Beneath the Surface

by Heidi Perks

  Abi stared at the room. At their bare matresses, at the drawers to the chest lying open, exposing their emptiness, no longer holding the little dresses, pyjamas and everything else that usually spilled out of them. At the empty shell of a room, only that morning so alive with the sound of the girls’ laughter.

  Their existence had been completely removed from the bedroom. It was as if they had never been there in the first place. But then Abi noticed something, tucked almost out of sight at the back of one of the beds. Wedged against the wall was Ted, Hannah’s blue teddy that Abi had given her when she was born. The blue teddy Hannah slept with every night. As she pulled Ted free, Abi clutched him to her chest and cried because in her heart she already knew they had all gone, and had left her behind.

  *****

  ‘And so what do you think has happened?’ the policewoman asked her.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ Abi said. ‘My mother’s left, and she’s taken them away from me.’

  The policeman shuffled in his seat and regarded Abi. A look of scepticism flashed across his face before he coughed and rearranged his features back to their blank expression.

  But Abi knew that was what had happened; she just didn’t know why. And the thought was unbearable because she had no idea where the girls were, but worse than that when she was going to see them again. She’d never spent more than one night away from them.

  ‘Can you think where they might have gone?’

  The policewoman’s question broke her thoughts.

  Abi shook her head. She had no idea and couldn’t make sense of it. Why would her mother leave and take the girls and not her? Why hadn’t she said they were going, even if she didn’t intend to take Abi?

  ‘Maybe we could go and see the bedroom?’ the policewoman suggested. Abi nodded and stood up at the same time as the doorbell sounded, startling them all.

  ‘Are you expecting anyone?’

  ‘No,’ Abi said, going to the window to look out. ‘Oh, it’s my grandmother.’ Her heart sank. Whatever Eleanor was doing here Abi had little doubt it would make the situation any easier. In fact it didn’t pass her by that her grandmother’s timing couldn’t have been worse. What was she doing there?

  ‘Oh?’ The policewoman sounded interested. ‘Do you want me to answer the door?’ she asked, when the doorbell rang again and Abi didn’t move.

  ‘No, I’ll go.’

  Abi left the room and walked into the hallway. She knew everything would change as soon as Eleanor entered the house.

  ‘What do you think?’ she heard the policeman whisper. ‘Something doesn’t feel right. Do you think she’s making it up? They haven’t just gone on holiday?’

  ‘And taken everything?’ the policewoman said. ‘I can’t imagine that. Oh, I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘Let’s just see what the grandmother has to say.’

  Abi knew why they thought it didn’t seem right. Why would they? Because surely no mother would just up and leave her daughter, taking her two youngest ones with her? Who in their right mind would do that?

  Fourteen Years Later June 2015

  – Three –

  Dear Adam,

  I woke at four again this morning. I’m telling you ‘again’ like you know I’ve been doing that lately, which of course you don’t. Sleep was something I found easy with you. Just the feel of your body lying beside me sent me into a deep, dreamless and peaceful sleep. But these days I’m restless. When I wake my body is wrapped so tightly in the duvet, like I’ve been wrestling with it, and my head is bursting with thoughts I can’t rid myself of. They dance in my mind, prodding at me for attention. It’s the same as it was all those years ago, after my mother left. I was gradually able to ignore them back then but these days I can’t. Every time I manage to think of something else, my mind flicks back.

  ‘Tell me what brought you to see me,’ Maggie said to me this morning.

  Maggie is my new counsellor. Truthfully, I hadn’t wanted to see yet another counsellor; have someone else dig everything up again, leaving me raw with unanswered questions. Expose my lost hopes and dreams and my battered heart to yet another stranger. I saw three in the years after my mother left and none of them changed anything other than to make me feel even more alone and full of guilt.

  I looked at Maggie quizzically because I had assumed she had all my notes. Dr Richards would have sent them prior to my appointment, and if she had them, she didn’t need to ask why I was there.

  She smiled. ‘I want to hear it in your words,’ she said as if reading my mind.

  ‘Well, I guess it’s because of what happened with Adam,’ I said. ‘I suppose that’s the main reason I’m here.’

  She nodded and waited for me to continue.

  ‘But it’s not just that. Adam and me, well – it’s brought up other things too. Things I’ve tried to forget over the years.’

  ‘Like what, Abi?’

  ‘Other stuff I thought I’d managed to cope with. Like my mother and the girls.’ There, I’d said it. ‘Things I’ve tried to deal with but since Adam they’ve been coming back to me and I can’t move them on,’ I said.

  Maggie is the reason I’m writing to you. After we had talked for nearly an hour she said she thought it would help me to write things down. I told her I wasn’t sure that it would, but she told me to try anyway.

  ‘So what do I do?’ I asked her. ‘Just write a list of everything I’m thinking?’

  ‘You can do,’ she said, ‘or you could put it into a letter if you like. Personally, I think that’s sometimes a better way of releasing what you need to say. You can be more honest and direct when you have someone to target.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t know who to write to,’ I said. ‘I don’t have anyone.’

  ‘Well, you can write it to anyone you like. And you don’t actually have to send it,’ she added.

