Water Born (20 page)

There's someone else here too. I look for Dad's face, hoping I'll be able to signal to him that he needs to help
prise Mum off me and get her to the surface. I can't see him clearly, but my stomach tightens when I realise that the shape next to us in the water can't be Dad, in his navy T-shirt and jeans. It's too pale.

Rob's moving around us, like he used to move around me in the pool. Under and over, circling.

In the pool, at the beginning, it felt like we were dancing together. We were in tune with each other and the water. Here, it's different. Predatory. Menacing. A shark scenting blood.

And all the time, we're being drawn down, away from the surface, away from light and air and hope.

Mum's digging her fingers into my skin. I try to shake her off. No good. I let go of her with one hand to try to shoehorn her fingers away, but when I manage it, her loose hand thrashes out and finds my face, fingertips pulling at an eyelid, lodging in my nose and the corner of my mouth. She doesn't mean to, and I know that it's panic controlling her body, but she's doing Rob's work for him.

If she'd just let go, maybe I could save us both.

Let go
, Rob says.
Let go of your breath, Nic. You don't need it any more
.

No!

It doesn't hurt. I promise. Relax and let it happen
.

Mum's grip is losing its power. Can she hear him too? I don't want her to give up, but at least I've got a chance to help her now.

I jerk my head away from her and wriggle my shoulder from her grip. I turn her and move round in the water, so that she's got her back to me. She makes a half-hearted
effort to resist, but the fight's pretty much gone out of her. I wedge my left arm under her armpit, tip her head back with my other hand, turn it and lean forward. I squeeze at the sides of her mouth to open her lips, then press my lips to hers and give her some of my air. Close to, her face is a blur, but I can see her eyes widen.

Don't give up. Let me help you. If only she could read my thoughts.

Rob can.

It's too late. I've got you. I've got you both
.

I pull my head away and squash Mum's lips closed. Then I reach up high and pull the water towards me, kicking my feet as hard as I can. Mum's clothes are weighing us down. The water is pulling against me. But I won't give up. We turn together, revolving in the current. And I get it now. The water's draining away somehow. It's like going down a plughole. However hard I try to fight it, the forces are too strong.

I might stand a chance if I let go of Mum, tried to break away on my own.
I
might get out, but Mum wouldn't. She's stopped struggling now.

If I leave her, I won't see her again. Not alive.

If I stay, we'll both die.

I can't see a way out.

‘
Go, Nic. Leave me now. It's okay
.'

It's her voice. I can hear it as clear as a bell. How can she be talking to me?

Mum? I stop trying to swim upwards and instead turn her to face me again.

A trickle of bubbles escapes from between her lips. Her
eyes are open, unblinking. Can she see me?

‘
It's time to go. It's okay. I love you
.'

Her mouth doesn't move, so where's the voice coming from?

I search her face for signs of life. My own oxygen is running out – I know the feeling from swimming lengths under water. You hold on, fighting the urge to surface, clamping your mouth shut to get one more stroke, a few more metres, and your body seems to be on autopilot, and for a few moments the aching doesn't seem real any more – you could do this for ever. It's a dangerous thing, your body playing tricks on you. Because if you don't make the effort to breathe now, it can be too late. Everything shuts down.

I haven't got much oxygen, but what I've got I can share with her.

I put my mouth on hers again, make a seal round our lips with my fingers, try to force the air from inside me into her. It's like kissing a dummy. She's as unresponsive as the nightmarish orange torso that sank to the bottom of the swimming pool, waiting to be rescued.

Too late. She's mine
. Rob's next to us, his face hideously close.
And so are you
.

The air that I tried to give Mum rises away from us.

‘
Leave her alone
.' Mum's voice again.

I look around. She's the other side of me, her face near mine, opposite Rob. But she's still in front of me, too. What's going on? How can she be in two places at once?

We swirl in the current, the four of us together, round and around.

No. It's not enough
.

‘
Let her live, Rob. She's our daughter
.'

And it feels like the world stops turning, even though we're still circling on our sickening water ride.

Rob's my dad?

She's mine?

‘
Yes. Let her live. Let her have the life she deserves
.'

I look through the murk into the eyes of a seventeen-year-old boy. My father.

Nicola
, he says.

‘
Let her go, Rob. You've got me now
.'

It's not enough
.

‘
It's what you wanted all this time. You've won, Rob. It's over. But you can't have our daughter. She's got her whole life to live
.'

Something bullets towards us through the water, a dark mass coming from above. There's no time to get out of the way. It knocks into me and Mum, skittling us away from each other. The momentum carries me through the water and I find myself rising, drifting. I've been thrown off the merry-go-round, and I break the surface and gasp, my aching chest heaving as I take in air. There's another flash of lightning, and thunder fills my ears. I scull my hands in the water and look frantically around. The lake seems smaller, the flat field of mud around it bigger.

Someone surfaces nearby.

‘Nic, is that you?' Dad shouts. He's frantic, wild-eyed, exhausted. ‘I'm going back for Mum!'

‘No, I will! I'll do it, Dad!'

