The Drowning Pool

by Syd Moore

Sharon pulled me through the back door and out onto the decking, then marched me over to the patio area further down the garden where Andrew was sitting on a stone bench in conversation with Corinne, her husband Pat, and Martha’s Deano.

  I handed him a glass of wine, while Sharon pulled a plastic chair over, scraping the decking loudly.

  Pat was delivering a punch line. I could tell the joke was bad as Corinne had clenched her hands into fists. This often happened when Pat had had one too many. Deano found it hilarious, and was rocking back and forth, tears in his eyes. He was sitting on the bench next to Andrew, a telltale joint hanging from his right hand.

  The musk of weed hung heavy in the smoke around us. I glanced at Andrew. We hadn’t mentioned recreational drugs, and what with his former occupation, and indeed, his position as my boss, I felt a twinge of apprehension. But he either hadn’t seen it or didn’t care. His eyes wrinkled with gentle laughter and he nodded his head in appreciation.

  A cough from the plastic chair reminded me introductions were due so I accordingly presented Sharon.

  She fluttered her eyelashes and tinkled out a little greeting. ‘Delighted to meet you, Andrew.’ Her estuarine accent had developed consonants. ‘So, how did you two meet then?’ She smiled, and took a big gulp of her margarita, spilling a large part of it on her dress.

  I cringed involuntarily and, without really processing what I was doing, let my hand stray onto Andrew’s leg. It was more of a supportive gesture, really.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘We work together.’

  ‘Ha,’ laughed Corinne. ‘You’re not that awful boss, McBastard are you?’ She cackled away to herself.

  Andrew, bless him, grinned. ‘One and the same.’

  ‘Oh.’ She recovered herself quickly, and shot me a look of panic laced with an eyebrow’s worth of scorn.

  I bounded in. ‘We’ve made our peace though now, as you can see.’

  Andrew laid his hand over mine. ‘We’ve got to know each other better recently,’ he smiled, ‘while I’ve been helping Sarah research her family tree. We’re both interested in the sea-witch, Sarah Grey.’

  ‘Ah, that’s right …’ Corinne started. ‘Hang on – family tree? You’re not related are you, Sarah? I thought Grey was your married name?’

  Everyone had stopped chatting. The collective gaze of the circle burnt my cheeks. Andrew’s smile wrinkled into a frown.

  My lie had caught me, right in the headlights.

  ‘Yes, it is. I mean, that’s to say, yes Josh was a Grey. I … I didn’t say it was my family history. I said …’ I flailed around mentally.

  ‘My mistake, I must have misheard.’ Andrew was graceful but his tone was contrived courtesy. Slowly he withdrew his hand.

  ‘So how’s that coming?’ Corinne asked. No one noticed the change of temperature between us.

  ‘Good. Good. Andrew’s found a contact in Antwerp that we’re going to visit next week. May shed a new light on the old mystery.’

  ‘Really?’ Sharon’s eyebrows arched with glee.

  ‘Actually,’ said Andrew, ‘I was going to say earlier, but I’ve found some cheap deals. If we fly out on Thursday we don’t get hit by the weekend rates.’

  ‘Oh,’ I remembered my appointment with the GP. ‘I don’t think I can do Thursday. Got to see the doctor. Although I suppose I could cancel it.’

  Sharon coughed on her drink and waggled her finger at me. ‘Uh-uh. No way. You’re bloody keeping that.’

  My eyes darted to Andrew. He had turned to me sharply. ‘What?’

  ‘I could reschedule it,’ I repeated.

  ‘You can’t reschedule a hole in the head.’ Sharon looked meaningfully at Andrew, and made a circle motion round her ear. ‘She’s nuts. Don’t let her, mate.’

  Everyone stared at me again.

  Deano scratched his cheek. Pat gave Corinne a shrug.

  I caved in. ‘OK, I won’t. We’ll have to go on Friday, Andrew. Is that OK? I don’t mind paying a bit extra and it might be easier for Mum to have Alfie at the weekend.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he said, faintly.

  ‘What’s wrong with your head?’ asked Corinne, still puzzling over the scene.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  Sharon objected. ‘A possible tumour’s not nothing.’

