The Cry of the Lake

by Charlie Tyler

  “There’s more rope in the boat house,” I said, my kneecaps grinding into Grace’s spine. Flo fetched it and busied herself tying Grace’s ankles together. Then she undid Annie’s bindings. Annie gave each of us a quick hug then pulled out her phone, waving it at us. “I’ll go and find a signal,” she called out as she shot off towards Toad Cottage.

  Grace’s stream of filthy threats stopped. She twisted her head and stared into my eyes. Bubbles of saliva frothed at the corners of her mouth.

  Gil stooped down, kissed her cheek and whispered into my ear.

  Then he vanished.

  “He’s gone,” I said.

  “He was never there you bitch.”

  “He was and he said to tell you this: My Lady of the Lake, forgive me.”

  And there, right in front of me, Grace’s face changed. It was as though the years had melted away. I recognised her – she was my sister. My grumpy teenage sister who, once upon a time, had amber eyes which were filled with light and hope.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Flo

  I was leaning into the snack machine, running my finger along the rows of sweets and tapping a pound coin against the smeary glass with my other hand.

  “Twix, every time,” said Annie, appearing out of nowhere.

  “Christ!” I bumped my forehead against the glass. I turned around and gave her a gentle hug. She was covered in bruises and I didn’t want to add to her discomfort. Annie’s hospital gown flapped around her ankles like a tent – it made her seem even smaller than normal. A large piece of fabric gauze was stuck to the side of her head and she smelt of antiseptic.

  “Hey, it’s so good to see you, Annie. Do you want something? Maybe a coffee?”

  “No thanks. I’m awash with all sorts of drugs – I’d best not add caffeine to the mix. It’s hard enough to sleep on the ward as it is.”

  “Will they let you out soon?” I punched in the code for my selection. I put the coin into the slot. “What a rip off,” I muttered to my reflection in the glass. The green digits blinked, and the bar of chocolate fell to the ground with a tinny thud.

  “Should be back home tomorrow morning,” said Annie. “How about Nina? I see she’s off the oxygen.”

  “Yes.” I stooped to get my hand inside the drawer. “It’s brilliant, but she’s going to be in here for a while – her knee is fucked.” I stood back up waving my choccy and pointed to a couple of chairs squashed into a corner. We sat down at right angles to each other, our knees almost touching. Annie’s breath smelt metallic and her eyes were bloodshot.

  “I had a little chat with your Mum last night. She’s been through a lot.” She smiled. “I guess that’s the understatement of the year.”

  I swallowed but didn’t say anything. Annie squeezed my hand.

  “What have they told you about Lily?” I bit the top of the Twix wrapper with my teeth. “Please tell me your lot aren’t charging her. Are they? I mean, what she must have been through is horrific.”

  “No. My lot aren’t charging her, but there’s a quite a bit of ground to cover. They’ve taken her to a special interview suite so they can hear her story and take care of her at the same time. Her body was dependent on those sleeping pills so coming off them has given her some serious side-effects which she didn’t even know were happening to her. Hallucinations and the like. It will take a while for her to recover.”

  I welled up. “She’s had such a shit life. All this time we were together, and I didn’t notice what Grace was doing to her.” I took a big bite of biscuit.

  “How could you have noticed? Grace manipulated all of us.”

  “You saw through her,” I said, holding my hand over my mouth, crumbs spilling all over the front of my sweater.

  “Only because I was pre-disposed not to like her.” Annie reached out and dusted off my jumper. “Grace was a project she’d been planning for years. She’d stalked Tom for a long time – finding everything out about him so she could wheedle her way into your lives.” She reached forward and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. We stared into each other’s eyes, neither of us able to speak for a few seconds.

  “It’s over now,” she said. “She’s signed a confession for the murders of Gil, Amelie and Frank and to the attempted murder of Nina. That’s just the start of it – there will be other charges too.”

  “Do you think she would have killed me, you and Lils as well?”

  Annie nodded.

  “That’s so messed up.”

  “She’s had a sad life.” Annie leaned her back into the sofa. “Frank started manipulating her when she was fourteen and her Dad was too weak to notice. He’d been blackmailing James into getting the Government to endorse Zolis. First he said he was going to leak Gil’s gay relationship with James to the press, and then, when that didn’t work, he threatened to expose Grace as a murderer – James didn’t think he had a choice. In the end, unable to cope with what had happened to Gil, he went insane and ended up handing over the estate to him, too. For the past ten years Frank had been embezzling the girls’ inheritance.”

  “Fatty Fucking Fanshawe.” I folded the biscuit wrapper into a tiny, neat triangle. “I mean, I never liked him, but what an absolute thieving arsehole. Fancy letting your niece believe she was responsible for killing her Dad. I mean that’s got to mess with your head. No wonder she turned into a complete psycho.”

  A couple of nurses dressed in overalls, walked along the corridor bitching about someone called Pippa who worked in radiology. I got up, my knees clicking, and threw the wrapper into the bin. They smiled at me before turning the corner and their rubber clogs carried on squeaking long after they had disappeared.

