Dad looked up when we came through the door and asked if we wanted a nightcap. Grace was drinking Baileys, ice cubes clinking against the sides of her glass. I’d never seen her drink alcohol before. I pointed at it and Grace reached into the wooden cupboard behind her head to grab me a tumbler.
Lily pointed too, but Grace lifted the kettle onto the hotplate and waved a peppermint teabag at her. “Not before you go to sleep, darling.” There was a fraction of a pause. “Have you–”
Lily nodded and pointed at me.
“Yep. I saw her swallow them.” Grace’s nostrils flared as she went to dispense a couple of rocks of ice from the freezer.
“Actually, I think I’d rather have tea,” I said, and Grace squeezed my shoulder with approval as she walked past.
“They’ve identified the body,” said Tom. “It’s Amelie.”
The silence was as smothering as the heat from the oven and after a few minutes I caught Lily’s eye and jerked my thumb to the ceiling. Lily nodded and we kissed Tom and Grace goodnight and took our teas to my bedroom. I closed the door behind us.
“It’s quite sweet our parents have got each other.” I stripped down to my underwear and put on a pair of crumpled cotton shorts and my favourite of Dad’s old Cure tee-shirts.
Lily pulled at the string of her teabag, tears spilling down her face, but before I could say anything, she leapt to her feet and pointed to my en-suite bathroom, bundling her lavender pjs under her arm. When she returned, she jumped onto her mattress and pulled up the duvet, covering her entire body. “Okay, okay. I get the message. You really need your beauty sleep.” Lily stuck out a hand from under the covers and gave me the V-sign.
***
I woke with a start and rolled over; I could hear gushing water. I looked across to Lily’s makeshift bed and did a double-take – it was empty. The taps in my bathroom were running – surely Lily wasn’t taking a bath at this time of night? My dry mouth tasted disgusting and the room smelt of sour milk. I hadn’t bothered to brush my teeth after the peppermint tea – telling myself that drinking it gave just the same protection as Colgate. Not true.
I reached out to the bedside table for my phone and saw that it was 3am. I was wide awake. It was as though someone had flipped the ‘on’ switch in my head. What the fuck was Lily doing? I crept out of bed and knocked on the door.
With a start, I realised that the soles of my feet were wet. I lunged for the handle of the bathroom door and pushed it open. The room was in complete darkness, so I pulled on the cord and there was Lily sitting in the bath, still wearing her lilac pyjamas, cold tap chucking out water.
My initial reaction was to laugh and ask her what in the hell she was doing, but then it was clear that although Lily’s eyes were open, she wasn’t fully conscious. Her lips were bluish-purple, and her jaw was moving. It was very cold in there and my teeth started chattering. As I moved closer, I realised Lily was singing Down To The River To Pray on loop. This was weird in itself, because it was the first time I had ever heard Lily’s voice, but though she was singing the words of the folksong softly, the notes had a strange metallic ring to them. I shivered. Lily’s dark irises stared into mine and filled my body with an overwhelming sense of dread, making my eyes fill with tears.
Suddenly Grace, appearing from nowhere, barged past me and turned the tap off, pulling at the plug. She whipped around to me and pressed an index finger to her lips then pointed to the towel on the radiator. The draining water gurgled and slurped.
Grace lifted Lily to her feet and wrapped the towel around her. “Go and get some pyjamas from the airing cupboard,” she said to me, her voice calm and at the same time bossy. I swallowed down my terror but as I ran out of the room, something slimy caught between my toes. I looked down and pulled a string of pondweed from around my big toe, wondering how it had got into my bathroom.
Then I heard Grace say in a very firm voice: “Myrtle, it’s not your time. You need to leave. Now.”
My mind was spinning with what I had just seen, and I was desperate to know who the fuck Myrtle was. I rushed back with a pair of my own pjs. Grace had Lily enveloped in her arms and was kissing her matted hair.
“Thank you,” said Grace. “You go and sleep in the spare room. I’ll stay here with Lily.” I climbed into the cold guest bed, eventually drifting into a fitful sleep and dreaming about a silvery ghost who called herself Myrtle.
