I Saw You

by Julie Parsons

  He got up and paced the room again. He tried to remember. Had he seen the dinghy that day when he was at the lake? He didn’t think so. But he had noticed a small boathouse at the far end of the beach, near the field where the deer were grazing. He drained his coffee, rinsed and dried the mug and put it away. Then he picked up his keys, his phone, his wallet. The boat had had water in it. Why? He closed the apartment door behind him and got into the lift. He pressed the button for the ground floor. Only one way to find out.

  The dog’s collar was tight around her neck. It cut into her chin when she moved her head. And every now and then Helena jerked the lead, just to let her know she hadn’t forgotten about her.

  Vanessa lay on a rough blanket in the small back bedroom at Dove Cottage. Tremors ran through her body from her head to her white feet. She was trying to keep calm. Trying to work out what to do. She couldn’t understand how this had happened. One minute she was splashing around in the lake, feeling so happy she thought she would burst, the next she was lying on a rock with Helena’s hands around her neck, strapping on the collar. Vanessa had seen Helena take the collar off the dog. But she had thought nothing of it. Thought, if at all, that it was because he was swimming, and that maybe weed might catch in it and drag him down. But nothing could have dragged that dog down. Vanessa had tried to struggle, to flail with her hands, but the dog growled. His lips had pulled back from his teeth and the sound, a rumble that turned into a sharp snarl, filled her ears.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that.’ Helena smiled down at her. ‘He doesn’t like it. And he can get very upset if he’s not happy.’

  ‘My clothes,’ Vanessa reached in vain for her skirt and blouse. But Helena jerked her away, so that she thought her neck would break or she would choke.

  ‘You don’t need clothes where you’re going. The only thing you’ll ever need now is a winding sheet. You know what that is, don’t you?’

  Vanessa lay now curled into a ball on the blanket. Helena was on the bed. The dog was by the door. She wanted to move, to stretch her legs, uncurl her body, but she was scared to draw attention to herself. She was so thirsty. She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the picnic in the woods. The thought of food made her feel sick, but she was longing for water. Her mouth was dry and dusty and her lips were cracked. She stirred and raised her head from the floor.

  ‘What?’ Helena lifted her head too and took in the slack of the lead, twining it around her hand. ‘What now?’

  ‘I’m thirsty. Could I have a drink?’

  Helena cackled. ‘You know your problem, little girl? You shouldn’t have cried so much. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be nearly so thirsty. So, it’s your fault. Your fault. Now be quiet. Enjoy your time here. Lie on the floor on your nice soft blanket and thank your lucky stars that I’m not as young as I used to be. That my energy is on the wane. Lie there until it gets dark. Then, I think, it will be time for another swim. Or,’ she pushed herself up on the pillow, ‘how would it be to go out in the boat? Your sister’s boat. The boat your sister and your father went out in that day, seventeen years ago when he drowned. You don’t remember it, do you? But I do.’ She lay down again. ‘They told me that night that he was dead. They told me my son was fatherless. They didn’t want to let me out of hospital for the funeral. They said it would be bad for me, that it would upset me, that it would slow down my recovery. But I insisted. I demanded. I got my solicitor to force them to let me go.’

  She turned on to her side and jerked the lead. Vanessa’s head jerked too. ‘And I stood beside my son. And I watched your mother. Such a pathetic little creature. Like a house sparrow. And I knew one day I would deal with her. So,’ she jerked the lead again, ‘come here to me, my little swallow. Come here to me, my little blue-tit. My little blackbird. My little starling.’ She began to drag the girl across the floor. ‘And let me crush your whimpering body beneath mine. Let me feel your heart flutter in your breast. Let me feel your pulse dance in your wrists.’

  Vanessa tried to resist. She grabbed the leg of the bed and held on to it, but the pressure around her throat forced the air from her windpipe and she choked. She began to pray, as the tears slid silently down her grubby face.

