The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller (18 page)

Chapter Twenty Nine

The light expands to fill my vision. My lungs are about to explode. I squeeze my eyes shut. A feeling of lightness envelopes me and then the night air hits. Cold and salty. Bright and loud. A whirring sound that deafens. Amplified, metallic voices. Movement. I’m gasping and retching. Seawater in my nose and throat, stinging my eyes as I try to draw in deep lungfuls of frigid air.

I realise I’m being carried in someone’s arms, my clothes heavy and dripping. A man in a diving suit. He deposits me on the ground. Or in a boat? We’re illuminated from above. I choke out mouthfuls of foul-tasting salt water. It burns the back of my throat. My chest feels as though it’s on fire, but the rest of my body is cold to the marrow of my bones.

Shit! Jack tried to kill me. He threw me overboard. I thought I was dead. I felt the last few seconds of my life ebb. I felt myself sinking, drowning, dying. But now I’m here, coughing my lungs up, trying to breathe, trying to get my thoughts straight. It seems the bright light I saw from the briny depths wasn’t a stairway to heaven, but a helicopter searchlight.

Am I really rescued or is this merely the fantasy of a dead woman?

Chapter Thirty

Three Weeks Later

Autumn has come early. Cold rain cleansing away the dust of August. The wind doing its best to strip green leaves from the trees before their time. But, no matter what the weather does, every day I go outside and I run. I run to remember and I run to forget.

Today, my feet pound the pavement away from the river, heading instead along busy main roads choked with cars and ugly out-of-town office buildings and superstores. I can’t even look at that pretty stretch of water anymore without feeling sick and panicky. Until I leave this town, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live a proper life. Christchurch has been tainted for me. Which is why I’m selling my house.

Even now, as I run in the rain, the estate agent is back at the house with a wealthy couple from London. It’s their second viewing – they want it as a holiday home – and the agents are confident they’re going to put in an offer today. Houses like mine are in great demand, apparently.

As for me, I want to live in a much larger town than Christchurch. A place where I can be anonymous for a while until I recover from the trauma of the past few weeks. So, I’m moving to Cheltenham in Gloucestershire. I’ve put in an offer on a beautiful Georgian mansion house in the town centre. No rivers or oceans in sight. I’ll be happy if I never have to get into a boat again.

That night, when Jack tried to kill me, feels like months ago. I can’t believe it’s been just a few weeks. Yet, at the same time, it only seems like yesterday. The terror and despair I felt are so fresh and raw.

It was my neighbour, Suki’s husband, Matt Willis, who saved me. He glanced out of the window that night and saw “someone” bundle my unconscious body out through the back gate. He was about to call the police, when Suki tried to stop him. They argued, but eventually she broke down and told him a version of events where she believed I deserved to die.

Thankfully for me, he called the police anyway, explaining that Jack was planning to kill me. They mobilised police boats and a helicopter. Two officers dived down after me. They managed to detach the chains and blocks, and haul me out of the sea. If they had arrived just thirty seconds later, I would have been dead. They saved me. Just in time.

The rest of that night was a blur. I remember being wrapped in some kind of huge metallic blanket. Then, I must have passed out, because I woke up in a hospital bed.

A day or so later, I remember DS Wright visiting me in hospital, asking me if I had anyone who could stay with me for a while. A member of my family, or a friend who would look after me and make sure I was okay. I remember how she took my hand in hers, a surprisingly intimate gesture for a police officer. I must have been semi-delirious, for the first name that came into my mind was
Jack
.

Suki was arrested for being an accessory to attempted murder. Jack was arrested for the murder of his wife, as well as my attempted murder. Of course, he’s denying it. Saying it’s all my fault. That I drove him to it. He’s even trying to pin his wife’s murder on me. But the police have formally charged Jack and Suki, and they’re now both locked up, awaiting trial.

My mobile phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. It could be the estate agent with news, so I slow my pace a little and pull out my phone. It’s an unknown number and I debate whether or not to answer it, but I guess it could be important, so I slide my thumb across the screen to accept the call.

‘Miss James?’

‘Speaking.’

‘It’s Mike Frenchay here, from The PC Repair Shop.’

‘Sorry, who?’

‘You left your laptop with us a few weeks ago. You wanted us to try and recover some emails for you.’

‘Oh, yes.’ I remember now. Something to do with Piers deleting my messages. I’d wondered if there was something Piers didn’t want me to see about our business arrangements. All that seems unimportant now.

