by Anna Willett
Georgia’s fingers pushed at Belle’s face like frantic eels digging at her skin. Belle released her grip on the girl and tried to push upward, but the cord still around her waist and left hand held her bound to her chair. Barely aware of the girl, the cold numbing of her limbs and the burning need for oxygen, Belle closed her eyes.
There’s air in my lungs, enough to make it to the end of the pool. It was the mantra she used on her daily swims, the trick she employed to push past her own limits and swim underwater from one end of the pool to the other. There’s air in my lungs, enough to make it to the end of the pool. On the second time, a familiar calm settled over her and Belle twisted her left hand sideways and out from under the cord.
With two arms free, she pushed down on the cord and wrenched her body sideways. The bindings loosened and her torso slid free. Digging at the water, she headed up only to be snapped back as the cord caught on her nylon leg cast.
The last precious bubbles of air burst from Belle’s lips as she clawed at her leg and tried to pull upwards. With her lungs burning, her body took over and all conscious thought vanished in a frenzy of flailing limbs. Her mind was almost as numb as her fingers as her body reached its breaking point and shifted into a state of nearing semi-consciousness. Flashes like snapshots blinked in her brain. The beach at sunset. Her sister in her wedding dress. Foxy, the Jack Russell Terrier she’d had growing up. Red trainers with gold ribbon.
Belle’s eyes burst open as a hand slipped under her armpit. A surge of energy like nothing she’d experienced before and she was moving towards the light. Then an explosion of sound and air.
“I’ve got you.” The world was a blur of exquisite light and delicious air. “Come… Come on…” Someone, a woman was trying to speak, panting and talking. A strong hand held her around the chest, gripping her chin.
She almost recognised the voice, but her vision was unclear and her brain was still jittering between panic and relief. As she moved through the water aided by the unknown rescuer, her instincts took over and she began paddling her arms and kicking her good leg.
When her fingertips touched the ledge, Belle grabbed on, too weak to do anything but cling. Her rescuer let go of her armpit, and with a thunderous splash, Belle was left hanging on by her trembling hands.
Looking up, the light added to her inability to see. A figure, outlined by the sun, leaned over her. “Help me.” The words were strained as the woman reached down and wrapped an arm around Belle’s back.
Teeth chattering, her exit from the freezing water was somewhere between a bounce and a drag. With her chest and arms on the edge of the pool, the woman hauled Belle out of the water. When her legs rolled onto the paving, they were too numb for her to feel any pain.
For a while she lay motionless, panting. Her wet clothes clinging to her like frozen weights. Too cold and too numb to process what had just happened, Belle wanted only to be warm again.
“Oh, dear God.” The woman spoke, but her words were only registering as sound. “Belle, where’s your phone?”
Belle recognised her name and then the voice, familiar, almost comforting, even shaking, and clearly frightened cut through the fog. She tried to raise her head, but her body spasmed with chills.
“Sh…she too…took it.” Belle’s lips were moving, the words stuttering out. Her vision was clearer now, but not great.
She saw the woman’s outline and heard her dripping clothes as she moved across the paving. “Don’t…” Belle managed to raise her head. “Don’t leave me… I can’t see without my… without my glasses.” The last two words were little more than a squeak.
A hand, damp but warm touched her face. “It’s all right, dear. They’re here.” Her spectacles bumped over her nose and slid in place.
The woman’s face came into focus. “Joan.” For some reason, her elderly neighbour’s face brought a fresh swell of emotion. Belle’s lip trembled and without warning she was weeping.
Joan, on her knees beside Belle, took her hands and covered them with hers. She winced as though in pain. “It’s all right, Belle.” Her teeth were chattering, but her voice was calm. “I’m not leaving you. I have to get us blankets or we’ll freeze to death. I’ll be right back.” She nodded, her wet hair flicking water in all directions. “Don’t move. Just lie still until I come back.” She spoke softly as though to a child. Then she did something that cut through the shock and made Belle listen and understand. Joan leaned over and kissed Belle on the forehead. The spot where the elderly woman’s lips touched her skin was the only point of heat on Belle’s body.