  I fidgeted and crossed my legs. ‘Look, can we not talk about this now, please? It’s a party.’

  Our group sat in awkward silence until Pat piped up with a really naff ‘Doctor Doctor’ joke.

  When the punch line came we all groaned, Deano wept and Sharon spilt the rest of her drink on the floor. The tension eased out and it seemed like the party might recommence, but Andrew had shrunk away from me, a couple of inches of bench becoming a gulf.

  Later he walked me home. We’d both drunk too much by then and had embarrassed ourselves by dancing in Martha’s living room. It seemed the problems of the early evening had faded somewhat. My fingers were crossed, hoping he’d forgotten it all. I invited him for a drink, and once I’d paid Giselle and sent her off in a cab, I offered to open a bottle of wine.

  Andrew yawned. ‘Actually, I could do with a coffee.’

  I put the kettle on instead, a little miffed although outwardly accommodating.

  ‘So, what’s this “hole in the head” business, if you don’t mind me asking?’ He hugged his mug to him.

  I took a seat at my old pine table. ‘I suspect it’s nothing,’ and pointed to my eye. ‘I thought that this lid had dropped but the doctor thinks the other one might have got bigger.’ And then I filled him in on what had happened, hoping to play it down. ‘Mrs Falwahi, the neurologist, had no sense of urgency. In fact, she told me not to worry. So I’m taking her lead. She knows better than me.’

  He processed my words. ‘Well, you should definitely keep your appointment. Sure you’ll be up for flying on Friday?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. I want to find out about Sarah Grey.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He fixed me with a long, piercing look. Its intensity made me look away. ‘So what did bring you into this area of study then? If it wasn’t your family? You did tell me that, you know?’

  I looked back and saw suspicion hovering behind his eyes. I didn’t like the way this was going. It was time to come clean. ‘I know I did, I’m sorry. It was just that I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you.’

  His gaze held strong. ‘Give it a go.’

  I took a breath. ‘OK. Well, it started happening about a month ago. Just before the school broke up for the holidays. At first I thought I was going mad.’ I told him about the cockleshells, the moment on the beach, the night of the storm, the mannequin, and the dreams. ‘I can feel her, Andrew, she’s in the house with me. She needs me to find out what happened. Only that will let her rest in peace.’

  The change in him was striking. He started off calmly enough, but drew in sharply breath when I recalled the first manifestation. Now he sat across from me with his head in his hands, holding his breath. Silent.

  I waited.

  At last he looked up and regarded me from under his long eyelashes. There were tears in his eyes and he reached out and grabbed my hand. ‘Listen,’ his voice was hoarse and strained. ‘I want to tell you something but I don’t want you to freak out.’

  I said I wouldn’t and laughed. What else could possibly freak me out?

  He didn’t smile. ‘One of my good friends in Aberdeen, best man at my wedding. Used to see him all the time. He was a teacher at the local high school but quite private out of hours. I used to go over to see him. He was a strong man, very resourceful. He spent his spare time building this magnificent house.’

  Andrew released my hand and bit his lip. ‘This is hard,’ he said.

  ‘Go on,’ I urged him.

  He looked away, out into the night garden. ‘One evening I went over and he was wired. He was convinced there were Chinese girls living in his house. I tried to find them for him, but of course, they weren’t there.’ Now his eyes returned t
o me. He swallowed. ‘It was the first symptom of the brain tumour. It killed him in two months. I’m sorry.’

  He finished with a kind of gasp and stared at me expectantly.

  I was surprised by the emotion his words had woken in me. I felt angry, defiant, annoyed. Andrew sprang to his feet and began walking to and fro.

  ‘I don’t think you should go to Antwerp,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ll go on alone. I’ll find out and report back.’ He stopped pacing and stood still.

  But I couldn’t believe it. ‘Hang on. I’m the one who has to find this out, not you.’

  Andrew stared at me for what seemed like an age and then said, ‘There’s no need for you to come. Really.’

  I jerked my chair out from under the table and made to stand. ‘No way. This is my story, right?’

  He took a deep breath and glanced from me to the table, then said, ‘I think you’ll find I started the research first.’