‘Sorry it’s taken so long,’ he continues, ‘but I’ve managed to retrieve some of the more recent emails for you. We’re open till five if you want to pop over now?’

I check the time – four twenty. The shop is on my way back so I may as well call in there today. ‘That’s great,’ I reply. ‘I’ll be there in about ten minutes.’

‘Okay. See you in a while.’

I slip my phone back into my pocket. The rain is heavier now. The wind driving into my back. The PC shop is back the other way, so I turn around and face the full force of the weather, squinting and lowering my head to protect my face from the needles of rain. The most I can manage is a jog. No one else is foolish enough to be walking or running in this weather. Instead, rows and rows of cars stream past, headlamps on, windscreen wipers set to turbo mode.

Ten minutes later, I push open the door to the little store. The bell jangles above my head. The PC guy looks up from the counter. I push down my hood and take a breath. I’m dripping all over the shop floor.

‘Nice day for a swim,’ the guy says.

I smile and roll my eyes at the weather. ‘It’s awful out there.’

‘You walked?’

‘Can’t you tell?’

We give polite chuckles. I tell him who I am and he slides my laptop out from under the desk, along with some paperwork.

‘Wait a moment,’ he says. He turns and goes through the door which leads to the back. A few seconds later he returns. ‘Here,’ he says, passing me a towel over the counter.

‘Thank you so much.’ I wipe my hands and face and place the towel next to my laptop, thinking what a nice guy he is.

‘You’re not planning on walking home are you?’ he says. ‘Even with a bag, your machine will get wet in this weather. It’s chucking it down out there.’

I hadn’t thought about that.

‘Shall I call you a cab home?’ he asks.

‘That would be brilliant. Thank you.’

He pulls his phone from his pocket and calls me a cab, reading out my address from the invoice next to my laptop. ‘Should be here in about ten minutes.’

‘You’re an angel,’ I say.

‘All part of the service.’ He smiles. ‘Now, about these emails. Like I said, I couldn’t get them all, but I managed to retrieve some of the more recent ones. Here . . .’ He opens the machine and shows me my inbox and sent folder. ‘Most of August’s emails are there, and a few from July.’

‘Thank you. That’s great. How much do I owe you?’

Luckily I have my bank card and some spare change on me, so I settle up and wait for my cab to arrive. He gives me a plastic bag to shield my laptop from the weather. We make a little small talk and then he’s called away by a phone ringing in the back. While I’m waiting for my cab, I decide to take a quick peek at some of the emails he retrieved for me.

Most of it’s spam. I’m specifically looking for messages from Piers – to see if there’s anything dodgy about our business that he might have deleted after the accident. But it’s all innocuous stuff – nothing that’s worth hiding or deleting. Then, my eyes alight on a message sent from the rowing club on the day before my original accident, back in August. It’s marked as unread, but the subject heading reads:

“What the fuck”

I click on it. My eyes skim to the bottom of the email to see who it’s from.

It’s from Jack.

As I read Jack’s message, a sick feeling sweeps across my body. The words swim before my eyes, wavering and reforming. Blurred and then suddenly sharp. I reread the email with horror.

The PC guy returns from the back room. He starts speaking to me, but I’m not listening. My body feels suddenly heavy, my head too full of memories. They crowd my mind, jostling for space. Throwing up new and more terrible glimpses into the real me. And I wish with all my heart that I could go back to forgetting. That my mind could remain a deep void of nothingness. Wiped clean. Innocent.

I sink down onto the floor, knocking the laptop onto the tiles with a dull crack.

‘Are you okay?’ The PC man rushes out from behind the counter. Crouches in front of me as I lie there, curling my knees into my body. Wishing I could shrivel up and die. Wishing I could disappear. Wishing I was lying dead at the bottom of the sea.

Chapter Thirty One

Five weeks earlier

Right on time, her Fiat pulls into the car park. I’m sitting on one of the large decorative rocks, waiting. It’s that secret silent time between night and morning when only creatures are awake. Way after sunset, but not close enough to dawn. Dark and cold. Nothing stirring. The half-moon casts just enough light to see by. My heart starts to race. I should’ve done this a long time ago. I’m doing her a favour really. She needs to know. I called her earlier today to tell her to meet me here. To tell her that I have some information about her husband. She sounded annoyed. Said she was busy all day. That they were going to a party this evening. So I told her, okay, come after the party. How about 2 am? Surely she wouldn’t be busy then.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m not meeting you at two in the morning.’

