The Secret by the Lake (25 page)

I couldn’t bear to be in the cottage another moment.

‘That’s enough,’ I said to Vivi. ‘We’re going.’

Vivi sat up at once. ‘Where are we going? I can’t go anywhere. I can’t leave her!’

‘Just for tonight, Vivi, just for one night. Come on.’

‘No, Amy, I can’t!’

I ignored Viviane’s pleas. I climbed out of the bed, went to the door and pushed the chest of drawers out of the way. Vivi fidgeted behind me, staying close, whimpering.

‘Wait here,’ I told her.

I went into Vivi’s room, grabbed her school clothes and stuffed them into a bag. I then went back out on to the landing, keeping my eyes averted from the door to the empty bedroom, and returned to the master bedroom. Julia was back soundly asleep. I put my head down close to hers and whispered, ‘I’ll be back in the morning, dear Julia. I promise I’ll be back.’ I placed her walking stick on the bed beside her, so that it was to hand, in case she should need it.

Vivi stood beside the bed, looking very small and scared. My heart filled, once again, with pity for the child. I took her hand. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

We left the cottage quickly, leaving the lights on inside, and hurried hand in hand through the winter night, through a fog so dense it was like rain. The wet air muffled our footsteps. Nobody was driving; nobody was out. The lake was obscured, the lights of Sunnyvale had been extinguished; the hooting of an owl was distorted.

The bag was heavy, the handles digging into my palm. I swapped hands. We turned and walked down the hill towards the lake.

Viviane was quiet now, she hadn’t said a word since we left the cottage. I squeezed her hand. ‘When it’s foggy like this,’ I said, ‘it’s like being invisible. Nobody can see us, nobody knows we’re here.’

‘So nobody would know if something bad happened to us.’

‘Nothing bad is going to happen.’

Vivi was shivering. ‘What about Mummy?’

‘She’s sound asleep, darling. No harm can come to her.’

‘What if she wakes and we’re not there?’

‘She won’t wake before morning.’

Vivi gave a sob. ‘It’s my fault.’

I stopped and put my arms around the child. ‘No, no, darling, it’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have been left on your own like that. I shouldn’t have left you both.’

‘What if Mummy dies?’

‘She won’t die! Of course she won’t. She just needs to sleep until the pills have worn off. Oh Vivi, darling, don’t cry. Mummy will be fine, I promise you. We’ll all be fine.’

We continued forward. The fog grew heavier the closer we came to the water, until it was so wet and heavy that it condensed on our skin and our hair like dew. We walked past the entrance to Fairlawn House, past the two lions on their columns. I glanced up at them, gazing down at us so fierce and ancient – and that was when I nearly lost my nerve.

‘Nearly there,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Just a bit further.’

We disturbed a couple of ducks roosting on the verges of the pathway that led to the lodge. They quacked noisily as they ran from us and we heard the double splash as they escaped into the lake. I climbed the steps, knocked on the door, waited and knocked again, but Daniel did not come. So I stood on tiptoe, patted my hand along the ledge at the top and, thank goodness, found the spare key. I opened the door.

‘Hello!’ I called softly, but there was no answer and the lodge was in darkness.

‘Come on,’ I said and I led Viviane inside, closed the door. ‘We can stay here for tonight. You can have a good rest.’

Daniel had drawn the curtains inside the lodge before he went out. I crossed to the bed and turned on the small lamp. The room was filled with a soft light, and with colour. I knelt and turned on the gas fire. Warmth billowed out. I held out my hands, felt the heat blow away the damp of the fog, and with it went my fear. I felt safe here. We would both be safe.

Viviane sat on the edge of the bed, yawned extravagantly and then kicked off her shoes and burrowed beneath the covers like a little mouse. By the time I reached her, she was already asleep, breathing deeply through parted lips, as if she were inhaling sleep, grabbing hold of it. Her lashes flickered against her cheeks. I tucked the sheets in around her shoulders, kissed her. Then I wandered over to the window. Where was Daniel? It was so late. What was he doing? I looked out through the curtains but I couldn’t see anything; all that was out there was darkness, and although I knew the lake was there in all its still immensity, it was hidden by the fog. Anything could have been beyond the window, anything at all.

I WOKE SUDDENLY
the next morning. I opened my eyes and remembered where I was. The gas fire was turned down low, but the flames were still flickering, casting an orange light. Outside was still dark, the sun had not yet begun its ascent over the lake.