  McLoughlin drove up the narrow hill road. He passed the gate with the keypad and the CCTV. He drove on upwards, winding towards the summit. He could see the lake below. It was dark, shiny, glossy, like a Roman warrior’s polished metal shield. He pulled off the road and parked. Then he crossed the road and began to walk. It was hot, very hot. He’d be down in the trees soon and it would be cooler there. He walked on and came to a stone wall, waist high, topped with a few strands of barbed wire. He pulled himself up and managed to climb over, just avoiding snagging his trousers. He jumped down awkwardly, catching his hand as he landed. He swore loudly. The jagged tear in his left palm was oozing blood. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it around and tied it with a clumsy knot. It would have to do for the time being. He straightened up and tried to get his bearings. He could see the lake and, below to the right, the grey slate roof of the house, and the stables behind. He must be close to where Tom Spencer had been that day. The view was spectacular. He could see across the lake to the little rapids and the stream, a silver snake as it wriggled down into the next valley. To his left was the gate lodge and the drive, and as he watched, the sun glinted off the roof of a car moving slowly down through the trees towards the house. He wished he had his binoculars. He couldn’t, from up there, identify the make or model. But he’d have to be careful where he went. He didn’t want to encounter Gerry Leonard or any other of Dominic de Paor’s friends. He scrambled down from the rock. Better get going. No point in hanging around.

  ‘You didn’t know that, did you?’ Helena uncapped a bottle of mineral water.

  Vanessa heard the hiss as the bubbles escaped. Her lips were cracked. Her tongue felt huge in her mouth. ‘Know what?’ It was hard to speak. She had to struggle to control her voice.

  ‘Know that about your name. That my baby was called Vanessa. James loved that name. He loved the baby too. I sometimes thought he loved her more than he loved me. Of course, it was inevitable that he would give you the same name. It wasn’t you he wanted or loved. It was my baby, my little Vanessa.’ She lifted the bottle to her lips and water ran down her chin as she drank. ‘She’s buried here. Did you know?’

  Vanessa could think of nothing but the water. If she could have a drink, nothing else would matter.

  ‘Yes, she’s in the deer pasture. There’s a large slab of granite over her grave. It has her name carved on it. Just her name. That’s enough.’ Helena rested the bottle on her stomach.

  Vanessa could almost smell the water. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  ‘I wanted James to be buried here. If I’d had my way he would be in the deer pasture too. Under another slab of granite. But it wasn’t to be. Your mother took care of that. But I took care of her. I made sure she would never be able to claim his name, or his property. And after all,’ she lifted the bottle and swirled the water, ‘why should she? It was her daughter, after all, who killed him. There,’ she sat up and pressed the cold bottle hard against Vanessa’s cheek, ‘something else you didn’t know, my little bird.’ She swung her legs off the bed and stood up.

  ‘Please.’ Vanessa held out her hand for the bottle. ‘Please.’

  ‘Water? You want water? I should take you out to the lake again. I should tip you out of the boat. And I should sit and watch you drown. Just the way your sister Marina sat and watched your father drown.’ She lifted the bottle high and turned it at an angle. ‘It’s true, you know. My son found out what she did. And we decided she should be punished. Humiliation, torment, terror – she should feel them all.’ The water dribbled from the bottle. Vanessa watched the sparkling drops.

  ‘And all Dominic’s friends would watch. Those girls who loved him. They would do anything for him. And that pathetic creature, Mark. His shadow we called him. Born on the same
day. In the same hospital. His mother was my best friend. My son was strong and handsome. Hers was weak and helpless. Stunted. But Dominic was good to him. And he said that night, he said, “It’s your turn now to have some fun. Your turn to have Marina.” Helena sat down on the bed beside her. ‘It’s a pity she’s gone. She was pleasure. And now, in gratitude to your sister, I will let you drink. Here.’ And she thrust the bottle into Vanessa’s mouth, banging it against her teeth, trapping her tongue so that Vanessa gagged, choked and spat.

  ‘So much for gratitude.’ Helena stood up. She dropped the bottle on the floor. It rolled under the bed. Vanessa’s eyes pricked again.