Belle gave her head a shake and reluctantly let go of Joan’s hand. She watched the woman run barefoot up the ramp, her damp clothes clinging to her tall frame.
Once alone, Belle let her head rest on the ground and curled her fist against her chest. Realisation of what just happened was starting to dawn and with it a sense of hope. She’d survived. She was still alive and Georgia… A moment ago, Belle didn’t think it was possible to be any colder, but now the chill seeped into her bones. Suddenly she felt small and vulnerable. As she used her shuddering hands to push up into a sitting position, she whimpered.
Georgia was in the water. Belle’s brain reacted and she let out a half scream, croaky and dry on her lips. Instinctively, she planted her hands and shuffled back, trying to crab-walk away from the girl. Suddenly she was confused, surprised at Joan. How could she leave me with her?
But Georgia was no longer a threat. Surrounded by mist, her body floated face-down, her hair fanning out like dark tendrils. The girl’s arms were splayed as her lower body hung beneath the water. Belle’s arms buckled and her butt hit the paving. Things were clicking into place in rapid succession. The clunk as the chair hit the floor of the pool, Georgia’s face panicked and frantic under the water. Joan’s shocked voice asking for a phone. It really was over.
The backdoor thumped open and Joan was jogging down the ramp, arms overflowing with towels and blankets. Watching her neighbour approaching, Belle felt a tug of emotion for the woman who had saved her life only moments ago and was now endeavouring to give her whatever aid she could find.
She glanced back at Georgia’s body, but Belle’s own depleted body wasn’t capable of feeling anything but relief. Relief she was alive and that the danger had passed.
“Here.” Joan wrapped a blanket around Belle’s shoulders, the sudden warmth felt like a minor miracle after the searing cold. “I found two phones upstairs. One was locked but the other was okay. I’ve called the police. I opened the front door so they can get in.” As she spoke, Joan sat down and piled another blanket over Belle’s legs.
As Joan smoothed the rug over Belle’s knees, Belle noticed one of Joan’s fingers. “You’re hurt.” She thought she had no emotion left in her, but the sight of the elderly woman’s twisted finger set off a wave of misery. “I’m so sorry. Did I do that to you when you were pulling me out of the water?”
Joan held the hand up as if surprised to see the injury. “Oh, that.” She tutted. “That wasn’t you, dear. I had a minor accident on the drive over.” There was a stoicism in her voice that reminded Belle of a nurse in an old war movie. The image was endearing and awe-inspiring at the same time.
Belle shivered. “Thank you. You saved my life.” She picked up a towel from the pile Joan had plopped down on the paving. “You’re freezing.” She let her own blanket fall as she draped the towel around Joan’s shoulder.
Joan accepted the towel and clutched it at her throat. “I only wish I’d got here sooner.” She nodded to where Georgia’s body floated in the water.
Belle leaned closer to her neighbour. “You’re here now.”
* * *
Guy gave up trying to call Belle an hour previously, but that didn’t stop him glancing at his phone every few minutes. The endless hours of travel had been filled, not with regrets about the movie and his missed opportunity, but with a growing certainty that he’d blown the one thing in his life that really mattered: h
is marriage to Belle.
He swung the car onto Silver Gum Lane with a knot twisting in his gut. The silent treatment was never Belle’s style. She knew. It was the only explanation for why she wasn’t answering his calls. Katrina had made good on her promise and now Belle was suffering and so was he. But his pain didn’t matter. All he could think about was how much pain this was causing his wife.
The road was quiet, the winter sun clearing the mist and warming the car as it raced past Arthur’s driveway. For a second Guy slowed his progress. Belle’s silence was something that could be explained, but Arthur too? It wasn’t like the old guy to drop off the edge of the world like this, not when he’d promised to keep an eye on the place.
Guy knew his wife didn’t like Arthur, but Guy enjoyed the old man’s company. He was smart. He knew about books and plays. Stuff Guy had no idea about. He could be himself around Arthur, relax and just be. It seemed everyone in his life was competing with him in some way. In looks, talent, even in who they knew. But not Arthur.