The next morning when I went downstairs, I found Grace in our kitchen, drinking coffee and staring out of the window.
“Is Lily okay?”
“She shouldn’t have drunk spirits with her medication,” said Grace, her voice sharp.
I shifted from one foot to the other.
Grace sighed, but still didn’t look at me. “No harm done. She’s fast asleep now and probably will be for most of the morning.”
“Where’s Dad?”
Grace shrugged.
I was about to open my mouth to ask who Myrtle was and why Lily could sing in her dreams, but something in Grace’s manner made the words evaporate on my tongue. She didn’t offer me a cup of coffee although the cafetière was three-quarters full and carried on gazing out of the window.
That’s when I remembered the fish. My poor little, hungry carp.
Pretending that I didn’t mind getting the cold shoulder from Grace, I wandered over to the back door and pulled the nearest jacket off its peg, draping it about my shoulders. I slipped on my trainers and stepped outside. The grass was sopping, and my rubber soles squeaked as I walked across the lawn. I headed towards Dad’s shed at the side of the garden and, as I opened the door, the smell of grass clippings, petrol and creosote caught the back of my throat and made me cough. I picked up the plastic bucket of fish food and followed the crazy paving path towards the pond, knocking my shins against the handlebars of Dad’s abandoned wheelbarrow which, thanks to a face full of early morning midges, I didn’t see in time.
The pond was screened by a wall of wildflowers and feathery grass, but you knew it was there before you saw it; the surrounding air was heavy with the stink of stagnant water and there was a sound like someone taking a pee as the pump struggled to make the current flow.
I turned the corner and was blinded by a brilliant light which bounced off the surface of the pond. Then I took a step backwards, blinking fast as my eyes tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
I stood there squinting, the pail of fish food rattling by my side. Then I forced myself forwards, my heart hammering against my ribcage as the vision in the pond grew clearer: seven white and speckled orange bodies floating on the surface, eyes glazed open, mouths tiny dark circles.
Chapter Nine
Grace
My body trembled with pure rage as I clawed at the blooming patch of sore skin which coated the back of my right hand. Tom didn’t have any calamine lotion. Indeed, the last time I looked in his medicine cabinet all I found was a battered box of Alka Seltzer, some ancient cologne which smelt of church incense and, of course, the little clue for the police I had hidden there. Thankfully, I knew that the manifestation of this skin irritation could be passed off as anxiety; solidarity with Flo.
I was furious with myself. Of all the crazy, stupid things to go and do and all because I’d had a couple of glasses of Baileys – and a few whisky chasers.
Tom, Flo and I stood by the edge of the pond, staring at the motionless bodies of the carp; a few fat bluebottles hovered over the surface. A pigeon tucked away in the boughs of a lacy-leafed birch gave out a mournful coo which drowned out the buzzing. Tom could barely make eye contact with me. I held out my hand to him, but he brushed my fingertips away. How dare he, of all people, ignore me.
Flo, the spoilt little drama queen, was lapping up the attention. Her eyes were puffy from her incessant snivelling. It was laughable. I tried and tried but couldn’t fathom how Flo was able to muster any sadness over the death of those seven, soulless creatures. Nevertheless, I needed to rectify the situation with Tom. I took a
step forward and positioned myself directly in front of him, forcing him to meet my gaze. I leant up and kissed the underside of his neck.
He recoiled.
I gulped down my disappointment. He had reduced me to nothing before, but I was strong – this time I wouldn’t crumble to pieces. I turned and gave Flo my best sympathetic smile whilst in my head I acknowledged that this was a good thing; a timely reminder of Tom’s capacity for cruelty. The tickling trace of ammonia, hanging on the early morning breeze, made my nose twitch.
“Who would do such a thing?” asked Flo.
Tom placed an arm around his daughter. “I have no idea,” he said, his voice soft like balm.
I tried not to roll my eyes at his ludicrous over-indulgence. “Oh, but darling girl, it was such an extraordinary day, full of extreme emotions. Maybe you did it by mistake.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous,” snapped Flo, and Tom enveloped her shoulders in a bear hug.
