The Madness (30 page)

‘I think so,’ she whispers. ‘I am warmer now, at least.’ She takes her hands from her bosom and trails her fingers in the water. ‘I am surprised,’ she says. ‘It is far pleasanter than I imagined.’

I look to the shore to see how far out we’ve come. We are further away than I thought. But Cissie Baird doesn’t seem to have noticed. There are other bathers back there, closer to their bathing machines, and I can just see the reddish gleam of Smoaker’s head as he stands outside the hut puffing on his pipe. I move me hands from Cissie Baird’s back and put them under her arms. She’s heavier now her costume is soaked, but still she weighs no more than a child. I turn her around so her back is to the shore. ‘I was telling you about me fellow,’ I say. ‘How handsome he is.’

‘You are lucky,’ she says. ‘My fiancé is handsome too. And the kindest man I could wish to find.’

I see Smoaker is talking to someone now. It’s a gentleman in a suit. Not a local in rolled-up shirt sleeves. They are both pointing to the sea and waving their arms in the air. I squint me eyes and with a shock that squeezes tight the roots of me hair, I realise it’s Noah. What’s he doing here? He’s running on to the beach now. Smoaker is lumbering behind him, his belly bouncing over his belt.

‘Is everything all right?’ Cissie Baird asks.

‘It’s fine,’ I tell her. She’s paddling the water with her hands now.

‘This really is most refreshing,’ she sighs.

Noah is standing at the water’s edge. He’s waving his hands madly over his head. It seems that everybody on the beach, every man, woman and child, has stopped whatever they’re doing. They’ve all turned towards the sea and there are dozens of faces staring out at me.

‘One of the things I love most about me fellow,’ I say to Cissie Baird, ‘is his eyes. One of them’s blue, you see, like a summer’s day. And the other’s grey. Like a winter’s day.’

She looks straight at me and her mouth drops open.

Noah has taken his jacket off and he’s wading into the sea. ‘Cissie!’ he yells. ‘Cissie!’

Cissie Baird tries to twist her head around. ‘Who  …  ’ she begins to say. I grip hard on to her shoulders and with a quick shove I push her head under.

Noah’s swimming now. Just how I taught him to. His arms are splashing clumsily through the water. The shoreline behind him has filled with people, and there are dozens more gathered on the Grand Pier. I pull Cissie Baird to the surface and she lets out a choking gasp. Water shoots from her nose and her eyes are huge and wild with terror. Her bathing cap falls from her head and sets loose a tumble of black hair. I catch the lavender scent of it before it drops heavily into the sea and fans out around her shoulders.

‘Cissie!’ Noah yells again, his voice breathless but closer. Why does he keep calling out
her
name? It’s me he wants. It’s
my
name he should be shouting out. I push Cissie Baird under the water again. She struggles against me now, kicking out with her legs and pulling on me wrists as I press down hard on her shoulders. She doesn’t look much like a lady now. Noah will soon see. Once she’s not here whispering lies into his ears, tricking him into thinking he loves her, once she’s gone for good, he’ll come back to me. He’ll finally see that it was only ever him and me. Noah and Marnie. He’s coming closer so I smile at him, hoping he’ll see that everything will be all right. Cissie Baird kicks me hard in the belly. I’m not expecting it and for a moment me grip loosens and her head rushes back to the surface. This time she roars like some demented dog and vomits seawater all over me arm. She’s stronger than she looks. But no matter. I’m stronger still. Of course I am. I’ll have arms like me ma’s before too long. I grip Cissie Baird by the shoulders again. She’s screaming now.

‘Shush,’ I say to her. ‘The sooner you’re in the better it is.’

Noah’s almost upon us. I can see his face clearly. His mouth is twisted into a strange shape. His hair is sticking to his forehead. He’s struggling through the water, half walking, half swimming. ‘Cissie!’ he shouts again. But this time his voice is breathless and weak.

