by Graham West
Josie had chosen not to join me. “This is between you and your daughter,” she’d said, kissing me gently and wishing me all the luck in the world.
The faceless divers in their black frog suits looked almost sinister as they waded up to their waists. Blakely turned to me. The smile had vanished from his face. This man may have had the money to indulge his ghost-hunting fantasies but he wasn’t playing. “This is it, Rob,” he said. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”
***
I take another step and sink into the mud beneath my feet. This time, there is no going back. The ground sucks me down into the murky liquid. The water swirls around my ears. I close my eyes and hold my breath but only to delay my departing. I sink further; now the mud reaches my knees. I cannot escape, and for the first time, the fear of death grips my heart. It is too late. I could not free myself even if I chose life. I feel the knife in my hand and slowly draw it across my wrist.
My lungs give up the fight. The foul-tasting water enters my body as I fight and choke. The light from the surface is beginning to fade as I leave this Earth, at last escaping the body that has imprisoned my spirit. Now I am beginning to feel a warmth. A heavenly warmth. I feel myself fading, fading slowly… Peace. Peace at last.
***
The skies grew darker as the crew, under Blakely’s watchful eye, adjusted the lighting.
“Let’s get this done before there’s a fucking deluge,” one of the cameramen shouted from under a giant umbrella which covered both him and the camera. One of the divers disappeared below the surface as the other two followed.
Blakely turned to me once again. “Fingers crossed, Rob,” he said as the film crew swung their cameras towards the murky surface.
The first diver appeared after what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than a few minutes. “There’s a shitload of mud down there,” he called. “If there’s a body, it could be under four metres of sludge!”
My heart sank. Blakely grimaced. “Just do your best, mate,” he called back. “If we need to come back tomorrow, we will.”
The diver disappeared as the other two surfaced with the same story. It could be a long search, and the light was fading. Two hours later, Blakely called it off.
“I’m sorry,” he told me. “We’ll start at first light tomorrow.”
I shrugged, unable to hide my disappointment.
Blakely patted my shoulder. “I’m staying at the Albion Hotel. They’ve got vacancies.” He smiled. “The room and the breakfast is on me. I insist. You’re not driving home.”
***
I called the hospital from the hotel lobby. There had been no change. Jenny was still comatose but stable. Blakely booked me in and escorted me to my room, just three doors from his own. The Albion Holtel was a five-star affair and like nothing I’d stayed in before. My room, with its hot tub, luxury lounger and a bath that could accommodate a football team, left me wishing that Josie was here, too. I joined Blakely in the bar that night, and we managed to down two bottles of champagne, finishing the session with a brandy coffee. The more time I spent with the man, the more I liked him. His fascination with the supernatural was almost childlike and quite endearing.
I killed the sound on the TV and called Jo from a bed that dwarfed me, taking her through the events of the day before attempting to describe the opulence of my surroundings. We talked until I found my eyes closing, the champagne beginning to take effect. Jo wished me luck, and I fell asleep in a room lit only by the flickering images on the plasma screen.
I met Blakely for breakfast the following morning and worked my way through a bowl of bran followed by a full English and three cups of coffee. Blakely believed in eating well and waded in like a man partaking in his last meal. “We’ve got the whole day,” he told me defiantly. “If that body is there, we will find it!”
I trusted him implicitly. He was a man with high hopes and deep pockets. This was something he would tell his grandkids—the day he found the body of a ghost. It sounded odd, but to him, that’s exactly what it was.
When we arrived at Mosswood, the three divers were sitting on canvas chairs drinking tea from Styrofoam cups. They greeted us with muted enthusiasm, aware of what lay ahead. They were peering through cloudy waters, for bones lying beneath the mud, long since stripped of their flesh. This was not what they had imagined when they took up diving. This was not a shipwreck populated by exotic marine life swimming through the portholes. That was probably why Blakely had agreed to pay them double the going rate.