  ‘More bloody tears.’ Helena walked to the door. She opened it. The dog lifted his head. Helena bent down and stroked his ears. ‘There’s a good boy,’ she crooned. She stepped over him. Vanessa heard her footsteps on the stairs. The dog got up. He walked to the bed. He lay down and put his head between his paws. His eyes, the colour of toffee, stared at her.

  McLoughlin reached the trees. Sweat was dripping down his forehead. His knees were aching from the stress of the downhill slope and he wanted badly to sit down. He was beginning to regret coming here on his own. Too old, he thought, for this kind of caper. He moved carefully, keeping his eyes on the rough ground underfoot. The last thing he needed was a sprain or a twisted ankle. And felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was Sally. ‘Hi, Sally. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ring you. I think I may be getting somewhere. I didn’t want to worry you, but I think maybe you’re right. Maybe there is more to Marina’s death than I thought.’

  ‘Michael,’ Sally said. ‘Michael, I need to talk to you. Vanessa’s missing.’

  ‘Missing? How long?’ He stopped.

  ‘Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday. We had agreed we’d spend the day together. We always spend her birthday together. We have a routine. The evening before we always have a special dinner. That’s tonight, Michael, but she’s not here. And her phone is switched off. Something’s wrong.’ He could hear the hysteria in her voice. It made the hairs rise up on his arms.

  ‘Look, Sally, I know this is a bad time for you. But, please, don’t worry.’ He was conscious of how loud his voice sounded in the quiet of the wood, but as far as he could see he was on his own. He tried to speak softly. He held the phone close to his lips. ‘Vanessa is probably out with her friends. After all, she’s been through a lot recently. Maybe she needs some time on her own, away from you.’

  Margaret watched Sally. Her face was white, her lips quivered. Margaret held out her hand and Sally gave her the phone. She grasped it. It felt heavy. Her palms were damp. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

  ‘Michael, hallo. Do you remember me?’ She waited for an answer. There was silence. ‘Michael, it’s Margaret Mitchell. Remember? I’m sorry to surprise you like this, but I need to talk to you. About Sally and her daughter.’

  McLoughlin couldn’t speak. His throat seemed to have closed. He felt the warmth of the sun fade. It was a cold night in winter. And he was standing in the dark, looking at the man who was lying trussed up on the floor.

  ‘Michael, are you there?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I am. Where are you?’ It was suddenly very important that he could visualize her.

  ‘I’m in my house in Brighton Vale. And Sally is with me. And you have to listen to her. The way you listened to me.’ Her voice was urgent.

  ‘Why are you there? Why have you come back? I don’t think you should be there.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then she spoke again. ‘That’s not important now, Michael. You have to listen to Sally. Her daughter is missing. Remember Mary? My Mary?’

  ‘OK, Margaret. This is what you must do. Tell Sally to get in touch with Tony Heffernan. I can’t do anything at the moment. Tony is the person to contact. He’ll help.’ McLoughlin began to walk again. He felt exposed and vulnerable.

  Margaret looked at Sally. ‘She’s done that, Michael, she did that first thing. He gave her all the usual stuff about waiting, being sure. The kind of things that were said to me when I reported Mary missing. Michael, Sally can’t wait any longer. She knows there’s something wrong. You have to help her. Please, Michael, the way you helped me.’

  He remembered. Sitting in the garden in Monkstown. Trying to explain to her what they were doing. What they were going to do. Where they were going to search. How confident they were that they would find her.

  ‘Listen, Margaret, I’m out in Wicklow. I have to check on something to do with Marina, Sally’s daughter. I’m sure she’s told you about her. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be back. In the meantime, go to Dun Laoghaire Garda station. Take a photograph. Tell them she’s been gone for two or even three days. Cry, do whatever you can to get them moving on it.’ He paused. ‘Look, I’m sure it’ll be OK. Not every missing girl ends up the way your daughter did.’ He added, ‘I’m sorry. That sounded harsh. I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘That’s OK, Michael, I understand. We’ll do that. We’ll do as you suggest.’ Margaret smiled at Sally again.

  ‘Margaret, wait! Margaret, listen to me!’ McLoughlin was shouting now.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have to see you. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you’ve come back.’

