The Cry of the Lake

by Charlie Tyler

  “Oxford – I’d like to go to Oxford. Maybe stay the night in that posh hotel you’re always banging on about, if that’s okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grace

  I had submerged myself in a delicious pool of memories. It was as though I was floating in dark, tepid water; each thought splashing up against my skin and reminding me of how much I loved him. The wound his departure inflicted upon me had never healed properly – there hadn’t been anybody to patch it up apart from me and I’d used too thin a gauze. At the start, I hadn’t cared, but over the years, hidden beneath the bandage, the cut had festered and deepened. Now that Emily was re-emerging, I couldn’t be bothered to hide the gangrenous tear to my heart. I wanted to recall everything that had happened and re-live it all, right up until its dreadful conclusion because only then could I start back at the beginning and remember it afresh.

  One of the things which stuck in my mind was the parties Daddy used to throw; one in particular.

  ***

  Of course, being only fourteen, I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I hid myself behind the mahogany cabinet at the edge of the landing and peeped over the edge of the bannisters, staring at the crowd through the twinkling beads of an enormous chandelier. I was dressed in a most seductive gown, one stolen from Mummy’s wardrobe which was still bursting with clothes despite her having been dead for almost a decade. The material clung to my skin and revealed every bump and furrow of my body. I had twisted my ponytail into a tight knot and pinned the ends flush against the back of my head. I checked myself in the oval looking glass set into the cabinet and my dark reflection smiled back at me.

  I watched as Daddy leant over a small metal tray before lifting his head backwards and pinching his nostrils whilst his eyes, like loose gobstoppers, rolled around the sockets. Then he let out a whinny of delight, threw back his shoulders and tapped the arm of a nearby waitress. A slutty, blonde girl wearing a black skirt, barely covering her buttocks, smiled and handed him a glass tankard filled to the brim with a pale liquid – James Buchanan’s classic signature drink; Moet & Chandon served out of pint glasses.

  The ballroom was full of men in pale lounge suits, shirts open at the neck. The women wore shimmering cocktail dresses of all shades, but I knew none cut a finer figure than I. Most of the ladies had a pinched look about them; holding their noses a few degrees towards the vaulted ceiling as though they couldn’t bear to look at their other halves.

  Daddy put his arm around a willowy man with curly, dark hair and champagne slopped over the brim of his glass onto his shirt. The men pressed their scalps together and Daddy’s floppy fringe fell like a curtain across his forehead. With his free hand he patted each of his jacket pockets when suddenly Gil appeared and pressed a cigarette between Daddy’s lips before striking a match and cupping the flame until the end of his cigarette was glowing.

  Daddy gave him a curt nod before slinking over to the French Windows, his arm still thrown around the dark-haired man. Gil, beautiful in chinos and crisp white shirt, stood alone for a few seconds before a skinny woman in a floral jumpsuit pounced. The flowers on the material matched her nails, lipstick and eye shadow. He smiled and tilted his head to one side, and I was absorbed watching her thick lips move. I liked how Gil had smoothed his hair back so that it curled onto his shoulder blades.

  It was time for him to notice me.

  I took a deep breath and tottered along the corridor. Although I wanted to, I couldn’t go down the main staircase because I would have drawn too much attention to myself and risked getting sent back to bed like a little kid. I had to take the servant’s passage, the one at the back of the house which cut through the pantry and snaked into the rear of the hall, next to the cloakroom. The needle-heels of Mummy’s shoes shortened my stride and my calf muscles tensed under the strain of putting each foot forward.

  I held my breath as I hobbled past the slate shelves bursting with the platters of cheese which would be brought out on the stroke of midnight. Then I took a sharp right turn and opened the small, cut-away door into the hall. Standing beneath the portrait of my paternal grandfather, I smoothed myself down and took another deep breath. A slim waitress, tray laden with champagne, walked past and I stopped her to take a glass. The girl, her dark eyes made smaller by a coating of black eyeliner on the inner rim, muttered something about there being a circus in town before stalking away. Uncertain what the waitress was talking about, I took a swig of champagne and spluttered as the sour taste hit my tongue. My ears were burning and my armpits damp with sweat. This was beginning to feel like a mistake.