I push Cissie Baird back under the sea for the final time. The air around us heaves a sigh of relief as her screams are silenced. I look down at her face. It’s so pale. The sea veils it in a shimmer of green and blue. Her eyes are staring up at me, huge and round and bulging. Tendrils of black hair are caught around her neck, but the rest of it is trailing behind her, floating on the surface of the sea. I remember Ambrose after he’d drowned; how his hair spread out like black feathers in the shallows and how he wouldn’t stop staring. She’s not kicking any more and her arms have gone limp by her sides. It won’t be long now.

‘Marnie!’

He’s said me name! I lift me head. Noah’s so close that a few strokes would bring me to him. ‘It’s almost over,’ I call to him. ‘A moment more and then nothing can stop us from being together!’

‘Marnie. No,’ he gasps. ‘Let her go. Let Cissie go.’

‘No!’ I shake me head. ‘I can’t. We can never be together while
she’s
in the way.’ I’m trembling now. It’s hard to be so close to him.

‘We can,’ he gasps. ‘Let her go. And I promise. We’ll be together.’

‘No,’ I mumble. ‘You’re lying.’ I want to believe him but me head’s all in a mess now. I just want to go to him and be in his arms and for everything to be all right.

‘We can’t be together if you drown her!’ he shouts. ‘Let her go!’

He’s right by me now. I can see his eyes; one a fierce blue, the other a hard cold grey. If I reach out I could almost touch him. I could be in his arms in the blink of an eye. I take me hands from Cissie Baird’s shoulders and move towards him. But next to me there’s a great whoosh and a gasp as Cissie Baird bursts from the sea. She’s gulping down more air than a floundered fish. Before I can reach him, Noah’s got to her. He’s gathered her in his arms and he’s wiping the wet hair off her face. ‘Cissie,’ he’s saying. ‘My love, my love. I have got you now. You are safe. You are safe.’ She’s retching and howling and coughing and Noah’s chest-deep in the water, carrying her back to the shallows.

He’s forgotten I’m here. Already I’ve disappeared. I watch the back of him moving further and further away. It’s like the whole world is moving away from me. He was lying. Of course he was lying. I think I knew it all along. But I just wanted the touch of him for one last time. Now me arms and me heart are aching with the loss. It hurts more than anything ever has. It hurts more than all those weeks and months in the yellow room when sickness was prowling round me body. It hurts more than all the sharp words and looks that have ever been thrown me way. It hurts more than the thought of Ma lying on her deathbed.

The sea laps around me waist, tiny little licks as though it’s trying to comfort me. Noah’s back on the beach now. I can see him laying Cissie on the shingle. A crowd gathers round them and hides them from sight. Bathers and dippers have left the sea and the machines are empty and abandoned. People are hurrying along the pier. Gentlemen are holding on to their toppers as they rush to see what all the fuss is about. Crinoline-clad ladies are moving slower, their great skirts bobbing and swaying around their ankles. A parasol is blown over the side of the pier and lands upside down in the sea. It’s caught by a passing breeze and sails quickly out beyond the pier head. There’s only one person left looking out to sea. It’s Smoaker. He looks so sad and lonely standing there all by himself. But I’m glad at least there’s someone who hasn’t forgotten me. He lifts his hand to me and I do the same. I think it’s a farewell.

I can’t go back there. Besides, I don’t want to. There’s nothing left for me. The sea nudges me again, sending a small wave over me bosom. I take a long, slow breath and gather all the hurt inside me into a small, tightly wrapped bundle. I pack it away deep inside me heart and look for one last time towards the shore. There’s me beach, full of people and bathing machines, just as it should be. There’s Smoaker’s hut standing proudly next to the grandest pier of all. There’s the esplanade snaking its way along behind the sea wall. There’s the muddle of cottages and chimneys, and although I can’t see it from here, I know that Ratcatcher’s Row is there beyond the grassy embankment, with Ma tucked up in bed inside our cottage. I peer into the distance, up to where the woods disappear into the hills. I think I can just make out the sturdy walls of the manor, with its windows glinting in the sun.

