Submersion

  ‘You said if I learnt your name, I’d be in danger. That I’d want to do something with the answer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Xavier is a wanted man, Agnes. A dangerous man, by all I’ve heard. He’s upset people on every side you can imagine. Good, bad, ambivalent, saintly and downright evil. He’s killed people, too, Agnes.’ He paused, checking if I could take anymore. Sensing I could, he continued. ‘People want his blood. But worse – he knows things. He’s infiltrated systems and influenced people to gain a lot of knowledge that makes him a very dangerous person. And those who are after him will do anything to get hold of him. They wouldn’t think twice about using his family to achieve that.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t-.’

  ‘No, Agnes. I don’t doubt for a minute that you’d do anything intentional, but you might want to confide in someone else. And that person might in turn confide in someone else. And so on. And all of a sudden you are the mother of Xavier Riley’s daughter – a very dangerous position to be in indeed.’

  ‘Oh god, you don’t think-.’

  His hands reached out to me again; soft, warm.

  ‘No one knows, Agnes, so no – that isn’t what has happened to her. She’s missing, I’m convinced of that. But not because of Xavier. Maybe we’ll find something in those files you sneaked out of your office.’

  Amidst the revelations, I had all but forgotten my original purpose for the visit.

  ‘Are you ready to move onto that?’ he asked.

  I thought for a minute. He’d given enough of an explanation for now; anything else I thought of could wait. But it continued to feel odd – Old Man Merlin, now Augustus, was Elinor’s grandfather. And unbeknown to us all – Elinor included – she had been spending time under his roof, under his care. Suddenly, despite his secrecy, I felt I liked the old man that little more for this fact, and that I could trust him a little more, too.

  ‘Let’s get on with it. See if what I’ve stolen was worth the risk.’

  With that, he walked ahead and my shell-shocked self followed behind, ascending to the computer room on the third floor, ready to face the next emotional onslaught to my senses.

  It took us a few hours to flick through the parts of the inventory I had yet to explore. Whilst we searched on one computer together, Augustus fired up another one and transferred all of the files onto that as well. Once this transaction was complete, we split the workload – divvying up folders in groups, checking in with each other whenever we came across anything of interest. The correspondence folder was vast. A copy of every letter from every parent or governor had been saved, going back as many years as all the other folders I had searched through. Decisions regarding suspensions, expulsions, uniforms, new starters, truancy, subjects introduced, subjects revoked – an endless list of subject matter that teachers had responded to. There was correspondence to and from third parties as well – plumbers, electricians, builders, stationary and furniture suppliers, caterers, staffing agencies, a ceaseless succession of interested bodies. Then, Augustus stumbled across a sub-file labelled Confidential, a discovery he instantly shared, beaming with glee.

  ‘It’s got to be something,’ he announced, finding the folder on my computer too. Again, we shared the work out, with him starting at the top of the folder on his screen, and me working up from the bottom on mine. Within five minutes, I found something of interest.

  ‘Look,’ I said, calling the old man over – my daughter’s grandfather, I reminded myself – to look at what I had opened up on my screen.

  The document had no title, but instead had been labelled with the date – two days after Elinor’s disappearance. Opening it up, I didn’t recognise the format. Augustus squinted at my screen.

  ‘It’s an old format. Memo, I believe it’s referred to. Obviously the school are still using it. Can you read it out? The font is a little too small for these old eyes.’

  I did, reading it slowly, absorbing the content as I recited it aloud.

  ArthurC1:

  Wondered if you can give me an update on the incident?

  BakerD15:

  It’s been dealt with. We moved very quickly following your call this morning. My man in the police authority will corroborate our events. A drowning after a freak incident.

  ArthurC1:

  Appreciated. We could do without the finger pointing.

  ‘What do you think?’ Augustus asked.

  ‘Not sure, could be nothing, but ArthurC1 – it could be Professor Arthur – he’s head teacher at the school.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  I nodded, opening two similar documents.