  I couldn’t see Gil anymore; he was no longer with the floral lady. All the breath slid from my lungs and the wooden panels around my head wobbled. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to faint; my dress was too tight. I had to find somewhere to sit down for five minutes to regain my composure and for the sweat beads across my upper lip to evaporate. I peeled off into a dark side-room; Daddy’s second study. This was the one the press office used for publicity shots of James Buchanan MP at work because it had a lovely view of the lake, whereas Daddy’s actual study was littered with coffee mugs, overflowing ashtrays and the floor was piled high with complaints from his constituents. The desk in the second study was immaculate, dressed only with a banker’s light, leather blotter, silver ink pen and heavy paperweight – a seahorse suspended in clear resin. I used to spend ages holding the glass up to the light to examine the poor little merman. The walls were covered with a fleur-de-lis wallpaper and two small bookshelves were positioned down one side with a vase of wilting roses sitting upon each.

  I didn’t turn the light on, but went over to the large, sash window and threw it open, gulping in the faint aroma of wood smoke which emanated from the flaming torches placed at regular intervals along the drive. The full moon cast its shadow into the room, filling it with pearly light.

  “Ah,” said a gravelly voice. “I thought I saw you disappear into here.”

  I spun around and grinned at the outline of the towering figure standing in the doorway. “Uncle Frank.” There was a large box tucked under his right arm. I ran over and he stooped so I could kiss his whiskery cheek. He smelt of stale tobacco and green peppercorn sauce.

  Frank’s speckled beard was trimmed to perfection and his linen jacket, done up at the waist, hid his vast gut. He turned on the light switch and his slate eyes rolled up and down my body; his moustaches twitched. “Why! My dearest, you look…very grown up. I swear, each time I see you, you seem more like your poor mother. Dear, dear Grace.” He sniffed and poked the corners of his eyes with the tip of his thumb. “For my part, though, I think little girls should dress like little girls.” He set down the box and I stared at the gaudy paper bow stuck to the top.

  Frank smiled, showing stained, horsey teeth. “Go ahead and open it. I bought it for you and Cassie to play with.”

  I unfolded the cardboard flaps and peered inside. It was a doll’s house.

  “Do you like it?” he asked rubbing his hands together.

  “Oh yes!” I exclaimed, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Thank you so much.” I was far too grown up to play with such a thing, but Frank’s enthusiasm was infectious and soon I was cooing and purring as we set it upon the coffee table, Frank pointing out all the intricate furniture within. He had chosen every item himself.

  Frank picked up a doll with long orange hair and thrust it under my nose. “She looks like you, doesn’t she? A little bit of a naughty girl.”

  I nodded and he pressed the doll into my hands.

  He sank into the leather armchair nearest the fireplace and took a cigar out of his jacket. He stroked the flint of his lighter and waved his other hand in the air. “Play.” I cleared my throat but stood still. “Now you don’t want to make your dear old uncle sad, do you?” Frank’s grey eyes narrowed. “Play.”

  I knelt down, picked up two of the china figurines and manoeuvred them into positions around the dining room table. I cou
ld feel Frank’s gaze fixed upon me.

  “What are they saying to each other?” he asked. “I can’t hear. Perhaps they’ve been disobedient and are waiting to be punished?”

  Heat crept across my cheeks.

  The door opened.

  “Who the hell are you?” said a male voice. It was Gil. He stomped across the parquet floor until he was standing level with me. I cast aside the dolls and leapt to my feet, hanging my head. That he should have found me in such a compromising position – playing with dolls.

  “I’m Professor Fanshawe. Who are you?”

  “I’m Gil Walton. I’m responsible for the girls.”

  Frank smirked. “Oh! So, you’re the nanny Cookie has been telling me so much about.” He took a long drag on his cigar and exhaled a ring of smoke, his lips making a soft popping noise. “You’re not doing a very good job,” he continued, laughter curdling at the back of his throat. “My niece should be tucked up in bed, not here surrounded by all these villains and wasters.”