‘Come, or don’t come,’ I said, ‘but I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.’

I wasn’t sure if she would show. But here she is. She couldn’t resist. No going back now.

I haven’t been sitting here long. I spent the past ten minutes getting one of the boats out. It’s now on the shingle by the water’s edge waiting for me. I’m going to head out on the river afterwards. It’s one of my favourite things to do – to row at night when everyone’s asleep. Makes me feel like I’m the only person alive. The moon reflecting off the water. The stars winking down at me. I told Jack about my secret night-time trips down the river. Asked if he wanted to join me. That’s when it all started between us – one cold, clear March night. A night that changed my life.

I finished things with Piers earlier tonight. He wasn’t happy. At all. Stomped off to his party after swearing and shouting at me. Calling me all sorts of terrible names. I took all the abuse and then told him goodnight. At last, I’m finally free of him. It was awful pretending to love him, when my heart lies with Jack. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Piers was only with me for my money. God knows why I went into business with him. That was a bad decision on my part. Jack is nothing like Piers. He’s not materialistic at all. All he wants is to be on the water . . . like me.

I’ve been seeing Jack Harrington for almost six months. It’s been wonderful. Intense. We’re in love. He hasn’t said the actual words yet, but I can tell. We light up around each other. He doesn’t act like that around his wife. With Lucy. They barely interact at all when they’re out together. She’s dull, boring. From what Jack’s said, they stayed together out of habit, duty, and some kind of misguided loyalty. The kindest thing is for her to know the truth. Jack is too scared of hurting her. He wants to wait for the right time. But I’ve told him, there is no right time in these situations. You just have to do it, like ripping off a plaster, as the cliché goes. It’s kinder in the long run. So, I’ve decided, if he won’t tell her, then I’m going to do it. Tonight. Or rather, in the early hours of the morning. Now.

She’s getting out of the car, walking towards me, her blonde hair shining in the moonlight. A scowl on her face. She’s always been friendly towards me, so it’s a bit of a shock to see such a grim expression on her face. I stand up and move a few paces away from the car park, down the path closer to the river. I hear her footsteps behind me, following. I experience a rush of power, a fluttering in my stomach. I’m really going to do this.

I stop on the shingle bank and turn around to face her again. She’s older than me by a few years. Jack said she’s nearly thirty, but she doesn’t look it. Tonight, she seems younger than me, if anything. Slight and slender, vulnerable, like you could snap her in two. I almost feel sorry for her. She’s about to have her world turned upside down. She continues walking towards me, her scowl deepening, her eyes narrowing, her lip curling. Almost as if she hates me. It unnerves me a little, seeing such a violent expression appear on her face. But as she comes closer, I see that it must have been a trick of the moonlight. Her face is neutral.

‘What’s this about, Mia?’ Her voice is strong, firm. A teacher’s voice. She stands before me, shivering slightly in a short summer dress and sandals. Her make-up has that end-of-the-night, slightly smudged look about it, but that doesn’t detract from her prettiness.

Now she’s here, the carefully worded sentences I’d constructed in my head earlier desert me. Her eyes are fixed on mine, waiting. A cool breeze blows off the water making me shiver, too.

‘It’s about Jack,’ I say.

‘Obviously,’ she says. ‘You told me that already. Get on with it, then.’

I’m taken aback by her increasingly brusque tone, but I don’t let it deter me. ‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ I begin, ‘so I’ll just say it . . . Jack and I are in love.’ I take a deep breath. ‘We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and he wants to be with me. I’m sorry, Lucy.’ My heart is pounding. Saying the words makes me feel so liberated. I want to smile, but that would look too insensitive. I bite my lip instead.

To my surprise, Lucy smiles and shakes her head. ‘Poor Mia,’ she says.

‘Maybe you didn’t hear me properly,’ I say.

‘No, I heard you perfectly. You were telling me how you’re in love with Jack and that he wants to be with you.’

I don’t understand her reaction. Why is she taking this so well? Maybe she doesn’t love him anymore . . . But there’s a smugness about her that’s making me uncomfortable. That’s making the blood rush to my head. Making me uneasy.

