Water Born

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Yes, you should have brought them to me – Neisha and Carl.’

  The light’s playing tricks on me, light and shade dancing on the surface of the water, but now I can see him. Rob. Waist-high, like me, ten metres or so ahead.

  ‘Rob.’

  I can talk to him like this, with my head above the water.

  He smiles. His eyes are disturbingly bright. He’s zinging with energy.

  ‘You found me,’ he says.

  ‘Yes.’

  There’s something deeply unsettling about him today. Anxiety stabs me under my ribs.

  ‘Come in, Nic. Come deeper. You’re not scared, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not scared.’ But I am. Shivers of fear ripple up and down my spine.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. I know you, Nic.’

  He’s still some distance from me, but his voice is in my ear, inside my head. How’s he doing that? I stand my ground, try to remember why I’m here.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ I say.

  He stops moving, and somehow that’s worse than his restlessness.

  ‘So talk.’

  He’s got the look he had in that school photo, the one in the news article, taken with Dad. He’s kind of tipped his head back a bit, so he’s looking down his nose at me. I’m not sure I can do this any more. But I’m here now, aren’t I?

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘I want this to stop.’

  He angles his head a little more.

  ‘This? What do you mean, “this”?’

  ‘The killing. The hurting.’

  ‘I did it for you.’

  ‘I didn’t want it.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘No! I didn’t want anyone hurt!’

  ‘Yes, you did. Deep, deep down – you did.’

  It’s true, isn’t it? Those feelings of resentment, of wanting to get my own back. But everyone has those. It’s part of the mix of being human.

  ‘What about all the other girls? The ones who died this summer?’

  ‘I was looking for you. Process of elimination.’

  ‘That’s just sick.’

  I start backing away. This was a mistake. Am I in too deep to save myself?

  ‘Sick? Sick?’ I didn’t see him move, but he’s in my face now. I flinch and keep trying to step backwards, but the mud seems to be holding me.

  ‘Dad said I should stay away from water, and he was right. I’m leaving now. I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Dad? Carl?’ He says his name like it’s a dirty word, then he snorts, turns his head and spits. ‘You don’t want to believe anything he says, Nicola. He wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him on the arse.’

  ‘Why do you hate him?’

  ‘Do you really want to know?’ He seems even closer now and his voice – his voice is inside me.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘He murdered me, Nicola. Got rid of me so he could be with my girl.’

  ‘Your girl,’ I say. ‘Neisha.’

  ‘You worked it out,’ he says. ‘Yes. Neisha.’

  ‘And you loved her?’

  ‘Love. What’s love?’

  ‘You never loved me.’

  Mum’s voice! Here? I turn round and there she is, ten metres behind me, hand in hand with Dad.

  ‘Mum? Dad?’

  I’m laughing and crying at the same time, so relieved that they’re here.

  ‘He doesn’t know the meaning of the word, Nic,’ she says. ‘Come here. Come here quickly.’

  She holds her free arm out towards me, and it sends me back to the days when I was little, when I’d toddle away from her in the garden or the park or the shopping centre. She’d crouch down and hold her arms open wide, and she wouldn’t have to say anything – it was the only signal I needed, and I’d run back and let myself be wrapped up in her embrace, feel her warmth, breathe her in. Safe and sound.

  I try to move, but I’m stuck.

  ‘No!’ Rob shouts.

  I look from him to Mum and back again. Above us, thunder is rolling around the sky. The mud beneath my feet seems to be dissolving. I’m sinking as I speak. I step to the left a little, find some solid ground . . . then that, too, seems to melt away.

  ‘Have you hurt her, Rob? Have you put your hands on her?’ Mum says. Beside her, Dad’s arms are taut. I can see the tendons in his neck standing out like wire under the skin.

  ‘Of course not. What do you think I am?’

  He’s moved in the water. Now he’s between me and them. I feel cut off, like a connection’s broken. I want my mum. I want my dad.

  ‘I know what you are,’ Mum says.