I was warm and comfortable in the big, soft bed but somebody in the room was snoring. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Daniel was asleep on the rug by the fire, curled beneath mismatched blankets, his coat folded for a pillow, his socked feet sticking out of the end and one thin forearm extended at an angle. The sight of him filled me with tenderness. I had not heard him come in. He had made no attempt to wake me.

I went quietly into the bathroom and turned on the taps. The water was hot and the bath filled quickly. I shook out a towel and hung it over the radiator, then went to wake Viviane, my finger over my lips. When she saw Daniel, Viviane stared at him for a moment then asked, ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

‘Yes,’ I said, although ‘boyfriend’ seemed too childish a word for whatever it was that was between us. ‘Now go and wash yourself. Hurry. You’re not to miss the school bus this morning.’

I waited while Viviane bathed and then I helped her dry and dress. She looked pale and poorly, but I thought the best I could do for her was to act as if everything was normal and stick to our routine. And it seemed to be what Vivi wanted too, because she made no protest about going to school.

Daniel was still sleeping when we left. Before we took the road up to the village, we walked down to the lake’s edge. A white winter sun had burned away most of the fog; now, only drifts of mist hung above the water. A flock of white birds swept over the surface, and everything was white and silver and bright. I thought of Caroline again. She must have stood here too on mornings like this and looked out over the water. Did she imagine what it must be like to be a bird, to have the freedom to fly away, to leave?

Sometimes, I thought, I loved gazing out over the lake. Sometimes it was nothing more than an expanse of water, a mirror to the sky, a beautiful, benevolent waterscape and – oh! – those reflected greys and whites were so lovely that morning. I could have watched them for ever.

Vivi pulled at my sleeve. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘or I’ll miss the bus.’

We walked up the hill. At the top, we looked back at the wisping haze floating over the lake, reflecting a strange and magical light. The windows of the Sunnyvale Nursing Home caught the early pink sunlight on the far side of the lake.

Vivi held tight to my hand, her fingers clutching mine through the wool of our gloves. She swung her arm. We smiled at one another.

The bakery was open and I had money in my purse. I bought a hot sausage roll for Viviane’s breakfast and tucked a cheese salad sandwich and a bag of crisps into her satchel for later. When the bus came, Vivi climbed on board and was immediately gathered up by her friends. She found an empty seat by the window, raised her hand and pressed it against the glass, and I raised mine and pressed it against the other side of the window until the bus pulled away.

I turned to walk back to Reservoir Cottage. I hadn’t gone far when I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Daniel, hunched against the cold. He was jogging to catch up, his breath fogging around his face. He kissed my cheek and then smiled.

‘Hi,’ he said.

‘Hi.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. I’m sorry we gatecrashed your place last night.’

‘It was nice to get back and see you there in my bed.’ His hands were in the pockets of his jacket. I linked my arm through his. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘It’s a long, complicated story.’ I looked at the ground. ‘I have to get back to the cottage. Julia’s on her own and I’m worried about her. Can I call you later?’

‘We could go and check on her together.’

‘We could, but …’ I knew that Julia was embarrassed, or worse, by the rift between the Cummings family and the Aldridges. I did not fully understand it, not yet, but I was certain she would not be happy to wake in her vulnerable state to find Daniel in the cottage.

‘And if she’s all right, you can make me a cup of tea and tell me about your father,’ he continued.

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Dan, but not right now. I need to talk to Julia alone.’

The words came out a little more harshly than I had meant them to. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you.’

Daniel shrugged. ‘No problem,’ he said, and he turned and jogged away again, back down the lane.

THE POSTMAN SALUTED
as he cycled past and the grocer’s van was delivering to one of the tucked-away houses. The sun was burning through but the lawns and rooftops still had a damp twinkle. Sparrows and pigeons were making a feast of the few remaining berries on the hedges in the garden and behind was the lake, pale blue now, a lovely soft colour. I watched a boat make its way slowly to the centre of the reservoir and then stop and I wondered if it was Mr Aldridge, gone out to be alone and to think of his lost love.

I looked up to the front of Reservoir Cottage and glimpsed a movement in my bedroom window. Was it Julia? I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the reflection of a bird or a drifting leaf. As I stood there, gathering the energy to go inside, the front door of the adjoining cottage opened and Mrs Croucher stood on the doorstep, hunched and bedraggled in her housecoat and slippers. She coughed horribly into her hand, almost doubling over as the spasm wracked her lungs. I went to her at once.