I turn me back on it all and begin to swim. Me arms are strong and I pull back long and hard. I push through the water easily and me heart begins to lift as the sea soothes me and whispers comforts. I’ve been away from it for too long. I should have known never to turn me back on the only friend I’ve ever had. Soon I’m past the pier head and further out than I’ve ever been. I can sense the ocean floor dropping away beneath me. But the sea is holding me safe. Its colours are changing the further out I swim. Its greys and greens are now blues and dark blues and puddles of black. I’m past the jagged edge of the land now and even though the sea is calm today there are still waves crashing and smashing into the tumble of rocks at the foot of the cliffs. I swim hard and long and when I quickly look back, the pier has grown tiny and Smoaker is only a dot on the shore.

The sea has grown blacker and blacker. It’s rougher too. Even the gulls haven’t flown out this far. Me legs are growing tired, me bad leg is losing its strength. Me bathing gown is weighing me down and I wish I’d taken it off. I stop swimming and just paddle for a moment. I try to undo me buttons and wriggle me arms out, but me gown is too cumbersome and I’m swallowing too much water. I start swimming again but much slower than before. I can see the black line of the horizon stretched out before me. It goes on for ever and ever.

The waves are getting bigger. They keep breaking over me head, and although I know the sea is only playing with me, I wish it wouldn’t. I’m losing me breath and I can’t spit out the water fast enough. The sea is so heavy now. It weighs a ton and I can hardly push me arms through it any more. I close me eyes for a moment, just for a little rest. But the sea grabs me legs and tries to pull me under. Stop it! I shout. Just let me be!

Then, just when I think I can’t swim an inch further, I see something in the distance. It comes closer, flying fast over the waves. I can hardly believe me eyes. It’s a green fishing boat with a white cotton sail flapping madly in the wind. It’s right there, like it’s just popped up from over the horizon. Another wave closes over me head, but I don’t mind any more because I know me pa’s coming to get me. I can see him now; he’s waving to me and beckoning with his hand. Come here, he’s saying. Come on. Swim to me. He looks just like I knew he would. Matted yellow hair and a brown leathery face with a beard right down to his knees. I’m coming, Pa, I shout. Seawater pours into me mouth; there’s too much of it to spit out, but it doesn’t matter because suddenly I’m swimming faster than I’ve ever swum before. I’m whipping through the waves. I look behind and I see a flash of gold and the quick flip of me tail. Me heart feels fit to burst with happiness. It’s me and the sea and me pa. The three of us together. It’s what was always meant to be. Pa’s reaching out his hand to me and I’m swimming nearer and nearer. I see the old green paint peeling off the side of the boat and I can smell warm fish and seaweed. The sea is rolling over me and it’s cold and beautiful and it’s washing away all me hurt. I stretch me hand up out of the water. Pa! I shout. Then I feel his warm rough fingers on mine and as he grips me hand tightly and pulls me into his boat I see that his eyes are as blue as hedgerow cornflowers.

Alison Rattle

Alison grew up in Liverpool, and now lives in a medieval house in Somerset with her three teenage children, her husband – a carpenter – an extremely naughty Jack Russell and a ghost cat. She has co-authored a number of non-fiction titles on subjects as diverse as growing old, mad monarchs, how to boil a flamingo, the history of America and the biography of a nineteenth-century baby killer. She has worked as a fashion designer, a production controller, a painter and decorator, a barmaid, and now owns and runs a vintage tea room. THE MADNESS is Alison’s second novel for young adult readers. Her first, THE QUIETNESS, explored the relationship between two girls caught in the dark underbelly of Victorian London.

Follow Alison at
www.alisonrattle.com
or on Twitter:

@alisonrattle

First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Hot Key Books

Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT

Copyright © Alison Rattle 2014

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-4714-0192-3

This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher

www.hotkeybooks.com

Hot Key Books is part of the Bonnier Publishing Group