It was over an hour before they took to the water. My hands clenched, plunged deep into my coat pockets, while I fought the demons that told me this was all a waste of time. What if we didn’t find a body? What if she wasn’t there? The time passed slowly. The divers resurfaced, one by one, shaking their heads before taking to the depths once again. By afternoon, my hopes were fading.
The cameras remained trained on the water, but their operators had long since lost interest. Blakely looked dismayed. Even he was giving up hope. A silence had fallen across the whole area. No one was talking. We were all thinking the same thing.
“I’m not giving up,” Blakely muttered. But there was little conviction in his voice. I felt beaten. The light I’d seen at the end of the tunnel was, once again, nothing more than a flickering candle.
Two divers emerged, looking for a break. They took to their canvas chairs and poured two teas from a flask. And that’s when it happened. Suddenly, the waters erupted. The third diver seemed to shoot up from the surface like a cork from a bottle, his face twisted in panic.
“Get me out!” he screamed, thrashing at the water like a drowning child. His colleagues threw down their cups and raced down into the pond. “Get…me…out,” he panted, finding his feet and struggling through the mud.
“What the fuck?” one of the divers muttered, grabbing an outstretched hand and pulling the terrified man forward onto the bank. “What’s up, Eddie? What’s going on?”
The diver stood, fighting for his breath. “I saw it!” he panted. “I saw her! She… She came up…from the mud… She was coming for me, I swear!” Eddie’s eyes were wide, peering out through the goggles. He slumped into the canvas chair. “I’m done here. I’m tellin’ ya—I’m not going near that water.”
The other two divers looked at each other. “You sure it wasn’t a fish or something?”
Eddie pulled his goggles from his face, his eyes wide with fear. “What? A fish with arms and hands…and a face?”
“You sure you weren’t hallucinating? You’re dead beat, mate…”
Eddie was angry. “There’s nothing wrong with me! I’ve been diving for fifteen fucking years, and I ain’t seen nothing like that ever! Nowhere!”
Blakely stepped up, clearly shaken. “She’s there,” he said. “She was showing you were her remains were buried. Sometimes that can happen. I remember reading—”
One of the divers held up his hand. “Are you fucking serious?” he snapped. “You think I’m going back in there?”
Blakely stared at him. “Triple pay,” he said. “And a thousand quid each as a Christmas bonus.”
The two divers glared at Blakely. “Not for a million bucks, matey.” They looked over at Eddie, who was sitting on the stump of a tree, his hands trembling. “Look at the state of him! That’s heart attack material.”
Blakely’s shoulders dropped as he sighed loudly. “Look, wherever Eddie saw the girl, that’s where she is. You just need to go deeper. There’s a shitload of mud at the bottom.”
The divers looked at each other, then the taller of the two said, “You’ve been watching too many movies, but I’ll cut you a deal—triple pay and a thousand notes—cash?”
“You have my word.”
The two divers, still reluctant, took to the water once more. We waited. Eddie sat, still traumatised by his experience, sipping his tea. Five minutes turned into ten. Then into fifteen. Then, suddenly, one of the divers surfaced and punched the air. “We’ve found he
r! She’s here!”
Blakely threw his arms in the air “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I stood in silence as the wave of relief washed over me. This was it. We had found her. “How long will this take?” I asked one of the divers.
“It’s difficult to say. We have to remove all the sludge from around the remains before we can bring her to the surface. I’d go and get yourself a coffee or something.”
But it wasn’t coffee I needed. I wanted to be with Jenny. “I’m off to the hospital,” I told Blakely, who stared at me in disbelief.
“What? You don’t want to see the body? Why?”
The truth was, I didn’t know. I just couldn’t face it. I had no desire to see Amelia’s bones. “Message me,” I said, walking away. Blakely watched me, still wondering how I could possibly leave at a time like this.
Only fortune prevented me ending up in an ambulance. I ran two red lights and stopped inches short of hitting an old lady on a crossing. My mind was on my daughter, and the whole journey was something of a hazy memory.