Guy pushed his sunglasses up on his head and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept, not on the plane that was for sure. Telling himself that Arthur was probably flat out somewhere sleeping one off, Guy coasted into the bend. His eyes felt so puffy and stiff that he almost missed the glint of light off the rear end of the car, only catching sight of it at the last minute.
Tyres screeching, he juddered to a stop. For one gut-wrenching moment, he thought it was Belle’s car but now, standing still, it was clearly a different vehicle.
“What the fuck?” Guy looked back the way he came as though an explanation could be found on the empty road. There was no reason for another car to be this close to his house. His thoughts stuttered. Unless it was Katrina. “Jesus.”
He turned off the engine and jumped out, his chest constricting as he approached the car. On closer inspection, the damage wasn’t too bad, but he could smell burnt fuel. With clenched teeth, he slopped through the damp grass and peered into the driver’s window. Empty. He huffed out a breath.
Guy scrubbed a hand over his chin. It was too big a coincidence for this not to be connected to Belle’s silence. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that his wife might be in actual danger.
Not stopping to get back in his car, he ran. By the time Guy slid onto the driveway, sirens screamed in the distance. With each thudding step, his heart hammered the inside of his ribs.
Picking up speed, he avoided colliding with the white car by less than a few centimetres and felt his sunglasses slide off and flick onto the gravel. The sirens were louder now, drawing closer. The front door was open.
“Belle?” He grabbed the doorframe and hesitated. “Belle?” His voice was high, matching the siren’s pitch.
Rather than running, he stumbled into the house and stood confused and paralysed by panic and indecision. Despite the cold, sweat trickled down his forehead and stung his eyes. On impulse, he darted into the bedroom and almost ran over the heap lying beside the bed.
Brain struggling to keep pace with what his eyes were seeing, he recognised the form as a man. “Arthur?” Guy scanned the room looking for his wife, but saw only the old man.
Crouching, unsure if Arthur was alive, he shook the man’s shoulder. “Hey, mate, are you all right?” When there was no response, he leaned closer.
He heard breathing, faint and almost undetectable. Guy swiped at his forehead with his sleeve, the leather smearing the sweat across his face. It was only then that he took in the condition of the bedroom and the knot in his stomach dropped like a dead weight.
Guy left the old man and sprinted through the house, screaming his wife’s name. He made it as far as the dining room before he saw that the back door was open and bolted towards it.
At the edge of the deck he spotted the two women near the pool and for a heartbeat, he closed his eyes. The relief was like the warm sun on his skin, washing his face and soothing his soul. Guy jogged the length of the ramp and called out Belle’s name.
The two women turned. He didn’t recognise the older woman and hardly registered her presence. There was less than a few metres between them, but the look on his wife’s face stopped him. It was there, in her eyes, the hurt and the pain. He couldn’t hold her gaze. That’s when he saw the body in the pool and the strength in his legs ebbed.
Like an old man, he hobbled off the ramp, unable to pull his eyes away from the girl floating in the water. The dark hair, it had to be Katrina. “Who?” He tried to form the question certain that he didn’t want to hear the answer. “Is that…?”
There was noise and commotion behind him. Voices and the rattle of trolley wheels. Above the clamour, Belle’s voice was clear and strong. “It’s the girl you ran over and left on the side of the road.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Will you come with me?” The trolley bumped over the driveway as the paramedics wheeled Belle towards the waiting ambulance. Ahead of them, Arthur was trundled into a second vehicle, an oxygen mask covering his face. She was being selfish. Joan had been through more than enough already and now Belle wanted more.
Joan, standing back as they loaded Belle into the emergency vehicle, glanced in Guy’s direction. “Shouldn’t… I mean, don’t you want–”
“Please.” Belle tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but she wasn’t ready to let Joan go yet. Nor did she want Guy overwhelming her with explanations and apologies.
Guy seemed about to protest, but one of the four police officers who were milling in and out of the house approached him. “Mr Hammer, could I speak to you?”
