In Too Deep (33 page)

‘I really don’t know,’ I say quietly, thinking it a strange question. ‘If I knew, I’d tell the police.’ I see the thoughts rushing through Susan’s mind, showing up in her glittering eyes as she tries to imagine what it’s like to be me, living in a world that permanently stands still.

‘And what if someone said that you could find out what happened to him?’

I sit up straight. My heart pounds.

‘But there’s a condition. If you discovered the truth, it would mean you’d never see him again. Or you could stay the way you are, not knowing, always hoping, and maybe one day he’d come back. Or not. What would you choose?’

She’s playing with me.

‘That’s not a choice I could make.’

‘But what if you
had
to?’ she says, peering at me over the rim of her glass. ‘What if it was life and death?’

‘Then I’d prefer to keep the hope alive,’ I say, troubled by her cruel question.

We’re silent for a while.

‘Personally, I’d want to know,’ Susan says, breaking the stillness. ‘I’d want to know everything.’ She draws in a lungful of cool evening air. The mossy scent of the woods permeates around us. ‘It’s the kind of thing I contemplate down here, in fact.’

‘Except your husband’s not lost,’ I add, rather more sourly than I intend.

Susan laughs. ‘Sometimes I’m not so sure,’ she says, getting up and going into the little hut. She returns with a candle, lighting it and setting it between us.

‘But knowing where he is, knowing that he’s OK, it’s easy for you to speculate how you’d act in my situation. Until it happens, you don’t know how you’d feel.’ I’m on the verge of tears, so I drink more wine.

‘Come with me,’ Susan says, standing and going down the jetty, beckoning me on. Tentatively, I follow her. The boardwalk is narrow and uneven, with a couple of planks rotted through. She turns around to face the boathouse again, her back to the water, and urges me to do the same.

‘I love this view,’ she says. ‘I often sit with my feet in the water. Sometimes I’ll bring my fishing line.’

I sense there’s more she wants to tell me.

‘Tom’s been so unhappy recently,’ she finally admits, clapping her hands by her sides.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ I feel selfish again, for being so wrapped up in my problems. ‘It’s tough being a new
student. Hannah’s the same, actually.’ I don’t mention that her meltdown was over a boy.

Susan looks at me. Our faces are close as we stand side by side on the jetty. If I take a step or two back, I’ll fall in.

‘It was all over a girl. He was destroyed,’ she continues. ‘She was his first proper relationship, and she ended it without explanation. I felt so helpless.’

I feel myself go cold, a shiver snaking through me. Were Tom and Hannah seeing each other at university?

‘He came home a mess during the autumn term,’ she continues. ‘I wanted to help, so I offered to hand-deliver a letter he’d written to the girl. He’d bought a gift too. But . . . but I couldn’t go through with it.’

‘That sounds tough,’ I say, hoping she’ll say more.

‘He returned to his studies,’ Susan says, recovering her composure. ‘Though things haven’t been the same for him since.’

She fiddles with her watch, drawing my attention to the significance of it again, though she seems unaware. ‘Sometimes it’s best just to let things die a death. Don’t you think?’ Her voice is quiet, yet pointed, as if she’s trying to tell me something.

‘Perhaps,’ I say, my mind racing. But I check myself, trying to stay calm and rational. There are thousands of students at the university, so the likelihood of Hannah and Tom having met and fallen in love is low. Besides, it was clear the two of them had only just met at dinner last night.

But then the chill comes again. I pull the coat around me.

Paula’s words chime loud in my mind, though it doesn’t stop the dizziness that’s sneaking up on me.

Intrusive thoughts . . . allow them to pass . . . watch them come . . . feel them go . . . Ground yourself, Gina . . .

‘Gina . . . Gina, are you OK?’ Susan’s face is close, her breath hot on my cheek. ‘You don’t look well.’

No, no I’m not
, I attempt to say, but I don’t get the chance, because the next thing I know, Susan’s hands are against my shoulders and I can’t tell if she wants to stop me falling into the water, or if she’s trying to push me in.

‘Come on,
start
, damn you . . .’ I turn the ignition key again.

The early-morning sun makes me squint, sending a bolt of pain between my temples. The last few days have hardly been the relaxing break I’d hoped for.