  When I went back, Annie had her feet up, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “Mum’s horrified. Feels she should have known what sort of a man Frank was. But at the same time, she’s mourning him.”

  Annie rested her chin onto her knees. “But he didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

  “No way! But he was creepy – the clothes he bought for me–.” I swallowed. “I mean, Mum made me wear them to be nice, but they were so weird and childish. I just thought he was old-fashioned and stuck in the past.” I clenched my fists. “I had no idea what a manipulative prick he was.”

  “When Grace murdered Amelie I don’t think she realised how much it would throw her into the limelight. Frank spotted her immediately although Lily told us he claimed he had known where they had been living for a while – that he was just biding his time, making sure when a crisis situation arose, they would have no alternative but to return to him.”

  “Why did he want them to stay hidden?”

  “Because he’d been carving up the Aldeburgh Estate. He’d stolen their inheritance to pay for his own lavish lifestyle, using Zolis to hide the path of the money he was siphoning off. When his nieces appeared on the news in relation to a murder committed by Tom Marchant, he needed to get them back under his control – stop them drawing any attention to him. There were more blackmail opportunities, but on both sides this time. He knew Grace had killed Amelie – he’d watched his nieces dispose of the body down by Cupid’s Wood. But he also knew it wouldn’t be long before Grace realised he had been spending their money.”

  “Is there any left?”

  Annie shrugged.

  Dad appeared, holding a rather crumpled bunch of flowers and a bag of white grapes with “seedless” written in large capital letters on the cellophane. He was out of breath, his face all pink and shiny.

  “You took your time,” I grinned. Annie’s pale skin flushed, and she busied herself, tucking her gown around her thighs like she was crimping pastry.

  “It took me forever to find a parking space,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Even though Mum’s in a god-awful state, she’ll not take kindly to those flowers. She can spy a cheap, hospital gift a mile off.”

  The tips of Dad’s ears glowed. “Well…they’re not actually for her.” He coughed and shov
ed them in front of Annie’s face.

  “Oh!” she said, pressing her lips together. “How, er, nice.” She caught my wide-eyed gaze and we burst into laughter.

  Dad sat down and rubbed his forehead.

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Amelie’s parents came to see me.”

  “Shit.”

  “They came to apologise for thinking I’d murdered her.” He spread his hand on the sofa and stared at his fingers. “Those poor people,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “They are overwhelmed with guilt. They were already going through a very difficult time. They were getting a divorce and Amelie wasn’t dealing well with the news. She’d just started opening up to me a bit.” The hug. I cringed.

  “But then this? I mean, how do you cope with finding out your daughter was murdered just because she happened to be a student in my class who was quiet and thoughtful and who bore a slight resemblance to you, Flo?” He swallowed several times. “I…I told them the evidence against me was overwhelming – that they could hardly be blamed for believing what the police dug up.” He reached out and caught my hand. “But you never believed it was me, did you?”

  I opened my mouth then shut it again; he didn’t need to hear that I’d had my doubts – it didn’t matter now. I smiled and squeezed his hand tight. Then he turned to Annie. “And I know you didn’t either. Not really.”

  Annie tilted her head onto one side. “I may have wavered for a second, but deep down I always knew it couldn’t have been you.” Her eyes were shining with tears and she snatched up his hands in hers and kissed the back of them.

  My cue to go and check on Mum.

  One Year Later

  Emily

  I sat on the bench staring out at the pond, white winter sunlight streaming onto my face. Sparkles danced on the water like fallen stars and a family of gangly mallards played follow-my-leader around the rush-lined edge. I was wrapped up in blankets, a scratchy woollen scarf wound around my neck which my incompetent nurse, Bradley, helped me to make. Finger knitting. I wasn’t permitted anything with a sharp point and the garment was full of holes; careless dropped stitches. I had the honour of being allowed out by the ‘nature pool’ on a daily basis. More so than most of the other patients because the moment I set eyes on the water, I grew calm and sedate.

  This therapy was better than any medication they had to offer.

  Another patient sometimes sat next to me – a middle-aged man with receding grey hair and saggy skin which hung off his bony frame. He also gazed out towards the lake as though searching for something. I didn’t think we looked alike, but there was something shared in the way we carried ourselves; how we both wrinkled our foreheads when the sun was too bright; how we interlocked our fingers a certain way and held them in our laps.

  If he recognised me, he didn’t show it. Neither of us spoke.

  Bradley had brought a fistful of stale bread from the kitchen and asked me if I wanted to come with him, down to the water’s edge.

  I wished he would drop dead. I didn’t want him anywhere near me, interrupting my vigil.

  He held out a fat palm to me, but I turned my face away. He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, a large grin spreading across his square face. “You and your Dad can watch me from where you’re sitting.” He lumbered off, quacking like a cartoon character, forcing the ducks to make a noisy retreat.

  I had plenty of time now to dissect my childhood and, on balance, I had decided that almost all of it was ruined by adults; even Mummy couldn’t stay alive to keep me safe. When the police interviewed me, they asked why I had persisted with the notion that Tom was responsible for everything that went wrong in my life. I said nothing. How could they possibly begin to understand what he did to me? I thought back to that awful day when he showed me that my life had no worth. The last piece of the humiliating puzzle.