I clenched my fists, letting my fingernails dig into my palms. Tom may have been horrified at my behaviour last night, but I wanted to shake him: who made me like that?
The back door of the cottage creaked open and Lily appeared, holding a tray, her useless tongue poking out with concentration as she made careful steps across the lawn.
Lily set the tray down on the low, brick wall which skirted the border of the pond area and the orchard. The blossom from the apple trees had long since disappeared though the petals lined the grass underneath like used confetti. Tom’s school briefcase, his one-time doctor’s bag, sat there, wide open and the initials P.T.M glowed in the sunshine. I had to gulp down a snigger – did the marvellous Dr Marchant think he could resuscitate the fish with his rusty medical skills? Or maybe a bit of cognitive therapy would make them rise from the dead.
“Do you want sugar in yours?” I said to Flo before Lily handed her a cup. That’s what you did when someone was in shock, wasn’t it? That’s what Frank always used to do – add a few spoonfuls of sugar and, God knows what else, to my tea. Flo pulled a face like she had sucked on a piece of lemon. Lily gave me the mug with a chip on its edge but avoided looking me in the eye as well she should. I was furious with Lily. Yet again, it was her selfish actions which had caused this premature avalanche of events.
My throat tightened as I recalled what happened last night; how one careless moment of alcohol-fuelled desire, followed by rejection, might have destroyed my whole five-year plan. I had to stay calm.
“Flo, dear. What do you think we should do?” asked Tom. I seethed. Was I now invisible?
There was a creak and slam as someone entered through the side gate. Startled, I looked towards the corner of the house, wondering who would be so ill-mannered to think they could use the back entrance.
“I called Annie,” said Flo. She swept her hand over the surface of the water. “As soon as I saw this I knew it wasn’t an accident.” Sure enough, there she was the stupid cow, walking across the lawn with a large, cube-headed PC trotting after her. He had a bulky camera dangling around his chimneystack of a neck.
You called the police for a couple of dead fish was what popped into my head, but instead I swallowed my words. “Quite right. Good call.” A sudden thought buckled my knees and I stumbled forward spilling my tea; I hadn’t put my nightshirt in the wash – it was still hanging over the chair in Flo’s bedroom. There would be traces of chemicals on it.
“Tea?” I asked, glossing over my own clumsiness with a dainty laugh, and offering Annie my chipped cup. She shook her hand. “Suit yourself.” I put the cup back onto the tray. “So awfully good of you to come – I mean, what with all that’s going on, I wouldn’t have thought a shoal of dead fish was a priority for the police.” I laughed again.
“Why not?” said Annie, her silver eyes unblinking. I hated the way she questioned every throw-away comment I made, as though trying to catch me out. “This morning all of Flo’s fish are dead. That seems like a pretty big priority to me.”
“You can’t possibly imagine the fish murders are in any way linked to Amelie’s death.”
“Why not?” There it was again. I could feel my body tensing with anger. I knew what I needed, but the whisky bottle was out of reach for the time being.
I moved away, but Annie held up her hand. “Could you just wait here a minute? I’ve got a few questions.”
I sat down on the low wall and brooded about the nightshirt. And the whisky.
Next to Tom’s bag were a couple of small vials containing cloudy brown water and Annie pointed at them.
Tom rubbed his hands down his thighs. He picked up one of the test tubes and held it out to Annie. “I’ve run some experiments. It’s CH16O4. Otherwise known as metaldehyde a.k.a. Slugit.”
Annie’s eyes opened wide. “Wow, Tom. That’s impressive,” she fawned. “And you worked that out from just taking a couple of pondwater samples.”
Tom gave a small crooked smile. “I’m not that smart.” You’re not wrong there. He took hold of her arm and pointed it towards the water. Annie stood still for a moment, and I caught the look which passed between them; a flash of mutual understanding.
“Remind me. What am I looking at?”
“See. On the bottom of the pond. There is a load of blue pellets.”
“So definitely done on purpose?”
