by Kate Helm
‘Ow.’
My foot strikes a root and I begin to topple. I reach out, up, grab a branch. It snaps off in my hand and I think I’m falling. But I right myself, just in time.
As I catch my breath, I glimpse primary colours through the trees: the playground. I’m desperate to get out of this wilderness, but I force myself to walk carefully.
‘Georgia!’
I spin around, but there’s no one in sight. Did I imagine that?
My phone buzzes, but when I check, it’s a notification to tell me my message to Rosanna hasn’t been sent. There’s no signal – when did I lose it? – but at least I’m here now, at the playground. Behind it is a large chalet which must house the cafe.
I listen. Silence. I step over the low log fence into the play area itself. The metal roundabout is rusted; I push it, and it moves stiffly, with a screech. All the equipment here is old-fashioned. Even Pip would have pronounced it soo boring . . .
Don’t think about him now.
Something lands on my face. I jump. I realise what it is, and I laugh.
Rain.
We’ve been waiting for this.
I look at my watch. It’s 10.30.
‘Hello!’ I call out. ‘Rosanna?’
My own voice echoes back to me.
I walk across the greying wood chips, towards the chalet. A faded metal sign for ready-made ice creams and lollies gives prices twenty years out of date. Next to the closed hatch, a piece of laminated paper has been nailed into the wood, rust spreading like blood round a bullet hole.
I squint, moving my head so I can just read the type:
DESPITE OUR BEST EFFORTS, LITTLE PIKE ADVENTURE CENTRE IS CLOSED. PLEASE CHECK OUR WEBSITE FOR FURTHER UPDATES, AND REFURBISHMENT PLANS.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT OVER THE YEARS.
The date, at the bottom: DECEMBER 2005.
No. I must have misread.
But no matter which way I twist my head to see it more clearly, the date stays the same.
Blood rushes in my ears. Could Rosanna really not have realised this place closed down twelve years ago?
And something else about our text conversation niggles and I get my phone out.
The message still hasn’t sent. I try to ignore the panic rising through my body and look at the message history instead.
I take the kids there at weekends.
If Rosanna has young kids, they must have been born after this closed down.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to be here any longer. I begin to retrace my steps towards the road – the earth already a few shades darker, as the rain starts to penetrate the dried-out layers. There are two paths ahead of me, and I can’t remember which I took. But both must lead towards the road. I take the one that feels right.
‘Georgia.’
I turn towards the whisper. Still no one.
‘Is that you, Rosanna?’
There’s movement to my left but as I spin round, I can’t tell if it’s animal or human. A rabbit? No, bigger than that. A fox?
‘Over here.’
The whisper is coming from the same direction. I take a few steps towards her. Part of me wants to run, back to the road, far away from here. But I haven’t come this far to get spooked by a few trees or a bloody rabbit.
A shriek pierces the air: it’s the sound of a child in distress. Perhaps Rosanna brought her child with her?
Now sobbing, just audible beneath the splash and hiss of raindrops on parched vegetation. The scent of the earth reminds me of graves. I walk towards the voices. The sound of more pain is unbearable. I pick up the pace, starting to run.
And the earth falls away and I am falling too.
70
I am weightless just long enough to fear the impact.
The back of my head smashes against solid ground, my teeth crash together, and pain sends a slice of bright, burning heat through my bones.
At last, I’m still. I take stock: a sensation like broken glass inside my right ankle; the smell of sap and soil; the taste of rust.
Blood in my mouth. My tongue darts around my gums, exploring. No teeth missing. But my bottom lip stings where I’ve bitten into it.
I’m in a hollow, thin tree roots forming a network like blood vessels through the earth beside me. The space is wide enough for me to lie full-length, like a deep bath.
Or a coffin.
Except it’s deep too: deeper than I am tall. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.
I push myself up and reach over to inspect my ankle.
Fuck.
It’s bent at an unnatural angle, and when I try to move it, the blowtorch pain is so intense I can’t bear it . . .
I must have blacked out, because suddenly my face is sopping wet from rain, or tears. Maybe both. I try to manoeuvre myself to the shallower end of the pit, grasping at the sides, but the earth crumbles between my fingers. Perhaps, if the rain keeps falling, it’ll be easier to dig away at it. But it’ll also turn slippery, harder to get traction.
The blood in my mouth tastes like fear.
OK.
This is OK.
Rosanna is coming to meet me and I did hear someone, didn’t I? An adult and a child? I must shout as loudly as I can, so they find me.
‘HELP!’ The earth surrounding me deadens the sound. I prop myself up further, ignoring the pain, and tilt my head towards the sky to try to make myself heard outside. ‘Help me. Rosanna! I’m here. I’m HERE.’
My voice sounds feeble. I find my phone in my pocket. Still no signal. Maybe I should try 999 – I read once that the signal needs to be minimal to do that, but I feel like a fraud for even considering it.
Except this could turn into an emergency. I am hurt, in the woods, and no one except Rosanna knows where I am.
I dial 999, but the call doesn’t even try to connect.
Focus.
Rosanna will find me. She must.
‘Help!’ I call out again.