‘The thing is, Mia . . .’ She places a heavy emphasis on my name. ‘. . . The thing is, that when you called me earlier, I was confused. I didn’t know what on earth you could possibly be going to tell me about my husband that I didn’t already know. So, do you know what I did? I asked him. I said: “Jack, Mia wants to talk to me about you. What could Mia possibly have to say to me about
you
?” And, do you know what he said?’ She doesn’t give me any time to reply. ‘No? Okay, I’ll tell you. He broke down and confessed everything. He told me all about your sad, seedy little affair.’

I hadn’t expected this.

‘So . . . then, you already know,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. It wasn’t anything you did. Sometimes these things happen. It was out of our control. We fell in love.’

I must admit it’s a relief that he actually told her. That I don’t have to go into detail about it. But something’s not quite right. She’s smiling broadly now. My discomfort returns.

‘You poor, pathetic cow,’ she says. ‘You might be in love with Jack, but I’m afraid he doesn’t love
you
. He was distraught earlier. Begging me to forgive him. Said you were a stupid mistake. Said you meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.’

‘You’re lying,’ I say, shaking my head, trying to quell the sick feeling that’s rising in my gut. ‘Just trying to make yourself feel better. Trying to discredit what Jack and I have together. I can understand that.’

‘If you weren’t such a man-stealing whore, I could almost feel sorry for you,’ she says. Her tone is steely now. There’s no trace of the quiet blonde wife I’d always seen before. She has to be lying. It can’t be true. Jack is always telling me how he and Lucy are bored with each other. How refreshing I am. How funny and wild and exciting. And how the sex is incredible. He wouldn’t give me up just like that. He couldn’t. But I look at Lucy’s face in the moonlight and she’s smirking at me, a look of absolute triumph. She’s enjoying her revelation. Enjoying seeing me process her devastating information. It was supposed to be
me
enjoying
my
revelation. I was supposed to be the one seeing a look of shocked disbelief on
her
face. I was prepared to witness her anger, or preferably her tears. And then I would have consoled her. Told her that Jack was still fond of her, of course he was. But now he was with me.

Instead, my features are twisted in shock. My chest hollow. I want to believe she’s lying. But I know deep down that she’s telling the truth. I can see it in the glitter of her eyes.

What should I do now? Should I go and confront Jack? But what if he rejects me? If he truly loved me, surely he would have left Lucy already. They have no children together. No commitments other than their house. It would have been easy to leave her. But he hasn’t.

My plans for a happy ever after with the man of my dreams are ruined. Destroyed by this smug-faced little bitch. A surge of rage wells up inside me. Fury that she is causing me such absolute heartbreak. Jack is the love of my life. My soulmate – I’m sure of it. Lucy is nothing.

I growl in frustration and she laughs at me. She actually laughs out loud. I snarl and lunge forward, my hands grasping for her throat, knocking her back, desperate to put a stop to her mocking laughter. Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an ‘o’.
Not laughing anymore, are you?
I tumble with her onto the footpath. As she goes down, the side of her head hits one of the oversized rocks alongside the path. I hear a cracking sound, but I don’t register it properly. I’m too caught up in my rage.

I fall on top of her, the air knocked from my lungs. But I’m not winded enough to stop what I’m doing. Not breathless enough to stop the squeeze of my fingers. I lift my head a fraction so I can see her face. I want to enjoy the fear in her eyes. To revel in the knowledge that I now have the upper hand. That I hold her life in my hands – literally. So she better not bloody well laugh at me again. But instead of fear, her eyes are wide open in shock. Blank shock.

She looks . . . dead.

But how can that be? I hadn’t wanted to kill her . . . had I? I simply needed to wipe the smile from her face. Anyone else would have done the same. If she hadn’t been so smug, I would never have . . . Never . . . I can’t believe she’s actually . . .

It can’t be true. I scramble to my feet, my pulse racing, bile in my throat, my breath ragged. Shit. What have I done? I remember her hitting her head on the rock. That must have been what . . . killed her. I glance around. Then I drop to my knees again, lean over her inert body. She’s pretending, surely. Doing it to freak me out. To punish me.

‘Lucy,’ I hiss. ‘Get up. Lucy, please. Stop pissing about. Get up.’ I tug at her arm. Try to haul her upright. But she’s limp, her head lolling to the side like a doll. I let her drop back down to the ground. She really is dead. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Think, Mia. Think. I tap my head with my fingers, trying not to let hysteria take over. I could make it look like an accident. Yes, yes, yes, that would work. A rowing accident.

I glance up again to check that no one is around. My stomach clenches as I spy a figure up ahead, beyond the car park, heading this way.

It’s Jack.