  Margaret turned away from Sally. She moved towards the garden. ‘Yes,’ her voice was low, ‘but I won’t be here for long. There’s something I have to do. Something that will take me away again.’ He could hear Sally’s voice in the background. ‘Look, we have to go. I’ll see you later. ’Bye for now.’

  McLoughlin leaned against a huge beech. The light filtered through the canopy of branches. His heart was pounding, he felt sick. He was back in his car, driving towards Blessington. It was dark and cold. There was a bottle of vodka on the passenger seat and he was drinking it as he drove. He was following the black Mercedes, the taxi Jimmy drove. He watched it turn up the lane towards the cottage beneath the pines. He stopped his car, got out and followed on foot. Saw the woman emerge from the back seat. Then saw the other man come around from behind the house. The tall, good-looking man he recognized from the Four Courts. Saw him hit Jimmy across the head so he dropped to the ground. Saw them drag him to the yard behind. Saw what happened next. And now she was back. He had dreamed about this moment for years. Gone over and over it countless times. All he would say. All he would do. And now here he was out on a hillside in Wicklow, following up on some half-arsed notion about water in a dinghy. It would be so easy. He could climb back up the hill, scramble over the wall, get into his car and drive back to the coast. So easy.

  ‘You’ve come this far, Michael,’ he said. ‘You might as well see it through.’

  He moved away from the tree. Not far now to the lake. The sooner he got a look at the boat, the sooner he’d be out of there.

  Vanessa lay on the bed. She was half asleep. Helena had come back. Had at last given her something to drink. It looked like wine, but it tasted different. It made her drift off. Drift away. It was a good sensation. Comforting, like resting on a big, soft pillow. She could hear a sound. Someone was singing. She tried to hear the words. A children’s song or a nursery rhyme.

  Gonna tell, gonna tell, gonna tell on you.

  The words repeated over and over again. She drifted back to sleep. Then woke with a start. She could see out of the window from here. See below, the small front garden and the path from the road. Could see someone coming. A man was wheeling a trolley along the path. It was stacked with cardboard boxes. On the top was a white laptop. It was an Apple iBook. Vanessa knew the type. Marina had one. She’d said she’d give Vanessa one for her birthday. The man came through the gate. Helena went out to meet him. They moved closer to the front door. Vanessa couldn’t see them, but she could hear them. She strained to listen to their conversation.

  ‘Your son . . . He said you’d know what to do with this stuff.’ The man’s voice was gruff and low.

  ‘Of
course. He told me you were coming. You can bring it all in. This way. Follow me.’

  She heard the tramp of the man’s feet as he came up the stairs. He was moving slowly. His tread was heavy. She heard a loud thump. The boxes. maybe, hitting the floor, she thought. And the bang as the door to the other bedroom was closed. She tried to sit up.

  ‘Help me. Please help me.’ Her voice was weak.

  The door creaked open.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered.

  The man didn’t speak. He backed away. He closed the door. She heard his steps on the stairs again. She was so tired. Her legs were heavy. She could barely move them. She sighed again. And at last she slept.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The butterfly perched on a clump of nettles. Its wings opened, showing orange and white markings. McLoughlin held his breath. He held out his hand and extended a finger. The butterfly rose slowly, hovered in front of him, then opened its wings wide and glided away. McLoughlin turned to follow its progress. He watched it until it was no longer visible, as it disappeared among the branches of the huge beech trees. Then he continued down the hill towards the house.

  He could see it clearly now below him. A Land Rover was parked in the yard. There was no sign of its passengers. The door to the kitchen was open. He tried to figure out how he was going to get past the house and around to the boathouse at the far end of the beach. He sat down to catch his breath. He was thirsty and his calves were aching after the steep descent from the top of the hill. He wondered where Helena de Paor might be and, more to the point, her dog. He had asked Tony Heffernan, ‘Is she still bonkers?’ He had said it as if she was some kind of harmless old lady who muttered to herself in the supermarket. But she wasn’t like that. She was frightening – dangerous.