  How typical. The man was taking over. I slapped my cup down on the table, spilling the coffee. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. You’re managing me, like a … like a bloody manager!’

  He couldn’t meet my eyes. ‘Which I am,’ he said, quietly.

  I stood up. ‘Not now. Not here. Not any more.’ I bit my lip.

  He lowered his gaze to the floor.

  ‘So stop managing me. Please.’ I took a step towards him. Despite everything I wanted to touch him. My hand reached out to his shirt. He caught hold of it and looked up quietly.

  ‘But you read the journal. You saw what Eden said – is there any point in raking over the muck from years ago?’ He was softer now.

  ‘You just said it was you who started it …’

  He let go of me and put his own hand up in mock surrender. ‘OK, OK. I have some interest in this of course, but what if you’re ill, Sarah?’ There was an unsteady, fragile look to him. I think if I’d pushed him he might have broken into a thousand tiny pieces.

  ‘We don’t know for sure. And I can tell you it’s not a tumour that’s making me see things. I haven’t actually been given a death sentence yet, you know. I am still here. And I have stuff to do.’ A tone of desperation had crept into my voice. ‘Andrew, she’s real. I’ve seen her.’

  He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

  I carried on. ‘I’m not the only one. There’s Marie! You know John O’Connor? He has a sister in California. She’s seen the ghost too.’

  This got him. ‘Seen her?’

  ‘I was on Skype, Sarah appeared behind me. Marie saw her. She believes me.’

  He sighed. ‘Skype! It could have been an optical illusion or a break in the signal or … Look, there are no such things as ghosts, Sarah. There is no afterlife. There is no other world and there is no God.’ He was back to pacing up and down.

  I stepped towards him, pleading. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I used to be the same. You’re thinking about Imogen and Amelia and your son. You think that if there was another world of existence then you’d know it. They’d somehow reach across the divide to let you know they were happy and OK. You’d feel them, right?’

  He avoided my eye and leant over the table, spreading his fingers across the surface.

  I took another step and placed my hand on his shoulder. ‘I know because I’ve been there too, remember? When Josh died? I wanted it to be true. But it didn’t happen because he didn’t come back either. But this is real, Andrew. I swear. It’s not a hallucination. I can smell her, I can hear her. Sometimes I feel her.’

  He dropped into the nearest chair and tugged his hair nervously. His face was pensive but his tension seemed to have eased a fraction.

  ‘And what about you and me?’ I moved to stand in front of him. ‘Why are we here now? Talking about this? Something or someone has brought us together to sort this out. You’re a descendant of Robert Eden. He failed Sarah Grey the first time. But now you’re here with me and my name’s Sarah Grey for God’s sake. It’s all happening for a reason. And we’re on to something, that’s for sure. I know you believe that, at least. Pooling our resources has taken us further than anyone has got before. It’s like Marie said – time isn’t linear – it folds back on itself, it tears and loops. We’ve got a chance now, right now, to untangle all of these threads. What if we don’t go and Tobias dies? We’ve got to follow this through and put it to rest. I need to know what happened to her.’

  I sighed loudly. ‘At the very least we can clear Sarah’s name. That, if nothing else, matters to me. Even if it doesn’t matter to you.’

  Silence enveloped the kitchen. I could feel Sarah watching from the shadows of the garden.

  Andrew pulled his head from his hands. His eyes bored into mine. I was so close I could smell the wine on his breath. ‘I want full feedback from your appointment, young lady.’ Then slowly he got to his feet. ‘I’d better book those flights, then.’

  We were not more than a foot apart.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  He took a deep breath and then turned away.

  Just before he reached the front door, he stopped and said, ‘You’d make a good teacher, you know.’

  Then he left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I arrived in good time for my appointment, hoping to catch Doctor Cook early. I had a lot to sort out. We were flying out early the following day. Mum wasn’t a fan of early mornings so I agreed to drop Alfie at her place and have tea with her so I could help settle him down.

