Undercurrent

by J. A. Baker

  Life in the care system wasn’t brilliant but neither was it awful. My foster parents were adequate; I was warm, fed and clean. The other children didn’t take kindly to me but by that time I had learned to grow a second skin. Their hurtful comments about my being an orphan and not having any nice clothes worth speaking of, simply washed over me. My grandparents and aunts and uncles were either too busy or too poor to take me or as was the case of my Aunt Sadie, my mother’s sister, stated outright that they simply didn’t want me. When approached by social services for assistance, she apparently told them that I was trouble and best avoided. With hindsight, she most probably blamed me for the death of her sister - the sister she didn’t attempt to help when her mental health deteriorated after my father’s death.

  I knuckled down at school and learnt to ignore those around me. My schoolwork was my haven and by the time I left, I had gained A’s in all of my exams. My first foray into independence was when I received a grant to go to university in Newcastle. And although I loved the work, my own mental shortcomings finally caught up with me. An overwhelming sense of loneliness suddenly hit me and twice I ended being admitted to hospital after attempting suicide. That was where Martyn came in. Prior to meeting him I was rudderless, unable to focus. He gave me a new lease of life, took me under his wing, and took care of me. Falling pregnant with Tom in my second year wasn’t what I had planned but I soon realised it was what I needed. I had a new tight family unit. My very own people; people who were mine and mine alone. It may not have been ideal for most but for me it was just perfect. I had Martyn and my newborn son and nobody would take them away from me. Nobody.

  Twenty One

  He doesn’t stay for long. I’m so good at it now you see, this lying caper. As soon as I open the door, I can tell by the expression on his face that he will believe every single word that comes out of my mouth. Why would he not? I’m a middle aged, middle class lady, new to the area and hardly a threat am I? The person I live with is, but he is tucked away in his study at the other end of the house. I feel confident enough to say that before this young man even opens his mouth, this conversation won’t take long.

  “Hello there. I was just wondering if you’ve seen a woman around here? Anna from number eighteen.” He points over to her house, my house, and I smile and shake my head.

  “Has she still not come back?” I say, sucking in air in mock astonishment.

  His lips are a firm, thin line as he speaks, “I’m afraid she isn’t. I. . . well me and my parents know Anna quite well and I thought I would come and help out till the police turn up.”

  The police. My eye flickers slightly. I blink it away. He is self-assured, this young man, I’ll give him that. But then so am I. Tillie comes running through to complete the picture. I need him to see what kind of family we are. Reserved, harmless. I mean, what kind of household would keep a pet and be cruel to others? She stands obediently at my feet, looking up to me and then back to the man. I shake my head and tut, “It’s so odd. Not like her at all. But I’m sure there’s a rational explanation behind all of this. Anna is a very sensible lady.”

  “I take it you spoke to her family last night?”

  I nod and reach down to pet Tillie. She responds by running round my ankles enthusiastically.

  “But obviously, I expected her to have returned last night. I presumed she had taken an evening stroll to the shop or for a brief walk by the river to clear her head.”

  He shakes his head, “She definitely didn’t go to the shop. We would have seen her. Clear her head?” he says and his face creases up, a furrow forming between his brows as he watches me. “What do you mean, clear her head?”

  I sigh and look behind him then back to his eyes. So innocent, so full of hope, “Well, between you and I, I think Anna and her husband have been having some problems. At least that’s what she implied whenever we spoke. I know she was also fed up of running around after them all.” I bring my hand up to my mouth and shake my head some more. I only wish I could conjure up fake tears. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just so upsetting,”

  The man on her doorstep closes his mouth, an embarrassed flush beginning to creep up his neck. “Erm, right, well, anyway if you see or hear anything unusual, you know where she lives. Mike and the kids are worried sick so anything at all. . .”

  I nod sagely and am about to close the door when he speaks again, “The path runs through your garden doesn’t it?”

  I keep my face impassive as I reply, “Yes. Yes it does. Why do you ask?”

  His voice is brighter, his awkwardness at being privy to Anna’s marital problems now forgotten, “I was just thinking that she might have gone right past your house if she went walking. You didn’t see her then?”

  I keep my irritation under wraps, conceal it well, “Do you not think I would have told you if I had seen her? We get lots of walkers along that path Mr. . .?”

  “Simon,” he interjects. “And I know all about the walkers who come through here. I’ve lived here all my life. So have my parents. They know everyone in the village. Everyone.”

  I feel my guard begin to slip and hope he can’t see the redness that I feel creeping up my face and over my ears which are beginning to burn.

  “They run the local shop so we know every inch of this village,” he keeps his eyes on me. His mouth is set in a firm, tight line. I feel my heart begin to flutter up my neck at his words. That lady in the shop who spoke to me on the day we moved in. The way she followed me around, the way she watched me long after I had left. Has she always worked there? Does she remember my parents? Does she remember me? I blink hard and run my fingers through my hair to hide the tremble that has taken hold. So what if she does recall my face? I haven’t done anything wrong and never have. All she will remember is a scrap of a child who led a blighted existence and left the village shortly afterwards, never to return. Until now that is.

