nervously on the table as I wait for DI Lowry to come back into the room. I wonder what the detective was called away for and suspect there must be news of Brian.
Maybe he isn’t even dead, I think, my fingers pausing as the door swings open. I move my hands to my lap so Lowry can’t see them twitching. Lowry doesn’t look at me as he slides back on to h
is chair and switches the tape recorder on, well-rehearsed lines rolling off his tongue as he announces the interview has recommenced.
I have already told the detective how my husband abused me for years, that he dragged me on to the boat tonight against my will, leaving my daughter alone on the beach. I’ve told him Charlotte will vouch for this as she found Alice on the rocks.
‘What I don’t understand, Harriet,’ he is saying, ‘is why you never thought to mention your dad was actually alive when Alice first went missing.’
I look at him, silenced briefly, because I expected him to continue questioning me about Brian. If Lowry feels uncomfortable speaking about my father like this, now that he is dead, he doesn’t show it. But to me his words are fired into the room like bullets, loud and sharp, echoing around my head.
I tell him the truth about my mother’s lie, that my husband thought him dead, and add that I never considered contradicting Brian when he spoke to the policewoman after the fete. And when the detective wants to know if I’ve seen my dad since he left, in the last thirty-four years, I admit he turned up at my door six months ago.
Lowry raises an eyebrow and settles back in his seat, letting my admission linger between us. It isn’t the answer he expected. ‘Now I really don’t understand why you didn’t think to mention him,’ he says. He is either excited or nervous by the turn his questioning is taking – he certainly didn’t think I would so readily admit I’d seen him again, but I have no choice. Alice will tell them she knows him.
‘Harriet,’ he says, pressing closer to the tape machine. ‘Did you know your father had taken your daughter from the fete thirteen days ago?’
I close my eyes and bow my head, inhaling a deep breath, slowly and deliberately.
‘Harriet?’
My father made me promise him I’d deny my involvement. Betraying him feels so much more unforgivable now. ‘No. I didn’t know anything about it,’ I say, Charlotte’s words reverberating in my head: how could I live with myself if I didn’t lie?