  I looked out of Maggie’s window. We were in a room at the front of her South London flat, overlooking a quiet street with a park on the opposite side of the road. A man was walking his dog and another sat on a bench reading a newspaper. Both were oblivious to the people who shared their darkest secrets behind this window. Maggie had wooden shutters that were angled so it was hard for anyone to see in.

  ‘I don’t want to write to her,’ I said eventually.

  ‘Why’s that, Abi?’ she asked.

  I shrugged and carried on looking out of the window, trying to show Maggie I simply had nothing to say to my mother, but already I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, heating me up until I was sure it showed on my face. You always said I went red when I thought of her. You said, ‘Why do you get so embarrassed, Abi? You aren’t the one who should feel like that.’ But that isn’t it – it’s pure rage I feel when I think of her.

  ‘Maybe I’ll write to Adam,’ I said.

  ‘If you’d like to write to Adam, then I think that would be a lovely idea,’ she said. I saw her glance briefly at the clock on her coffee table. I had wondered why it was there when I first sat down, but then I realised it was so she could keep track of time without making it too obvious to her patient.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about him? Let’s talk about someone who makes you happy.’

  ‘My time’s nearly up,’ I said.

  At this she smiled at me and looking slightly embarrassed picked up the clock and turned it the other way round.

  ‘I don’t have any more appointments today. And I want to spend more time with you, if you would like that?’

  Already I knew I was going to like Maggie. I nodded and she poured me another glass of water, pushed it across the coffee table towards me and waited for me to continue.

  *****

  We met six years ago. I was working in Morrisons in the evenings for the extra money. My supply of funds had dried up three years previously. I think I had squandered them much quicker than Eleanor had planned, but then she didn’t know the dent alcohol and drugs could make on a London girl’s money in her late teens with no one to answer to. T
hat day I had sent off six applications for office jobs but I wasn’t hopeful. Over the month I had applied for at least fifteen positions and hadn’t had an interview for any of them. I was slowly resigning myself to a lifetime of working at New Look in the day and a supermarket at night, even though I’d always hoped for so much more when I was at school.

  You were caught in the queue behind an old lady who was counting out her change coin by coin on the counter. I looked up at you and raised my eyes to say sorry and you smiled back at me and mouthed, ‘It’s fine.’ I recognised you because over the last week you had been in every night, and I had caught you watching me, but you had never before come to my till.

  ‘Thanks for waiting,’ I said when the old lady had shuffled away. I grabbed your basket and scanned the items one by one. Four cans of lager; deodorant; cornflakes; a box of Dairy Milk … My heart dipped a little as I packed the chocolates into a carrier bag. ‘That’s £12.78, please,’ I said. I didn’t look up at you as you handed me the money.

  ‘So, are you on for much longer tonight?’ you asked.

  ‘No, thank God,’ I said. ‘I finish in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Busy night?’ you laughed.

  ‘I’m just very, very tired and I want to get to bed,’ I smiled.

  ‘Ah! Well, have a good one.’

  You took the bag off me and I watched you walk out of the shop and stop just outside the door. The store was emptying out and I didn’t have anyone else waiting at my till. I wondered what lucky girl was waiting for you and the chocolates at home, when you turned around and came back in, walking straight towards me.

  ‘Did you forget something?’ I asked when you stopped at the end of the conveyor belt.

  ‘Yes,’ you said. ‘I, er … Look, I really don’t usually do this but I just wondered if you fancied going out for a drink?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I don’t drink.’ Immediately I cringed at my response. ‘I mean, I—’

  ‘We don’t have to drink,’ you smiled. ‘Maybe we could go to the cinema.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘But—’ I glanced towards your bag. I’d assumed you had a girlfriend and by then I couldn’t shake off the idea. ‘Are you single?’ I blurted out.

  ‘Of course,’ you laughed. ‘Why? Ah, the chocolates, you mean? They’re for my grandma. I’m visiting her tomorrow. I can promise you, I’m most definitely unattached.’

  Nothing like the men I usually met, you were clean-shaven, tall and blond. In your striped shirt and jeans you looked like a rugby player; you were everything I dreamt of in a boyfriend. My head and heart were splitting me in two. My heart was doing a little dance of joy but my head was warning me not to get too carried away because things don’t run that smoothly for Abigail Ryder. So in the end I said yes, then waited for something to go wrong.

  It annoyed you that I always saw the glass half-empty, especially when you were an eternal optimist. We had been seeing each other for a month when you told me you were taking me for a picnic. I looked up at the sky and pointed out the clouds.

  ‘There’s rain coming,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we should go.’

  ‘Of course there isn’t,’ you said, loading up the boot, telling me to get into the car. ‘Stop worrying.’

  So I did as you said and smiled to myself as I caught you tucking a large umbrella under the picnic rug.

  Sure enough, the rain came.

  ‘It’s going to be ruined,’ I cried, throwing half-eaten sandwiches and sausage rolls back into the rucksack. I was annoyed that our day was spoilt but also that I had been right when I so wanted to be wrong. But when I looked up, you were laughing, arms outstretched and face turned to the sky, catching the rain on the tip of your tongue.

