The Dark Water

by Helen Moorhouse

  “I tried,” he said, “I rang your office a couple of times but you’re never in and I didn’t want to leave a message – it just felt – weak, I guess.”

  So that was who had been leaving the mystery messages.

  “I work part-time,” said Martha, by means of explanation. She glanced at the time which was already heading toward five thirty. “I can’t talk now. Give me your mobile number and I’ll phone you over the next day or so and we can have a coffee or something. I really don’t have a huge amount to say to you, Dan.” She looked up and caught his eye, her own expression hard and steely. She had been so upset for so long – how dare he turn up like this just as she was finally moving on to a new phase?

  Dan nodded, again with the shameful expression on his face. His wet hair flopped onto his forehead and he swept it back with a damp hand. “That would be great,” he said. “I’m in town for a while. The number’s the same as it used to be.”

  Martha almost snarled at him. “You think I kept it after everything?” she said through gritted teeth. “Have you got a card or something?”

  Dan nodded and reached inside the breast pocket of his trench coat for a business card. Martha flinched as she saw the familiar logo of her old company where they had worked together – he as an account director and she as a copywriter – for so long. She associated that logo with feeling miserable. It wasn’t the fault of Anderson and McKeith that she’d grown to hate it there, she knew, but she could never shake the feeling of dread when she saw the familiar A and M entwined.

  Martha grabbed the card from her ex-husband and slid it into her pocket.

  “I have to go,” she said simply.

  Dan nodded again and stood to one side, letting her pass. “Shall I walk you down?” he suggested as she stepped in the direction from which he had just come. Martha shook her head. Too much, she thought. Tonight she needed to block this from her mind, concentrate on her present, not her past. “No, Dan,” she said. “You shan’t.”

  She didn’t even look at Dan as she walked past him, back out of the shelter of the small alleyway and down the dimly lit cobbled lane.

  CHAPTER 12

  Martha glanced across the table at Will as he mopped up the last of the casserole on his plate with the roughly cut crusty bread. He popped it in his mouth with relish and smiled across the table at her. “That was absolutely delicious, as usual,” he said enthusiastically and Martha couldn’t help but beam back at him. She stared across the table at him as he reached out for another slice, taking in his dark hair, cut a lot shorter now than when she had first met him, and starting to show signs of grey over the ears. He also had a slight stubble, she noticed. It suited him better than Dan, she thought to herself and immediately banished the comparison from her mind. There was no space tonight to even think about her ex. That was for another day.

  It had been a lovely evening. The casserole was a recipe at which she was well-practised and she had put it together very quickly while Ruby, fresh from her childminder, devoured an evening snack at the kitchen table. The little girl watched her mum as she cooked and they chatted, mainly Ruby reciting words that she knew repeatedly until Martha said them back to her and they’d share a smile. Much as she tried to keep Dan from her mind, Martha couldn’t help but notice previously unacknowledged similarities between her daughter and the child’s father. The pale blue eyes, for instance. The blonde hair. Martha shook her head to banish the thoughts. Her baby was hers and always had been. After all, Dan had only seen her once . . . Martha had tried her best to focus on pouring cream and wine into the pan, pushing to one side the niggling realisation that Ruby had been made by both of them, however weak the link between child and father.

  Will had arrived home, bringing a gust of wind into the hallway with him, just as Martha was preparing Ruby for bed and she felt a brief moment of cosiness as she heard the front door slam against the wind and heard him take off his coat and shoes and pad up the stairs in search of her and the little girl. They had bathed her together, Will taking charge of hair-washing and games and Martha busying herself closing curtains and blinds and lighting lamps, selecting Ruby’s clothes for the following day and pulling back the covers on her bed to make it more inviting.