  CrackG:

  I saw men snooping, going past in a speed boat during morning lessons. I’m worried. What if they find something?

  ArthurC1:

  There’s nothing to find.

  CrackG:

  Then why can’t we come clean? Why the cover story, when we’ve done nothing wrong?

  ArthurC1:

  You know why.

  CrackG:

  So the mother wrote that letter? It’s just one opinion. Why this big charade over one letter?

  ArthurC1:

  Reputation, that’s why. We’ve worked hard to achieve what we have to date. We don’t want rumour to ruin it all. Yes, we’ve done nothing wrong, but assumptions would have been made when she didn’t turn up. So, that little act of sabotage was worth it. Now, this conversation is over.

  ‘It’s definitely the head teacher – and that’s got to be Geraldine Cracker, Billy’s teacher.’

  ‘Can you read the rest?’

  ‘Yes.’

  CrackG:

  The cousin is asking questions. The three girls who were with the girl at the boat stop are in his class.

  ArthurC1:

  Nothing to worry about. There’s nothing for them to say.

  CrackG:

  She was left behind, Christopher. The driver sped off without her. What if that comes out? What if those girls say something? We need to come clean.

  ArthurC1:

  I’ll sort it.

  We were silent for a while, mulling over possibilities. I was stumped again. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find – if I expected to find anything – but this was disturbing and puzzling. There was a clue to a police cover up – BakerD15 was clearly with the authorities. Drowning after a freak accident had to refer to Elinor and the collapsed platform. If so, this confirmed my suspicion that she hadn’t drowned, that it was a story covering something else up.

  ‘She’s still alive,’ I confirmed to Augustus, hope quivering in a small smile across my face.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, cautious, yet softly. ‘We don’t know that for sure yet, Agnes.’

  His words caused me to pause. No one had said this outright to me yet. Not this bluntly. Esther and Aunt Penny had questioned my belief that Elinor was still alive, but not in the calm, caring manner the old man had.

  ‘You think she’s not.’

  ‘No, I think she’s alive, I feel she’s alive, too, but I don’t know, Agnes. And I think you should prepare yourself, just a little.’

  I gave a small, solemn nod.

  ‘What do you make of the last section?’ he asked, moving us back to the evidence before us.

  I read it again.The driver sped off without her. What if that comes out? What if those girls say something? We need to come clean.

  ‘Have I been assuming the wrong thing?’ I questioned, shrugging to show that I was flummoxed by this particular section.

  I’d been certain the school had been responsible for Elinor’s disappearance, convinced they had taken her. And here, in black and white, was an indication of their guilt, that they had something to cover up. But the admission appeared to be neglect, not abduction.She was left behind, Christopher.

  ‘But if all they were guilty of was leaving her behind on the platform, why go to such lengths to say she was drowned?’ My exasperation was clear
in my voice, straining it a little. It seemed so extreme, so unnecessary. ‘Why mislead me like this? Why be so cruel?’

  Augustus nodded in agreement, but had something to add.

  ‘We know what happened in the past, Agnes – the hatred and utter mistrust those atrocities created. The schools will do anything to avoid undoing the years of repairing their reputations. Anything. So, yes it would be an extreme manner to cover up the neglect of one child. Immoral, too, but not unthinkable. Not unthinkable at all. And, if it’s true that the driver didn’t let her on board, they do share some of the responsibility for whatever happened. She should have been safe, at school, not-.’

  Augustus stopped, unable to finish his exact words.

  As I took in what he’d said, I found myself considering another possibility – one that was easier to imagine, but harder to accept.

  ‘Could she have died in a freak accident, Augustus? Could my Elinor have drowned after all?’

  Those reassuringly warm hands reached out to me again.

  ‘That first section suggests not, my dear. What did it say: it’s been dealt with? A mention of corroboration. Stinks of something fishy.’

  ‘But could the school just be trying to cover up their neglect? As you said, it was their fault she was left behind.’