But before I can dive, there's another crack of thunder and I'm drawn down again, feet first, but this time they
hit something solid. The water keeps dragging against me, draining away. My body is heavy out of the water, my legs collapse under me, and I'm sitting on a blanket of wet mud, watching the remains of the lake pour into a hole a few metres away. Dad's sprawled on his back, like a landed fish. I crawl over to him on my hands and knees, slithering on the grey slime.

‘Dad! Dad, are you okay?'

I help him sit up.

‘What the—? Where's Neisha?'

We both look at the scene in front of us.

The last of the water tips over the edge of the hole. All around us is damp, dark mud. There's debris scattered about: an old supermarket trolley, some shoes, a traffic cone.

I can't see Mum anywhere.

We both have the same thought at the same time.

‘She must be—'

We scramble to the edge of the sinkhole. It's too dark to see anything. Too deep to see the bottom.

‘I'm going in,' Dad says. He starts peeling off his T-shirt.

I take hold of his arm.

‘You can't. You don't know how deep it is. Please, Dad, don't. Besides—'

‘What?'

‘I think it's . . . I think she's already . . .'

I can't say it, but he knows anyway. He freezes, with his shirt halfway up his back.

‘Did you see her? Were you with her?'

I nod. If I try and speak now, the grief that's knotted in my throat will escape.

‘But it was dark down there, you wouldn't be able to tell . . .' He yanks his shirt over his head, drops it in the mud, stands up and starts undoing the buttons on his jeans.

‘She spoke to me, Dad.' My words are blurred by tears, but he hears them and he stops again.

‘She spoke to you. Underwater.'

He doesn't call me crazy or tell me off for making it up. He slowly sinks back into the mud next to me, and takes my hands in his.

‘What did she say?'

‘That he should let me go. That she loved me.'

That I was Rob's daughter.

Dad's shoulders sag.

‘Rob. He's got her now. He got her in the end.'

‘I'm sorry. I tried . . . I tried so hard . . .'

The rest is lost in tears. Nothing can hold them back now. And Dad cries too. We move closer and hold each other. And as the thunder fades into the distance, the rain starts. A few drops to begin with – on the top of my head, the back of my neck, and my arms – then more and more until my sobs are drowned out by the noise of the rain hammering into mud.

THIRTY-THREE

K
ingsleigh cemetery is a peaceful place. It's on the edge of the town, in a dip with water meadows beyond its low flint walls. You can hear the steady hum of traffic from the bypass and the chatter of birds. We've walked here from the B&B and now we stand together inside the gates, looking across at a sea of gravestones.

‘He's over there, if you want to . . . visit. There's a little plaque set in the ground. I'll take you if you want . . .' Dad nods towards a neatly tended section, more like a public park than anything else.

‘Is that why we've come here?'

‘No. No, we've come to see Harry and Iris.'

I've got my arm linked in his and he leads me down narrow paths to a leafy corner. He stops in front of an untended grave. The headstone sits squarely at one end.

Iris Hemmings, died 25th June, 2013, aged 76
.

Lower down another name has been added.

And Harry Hemmings . . . Reunited at last
.

‘I don't understand,' I say. ‘Who are they –
were
they?'

‘Have you got the necklace?'

‘Yeah, you already asked that before we set off, remember? Look. Here it is.'

I haven't been able to wear it – it just seems wrong. I've been keeping it in my pocket. I've taken it out from time to time, opened it up and looked at the photo. Mum and Rob. Together. My mum and dad. The words jar in my head. They sound wrong, like fingernails scraping on a blackboard. Is it true? Was it just something Mum said to try and save me?

I take the locket out of my pocket now.

‘This is where it belongs,' Dad says. ‘It was Iris's first. I think she should have it back.'

‘I still don't get it. Did she give it to Mum?'

He sighs, then presses his lips together.

‘Dad?'

‘It's a long story.'

‘Shall we sit down?' There's a bench nearby, lodged comfortably under the umbrella-spoke branches of a tree. We walk over and sit side by side, looking back towards the grave.

‘Iris Hemmings was a good person, a kind person. When I was at school I did some work for her and her husband, Harry – a bit of gardening, painting, that sort of
thing. They were a smashing couple. She'd make me lemon squash and sponge cake. He let me borrow some of his books. He gave me a copy of one I needed for school.'

‘That's lovely. Bit like grandparents.'

‘Yeah. That's it, Nic. That's just how it was.'

‘So?'

He sighs again, then starts talking, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, his voice soft and low.

‘We broke into their house. Me and Rob. I thought it was empty. It wasn't. Iris was home on her own. Well, her and her dog. Rob . . . Rob kicked the dog. Killed it. Then he took the necklace from round Iris's neck, even though she begged him not to. We were in the backyard when she found the dog on the kitchen floor. She collapsed and we just . . . we just left her.'

I can't think of anything to say. Dad's closed his eyes. His lips are still moving, but he's not making any sound.

‘Dad?'

He opens his eyes, but is careful to avoid mine.

‘She died. That night. Everyone thought it was just the shock of her finding the dog. No one knew about me and Rob, except Harry. He knew the necklace was missing, knew someone had been in there. He tried to tell people, but they didn't listen to him. We killed her, Nic. As good as. Rob gave the locket to Neisha a week or so later.'