  “I take it James doesn’t know you’re here.” Gil folded his arms across his chest.

  “I don’t need his permission to visit my darling nieces.” Frank waved at me and I gave a coquettish laugh, but Gil wasn’t looking at me, he was glaring at Frank.

  “Besides which,” continued Frank, “as well as seeing my girls, I’ve a little business proposal to put to James.”

  Gil seized my hand and pulled me out into the hall.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice almost a hiss.

  I couldn’t answer. He still hadn’t commented on my appearance.

  “Come on Em.” He brushed my cheek with his finger. “This isn’t the place for you. Let me take you back to your room.”

  Tears of disappointment started tumbling.

  “What the fuck?” said Daddy, appearing behind Gil’s head, his speech slurred. “What is going on here?” The whites of his eyes were webbed with tiny lines. He looked at me then turned to Gil. “Well?”

  At that moment Frank came out of the room and slapped Daddy on the back. Daddy, on seeing his brother-in-law, shook his head. “Who let you in?”

  Frank clapped his hands together. “Good to see you too. Now, I need to have a word with you my dear boy. A little investment I think you might like to help me endorse.”

  “I told you last time,” said Daddy through clenched teeth. “I’m not interested in your dodgy deals.”

  Frank raised a dark eyebrow. “Ah, but this time I think I might just be able to persuade you.” He licked his rubbery lips and gave Gil a sideways glance. “It was nice meeting you, Mr Walton.”

  Daddy opened his mouth then snapped it shut again. He pushed his fringe off his damp forehead. He had taken his jacket off and the back of his shirt stuck to his spine in a V-shape. He smelt like cider vinegar. “Okay, Frank. You can have five minutes. That’s all. And then I want you gone. I’ll be with you in a second.”

  Frank winked at me and strode away, plucking a glass of champagne from a nearby waitress.

  “What is going on?” hissed Daddy. “Who let that slime-bag in? And why is my daughter dressed like a prostitute? Do your fucking job and take her away.”

  Gil stared at him. “Seriously? Is that all you have to say to your daughter? What kind of a shit father are you?”

  Daddy opened his mouth, but Gil cut him off.

  “Don’t bother answering. I quit.”

  It was too much for me and I collapsed to the floor.

  When I opened my eyes, I was in my own bed, the covers tight around me. The curtains weren’t drawn, and I could see Daddy’s elongated shadow by the window. He was sitting in an armchair, head buried in his hands.

  Gil stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder. The moonlight pouring in through the window had illuminated the whites of his eyes.

  I stayed still and silent. I didn’t want them to know I was awake.

  “I’m such a fuck up,” said Daddy. “I should never have had kids.”

  “Ah, Jamie, don’t take on so.” Jamie! I had never heard Gil call Daddy that before.

  Gil placed his other hand down on Daddy’s shoulders and squeezed.

  “I dread to think what he’s got on me this time or what scam he wants me to endorse.” He sighed. “It’s relentless. As though Grace’s death somehow entitles him to a share of my own inheritance. I can’t stand it anymore. This feeling that any minute everything is going to come crashing down about my ears.”

  There was a noise I hadn’t heard before. It was a sort of whimpering which rose into a loud wailing. I could see Gil was kneeling before Daddy, arms around his shoulders, Daddy’s head buried in the crook of his neck. Daddy’s whole body was shaking. They stayed like this for five minutes, all the time Gil murmuring and patting his back.

  Daddy lifted his head and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “And to top it all, my daughter has gone and fallen head over heels in love with you.”

  Gil got to his feet. “Ah well, she’s only human.”

  They both laughed.

  “Come on,” said Gil. He held out his hand and Daddy took it, joints clicking as he stood up.

  Gil seized Daddy around his upper arms and ducked so that Daddy was forced to look into his face. “You’ve got work to do. You need to get your backside down there where all your guests are. It’s time to schmooze.”