  By eight o’clock, Ruby was drifting off under Will’s supervision and Martha poured two glasses of wine in the kitchen. She had a brief moment of annoyance as he arrived downstairs and accepted the glass without an acknowledgement and then moved aside her careful place setting to open the laptop that he kept at home and proceed to check emails, but she said nothing. He tended to get annoyed if she commented on him working at the dinner table and she decided to leave it. Pick your battles tonight, she thought.

  They had chatted warmly throughout the meal – the wind gusted outside the kitchen window, the rain pelted the panes, and Martha felt warm and safe inside. This is how it should be, she thought, laughing with Will as he described how a colleague had spent the entire day with his sweater inside out, lecturing students. She said nothing of her own day, other than that Maisie had finished early and that she had found an interesting link between two families she had encountered in her research. They laughed together at Ruby’s latest trick which was to point behind people and shout “Bee!” at the top of her voice, laughing hysterically when they’d turn around. Yes, thought Martha. This is how it should be all the time.

  Martha leaned across the table and picked up the bottle of wine, aiming to pour another glass for Will and frowned as he blocked her by covering the top of the glass with his hand. “Oh, no more for me, thanks,” he said. “I have a load of work to do and I want to keep my head clear.”

  Martha’s heart sank as he pushed back his chair and stood up, picking up his empty plate, ignoring the fact that she was still eating. She put down her fork.

  “I was hoping we might just have tonight for ourselves?” she said quietly, afraid almost that he might take offence at this. This was happening a little too often for her liking these days – more and more of his time spent deep in his work, trying so hard to prove an impossible point, or so it seemed to her.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to do that another time,” he said, leaving his plate on the draining board and turning back toward the table, talking over the kitchen island. “I’m just so busy at the moment –”

  “You’re always busy,” snapped Martha. She hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t hold back. “We never spend much time together any more, Will.”

  Will’s face darkened. “That’s not true, Martha,” he snapped back.

  Martha sighed. Here it goes again, she thought. “I don’t want to fight, Will, but did you know that it’s been three weeks since we sat down together in the one room after Ruby’s gone to bed?”

  Will snorted. “That’s rubbish, Martha, and anyway there’s more to life than just plonking down in front of the TV every night.”

  “Plonking down in front of the PC every night, you mean?” snapped Martha, her temper growing, much as she didn’t want this conversation to disintegrate into an argument.

  Will snorted and shook his head. “I don’t want to get into this now,” he said, picking up the laptop from the counter top where Martha had placed it before she served up dinner.

  “Neither do I, Will,” she replied as calmly as she could. “But if we don’t get into this now, then when do we?” She paused. “Will, there’s actually something I need to talk to you about, seriously.”

  Will, only half-listening, already preoccupied with whatever task lay ahead of him, began to walk away. “Can it wait till later?” he muttered, and kept going out the door.

  He doesn’t mean it, Martha reassured herself, at the same time marvelling at his total focus. “Not this time,” she replied. She got up and strode to the doorway, stopping him in his tracks as he crossed the hall to the stairs, as she said: “Will, I’ve seen Gabriel. He needs your help.”

  They stood like that in silence for a few moments – Martha in the kitchen doorfr
ame and Will in the middle of the hallway.

  Eventually he turned his head slightly in her direction and spoke over his shoulder. “What do you mean you’ve seen Gabriel?” he asked, stony-voiced.

  “He really needs to talk to you,” said Martha, eager not to get into a ‘who saw who’, ‘who instigated what’ type of conversation, hoping to appeal to the side of Will that must surely still feel something for his friend.

  “He called me, out of the blue. I met him and went to his flat and –”

  “You went to his flat?” asked Will in disbelief, finally turning back to face her. “When did all this happen?”

  “Jesus, Will, calm down,” said Martha. “It was last week –I –”

  “Last week?” he repeated, a furious tone entering his voice. “And you’re choosing only to tell me about it now?”

  Martha bit her lip for a moment, wishing that this conversation wasn’t happening this way. She took a deep breath.