Tom nodded. “Yes, and with pellets taken from my shed.”
“Don’t you keep the shed locked?” asked Annie.
Tom shook his head and Annie wrote something down and then turned to the bereaved. The flabby policeman was walking around the pond, stopping every few seconds to take a volley of photographs.
“Right. Well the fish look as though they’ve been dead for a while. Did any of you hear anything strange last night or did something unusual happen? Talk me through your evening and let me be the judge of what is relevant.”
Flo sat down next to me. “I woke up in the middle of the night because,” she paused, “because I heard Lily in the bathroom.”
Annie raised a badly plucked eyebrow. “She stayed the night?”
I put my arm around Flo. “We both did. After yesterday we just felt the need for company. You know how it is?” I caught Tom’s eye and gave a coy smile, though he responded as if I were Medusa.
Annie looked up at Flo who, in turn, stared at Lily. “It turns out Lily wasn’t feeling well, and she was making these funny noises, so I went into the bathroom.” She closed her eyes. “Then Grace came in and helped Lily. She’d sort of fainted.”
Lily was staring into her teacup.
“After you went into the bathroom, how long was it before Grace came in?”
Flo shrugged. “About five minutes.”
Shit. The nightshirt.
Annie gave me a sideways glance. “And where did you appear from?”
“I was in the guest room,” I said. The corners of Annie’s mouth twitched. “I heard a noise and came running. Anyone who is a mother will tell you – childbirth makes you a light sleeper.” I smiled at Lily who avoided eye contact whilst Tom made an irritating clicking noise with his tongue.
“It’s not a deep pond,” said Annie. She folded her arms so her blouse rode up her waist, revealing her concave stomach. She was far too thin – skeletal.
The nightshirt was now an overwhelming source of concern and I leapt to my feet. “Coffee time,” I announced, seizing the tray and storming off before Annie could stop me.
I was shaking as I went into the kitchen. I took a gulp of whisky. There wasn’t much left from last night, so I finished it off and threw the bottle in the recycling. Then I set the kettle on the hot plate and made a dash for Flo’s room. There, on the back of the dressing-table chair, was my nightdress, the hem speckled with tiny dots of cobalt blue – unnoticeable at first glance, but not under close scrutiny. I ran downstairs and threw it into the washing machine. Of course, Tom didn’t have any stain remover products, so I’d settled for the hottest wash possible.
I needed more time. Time w
hen I wasn’t being observed.
The kettle whistled and brought me to my senses. I had to calm down and get a grip. I’d been terrified this morning when Flo came creeping into the kitchen, expecting her to ask me what I’d been doing by the pond. But when Flo didn’t mention it, I realised she hadn’t seen me, and I could still get away with no one finding out I’d slaughtered the fish.
I’d been in such a rage and it all stemmed from Tom’s rejection. Drunk and aware my time with Tom was nearing an end, I’d decided to override Grace’s prudishness. He’d seemed very pleased to start with and then, when it was over, hurt and confusion pasted across his face, he banished me to the guest room.
Furious at being cast aside by him, the hurt and humiliation mithered on all night preventing me from sleeping until, in the early hours of the morning, I got out of bed and went off into the dark to kill the fish. It was only when I glanced up at the window and saw the light on in Flo’s room that I came to my senses and ran back inside just in time to rescue Lily. Tom, all the while, sleeping through the commotion like a well-fed baby.
She didn’t know it was me!
I filled the cafetière with hot water and the tempting hazelnut smell put a stop to my alcohol cravings. I knew I could do this. Full of resolve I strode back across the lawn.
“Anyone for coffee?”
Tom tipped out the dregs of his tea and held his mug out for me to fill.
He caught hold of my hand. At last, I thought; he’s deigned to forgive me. “Hey,” he cried, pushing off his glasses to examine my hand further. “What did you do to your wrist?”
“Nothing,” I said, snatching it back off him. Whilst caught up in the black mist of rage last night I’d forgotten to put on gloves and the chemicals had irritated my skin. “I had a fight with a patch of stinging nettles.”
The Cry of the Lake Page 6