  “Right. Well as I was saying Simon, there are loads of ramblers who pass through here. I don’t sit at the window watching them all. And if I had seen Anna I would obviously have said so wouldn’t I? She is a friend.”

  His stare is unmoving, his features impassive. He is confident; I’ll give him that. “Of course, sorry to have bothered you. Well, I’m going to stay and help for as long as I can so you know where we are if you see or hear anything. Anything at all.” The last sentence hangs in the air as he waits for me to say something in return.

  I simply nod and accept his apology with good grace telling him to keep me informed of any updates. He assures me that they will and heads back up the village. I close my door and lean back against it. The police. They’re waiting for the police to turn up. And it’s highly likely they will put more effort into finding Anna. Not like the search for Nancy. That particular investigation was a half-hearted attempt. It was as if they presumed the river had taken her before the search had even begun. But a second disappearance? They will move heaven and earth to find her. But that’s okay. She is safe here with me and absolutely nobody will find her. I’ll make sure of it.

  I watch from the living room window as he continues knocking on doors and is confronted by a series of helpless old ladies who can barely stay upright, shrunken and disabled by age and arthritis. He will have nothing to report back, no leads to go on. There is nothing around here except for the power of a bulging, raging river that swallows the innocent and the unprepared. It’s the main killer round here, the obvious killer.

  I let Tillie out in the garden to do her business before the police descend. I would much prefer to keep a low profile while they conduct their search. She will last until mid-afternoon before needing to go out again by which time they may well have given up and left.

  I make a pot of tea and smile. Everything is working out perfectly. I look at my watch. I have at least another two or three hours before the medication wears off. And loathe though I am to do it, I will have to administer some more. Just until the police leave the village. That�
�s if they even turn up.

  I spend the next hour or so drinking my tea and cleaning the kitchen. Not that it needs it. It’s just a way of passing the time, giving myself time to gather my thoughts, get my plan sorted in my head. I wipe and wash and drag cloths across each surface until they gleam.

  I hear the familiar noise of Martyn’s walking cane as he tap, tap, taps his way into the kitchen. He takes the mug of tea I have made for him and swills it back. This is good. Now that I have stopped badgering him to have his medication, he is more willing to take things I’ve prepared for him, unaware that it is laced with his pills.

  “Where is she?” I am startled. I didn’t expect him to ask after Anna or even remember the incident. That’s so typical of him you see; to cause a major ruckus and then forget all about it. His mental health is becoming much worse, along with huge holes in his memory. I need to be careful here. I don’t want him to go racing around the house looking for her, just when I’ve got it all under control.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve sorted it. There’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. A bit bruised but on the mend,” I say thinking how ridiculous this all sounds. An impartial observer would think us mad.

  He nods and becomes immersed in his newspaper. He is happy. That’s good. A happy Martyn is an amenable Martyn which in turn makes life easier for me.

  The sun makes an appearance and floods the kitchen in shades of yellow and warm ochre. I flop down onto an armchair at the edge of the dining room. Telling lies might be getting easier but it’s tiring. Ribbons of dappled sunlight rest across my lap making me feel relaxed. I could sit like this all day. What with me sat here all calm and collected and Martyn quietly reading the paper, anyone would think we’re a normal family.

  It’s the thump from up above that alerts me, drags me out of my languor. I spill out of the chair, my scalp prickling. I hear it again - another crash and a low moan. Anna. Taking the stairs two at a time, I charge into the bedroom and am confronted by the sight of her body on the floor and my papers scattered around her. Somehow, she has managed to roll herself off the bed and has landed on my things. The laundry is strewn over the rug and my wooden box gapes open like an angry mouth, its contents on display for Anna to see. And judging by the look on her face, she has seen them. Seen them, read them and devoured each and every word. So now she knows. Now there is no going back. My head throbs as I kneel down beside her writhing body and look her in the eyes. She continues to buck about like a wet fish until I raise my hand and slap her hard across her face.

  “Now look what you’ve made me do,” I gasp as I gather up the newspaper cuttings and fold them back up. “You see, I’m not a violent person but you really shouldn’t have touched my personal belongings.”

  She is still at last, her eyes wide with shock and fear, a red welt starting to form on her cheek just below her eye. I suppress any pity or feelings of regret. She shouldn’t have done it. Invaded my space and read what wasn’t hers. This changes everything. And it is all her fault. All of it. If she had managed keep her mouth shut, stopped harping on about Nancy, she probably wouldn’t even be here at all. Silly, silly woman.