  Sharon volunteered to look after the little man while I was seeing the doctor. I calculated that I had just enough time after my appointment to dash home, pack Alfie’s bag, pick him up from Sharon’s and get across town to Mum’s before the clock struck tea-time (five). Of course, the best laid plans …

  Doctor Cook and his junior partners were running late. The waiting room was packed. A solitary empty chair beckoned. No sooner had I sat down than I realized why the several patients over by the windows preferred to stand. The man next to me stank like a cross between a brewery and a cheese factory. He lolled my way, moaning, and bumped into my shoulder, introducing himself as ‘Jesus Christ, our saviour’. It was the start of an excruciating five-minute conversation in which I somehow managed to offend him, after which he gestured in a vaguely threatening but very wobbly manner. The receptionist decided to take things into her own hands and speed him through to one of the junior doctors. No one objected.

  Ten minutes later I was in Doctor Cook’s consulting room, a tad wobbly myself by now.

  The doctor asked his usual questions, which I answered fairly honestly, took my blood pressure (normal), inspected in my ears (clear), and my eyes (no comment) then asked me why I’d come to see him. I reminded him of my appointment with Mrs Falwahi. He did a double-take, apologized, took his spectacles off, put on another pair and examined my notes.

  ‘Goodness,’ he said. ‘The report isn’t here. I’m sorry. Perhaps Janice hasn’t passed it through yet. Do excuse me one minute. I’ll go and check.’

  Outside the open French doors the afternoon sun descended through the topmost branches of the cedar tree. A slight breeze brought me the rich scent of the garden, textured and finessed with the fruity tang of flowers at the height of their summer bloom. It was a quiet retreat from the chaos of the waiting room and for a moment I closed my eyes.

  When I opened them I focused on the bench around the cedar tree. It took me a minute to assimilate what I was seeing and then a further ten seconds for my brain to catch up: a black shape hung in the air.

  I hastened to my feet and took a step towards the strange apparition, an uncanny buzz filling my ears.

  The blackness swirled and circled like a swarm of wasps. I crept forwards to clear my view.

  ‘Sarah?’ I said. But something was different.

  The blackness funnelled itself into a shape – the outline of a figure? I couldn’t see it properly. Without conscious awareness of my movements, I felt my body compelled outside into the garden. As if in caught
in a tractor-beam, the thing drew me across the lawn.

  In the dark shadow of the cedar tree the cloud became corporeal.

  I perceived narrow shoulders and the curve of a hip, a female form. As indistinct as it was I could tell it wasn’t Sarah.

  That’s when the fear kicked in. I took a shaky step towards the cloudy shape then halted. The vague outline of a face formed. From what could have been an eyebrow a trickle of blood thickened and dripped. The phantom’s mouth opened, not to speak but scream.

  ‘Ms Grey!’

  I spun round.

  Doctor Cook was marching across the lawn. His eyebrows knitted together over his glasses. His mouth was thin and set.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear? It’s a lovely view but do come inside. Heavens.’

  Then he was right beside me and so close he must have been able to see the fear etched on my face. Unthinkingly, I reached out to tug the sleeve of his linen jacket, like a child almost. ‘There, there was a thing here.’

  Cook followed my gaze to the cedar tree. The bench was empty. ‘Nothing’s there, my dear.’

  His fingers gripped my elbow, guiding me back inside the surgery.

  ‘She’s gone. Not a real person, she was …’ I gave up mid-sentence. I sounded unhinged.

  Or ill. Like someone with a brain tumour.

  We entered through the French doors. Doctor Cook pushed me firmly down on the chair.

  He felt for my pulse. I knew it would be fast.

  When he spoke his tone was patronizing, the first time I had heard him speak to me this way. ‘Come, come, dearie. Now calm down. Who do you think it was, this woman? Do you know? One of the receptionists perhaps? I’m not sure if the gardener is about today …’

  I shrugged helplessly. ‘It’s not Sarah Grey.’ The sight had knocked the stuffing out of me.

  Doctor Cook resumed his seat behind the desk and tried to obfuscate the look of consternation that had flitted briefly across his features. ‘Sarah Grey? Are you talking about yourself, my dear?’

  ‘No. The old sea-witch. She’s haunting me.’ It came out in a tumble. ‘She’s been giving me nightmares. I’m trying to find out about her past. My friend Sharon Casey has dug up quite a bit of information and another friend, Andrew …’ I was babbling.