  ‘I care about Nic,’ Rob says.

  ‘You don’t care about anyone.’

  Mum and Dad are shifting where they stand, too, trying to find their footing. Beneath us, the mud is turning into quicksand.

  ‘I cared about you once,’ Rob says.

  ‘No. You hurt me. You tried to kill me. I was too young to handle it then. It’s different now. I’m different. You’re not hurting my daughter.’

  Mum’s voice is clear and strong. Her words carry the punch of a prize fighter.

  Rob hurt her? He tried to kill her?

  And then I hear Rob’s voice.

  ‘I won’t hurt Nic, Neisha. Drowning doesn’t hurt.’

  A bolt of forked lightning snakes from the sky to the edge of the lake, followed immediately by a noise like the world is tearing down the middle. For a split second the faces behind me are bleached out, the water turns into a blinding mirror. I try to scream but it freezes in my throat.

  There’s nothing beneath my feet now, nothing to hold me up, and I sink up to my neck. Instinctively I paddle my arms and legs, treading water. I try to swallow my rising panic. I can swim, right? I can really swim, so this is all going to be okay.

  I look across at Mum and Dad. They’re in the water, too. I can see the whites of Mum’s eyes as she jerks her face clear of the surface. She’s terrified. Dad’s thrashing his arms. He spits water out of his mouth. ‘Nic, swim for the shore!’ he shouts.

  All we have to do is head for the edge. It’s not that far. There’s not much water, after all. But they’re both wearing jeans and T-shirts. Sodden heavy cloth, dragging them down.

  There’s another flash and an explosion at the same time, and I’m hit, pushed through the water, all the breath knocked out of me. I’m blinded, blindsided. A piece of flotsam tossed and turned.

  When everything stops moving and my eyes adjust, I’m under water. I can’t see anyone else. I don’t know which way is up, so I let my body work it out – feel it, sense the difference in light, the effect of gravity – then I flip round and head for the surface, breaking through, gulping air into my lungs.

  I look round for the others.

  I can see the back of Mum’s head, a few metres away. I call out to her and she turns round. There’s a vivid red mark down one side of her face, forked like a branch, as if a tree had just whipped her and left its imprint. Her eyes are wide and curiously dull. I don’t think she can see me. I don’t think she can see anything.

  She’s not swimming but she’s moving away from me in the water, being carried off to my left in the current. Current? We’re in a lake. Why is the water swirling like this? I can feel the power of it against my body. Mum’s moving to the left, I’m being swept to the right. I don’t understand.

  Mum looks back at me. Her mouth opens and shuts, and then she disappears under the surface.

  ‘Neisha!’ Dad’s seen her too. He’s the other side of her, and now he starts swimming towards the spot where she was – desperately grabbing at the water, kicking hard – but he’s swimming against the current, being taken further away.

  ‘No, Dad, let me!’

  The water’s carried me round now, so I’m getting nearer to where she disappeared. And now it clicks. The current is circular, like some sort of whirlpool. I swim a few strokes, going with the flow, then take a long deep breath and dive down.
>
  It’s difficult to see anything in this muddy, churned-up world. I force my eyes to stay open, twisting my head this way and that. I usually have to fight my body’s natural desire to float when I’m swimming under water, but here the water feels like it’s drawing me down. Something hits the side of my ribs. I flail my hands in the water, trying to push whatever it is away. Instead of the scrappy bark of a branch, my hand finds something delicate and fleshy. I’m holding someone’s wrist. Without letting go, I move my other hand up the arm, then across the body to get a grip under their armpit. I turn the body so that I can see the face close to. It’s Mum.

  Her eyes are open and vacant. For a moment, I think she’s gone, but suddenly there’s a flicker of recognition in her face and she starts moving her arms and legs, almost as if she was climbing a ladder. Her hands are pushing me down. Her knees catch my legs and stomach. She’ll kill us both if she carries on like this.

  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.

&nb
sp; 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

  Kingsleigh 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.