  ‘How can you say our day is ruined when we’re having so much fun?’ you said, grabbing me around the waist. ‘It’s just a bit of rain, Abi. Who cares if we get wet when we’re together?’

  You always made me feel happy. You helped me see a glimmer of light rather than just a long black tunnel ahead. Over time I came round to your way of thinking that maybe things didn’t always have to turn out bad. I pushed my demons even further down inside of me so they couldn’t reach us and thought I could get away without facing them now I was with you.

  Six months later I knew I’d fallen for you hard and I allowed myself to believe things were going well. Then one night we were sitting in your flat watching TV and I noticed you hadn’t said much. You were absently rubbing your hand against my leg and I could see your head was elsewhere. I asked you questions and you either nodded or shook your head, but I could tell you weren’t listening to me. Immediately my guard rose up in defence, and I cursed myself for foolishly trusting in us and letting you into my heart. I pulled my leg away so your hand fell into the space between us and hugged my arms around my knees.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ you asked.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I snapped. ‘Nothing! Look, maybe I should just go. I’ve got an early morning.’

  I had at last heard back from an advertising company I had sent an application to, and they were interviewing me the next morning for an assistant account manager position. I had a sudden desire to get out of the flat – I thought I knew what was coming and I didn’t want to hear it.

  You sighed and hung your head back against the sofa, closing your eyes as you did so.

  ‘Don’t worry, Adam,’ I said. ‘I get the picture.’

  You had met someone else. Or maybe you just realised you could do better than me, or you were bored or … There were too many possibilities and maybe I was overreacting, but I was so scared you were about to break my heart and leave me.

  At this you opened your eyes and sat up straight.

  ‘What are you taking about?’

  But I didn’t answer; instead I just focused on gathering up my bag and shoes and trying to get myself out of the flat.

  ‘Abi,’ you grabbed me. ‘Why are you suddenly leaving? Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking but whatever it is, I think you’ve got it wrong.’

  ‘Then tell me why you’re being like this with me,’ I said. I could feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes and I knew it wouldn’t take much for them to well up.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about things,’ you said. ‘About us, and where we’re going. And I really love you, Abi. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, but there are things I want to know.’

  I could have laughed: you had just said you loved me and you wanted to be with me.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ I asked, but by then I didn’t really care what it was.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ you sighed. ‘I guess sometimes I feel that I don’t really know you. You can be such a closed book.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Yes, it is. We talk about stuff all the time, what we ate for breakfast, what’s on the TV, who said what at work, but nothing important. Nothing that means anything. Every time I try, you change the subject.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I whispered back, but of course you were right.

  ‘Yes, Abi, you do. The other day I told you my parents wanted us to go to Scotland so they could finally meet you and you said, “Maybe you should go on your own, I’m sure it’s you they want to see.” I ask you what you want to do in life, and you shrug my question away and say, “I’ll do whatever I end up doing.” I haven’t asked about your family after you very definitely told me you never wanted to talk about them. I don’t know what to do, Abs. I really like you but I feel like for whatever reason you don’t want me getting close to you.’

  It was the first time anyone had pressed me on it. Probably no one had wanted to get close to me before and so they hadn’t bothered pursuing why they couldn’t. I felt that familiar burn under my skin and hadn’t realised I was scratching at it until you grabbed hold of my arm. Now I was thinking of my mother and I so did not want to be. She had no place coming between us, and I was annoyed she was edging her way in. I pulled my arm away.

/>   ‘I just want to know who you are,’ you continued. ‘I want to know everything about you, even the not-so-good bits.’

  The room was closing in on me and I needed to get out, but you were holding onto me again and I could feel myself letting you pull me back. Don’t put yourself through this, Abi, I was thinking. Don’t let him open up your heart because you don’t know what might drop out of it. But at the same time I wanted to tell you. Maybe you should know who I am. I let you pull me back onto the sofa and we sat for a while in silence, your arms wrapped around me. It took me back to a time, so long ago, when I was only little. I was riding my bike along a promenade and fell over, badly grazing my knee. The skin stung like someone had cut through it with a knife. My daddy picked me up and we sat on the beach, him holding me tightly until I could no longer feel any pain.

  ‘It hurts,’ I said. ‘Some things hurt so much I choose not to talk about them.’

  ‘Just try, Abs.’

  You looked at me with eyes pleading me to open up to you.

  So I took a deep breath and said, ‘My mother disappeared one day. I came home from school when I was seventeen and she was gone.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  Your face told me it was the last thing you expected to hear. I knew you were probably thinking the worst, that she had been abducted, maybe found dead. Sometimes I told people that because I thought it’s what they wanted to hear – besides, it was better than the truth.

  ‘It’s not what you’re thinking. She planned to go.’

  ‘What?’ I could hear the shock in your voice.

  That’s why I didn’t usually tell people, because then they started to wonder what I’d done to make my mother leave me. ‘The truth is I still don’t know why. Fourteen years later I have no idea why she went or where. And that’s not all of it. She took my sisters with her. They were only two.’

  The word ‘sisters’ choked in my throat. I didn’t talk about the girls. Ever. I couldn’t, it wasn’t possible to get through life if I let them into my world again.