  ***

  It was the middle of the night. I heard the handle rattle then my bedroom door creaked open.

  The room filled with wheezing and I pulled the bedclothes over me, tight. The mattress sunk and I felt his body press against mine.

  “I know you’re awake, my darling,” whispered Frank. I kept my body still – my short breaths flowing around my face turned my cheeks hot. Saliva pooled in my mouth as I forgot to swallow.

  “You know how special you are to me,” he said, running his hand across my thigh – the sheet protecting me against his flesh.

  His hand shot up and circled my neck – he clamped it there and I twisted my head from side to side and kicked my legs.

  “Now dearest.” He pressed on my throat until I started to gag, I was struggling for breath.

  “Stop this.” He leaned his body onto my lower half. I stopped my kicking and he lifted a tiny bit of pressure from around my throat. I was sucking in the sheet along with the air and it grew wet with my spit. The back of my throat filled with phlegm and I thought my rib cage would burst. The panic coursing through my body left spots of white bursting behind my eyes.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, slipping his hand underneath the sheet.

  That was the first time he raped me.

  The next morning he was at the kitchen table, shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth, and reading the newspaper. I was still wearing my pyjamas.

  “Morning, sweetie,” said Daddy. Gil was eating toast and passing Cassie banana slices dipped in Nutella at the same time.

  Frank looked up at me, a brief smile. “You look tired, dearest,” he said, before returning to The Times. “Not enough beauty sleep, hey?”

  Daddy laughed and got up, glancing at his watch before pecking Cassie on the head.

  Frank pushed his plate to one side. “I’ll give you a lift to the station. I’ve got a busy day too so maybe we can talk about that little business proposal on our way.” Daddy blew kisses at all of us and was out through the door, Frank striding to catch up with him.

  “Em, you’ll need to hurry with breakfast if we’re going to leave on time.” He turned to Cassie. “Poppet – you go brush those teeth and I’ll be along in a minute to check you’ve done a good job. And don’t think I won’t know if you’ve just smudged toothpaste onto your tongue.” Cassie ran off to the downstairs bathroom giggling.

  “I don’t feel well,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. I didn’t – my whole body was sore and bruised.

  He came over and pressed his hand to my forehead. “What sort of ill? You don’t feel hot.” How was that possible when I was burning inside?

  I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Achy – you know.”

  “Hmm,” he kissed the top of my head. “You look pale. You on your period?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Well why don’t you go back to bed for a bit? Frank’s right – you do look tired. I’ll take Cassie to school and when I get back, we’ll see how you are – maybe after a bit of a snooze you’ll feel like heading in.” Cassie was hollering for him.

  “Coming,” he shouted. He rolled his eyes and tousled my hair.

  I sat there, gazing out of the window. Every movement was an effort – as though weights were attached to my limbs. Cookie came in to clear the plates and as soon as I told her I wasn’t feeling well, threatened to make me a bowl of her disgusting salty porridge because she was adamant it could cure whatever was ailing me.

  I went back to Cassie’s bedroom and got into her bed. I couldn’t bear to climb back into mine – not until I’d stripped it and boiled the sheets. Myrtle was under the pillow and I held her to my face, crying into her velvet tummy. When I was done with the tears, I decided to get up – there was no way I was going to fall back to sleep.

  I showered then dressed, grabbing my jeans which were slung over the chair. There was something in my back pocket. I pulled out Tom’s card and smoothed my thumb over the dark, slightly raised, numbers.

  What was it he’d said? “Call me anytime, Kiddo – I mean it.”

  He’d said he could help, and he had sounded so kind; he woul
d know what to do.

  I picked up my phone and dialled.

  “Hello.” It was a woman’s voice. I hung up, my heart racing. Maybe I’d mistyped the digits. I tried again. The same voice; “hello – who is this, please?”

  “I want to speak to Tom Marchant.”

  “Okay – I’m his secretary. He’s actually in a clinic at the moment. Can I take a message?”

  “I really need to speak to him. Now.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible unless it’s an emergency.”

  “It is an emergency.” I screamed the words.

  She sucked in her breath. “Okay, okay. Please calm down. Let’s start with your name…”

  “I don’t want to tell you my name.”

  “Well, how will Dr Marchant know who’s calling.”

  I gulped.

  “Okay, I can hear you’re distressed.” She spoke the words slowly, like I was stupid. “I’m going to knock on Dr Marchant’s door and see if he’ll talk to you. Just give me something for him to go on – a detail so he knows what it’s about.”

  “Tell him he met me at the opening of the new clinic. I was hiding in one of the rooms and he gave me his card – said I could call him any time.”

  “Okay – I’m putting you on hold.” She pressed a button.

  I heard knocking on a door. She hadn’t hit mute.

  “Jean?” came Tom’s distant voice.

  “So sorry, Tom,” she said in a loud whisper, “I really didn’t want to interrupt, but there’s a kid on the line – sounds disturbed.”

  “Excuse me – I won’t be a minute.”

  There were footsteps and the gentle click of a door closing.

  “Sorry,” said Jean, her voice clearer.