Feeling Bad (Anna McColl Mystery Book 2)

by Penny Kline

  There was blood on Michael’s forehead but it could have come from either of them. Luke was on his feet again with Michael clutching at his ankles. Then Michael was up too. They were above the water, standing on a narrow piece of ground that jutted out, with a shallow gully on either side. The tide was going out. At the point where I had pulled Luke out the water had receded a little, revealing thick grey slime, but where the two of them now stood the water below them was deep and black. They had stopped fighting and were eyeing each other, trying to work out what was going on in the other’s head. Michael laughed, stepping back and touching the blood on his face. My car keys glinted on the grass. I edged forward and as I grabbed them I saw Luke relax.

  ‘Luke, be careful!’

  It was too late. Michael lunged forward, the palm of his hand held out in front of him. Luke saw it and dodged to one side and I heard Michael’s shrill scream as he lost his balance and fell. There was no splash. I ran towards the edge and peered into the water. He must have slid down the muddy bank and been pulled out into the estuary by the current. At first I could see no sign of him; then I saw his head come up then disappear again beneath the surface.

  I could have gone after him. Jumped into the cold, dark water and struggled, against all the odds, to drag him out of the maze of currents. Luke knelt beside me, his teeth chattering and tears running down his face.

  ‘Don’t. It’s no use. There’s nothing we can do.’

  He was freezing cold. I took off my sweater, putting it over his head and forcing his arms through the sleeves, and for a few moments we crouched together, the air damp on our faces, below us the water quietly lapping against the bank.

  My jaw ached and my teeth felt as though they were forced together.

  ‘Come on,’ I said softly, ‘back to the car. I’ll run the engine, turn on the heater, you’ll be all right.’

  He stared at me, then turned and started stumbling across the grass.

  I thought about Michael. The Michael who had walked with me on the Downs, sat in the pub telling me about his parents and his dead sister. The Michael I thought I could have loved. Then I remembered Brigid Jesty, turning the pages of her photograph album. Your children are your whole world and you’re just their boring old mother. Had Michael told me the truth about that afternoon when Faith Gordon had gone up to Brigid’s bedroom? The letter that had fallen out of Luke’s book. I had assumed it was from Paula …

  Luke had gone on ahead. I could see the outline of his body, the slightly stooping shoulders he had inherited from his father. I caught up with him, opening the car door and telling him to take off his soaking wet clothes and wrap himself in the rug that was lying on the back seat. Then I started the engine, switched the heater up to full and drove slowly down the bumpy track. There was so much I still needed to know: but now I was certain that, in time, Luke would tell me.

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