‘Oh gosh, Mrs Croucher, you don’t look well. Can I help you?’

‘I caught a chill, dear,’ Mrs Croucher replied hoarsely. ‘I’m feeling a bit under the weather. You’ve been away.’

‘Yes.’

‘There were noises in the nights – all night. I couldn’t sleep.’

‘What noises, Mrs Croucher?’

‘Footsteps in your house. People going up and down the stairs.’

‘I’m sorry you were disturbed, but I’m back now and—’

‘It went on all night. Footsteps and bumping and banging, doors slamming. And in the end it was so bad that I thought there must be intruders in your cottage. So I picked up my fire poker and I went to look through the front-room window. I crept through the garden, up to the house and I was there, close to the glass, looking in – and then suddenly this face came looming out of the darkness. It came right up to the other side of the glass – and it was the girl’s face! I almost fell over. I was so shocked. I thought it was
her
!’

‘Who?’

‘Caroline!’ She coughed again, bent over, struggling to breathe. I put my arm around her.

‘Please go back inside,’ I said. ‘It’s so cold out here. Come on, let me see you in.’

The old lady allowed me to help her back inside her home, but was still talking, touching her neck, quivering with anxiety.

‘She was making a face, you see, an ugly face, pulling back her lips and her eyes all wide. She was trying to scare me.’

‘Oh, I’m sure she wasn’t.’

‘So I came back here,’ Mrs Croucher said. ‘I locked the doors and I went back to my bed but every time I closed my eyes I saw her face again. I saw her staring.’

‘Well, you were tired,’ I said. ‘And it was dark, and you were upset. No wonder your mind played a trick on you. I’m so sorry you had to have all that worry.’

I ushered the old lady into the living room, lit the gas fire and persuaded her to sit beside it with a shawl around her shoulders while I put the kettle on to boil and telephoned the doctor’s surgery. The doctor promised to come at once. I took a cup of tea and honey into Mrs Croucher and sat beside her rubbing her frail hands, trying to warm her up. Her chest wheezed terribly each time she inhaled and her eyes were red and watery, her skin an awful dun colour.

‘The noises next door …’ she said again.

‘Oh, please don’t get upset!’ I begged. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘It sounded like they were moving things about.’

‘It was just Viviane.’

‘There were footsteps up and down the stairs.’

‘Children can be so noisy.’

‘It reminded me, you see. It reminded me of the night Caroline died.’

The old woman dropped the words into the air, into the cold air of the room where her husband used to hold his surgeries, and they hung there as if they were something physical, something real. Something important.

‘The night Caroline died?’ I repeated softly.

‘Yes.’

‘Why did it remind you of that night?’

‘Because of the noises. The footsteps on the stairs. I heard them bringing her body down. I heard them bumping against the wall.’

I wanted to press my hands over my ears. I didn’t want to hear any more, but Mrs Croucher kept talking.

‘She’d been ill since they brought her back from the lake,’ she said. ‘She was getting worse. My husband told me that she was going to die, that it wouldn’t be long. He was sitting with her. It had been quiet all evening.’

She was taking tiny little breaths, and the phlegm crackled in her lungs; her voice was weak and feeble, but she wanted to tell me about that night and I had no option but to hear her out.

‘I went round to see if I could do anything to help, but Beinon – Mr Cummings – answered the door and he said they could manage. I asked how Caroline was and he shook his head. He just shook his head. And I said, “Thank goodness little Julia’s not here,” and he said: “Yes, that’s the one thing we can be grateful for.” Then he closed the door and I came back here, and I did some knitting and then I went up to bed. And I didn’t expect to sleep, because you can’t sleep, can you, not when you know that a person is dying next door, but I did – and then I was woken in the middle of the night and it was my husband, shaking me. “Wake up,” he was saying. “Wake up, Olive! I’ve brought Cora round and I need you to look after her.” I said: “Has Caroline passed?” and he said she had. So I came downstairs and I sat here, in the living room, with Cora. She was quiet. She was like a statue. She just sat there, she wouldn’t say anything, just sat there she did, gouging her nails into the backs of her hands, making them bleed. I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t do anything. And we could hear the footsteps on the stairs next door.’