  ‘Maybe. It’s very likely, but we haven’t got enough to go on yet. Shall we keep looking?’

  I nodded. My thirst for answers was burning at my throat.

  We returned to our separate searches and within the next thirty minutes found further documents that helped pull these fragments together with more cohesion.

  ‘I’ve found that letter you wrote, concerns about the testing they were doing on the students,’ Augustus announced. ‘And another memo between those teachers.’

  I moved to Augustus’ screen and read through these. I was surprised by their contents.You saw her letter. People will be thinking allsorts. All we are trying to do is get the best results for the school. Is that such a bad thing?

  ‘That’s another reference to me,’ I said, and the old man tapped at the screen, urging me to read on. I squinted, my eyes growing tired and sore.People remember the past, Geraldine. People are suspicious. We’ll just ride it through. The testing and class restructure is the right thing to do. They will all see this eventually.

  ‘What do you think?’ Augustus asked, after a short period of silence.

  I wasn’t sure. My beliefs about St Patrick’s educational policy were in limbo again.

  ‘I found something similar on another day – something called the Classroom Restructure Proposal. That document suggested that all the testing and changes they had introduced were simply about getting the very best results for the school, nothing sinister,’ I explained, trying to find it amongst the thousands of files. I gave up quickly. ‘Could I have been wrong? Could all the testing business really be about improving the results, no link at all to what has gone on before?’

  ‘The evidence does suggest that, Agnes, but it doesn’t answer your burning question, does it?’

  I shook my head: no, it didn’t.

  We read a further succession of memos, and those documents simply helped to complete the jigsaw we had started: there had been a cover up of some sort, yes, and the school were guilty, too, no doubt at all, but guilty of neglect. And guilty of lying about that.

  Tired from searching and exhausted by the afternoon’s revelations – Elinor’s ancestry, answers (albeit unconfirmed ones) regarding the educational authorities – I switched my computer off and the old man followed suit.

  ‘Was that all for nothing?’ I voiced, emotional pain cracking up the sound.

  ‘No,’ Augustus reassured, getting up from his chair, moving towards the door. ‘We just know where not to look now. That school isn’t going to give up anything else about Elinor, because it doesn’t know anything else - I’m certain. So, let’s concentrate in another place.’

  I sighed, weary, worn-out mentally.

  ‘Do we have anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ he returned, a glimmer of hope in his voice. ‘I have that tape to work on. It could be the key.’ With that, he shuffled off, back down those spiral steps, heading to the outer reaches of the lower ground, from where I heard banging and twinkling a few minutes later.

  I stayed where I was for a while, drinking up the calm of the solitude, trying to clear my mind. Did I have some answers? Maybe. I had spent the last few days scanning the educational database, but maybe it was the wrong place after all? Maybe I needed to access the police files, search for proof that they had been in cahoots with the school, that this cover up was relatively innocent, a move to save its reputation, rather than hide a crime? Maybe that would be my move early the next week, when I returned to the office? Or maybe this crazy old grandfather of my daughter’s was right – that all our answers were recorded on the tape? The tape that was taking him so long to repair and extract information from.

  Whatever, I was finished for the day. Following Augustus’ trail, I followed him to his kitchen-come-laboratory out the back, wished him farewell and then clambered back into my protective gear.

  Mooring my small wooden boat outside my house, I noticed a light coming from the first floor. Someone else was home.

  ‘Tristan?’ I cried, climbing clumsily up the staircase, nearly slipping on the damp treads, eager to be reunited with my lover, and tell him everything I knew. Almost everything – I wasn’t sharing the truth about Augustus. Not yet. Elinor had to know first.

  There was a figure sat at the kitchen table, but it wasn’t Tristan.

  ‘Hello Agnes,’ said Reuben.

  His presence left me disconcerted. I hadn’t seen him since I’d asked him to leave, and here he was, turning up on the day that so many things had been revealed.

  ‘How did you get in?’ I asked, cautiously moving into the room.