Jenny lay motionless as I sat down beside her with a cold drink from the machine in reception. My phone kept dropping its signal, leaving me wondering if it might be better to sit in the corridor until Blakely called. I kept checking my watch. One hour turned to ninety minutes. Ninety minutes turned into two hours, and then suddenly my phone rang.
“We—got—” Blakely’s voice dropped. “It’s been a—job—we—”
“I can’t hear you!” I yelled. “The signal is bad—have you got the body?”
No answer. I threw the phone halfway across the room and buried my head in my hands. The whole world seemed to stop and fall silent. I’d caught enough from Blakely to know that Amelia’s remains were out of the water. Then I heard her voice. It was little more than a whisper.
“Dad?”
I looked up. Jenny was staring at me.
“Why are you crying?”
***
“You’re back!” I screeched, loud enough to bring a passing nurse running along the corridor.
Jenny was still trying to focus.
“I’m here, babe!”
I wanted to pull her from the bed and hold her. I wanted to take her in my arms and never let go. But Jenny looked confused. Why was her father acting like a crazy guy? The nurse burst through the door.
“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “This is wonderful!” Jenny just frowned.
“Yes thank you. But can one of you get me a drink? I’m so thirsty!”
***
I hugged the first nurse that responded to my calls. Jenny looked weary, but over the following days her colour returned and all the tests came back clear. Blakely assured me he was taking care of everything. The relevant authorities, including the police, had been informed, and copies of Sarah Bell’s letter would be used to assist in identifying the remains.
“The company will cover all the costs,” he told me. “Including the funeral.” I thanked him, knowing that nothing I said would convey my gratitude. “But you might have to deal with the media,” he warned. “This kind of story usually arouses quite a bit of interest.”
I kept Jenny informed and she lay quietly, listening.
“I was there, Dad,” she told me one evening. “I was there, under the water. I felt myself passing out beneath the surface. I know how she died. I was with her. I was her.” Jenny squeezed my hand. “I felt myself rising to the surface. That’s when I opened my eyes. The moment you found Amelia.”
“Just as Sebastian told me,” I replied.
Jenny smiled. “Nothing else matters now, Dad,” she said. “As soon as the funeral’s over, we can get on with our lives.”
They were the words I thought I’d never hear. I kissed Jenny on the cheek.
“Dad?” she whispered as I opened the door to go. I turned. She blew me a kiss. “I love you.”
“And I love you, too, babe.”
I closed the door behind me and made my way back to the car, tears streaming down my face.
***
Josie cried, too. “I’m sorry I doubted you, hun,” she told me. “It’s just such a relief…”
“I need to tell her about us,” I interrupted. “I want to be totally honest. It’s only fair.”
Jo wasn’t convinced. “I’d hang on if I were you. You can’t rush the family thing. It will happen, but you need to spend time together.”
Maybe she was right, but my head was spinning. I had emerged from that tunnel, walking into a light that was blinding my senses. The relief was intoxicating, and I needed Jo to save me from myself.
“You’re impetuous, Rob. Let the old wounds heal. Don’t create new ones.”
I should have slept well that night but I didn’t. Kayla messaged me just as I was locking up.
Hi. Is it ok if I call tomoz about lunch time?
My heart sank. Kayla had all the weapons she needed to carve my life open, but I messaged back and told her that it would be fine. How do you tell your biological daughter that you have no room for her in your life? It wouldn’t matter how I dressed it up; rejection is still rejection. I paced around the house like an expectant father, which was ironic because that was basically what I was. When the knock came, I actually jumped.
Kayla stood with her hood pulled up over her head, making her look a lot younger than her sixteen years. She grinned expectantly, having no idea what lay in store.
I made her a juice and sat opposite her. Kayla was still trying to read me. “I know this must be a big thing, and it will take time, but—”
“Kayla,” I said, stopping her mid-sentence. “This is a really bad time.”