Last night at the boathouse was the final straw, making me determined to leave first thing this morning. After I broke free from Susan’s grip, I made my excuses, saying I was tired, wanting to get back to the room as quickly as I could. Hannah was fast asleep when I came in.

I turn the ignition over again. Nothing. Just a fading wheeze from the engine as it sputters and dies.

I told Hannah to get her stuff together while I went and brought the car around to the front for a quick departure. Lazily, without even looking at me or speaking, she prised herself out of bed and went into the bathroom. I was thankful she seemed much better.

‘Ten minutes,’ I said, after explaining that I didn’t want to stay here a moment longer. ‘Just throw anything on.
Stuff your clothes into your bag, and meet me by the entrance with Cooper.’

I didn’t care about breakfast, and Susan had a swipe of my credit card for the extras we’d incurred. I just wanted to get out and get home, which suddenly seemed a million miles away, even though it was less than an hour’s drive. Fox Court was triggering too many uncomfortable feelings, as if everywhere I looked reminded me of Rick – and not in a good way. Even if it was my imagination working overtime, I still didn’t like it.

‘Damn it!’ I thump the steering wheel before digging out my RAC card from my purse. I give the operator my details and she tells me a service vehicle will be here within the hour.

I try the ignition a couple more times, but the same thing happens – it fires then chokes, getting weaker and weaker each time. Looking inside the engine tells me nothing. I’m no mechanic, and wouldn’t have a clue if it was the battery or something more serious.

Propping open the bonnet with my hand, I sigh, staring back up at the hotel – the same view which filled me with such hope and excitement just a few days ago.

A crow flaps off a chimney stack, swooping low over the car park, over me and my broken-down Ford. Wherever Rick is, I know he would comfort me. Tell me not to fret, to put a bad experience behind me. He’d embrace me, distract me, make me laugh about everything.

Make everything OK.

I drop the bonnet down with a loud bang.

Except now it will never be OK. If Rick left for his own reasons, then where does that leave me? Bereft, hurt, destroyed.

Either way, there is no happy ending.

I’m trying to decide whether to wait for the breakdown truck or pay for a taxi, when I see someone running out of the hotel, though only fleetingly. ‘Hannah?’ I whisper, squinting to where I thought I saw her. Quickly I get out of the car, standing on the door ledge to get a better view, but whoever it was has gone.

‘Hannah, is that you?’ I call out, not caring who hears. Locking up the car, I stride off to find her. I know the shape and form of my own daughter, even if she has become slightly hunched and withdrawn these last few weeks. She looked as if she was still wearing her pyjamas.

I swing round the front of the hotel, breaking into a run, wondering why she’s gone into the garden. I didn’t see Cooper with her. Instinctively, I look up to our room. I lurch to a stop in the middle of the lawn. Was that a face looking down? I scan around for Hannah, but she’s nowhere in sight, and when I look back up, whoever it was has also gone.

‘Strange,’ the mechanic says, staring down at the readings on his battery monitor. ‘I’d have sworn you’d got a flat battery, but it’s showing full charge.’

He’s young, though he moves slowly and methodically, reminding me of my dad.

‘Any ideas?’ I tread from one foot to the other, hugging my arms around me. I look back down the lawn again, tracking my gaze along the long edge of the hotel in case Hannah is walking back up. The first shoots of rambling roses are erupting from the winter twigs entwined around lead pipes and trellis.

Still no sign of her.

By the time I wandered around calling out her name, dashed back up to the room to check if she was there, which she wasn’t, the RAC had arrived, earlier than they’d predicted.

‘I’ll need to run a few more diagnostic tests, but it could just be something as simple as a loose lead.’

‘And if it’s not?’ I ask, but he doesn’t reply.

Instead, he shakes his head, getting down on his knees, peering underneath my car. I don’t know what to do, so I just watch, hoping he’ll discover the answer soon. I don’t like it that Hannah has gone off somewhere as we’re about to leave. Even if we abandon our belongings as soon as the car starts, I just want to go. I’ve had my fill of this place.

‘No sign of leakages,’ he says, springing up. ‘Which is a good thing. Let me get the rest of my tools and equipment from the truck and I’ll set to work. Why not go and have a cuppa while you’re waiting?’ he suggests, clearly hoping I’m not going to stand there watching him the whole time. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’ He gazes round, straightening out his back.