  “Yes, last week. He rang me really upset and asked me to help him. It sounds bizarre, but he’s being haunted.”

  A flicker of something other than anger crossed Will’s features. Could it be curiosity, wondered Martha.

  “There’s a man – a spirit – who’s following him, and fingerprints in the dust in his flat, and a feeling that there’s someone with him all the time. And someone’s been leaving him messages – spirit writing.”

  Will continued to stare at Martha as she explained what Gabriel had told her.

  “That’s why he wanted me to go there with him, so I could see all this for myself. Plus, on top of that, he’s had a request to help out with something at Dubhglas Castle – you remember he told us about that before? He’s got some childhood link with the place. Help out with something paranormal.” Surely that would hook his interest?

  Instead, he turned and began to climb the stairs.

  “There’s one more thing,” added Martha, stepping into the hallway after him. “Laurence is gone.” Will stiffened and turned.

  “That’s nonsense,” he said, bluntly.

  It wasn’t the response that Martha had expected. “What do you mean?” she said, uncomprehending. “Rubbish, all of it,” repeated Will, his tone growing angrier. “There’s no way that could have happened. He’s just making this up to get attention because his bloody television show is a heap of rubbish and he wants to get back in my good books. Well, he sold me out and decided which side he wanted to be on so he can bloody well stay there, as far as I’m concerned!” His face was red and the laptop slipped from under his arm. He just about managed to catch it on time and the action made him even more furious. He swore under his breath.

  Martha took a step back. “My God, Will, why are you so bloody angry?” she snapped. “You and Gabriel were the best of friends for years and now he’s asked for your help – you’re being completely irrational.”

  “And he’s a social climber who left me high and dry, so let his new buddies in TV sort him out this time. I haven’t got time for his hysterical carry-on! And as for you sneaking around behind my back –”

  “Me? Sneaking around behind your back?” Martha could feel fury rise inside her. “Do you think you own me, Will? I’m entitled to meet and be friends with whoever I bloody well like and not be governed by whether you’ve got some irrational rage going on at the time. I swear it’s like living with a nest of wasps sometimes!”

  Will turned and continued to climb the stairs.

  “Typical!” hissed Martha. “Don’t worry, Will, I’ll just wait until you’re finished all your highly important work, to feature in your life again. I don’t mind one little bit!”

  He kept going and then she heard the door to the office room click shut.

  She stood silently, bubbling with rage and dissatisfied with the conclusion of the conversation. Where had that one gone wrong, she wondered helplessly as she retraced her steps to the kitchen and picked up the wineglass left beside her unfinished meal. So much effort spent on making things perfect and yet here she was, feeling alone and shut out when all she had wanted to do was to take the first step at reconciling two friends. She picked up the glass, and then the bottle, and headed to the living room where she closed the door behind her and flicked on the TV, too angry and exhausted even to cry.

  CHAPTER 13

  Martha roused from the dream and blinked, trying to figure out where she was. Her room looked unfamiliar. The dream had been so unsettling. Dan had been supposed to take care of Ruby, but he’d lost her and what was worse, he didn’t seem to care . . .

  Her mouth was sandpaper dry. She longed for a drink of water and the longing woke her further. She was relieved to find that she was in her own bed and could hear Ruby’s little snores through the monitor handset on her bedside table.

  She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced across at the digital alarm-clock on Will’s side of the bed. Unsurprisingly, she thought, she was alone, and it was almost four o’clock. Will had either fallen asleep at his desk or was crashed out in one of the spare bedrooms. He had taken to doing this lately after working late so as not to disturb her by coming into the room when she was asleep. Or after an argument which they seemed to have more often these days. The difficulty with Will, Martha realised, was that he couldn’t just be interested in something – he had to be completely fixated. And these days – without Gabriel – it was as if he had decided to take on the whole world of paranormal investigation solo, become the only individual on the planet to prove that there was life after death. It was becoming a complete obsession.