‘But they found it with me when I fell in the lake when I was little. That's what Kerry said. That's what it said on the envelope.'

‘Your mum was wearing it the day Rob died. It must
have come off.' He falters, then runs both hands over his scalp, like he's trying to squeeze the thoughts out. ‘God, I can't lie to you any more. He took it back from her, ripped it off her neck in the lake. He had it – he must have dropped it when he . . . when he drowned.'

‘They were fighting?'

‘No.
He
was hurting
her
. He attacked her. So I jumped in, tried to stop him.'

He's telling me the truth now, so I don't see that I have a choice. I've got to do the same.

‘He told me it was murder.'

Dad sits up and turns to face me.

‘That's not right, Nic. It was an accident. We were fighting, but he was okay. His feet got caught in some weed, that's what killed him.'

‘He never believed that. He was out for revenge. I didn't know . . . when I saw him the first few times, he helped me. I thought he was . . . I thought he was my friend.'

His face becomes slack, as my words sink in.

‘All that time I was trying to protect you, keep you safe. He was there.'

‘Yes. I didn't know he was my . . . never suspected he was my . . .' Dad? Uncle? ‘Not until Milton and I did a bit of digging. I found my birth certificate with the different names, and Milton found all your forum posts and the article about him – Rob – drowning. It was like different pieces of a jigsaw. I'm still not sure how they all fit together.'

‘He could have taken you at any time . . .'

‘But he didn't. Like I said, he was my friend . . .'

‘. . . while he was killing all those other girls.'

‘I know. You were right. All those girls. It was him.'

The horror of it is still raw. Rob. The serial killer. My friend. My uncle. My dad?

‘It feels like my fault.'

‘No, Nic. None of this,
none
of it, is your fault. That's what they do – bullies, abusers, torturers – they make you think that you're to blame, that you made it happen. That's just wrong.'

‘Is it over? Will it ever be over?'

‘Do you still see him?'

‘No. Not since that day . . . This'll sound stupid, but I think maybe Mum sorted him out. The last time I saw her, underwater, she had such . . . strength. God, Dad, I miss her. I wish I could see her again.'

‘She's still with you. And me. Always will be. We loved her and she loved us. That doesn't just go away.'

I wish it was true. I wish things didn't just stop when someone dies. But all I've got now, filling every waking moment, is her absence. The space she used to occupy. The silence where her voice should be. The utter loneliness of knowing that I'll never feel her arms round me again.

‘So, the locket,' Dad says. ‘Should we leave it here? Give it back to Iris?'

‘Yes,' I say. ‘I'd like that.'

We link arms again and walk back to the grave.

‘How do we—? I mean, if we just leave it, someone will take it, won't they?'

‘I've come prepared.' He digs into his rucksack and
brings out a little garden trowel.

‘Blimey, Dad, you weren't kidding, were you?'

‘And these, too.' He fishes out a paper bag, full of big, round, crispy-looking brown things.

‘Onions? What the—?'

‘Not onions, you dafty, bulbs. Daffodils. They'll come through in the spring.'

We kneel down either side of the rectangle of grass. Dad digs a sort of trench across it, not far from the headstone. I place the locket on the bare soil in the middle. Then I pick it up again.

‘It's still got a picture in. I don't think it's right.'

I turn away a little from Dad, and prise the locket open with my thumbnail, then I pull the inner frame out and pick out the photo. I don't know what to do with it next, so stuff the tiny scrap of paper in my pocket.

‘It's okay,' Dad says. ‘I know, you know.'

‘What?'

I snap the locket shut.

‘I know about that picture. I know that Rob was your father.'

My turn to go slack-jawed.

‘Seriously? Like, how long have you known?'

‘Always. Since your mum told me she was pregnant.'

‘You
knew
.'

‘It didn't change anything. Not for me. I loved her. I knew I would love her child. And I did. Do. Always will.'

He's not smiling. He hasn't smiled since ‘it' happened. His face is so serious, so tender, that I just want to hug him. But there's half a metre of human remains between
us. It doesn't feel right. There'll be time for that later.

‘It doesn't change anything for me either. You're my dad. You always will be.'

He doesn't smile, but there's a suggestion of one, a reminder of what his face looks like when he does smile.

‘So,' he says, ‘do you want to do the honours?'

I nod.

I put the locket back in the bottom of the trench and line the bulbs up from one side to the other.

‘Okay?'

‘Yeah.'

Dad covers everything up with loose soil until all I can see is a patch of fresh earth in a sea of grass. I sit back on my heels and admire our work.

‘I'd like somewhere like this for Mum,' I say. Her body was recovered from the sinkhole by divers the day after she drowned.

‘Yes, not here, though. Somewhere back home, so it's easy to visit her. They should release her body soon, then I'll sort it out. Maybe she could have Misty's ashes with her too.'

‘Yeah, she'd like that. I'll help you, Dad. Help you sort it all out. Make sure we do it properly.'

‘I know you will.'

‘I love you, Dad.'

‘I know. I love you, too.'