My throat is dry from that coffee – so long ago now – and I swig from my water bottle. How much should I drink? I could be here for a long while yet . . .
I can’t think like that. And I can’t let her leave.
‘ROSANNA!’
I remember that people hear their own name better than any other word. Or was it fire?
‘Fire!’
The pain in my ankle surges in time with my heartbeat. The back of my head starts to sting too. I touch it, and when I look at my fingers, they’re covered in blood.
HELP!
FIRE!
ROSANNA!
Have I called the words a hundred times? Five hundred? They’ve lost all meaning.
I could be here for hours. Days. Except I won’t let myself believe that. Someone must come this way. Dog walkers, or . . . In so many murder cases I’ve covered, a body is found by an excited dog let off the leash.
I could die here.
No. Someone will come to look for me.
But the only people who know I’m here are Rosanna – who must have got cold feet, it’s ten to eleven now – and Daniel, who will assume I’ve failed unless he hears from me. Who will likely be arrested before the day is out.
Don’t panic, I tell myself. But the fear is drowning it out.
I think I hear something. Someone?
My breathing and pulse are so loud. I strain to listen to the forest.
Twigs snap, somewhere in the distance.
‘HELP!’ I call out, as loudly as I can. ‘ROSANNA! Is that you? Help me!’
The pain subsides, as though every one of my cells is needed to hear if someone is coming. Yes. Those are definitely footsteps. But there’s no reply, no acknowledgement that someone has heard me.
‘PLEASE!’
‘Hello?’
A man’s voice, from some way away.
Oh, thank God.
‘I’m here. I’ve fallen,’ I call. ‘Please help.’
‘I’m coming,’ he says. ‘Don’t wor
ry, I’ll find you.’
For a moment, he sounds like Jim.
But it’s just the local accent that’s familiar. Jim couldn’t know I’m back, could he?
My mind races. Was I being followed? I hadn’t seen anyone. Though can I ever be sure of what my damaged eyes tell me?
‘Hello?’ the man calls again. ‘Where are you? Call out, so I can follow your voice.’
Not yet. Not until I am sure.
‘Love, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me where you are.’
Instinct tells me it isn’t Jim. That this is my best chance.
I call out: ‘I’m here. I’m here. Please come.’
The footsteps get faster, louder, closer. It’s stopped raining now. The skies are clearing too, as though the man is an angel sent to save me.
‘I’m coming, love. I know where you are, I’m nearly with you . . .’
And suddenly he’s right by me, and his shape blocks the light, and I know it’s not Jim: too slim, too fair, too small.
He crouches down, next to the hole, and pauses as though he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.
‘Everything is going to be OK, now, Suzanne,’ the man says, and at that one word – that name – my guts turn to water.
He shifts so that the sunlight bathes the left side of his face, and I can finally make out enough to know who my saviour is.
Not an angel, after all.
A ghost.
71
He smiles at me. I can’t make out the look in his eyes, but his teeth are too white and straight to be his own.
‘You know who I am, don’t you, love?’
‘You’re meant to be dead.’
Robert O’Neill shrugs his shoulders. ‘Looking good on it, eh?’
I close my eyes, hoping this is just a new Charles Bonnet symptom, brought about by extreme stress or pain. But it can’t be, because the one thing that makes Charles Bonnet stand out is that the visions are always silent.
I open my eyes again. He’s still smiling, dazzling as a toothpaste ad. My brain tries to process how he can be alive, why he’s found me, how he knows my real name.
But my thoughts are slowed down by a paralysing dread.
‘Are you badly hurt?’ he asks.
‘I think I’ve broken my ankle. I can’t climb out on my own.’ I try to sound as though I am still expecting him to help me. ‘But if you lie down at the edge, you could help pull me out of the hole.’
Robert looks as though he’s considering this. I notice more about him now: despite his slight frame, he has muscular arms. He wears dark jeans and a shirt. His face is youthful, though that might be the blurring effect of my vision loss.
‘It’s not a hole. It’s a scowle,’ he says. ‘The hollows look natural but mostly they’re man-made, from prospecting for iron. The area’s riddled with them.’
I try to think how to reply, but I sense he doesn’t want me to.
‘Great place for hide-and-seek.’ His accent is broader than Jim’s, his speech so slow and calm that it’s almost disturbing. ‘When we were kids, I always half expected to find a skeleton. Closest I got was a rabbit’s skull once.
‘Brought my Charlie here, too, when he was a toddler.’
For the first time, there is some warmth in Robert’s voice.
‘And Jodie?’
I know Robert was gone before she was born, but mentioning her might build our rapport.
Robert scoffs. ‘Not my kid. Knew it as soon as I saw a picture. Freak of nature.’
His tone makes goosebumps rise on the surface of my skin but I try to ignore that. I need to focus on why he’s here instead of Rosanna.
‘Are you . . .? Did you come with Rosanna?’
The smile is back. ‘Oh yeah. Rosie couldn’t make it. Sends her apologies.’
My mind feels foggy. He must know her from Copse View. Did he stay in touch as part of blackmailing Jim? Did she call him when she got my message?
‘I need to speak to her.’
‘Might be tricky, Suzanne.’