  He smiled. Isn’t it obvious, his look said? But he spoke to confirm. ‘You gave me a key, Agnes. Sorry, wasn’t I supposed to use it?’

  But I didn’t recall giving him a key. I was certain I hadn’t given him a key. Something felt wrong. Terribly wrong.

  The telephone began ringing in the background. It took fifteen rings for the caller to go away. Esther, no doubt.

  ‘Agnes, what is it? Have I done something wrong? Do you want me to leave?’

  The telephone started up again, the persistence from before repeating itself.

  I felt so overwhelmed that I thought I might be sick. No, maybe I was going to faint. Or, no - maybe I was…

  ‘Agnes? Agnes? Are you okay? It’s Reuben. Reuben. Can you hear me? Is everything alright? Should I call someone…?’

  When I came round, I was on the small sofa in the kitchen-living area, my head resting on a cushion. Reuben was just a few feet away, sat at the table, folded at right-angles, like the first time he visited. Seeing me alert, he came to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry. I startled you. You’d forgotten, hadn’t you? About the key.’

  I nodded. Yes, I had, but I didn’t have the energy to argue that I was certain I’d never do such a thing. These weren’t the rules of our game. I didn’t even have the energy to remind him that I’d actually asked him to leave during his last visit. I needed him, after all. That’s why he’d come – for me, to support me, to listen to me, and to guide me.

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ I muttered, not moving my head, watching him at a ninety degree angle. ‘Very long. I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Would you like to talk about it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I told him, and, despite my exhaustion, despite the fact that something wasn’t quite right with the scene, something wasn’t quite adding up, I began my long tale – starting from my first day at work, including all the events and revelations, and ending up with my afternoon with Augustus Riley.

  ‘The Augustus Riley?’ Reuben teased, like he knew he was significant.

  ‘Yes,’ I’d retorted, smiling gently.

 
It had felt good to tell him. Cathartic. And I knew I could trust him. Knew it wouldn’t go any further. How could it?

  You see, I have a confession to make. About Reuben and I. He’s not just some missionary I’ve let in off the street. I tell myself that. Each time he comes into my life, I play the same charade with myself. Pretend he’s a stranger. Then, once I get comfortable, I battle with myself, challenge myself to face the truth – hence the little disagreement the last time Reuben visited. But, right now, I’m ready to tell you.

  Reuben isn’t real. He’s the ghost of my dead twin who comes to comfort me in times of trouble. Only this time, something was different. This time, it seemed more real.

  I got up from the sofa and sat across the table from him, putting my hands in the middle, reaching out to him. Reuben mimicked my action and our hands met, fingers entwining.

  That’s what was different.

  In the background, the telephone rang for a third, ceaseless succession of peels. I ignored it.

  ‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’ he said, and I felt a cold shiver down my spine, like a slow, torturous trickle of icy water, as he squeezed his fingers round mine, his eyes staring into mine, drilling deep into my soul. ‘Feels like coming home…’

  13. Billy

  I did stop for a minute. To think about what I should do. Whether I should go ahead with my plans to enter my great-aunt and uncle’s old shop. Mother had been insistent that I should never go there again; had been furious with Great-Aunt Penny about that previous visit. But there was something going on in there, I knew that for certain. I recalled the nasty scratch on Great-Uncle Jimmy’s hand and the unexplained finger marks on Great-Aunt Penny’s neck. They had said the problems at the shop were electrical faults, but now I knew the truth. It stared out at me from the window at the apex of the building. A family face. My father’s face, I was certain.

  ‘But not a friendly face,’ I said to myself, torn between my fear of the unknown and my need to confront it.

  Whoever it was, my great-aunt and uncle had seen fit to lock them away. Mother knew about this too. It was the only explanation for her over-reaction at my going there. Yet, how great was this danger? To my knowledge, no one had been killed. And if the person at the window had attacked my aunt and uncle, he hadn’t hurt them badly – just marks and scrapes.