Guy gave Belle a pleading look then turned to the officer. “It’s Mr Stone. Guy Stone. Hammer is my wife’s name.” It was an explanation she’d heard her husband make on countless occasions only this time his voice was flat, almost robotic.
Joan’s hand was bound tightly against her body with thick white bandages and an oversized wax jacket was draped around her shoulders. She gave Belle a brisk nod and allowed one of the paramedics to help her into the ambulance where she sat to Belle’s left.
A siren shrilled and both women jumped. “Your friend is in the other ambulance,” the young male paramedic explained.
Belle wanted to ask about Arthur but knew the paramedics wouldn’t be able to give anything but vague outlines of Arthur’s condition. Instead, she closed her eyes and for the first time in days she felt close to calm. What would happen next, she didn’t know and, for the time being, didn’t care.
* * *
Two days after surgery and three days since almost drowning, two officers sat at Belle’s bedside. The room’s only window looked out on the river which was grey and churning under stormy July skies.
“My sister went into labour early. Earlier than expected. We, Guy and I, were in Fremantle having dinner. Guy won a bet about the Grand Final and we were celebrating. It was silly really. He only won twenty dollars, but he was so pleased.” Belle licked her lips. She intended to tell them everything, even the parts that made her want to crawl into herself like a hermit crab. “I’d been drinking.” The younger of the two plain-clothed officers made a note on his pad. She couldn’t see what it was.
“I wasn’t drunk, but not fit to drive so when the call came from Mark, my brother-in-law, Guy drove us to the hospital.”
“And had Mr Stone been drinking?” The older of the two officers, a man in his fifties with closely cropped red hair, asked the questions.
Belle pulled in a breath before answering. “Yes, he’d had a drink with dinner. One, maybe two. I’m not sure.” She had the urge to slip her thumb into her mouth and gnaw at her nail. Instead, she curled her hands into fists. “Anyway, after a few hours we decided that Guy might as well go home. You see, he had an audition coming up and had to catch an early flight the next day.”
“What time did your husband leave the hospital?” The redhead, Detective Lowcomb, asked. His voice was calm, patient, as if used to talking about matters that sh
attered people’s lives.
“I’m not sure... Around ten or eleven o’clock.” She touched her cheekbone. Her eye, still healing, but mercifully unaffected by the ordeal, was covered with a smaller, nylon patch.
Lowcomb nodded. “And he drove your car...” He hesitated and looked over at his partner who flipped through the pages of his notebook.
“A green 1963 Holden EH sedan.” The younger officer supplied the missing information.
“Yes, that’s right.” Belle had been talking for over an hour, the questions jumping back and forth between her ordeal with Georgia and the night the girl claimed to have been hit by Belle’s car. Belle reached out and grabbed a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. Her throat was dry and still bruised from the girl’s attack.
“So when Georgia Meadows arrived at your home, you’d never seen her before?”
Belle took a sip of water and winced. “No, never.” She tried to keep her tone calm even though she’d answered the same question three times.
“Did you ask to see any ID?” The question came from the younger officer, one of the few times he’d spoken during the interview.
“No. I told you I was expecting a caregiver from Peel Care in Mandurah. My husband had arranged for someone to come and stay while he was overseas. I had no reason to doubt she was who she said she was.” She didn’t blame the detectives for wanting to go over her story. The things that had happened, the violence and terror, they were difficult for her – although she had lived through them – to fully comprehend. To an outsider, her story would seem convoluted and almost unbelievable.
But she’d agreed to the interview against her doctor’s recommendation, because she wanted to tell her story before putting it behind her. Yet, it seemed the telling of it wasn’t enough. The police wanted to go over and over the events, making her realise this would not be the only time she would be questioned about Georgia’s death.
“All right, Mrs Hammer.” Lowcomb gave a tight smile. “I think that’s enough for now.” He stood and straightened his tie. “I know this has been difficult for you, so I appreciate your willingness to help.” He pulled a card out of his back pocket and set it on the bedside cabinet while the younger officer closed his notebook and stood. When he spoke again his tone was softer, less official. “I don’t doubt the truth of anything you’ve said. It’s our job to go over the facts. I’m sorry if it seems harsh.”