‘My name is Georgia.’ I try to sound light, but my voice trembles. Despite the heat, I keep shivering.
‘No, it’s not. I know everything there is to know about you, Suzanne Ross. What your daddy did. How much that nice flat of yours cost. What you’ve got in your fridge. You should lay off the gin, it’ll kill you, you know.’
His words pinball around my brain.
He knows where I live.
He knows what’s in my flat.
He was the one who broke in.
Coffee-tainted bile rising in my throat makes me gag. I gulp it back, the acid burning.
‘What do you want from me, Robert?’
‘What I wanted was for you to stop digging around.’
I think about what was taken in the break-in.
‘You stole my laptop. My phone.’
He nods. ‘Technology is brilliant, isn’t it. Texts, emails, search history. Closest thing you get to actually reading someone’s mind.’
It feels like a punch to the belly when I realise: Robert has seen every email I’ve sent and all my searches on my laptop, and every text I sent on my old phone.
And he’ll also have seen the disc Jeanette sent me, the one with photographs of the girls from Copse View.
‘What have you done to Rosanna?’
‘Ah, forget Rosanna. She’s long gone. Though I bet she’d have been very moved by your email. I mean, who doesn’t believe in justice?’
He must have intercepted the emails I sent. Except she did respond to my texts. I heard her voice.
‘She’s got my number. She could still be coming.’
Robert reaches into his pocket and takes out a phone. He throws it down to me.
‘No. I’ve got your number.’
It’s a cheap pay-as-you-go, for texts and calls only. No signal, but I’ve got the call and message history. I try to scan it in the gloom.
‘Did you steal her phone too?’
He sighs. ‘Not exactly.’
I manage to see the messages: the only ones here are from me. There’s nothing about school runs or domestic errands.
‘But the private detective gave me her mobile number . . .’
‘Oh yes. The private detective. Thanks for the £600, by the way. It came in very handy. All this organisation costs a few quid.’
I exhale as I realise: he must have intercepted my emails to the private detective, and sent his own fake responses instead. Even the money I sent must have gone to him.
‘Why trick me, Robert? What Jim did had nothing to do with you.’
But even as I say it, I see that might not be true. Robert is alive, so clearly there was no murder. What else didn’t Jim do?
Push his wife off a bridge? Abuse Rosanna?
Sweat blooms under my arms, on my back, up and down my legs. A very animal reaction to fear.
‘You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you?’ he says, mildly. ‘I mean, it’s possible you would have let it go. But I couldn’t take the risk. You’ve already got a lot further than anyone else has.’
As he talks, I’m trying to play catch-up. He can’t have started the fire that killed Tessa – Daniel has already admitted to that.
But he could have been the spark.
72
The bile is back in my mouth.
‘You wrote the letter. The one that made Daniel burn down Jim’s house?’
Robert nods. ‘People get so emotional at Christmas. And I admit I was emotional, too. Jim had sent me away from my only son. You can’t blame me for wanting to deprive him of his son to even the score.’
I look at him: I may not see every detail of his face, but I do see evil.
All that time I was trying to convince myself Jim was a psychopath, it didn’t sit right. He was too empathetic. Too attentive. Even when he turned on me, it was as if he was only doing it because he had to, for both our sakes.
But Robert is different.
‘Your own kids nearly died because of that letter.’
‘Kid,’ he corrects me. ‘Told you already, Jodie’s nothing to do with me. I was surprised at how dopey Daniel responded. But it was OK. Everybody’s hero Jim Fielding saved my Charlie. Though I had to think fast when I realised Danny was planning to parrot the letter in court. I was perfectly happy being dead.’
‘You sent him the photo threatening his sister?’
‘It wasn’t threatening. It was . . . suggestive.’ He leans in a little further. ‘That’s the key, Suzanne. Get other people to do the work. So much more satisfying than mucking in yourself.’
Everything has started to hurt again – my ankle, my head, my split lip.
‘I need help, Robert, I’m injured.’
He steps back. A moment later, he throws something on to the damp earth next to me: a carrier bag. I open it: there’s a plastic bottle of vodka, and three large blister packs of Paracetamol, plus a smaller brown bottle with eight tiny pills inside it. I can’t read the label.
‘That’ll help with the pain. But make sure you take it all with the vodka. The little bottle, that’s diazepam. Valium. Chill pills.’
‘There’s enough here to kill someone.’
He chuckles. ‘No flies on you, are there? Not yet anyway.’ The chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m always being told off for my black sense of humour, so it’s not often I get to let rip.’
‘I’m not going to do this.’
He picks up a stick; for a moment, I think he’s going to aim it for my head. But then he starts to pick at the bark with his fingers.
‘I’ve seen your computer search history. Death by drowning. And you’ve rewritten your will. Your friends will be sad when you’re gone, but not surprised. Though I’m afraid I can’t guarantee you’ll ever be found. These woods hold on to their secrets.’
The vodka and the pills lie in my lap. It’s an easier way out than I’d planned. My last walk into the sea would still have taken resolve to avoid fighting the water as it filled my lungs.
But that was supposed to happen after I’d made everything right.
I’m nowhere near that. I don’t even understand why this is happening.