Kayla’s face fell, and I found myself telling her everything that had happened since her mother walked away, leaving me to repair my broken marriage. She listened, stunned. “So Jenny isn’t yours?”
I shook my head. “And everything that’s happened has happened as a result of my affair with your mother. I’ve got to do what is right by Jenny…”
“But she’s not yours,” Kayla said sourly, “I am!”
“She is mine,” I replied, trying not to raise my voice. “I have raised her as my own. I can’t think of her as anything but my daughter. Not after all this time.”
Kayla looked down at her hands, clasped together on her knees. “So you don’t want me in your life? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“It’s not that I don’t want you—it’s just that I need time with Jenny. Put yourself in her position. Wouldn’t you be feeling a little insecure at the moment?”
Kayla glared at me. “How insecure do you think I’m feeling right now? My own father doesn’t want me. Do you honestly think I’d want to come between you and Jenny? Do you think I’d try to take you away from her? I just want to spend some time with you, that’s all. I’m not a threat.”
She stared at me with anger in her eyes, waiting for me to reply, but all I could do was apologise.
Kayla stood up. “There’s no point, is there? You’re not going to change your mind.”
Before I could answer, she had pushed past me, and moments later, I heard the door slam. I watched from my window as she walked down the path with her phone pressed to her ear. It was probably a tearful call to her auntie, asking to be picked up at the bottom of the road. I wished I could have gone after her and made things right. Could Kayla ever be a part of my family? Josie, me and two girls? Maybe one day. Just not now. Let the old wounds heal.
Sebastian threw up his arms in sheer joy when I told him the news. His uncharacteristic display of emotion warmed me. “I knew it!” he said. “I knew you’d find her!”
“It was touch and go for a while,” I replied. “And that poor diver will be having nightmares for the rest of his life.”
Sebastian smiled. “He’ll get over it. He’s probably telling himself he imagined the whole thing.”
I’d called in on him after Kayla had left and we went for a walk. I needed some fresh air in my lungs—fresh air and a listeni
ng ear. I was troubled at having rejected the girl, and I was hoping the old man could somehow salve my conscience. He listened in silence, as always, waiting for me to finish. Had I made the right decision? Should I have accepted her and hoped for the best?
For the first time since we had met, Sebastian seemed perplexed. “I can’t be your judge,” he said softly. “Maybe you have done the wrong thing at the right time.”
I looked at him. He smiled. “Some might say that rejecting your son or daughter is always wrong, but I have to agree with Josie. Jenny is very vulnerable at the moment. She’ll need all your love and attention. Maybe, in time, you can contact Kayla—when Jenny is stronger.” We approached the Dog and Gun Inn by the canal bank. “I think I could do with a drink. How about you?”
***
I arrived home half expecting to find Kayla on my doorstep, sobbing into a paper handkerchief. She wasn’t. There were no messages on my phone and no missed calls to my landline. I grabbed some loose change for the car park and set off for the hospital, slipping a Bob Dylan disc into the car stereo and promising to make time to finish his biography.
I spun into the hospital car park, making my way across the grounds and through the reception. That was when the thought dropped into my head from nowhere. What if Kayla was sitting by Jenny’s bed? What if she had introduced herself as my daughter—my real daughter? Fear gripped me as I hurried up to the ward and my hand trembled, resting on the door knob. I paused before entering.
Jenny looked up from her book. “Hi, Dad. You’re early.”
I sighed with pure relief. She was on her own.
“What’s up? You look washed out,” she said.
I laughed. “I’m okay. What’s the book?”
She held it up. Jane Eyre.
It brought back memories of my schooldays, when we’d gone to watch the old black-and-white movie starring Orson Welles as Mr. Rochester. I’d been so impressed that I read the book and decided, at the age of twelve, to become a bestselling novelist. I think I managed two chapters written in the style of Charlotte Bronte before I realised I didn’t actually have a story—something that is apparently essential if you want to sell books. I gave up and decided to become another Orson Welles instead, but that dream died soon after my first appearance in the school play.