  Martha swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment before turning on her bedside lamp. She yawned, contemplated lying down again and trying to sleep but with her thirst unquenched she knew that was impossible and wearily stood up, sliding her feet into her slippers.

  The house was in complete silence. She opened their bedroom door quietly and padded on her toes out to the hallway in the dark. She didn’t want to disturb Ruby by turning on the light. Or Will, wherever he was. She couldn’t bear the thought of another round of argument. The door to the study was open and she glanced in as she passed, the room lit by the glow of the computer screen where Will had been working, but there was no sign of him. The door to the other spare room was closed so Martha reckoned he must be asleep in there and sneaked past carefully.

  She knew the house so well in the darkness that she didn’t fumble or slip en route to the kitchen where she filled a pint glass with water and took a deep draught before refilling the glass and turning to leave again. The living-room door was ajar, she noticed, and the sound of breathing coming from within indicated Will’s whereabouts for certain. She glanced in and saw him slumped on the couch, asleep, a troubled expression on the features lit by the soft glow of the dying fire. Martha stared at him for a few moments, longing to just rub a hand across his brow and urge him to go to bed. Why were things so strained between them? And what could she do to make it better?

  She sighed and pulled the door gently shut behind her. Will’s back would hurt in the morning but she just couldn’t face him now, not when there was just no reasoning with him. She padded back up the stairs and toward her own room at the end of the landing, pausing for a moment at the door of the office before taking a step inside.

  She never snooped in Will’s things, particularly his work, but now she felt wide awake, and a compulsion rose in her to see exactly what he was working on right now. What had distanced him from the family life that he had professed to have wanted so much when they moved in together? She had been the reluctant one. Ruby had been just starting to toddle and was demanding of time and patience from adults. Martha had clearly said that she hadn’t wanted to burden Will with this, especially when Ruby wasn’t his child, but he had looked at her like she was mad and said that he couldn’t wait to make a proper family of the three of them, that he didn’t care that Ruby wasn’t his. Martha smiled at the memory. Will used to say things like that all the time an
d while she knew they couldn’t stay in a bubble of love forever, surely it wasn’t right either that they were so distant and so argumentative such a short time since making the decision to build a life together?

  Maybe Will hadn’t realised what it took to be a parent to a toddler, she mused, crossing over slowly to the desk, glancing around the room as she went. She’d thought so long and hard about them being together all the time, and eventually reassured herself that of all the men she’d met he was mature enough to take them both on. Maybe she’d judged him wrongly and now he was missing his bachelor lifestyle and throwing himself into his work to get away from domestic drudgery?

  Martha felt a huge weight on her shoulders as she sank into his swivel-chair at the desk. Was it time to start making serious decisions about what to do for her and Ruby? Surely they could work it out? She couldn’t just move on again. Mostly, she just didn‘t want to.

  She glanced around at the computer screen on the desk and out of habit shook the mouse to clear the screensaver. She was surprised at the document that she found herself reading. “McKenzie is a true enigma,” was the first sentence. “His work with what he knows as the world of spirit is entirely altruistic and he asks those he helps for nothing apart from updates from time to time as to whether they are still troubled. He is a modest man, with a modest lifestyle and a day job as a guide on one of Edinburgh’s many tour buses, showing tourists the city that he loves as much for its strong paranormal connections as well as the amazing architecture and genuine warmth . . .” It was Will’s unfinished book, provisionally titled Ghost Interpreter: The Works of Gabriel McKenzie, the main thrust of his work prior to his and Gabriel’s falling-out.

  Martha glanced down the page, at lines highlighted in red.

  “McKenzie can be accused of being a fake, as are many, if not all, men and women who work in this area . . . The word ‘charlatan’ has been bandied about more often than not and he takes it all in his stride . . . His strength is his integrity and the genuine urge to help people that he shows in his own inimitable style . . . Gabriel McKenzie is, above all, not about making money from those in need.”