  Daddy saluted him. “Yes, boss.”

  Gil pointed to the door and Daddy nodded then strode over. He turned on the threshold.

  “You won’t go Gil, will you?” said Daddy. “Promise me, you’ll stay.”

  “I promise, Jamie. I promise.”

  I turned my face to the wall and smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lily

  The hum of raised voices filled my ears and my eyelids snapped open, sending the mermaid spiralling into the gloomiest corners of my mind. I was lying on a scratchy blanket in the corner of a dingy room or shed. My hands were tied together; my body ached, and my clothes were damp. The air smelled musty but familiar and the place was empty apart from an enamel bucket tucked into one corner and a square of threadbare carpet positioned to the left of the door. On the other side of the room, grey light peeped in through the cracks between the wooden panels and lit up the square outline of a smaller door.

  I shuffled to where the raised voices were coming from.

  “A few days and nights here without her medicine will make her grateful. She’ll welcome her new situation with open arms.” Frank’s deep voice echoed through my chest.

  “What about me?” said Grace; her voice slow and slurred. “What situation is there left for me?”

  He sighed. “My dearest girl, I cannot pretend how distressing I find this whole incident. At great personal expense, not to mention emotional difficulties, I made your terrible crimes go away.” His voice grew louder with each word and it was as though he was speaking through gritted teeth. “And what hurts me the most is that you knew I could only keep the truth at bay if you remained hidden.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle. I don’t know what got into me.” Grace sounded different; younger, confused.

  “How could you be so selfish and ungrateful?” There was the sound of heavy footsteps, as he paced up and down. “Don’t forget,” he continued, and he was shouting now, “that it was you who looked to me for protection all those years ago. You came to me.” There was a pause and the sound of a slap followed by a whimper. “I was the one who made everything disappear. Me. And it was all because I loved you and I wanted you to be happy.”

  “I know, Uncle. I’m soooorrrrry.” This snivelling declaration was followed by sobbing.

  Frank laughed, a horrid gurgle which sounded as though it was trapped at the back of his throat. “My dearest girl, you have no idea the financial mess your father left me to deal with. Without me, you would have been thrown into prison and your sister into foster care. I had to sell Aldeburgh to pay off his debts.”

  Gr
ace’s cries turned to hiccups then it went silent and I heard water sloshing beneath my feet. It was disorienting.

  “Now then, dearest, let’s not quarrel,” said Frank and his voice softened as though he was talking to a small child. “Every princess trapped in a tower needs someone to watch over them. You can start by writing out exactly what she does when she is having one of her episodes. After I am satisfied she won’t cause any further problems, I’ll move you both into the lodge. Despite the unfortunate coincidence of her turning up when I was with my wife, I managed to split up the party before Cassie was able to compare notes with Flo.”

  Cassie. Emily and Cassie.

  “What I really don’t understand is why you went after Tom in the first place.”

  Grace didn’t reply.

  Frank sighed. “Ah well. Nina doesn’t suspect a thing. She knows nothing of my past, nor is she remotely interested in anything other than her ridiculous art or where the next designer outfit is coming from. Don’t get me wrong, I am fond of her and she’s great to look at, but we both know the usefulness and limits of our relationship.” He paused. “Meanwhile the legal team are so busy fending off the overwhelming evidence against Tom they won’t bother to dig deeper let alone go searching for another suspect. Tom was long gone before James killed himself and besides, he never knew it was my niece he treated. If you lay low from now on, I am certain the police will never make the connection.” There was more shuffling and creaking of floorboards. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” He paused. “And don’t think about running again or this time you’ll regret it.”

  No one came to give me my pills. When I woke my entire body ached and the sad face of the mermaid was pinned to the back of my eyelids. Grace appeared at the door; her skin apple-white and her clothes dirty. Even from my corner of the room, I could smell the alcohol fumes on her breath. I was desperate for a pee and, fumbling with my constrained wrists, I pulled down my jeans and squatted over the bucket while Grace curled her mouth in disgust and turned her head away.