  I put everything back in place and this time I snap the clasp shut on my container, then I drag Anna back up onto the bed, noticing how dirty her hair is. I was going to wash it last night and didn’t get round to it. I might be cross with her but I don’t want her to feel unclean. Her usually fair, slightly curly hair is caked with dried blood and sticks to her head in great dirty clumps.

  “Stay here. I’m just going to get some things to clean you up with.” I give her a stern look and her face crumples. Putty in my hands. Excellent.

  I notice how small and slight she is and suddenly something clicks in my brain. Food. She hasn’t had any. Or a drink. I mustn’t let her get dehydrated. Somehow I am going to have to feed her. But first, while she is weak and still slightly sleepy, I will sponge down her hair, restore its usual bounce and shine. I gather up some shampoo, a bowl of warm water and a small sponge and sit down beside her on the edge of the bed. She winces as I dab the sponge on the cut on her head and gently clear away the dried blood.

  “Sssh. I won’t hurt you Suzie. I’m just washing your hair, trying to make you look pretty again. You’d rather look beautiful than greasy and grubby wouldn’t you?”

  She doesn’t move or respond as I massage the shampoo onto her scalp and softly rub the bubbles through the knotted fibres of hair. Slowly but surely, each lock gradually springs free until at last I am able to draw my fingers through it without hitting any tangles or knots. I squeeze the wet sponge over thick strands of her golden hair until all the bubbles have gone and each lock is gleaming. I towel it dry and hear her grunt as I inadvertently touch her scar. I notice it is still bleeding. Not copious amounts but it is definitely there. A constant weep of blood and mucus.

  “Sorry about hurting you. It’s all finished now. You can rest here while I get you a drink and some food,” My mouth is close to her ear as I gather up the bowl of dirty water and the sponge and shampoo bottle, “And please don’t roll about or I will have to hurt you again.” I raise my hand over her face to show her I mean it. She widens her eyes in fright and shakes her head. Her eyes plead with me to not do it. Finally. She is starting to get the message.

  I hurry downstairs and gather up a few snacks and a glass of water. When I get back, she is in exactly the same place. Good. She is starting to understand me. We are going to get along. I prop her up slightly and quickly rip the tape back. Her lips are pursed and she closes her eyes against the sting. I lean down to grab the glass and when I look back, she is staring directly at me. I push the glass to her lips before she can speak. Water runs down her chin and her mouth appears static. It’s the tape. Her skin will feel sore and numb. This is advantageous for me. If I work quickly, I can get her fed and watered and have her gagged again before she has chance to speak or make any incriminating noises.

  She finishes the water and I quickly slip a slice of banana between her contorted lips. She presses down on it and I insert another, then another. I refill the glass from the jug by my side and tilt her chin while she drinks some more water. It’s while I am reaching over for a segment of orange that I hear her. It’s faint and her voice is low and croaky but I definitely hear it, “Phoebe. Help. Please help. Won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

  I sigh and put the glass to her lips. She is shaking and I touch her arm to reassure her.

  “Oh Suzie. If only I could believe that but you see, it’s too late to let you go. You’ve read my most precious documents and now everything is too far gone to turn back. Nothing will ever be the same again now. You can see that can’t you?”

  Before she can protest, I rip off a new length of tape and push it back down on her mouth nice and tight,

  “There. We don’t want you making any unnecessary sounds do we? Not with all the activity going on out there at the minute. This is our little secret and we want it to stay that way.”

  Her eyes fill up and her cheeks redden and puff out in protestation. Two flawlessly formed tears spill out of each eye and roll down her face in absolute symmetry. Even when she cries, she does it faultlessly. Her beauty knows no bounds. She is perfection personified. I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers through her still damp hair. Silky and clean, it bounces through my fingertips like liquid gold. There is a noise outside and her head turns to the direction of the window, a frantic expression on her face. I lean down and whisper gently in her ear, the heat of my own breath bouncing back onto my face as I speak,

  “Sssh. There, there. Don’t try to fight it my darling. I knew we would find a way to get back together. I’ve waited many years for this but I just knew you would come back to me Suzie. I just knew it.”

  ....................................................................................................................................................

&
nbsp; I feel a frisson of excitement and contentment as I head back downstairs and into the living room. Such an amazing feeling. At long last, it’s all coming together. And not before time. I’ve had years of loneliness and heartache. I deserve this piece of utopia. Some people spend their lives bathed in happiness, with everything always going their way, but not me. I have had more than my fair share of misery. This particular moment in time is mine for the keeping. I’ve earned it. I finally have everyone where I want them. Martyn is in his study happily reading and Suzie is upstairs resting after our lunch together. The only piece of the puzzle missing is Tom. A surge of excitement pulses through me. I will ring him. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. I grab my mobile from the kitchen drawer and am dismayed to see it needs charging. Damn. Undeterred, I pick up the landline and punch in his number. He picks it up after only a few rings.