‘Yes, yes, OK,’ I say. ‘Will it take long?’

‘Give me half an hour, love, and I’ll come and find you.’ He grins, heading to the back of his truck. ‘If all else fails,’ he says, peering out again, ‘I’ll get you home on this.’ He pats the side of the recovery vehicle.

I nod gratefully, taking out my mobile and calling Hannah’s number. It goes straight to her voicemail. The trigger for another shot of adrenalin is immense as I’m reminded of when I called Rick after he’d been gone nearly an hour. It was only a ten-minute walk to the corner shop. My heart sank when I heard his phone ringing up in his office, realising he’d not taken it with him.

I tuck my phone in my bag and leave my stuff in the boot, heading off, deciding my priority is to find Hannah. Briefly I’m reminded of the time Rick and I lost her at Disneyland in Paris, and a familiar rush of adrenalin shoots through me at the thought.

‘You’re such a little squirmer,’ Rick would tell her whenever we were out. ‘Hold my hand tightly, princess. We don’t want anything happening to you.’

Sometimes she’d ride atop his shoulders, but Hannah still ended up fighting for her freedom. As a toddler, she was rarely still, and it only took a second for her to break free of Rick’s grip and disappear into the crowd.

It was the longest ten minutes of our lives – pushing and shoving, screaming out her name and clawing our way between the hundreds of excited people all waiting to see the parade. The music was loud, the cheering louder, drowning out any chance of hearing our little girl’s cry for help.

Then I saw her. Her little pink T-shirt and lilac hat getting swept along amongst the sea of legs. I called her name, pushing towards her, the elation of finding her, of pressing her warm body against mine, all I needed to warm me from the inside out.

I never once imagined that the person who would actually end up missing would be Rick.

‘Hannah!’ I call out once I’m away from the hotel entrance. I squint around the garden, my hand shielding my eyes. ‘Where are you, Hannah?’

I stop and listen. Nothing except for a few birds and someone heading off down the drive in their car.

I pick up my pace, running along the path between the lavender beds, through the clipped rose gardens and round to the rear of the hotel. If she’s gone all the way down to the woods, it will take me ages to search.

I dart off, scuffing on the gravel, tripping and twisting sideways on my ankle.

‘Hannah? Hannah, are you here?’

My mouth is dry, my heart pumping pure anxiety as I round the back of the hotel, approaching the stable block. Then I see the track leading up the steep bank and onwards to the lake, where Susan and I sat last night. I stare up it, snaking its way through the thicket of trees. A shiver runs the length of my body.

Why would Hannah go up there? Why isn’t she packing up her stuff like I asked her?

These are questions I can’t answer, so I try to calm myself as I tackle the sharp incline at speed, forcing myself
to put into play Paula’s anxiety-calming techniques . . .
breathe, centre, focus . . .

I don’t know if it works, and I don’t get a chance to notice if my heartbeat is merely keeping up with the speed of my brisk walk rather than the speed of my irrational thoughts, because when I reach the top, the shock of what I see on the other side brings me to a halt.

My eyes grow wide as I stare down, blinking from the glittering light flashing off the water, hardly able to process what it is that I’m seeing on the concrete steps below.

Mum says we’re going home. She’s gone to fetch the car and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Unbeknown to her, this trip has turned into a disaster. I feel as though someone has set me up, is testing me, playing with me and putting me through as much misery and torment as possible. I can’t help thinking it serves me right.

I have to get away.

As I douse my face with water in the bathroom, I’m reminded of a conversation I had with Karen during the first week in halls together.

‘They’ll get their comeuppance,’ she said, slamming shut her kitchen cupboard door. Someone had nicked all of her food. ‘Probably in the form of mouth ulcers or a violent stomach upset.’

We were talking about karma and even though it sounded like sorcery to me, Karen was deadly serious. ‘What goes around comes around,’ she went on. ‘And the payback
always
matches the crime.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ I replied, only mildly interested. I was
too busy trying to make my meagre amount of food stretch to two portions. I couldn’t let her starve.

‘Don’t you remember physics at school? For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction? It’s kind of like that.’