by Lucy Clarke
‘Excuse me?’ I say, stiffening, jarred by his mistake.
‘Jacob! I mean Jacob!’ Neil corrects himself.
A pulse of tension beats at my temple; I know people on the sandbank will always associate Marley and Jacob together, but the slip somehow feels menacing, like the sharp point of a knife edging closer. The scratched-out image of Jacob’s face alights in my thoughts, as I picture the unsettling photo we found tucked into his wallet.
Neil hurries on, clearly embarrassed. ‘When was he last seen?’
‘Sunday evening. It was his birthday.’
He scratches the back of his head. ‘Sunday,’ he repeats to himself. ‘Right, well, I’ll keep an eye out.’
Before he leaves, I take the opportunity to ask, ‘What do you make of Robert? You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?’
He looks surprised by the question. ‘Can’t say I’m his greatest fan.’
‘Did I imagine it, or were you at school together?’
‘For a while, yes.’ He blinks, looks at his hands. ‘He managed to make those years hell. He was a bully back then – and I’m not sure that much has changed.’
‘He was on the warpath looking for Jacob the night he disappeared,’ I venture.
I keep my gaze pinned to Neil, ready to gauge his reaction, but all he says is, ‘I see.’
Although I should go straight back to the beach hut where Nick will be waiting, instead I walk towards the water’s edge. I need a moment alone to think. I slip off my sandals and plunge my feet into the cool shallows.
The sea bed eases out from beneath my soles, leaving me with the sensation that I’m gradually sinking. Questions dart through my thoughts, quick and slick as fish. It seems like Caz’s pregnancy could be at the root of Jacob’s disappearance. I wonder if it was simply too much for him to cope with – so he just upped and ran. Maybe that seemed preferable to having to tell Nick and me. Or did he run because he was scared of what Robert may do? When I tell Nick about the baby, he’ll be shocked – but I wonder whether he’ll be relieved, too: in a way it provides evidence, accreditation for Jacob’s disappearance. The pregnancy could answer the Why: Jacob was scared, so he took off.
But I’m not sure it explains everything, because here’s my question: why run? Why that night? Jacob knows that it’d mean the police would be involved. He knows the fall-out would be far bigger than if he just dealt with the situation head-on. He knows how much Nick and I would suffer.
Without thinking about it, I’ve slipped my mobile from my pocket and dialled Isla’s number. I hear her voice asking me to leave a message, and suddenly I am talking. ‘It’s me. I … God, I really need to speak to you.’ Our falling out is a distant memory in the face of what’s going on right now. I need her. ‘Jacob is still missing. You can’t have got my message – he didn’t come back from a party on Sunday night. The police are investigating … Jesus, Isla. Police. It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real. I’ve just been to see Caz – she was the last one to see Jacob that night – and she’s told me, Jesus, she’s pregnant. Jacob got her pregnant! They’ve known about the baby for an entire month, Isla, and he never told me.’
My gaze slides across the beach towards Isla’s empty hut. Sunlight catches one side of it, illuminating a section of peeling lemon paint where the wood has swollen with damp. The twisted necks of ferns, growing in the gaps between the decking, give it an air of neglect. I picture Jacob sitting right there on the deck with Isla, the two of them talking and laughing together in their easy way.
I recall Jacob’s voice the last time I saw him. She gets me.
Gets me. Understands me. That comparison stripped me raw – because it was true.
Then I realize. I press my mouth close to the phone. ‘Jacob told you about the baby, didn’t he?’
16. ISLA
Yes, I knew about Caz’s pregnancy.
Sarah will hate the fact that Jacob confided in me – perhaps more than the news that her son had got his seventeenyear-old girlfriend pregnant. Or maybe that’s unfair of me. I’m not sure I trust my own perception of people any more – not when I’ve been proved so very wrong.
The thing is, I didn’t even want to know Jacob’s news. I certainly didn’t ask to know – but Jacob came to me. What could I do? Tell him to unsay it?
This summer
‘Mum’s cooking,’ Jacob told me as he’d flopped down on the beach hut sofa, pushing his dark hair from his eyes.
‘Ah.’ Mum’s cooking meant he was keeping out of the way in case he was roped into helping. I put down my book, emptied a packet of crisps into a bowl and poured us both tall glasses of water. ‘Did you get out on your paddleboard this afternoon?’ I asked, sitting opposite, feet on the table. The sea breeze had dropped off and the bay had turned glassy and inviting.
‘Didn’t fancy it.’
I cocked an eyebrow, surprised. He was worrying the edge of his shorts between his thumb and forefinger, a habit he’d had as a child and never quite shaken. He took a sharp breath and began to ask me about the first trip I’d taken when I was nineteen. I thought he was building up to telling me he was going to take a gap year after college, but instead he asked, ‘Were you travelling when you got pregnant with Marley?’
I nodded. ‘I was in Nepal at the time.’
‘Was it … planned?’
I laughed. ‘No, it definitely wasn’t planned.’
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘Terrified.’
He shifted. ‘Did you ever think about … not keeping the baby?’
I reached forward, scooping a handful of crisps from the bowl and dropping one into my mouth as I thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I did. I was halfway through a world trip – a baby was the last thing I thought I wanted. You know, I’d planned to travel as far as Australia,’ I told him. ‘I’d always wanted to learn to dive on the Great Barrier Reef.’ I sighed. ‘But then I just … I don’t know. I felt different when I was pregnant – like suddenly I was a different person. I realized that if I was old enough to go travelling on my own, to get myself pregnant – then I was old enough to see it through.’
‘And then you had Marley.’
I smiled, warmth spreading through my chest. ‘Then I had Marley.’
Jacob looked at me for a long moment. I could tell there was something he wanted to say. He pressed his palms flat together, and brought them to his lips. He inhaled. ‘Caz is pregnant.’
I nodded slowly. ‘How do you both feel?’
‘Shit-scared.’
‘That’s normal.’
‘She’s thinking of keeping it.’
‘And you?’
‘I would feel bad, you know, about an abortion. But I … I don’t want it. I can’t even imagine being a dad. Maybe I’ll want all that one day, I guess. But not now. I’d mess it up.’ He lowered his head, eyes fixed to the floor. ‘I dunno what to do.’
‘Talk to Caz. Tell her how you feel.’
‘She says it’s her decision. It’s her body.’
We were both quiet for a moment, hearing the clink of cutlery being laid next door.
When Jacob spoke again, his voice was lowered. ‘It’s not just up to her though, is it? The decision should be mine, too.’
‘It doesn’t always work out that way,’ I told him gently. ‘Ultimately it’s the woman who has to grow the baby, who has to give birth to it. It’s such a huge decision that I can understand why Caz wants to feel in control of it. But it’s important she listens to what you want, too. You need to work it out together.’
He looked down at his hands. ‘It ties me to her.’
‘And you don’t want to be tied to her?’
Then his gaze rose to meet mine. ‘I don’t think I do.’
Neither of us said anything further.
We finished our drinks, our gazes on the water, then Jacob stood, wiping the heel of his hand across his mouth. ‘Cheers, Isla. Don’t mention it to Mum, will you?’
I didn’t
mention it to Sarah.
Just like I didn’t mention a lot of things that happened in the weeks after that conversation.
17. SARAH
DAY THREE, 4 P.M.
‘Jacob and Caz just seem so … young,’ Nick says, leaning forward on the sofa, elbows on knees, hands clasped.
‘We weren’t much older though, were we?’ I say, carefully drying a mug from the draining board, then placing it in the cupboard with the others, handles facing south. Nick and I had been dating for less than a year when I fell pregnant. I’d always pictured having a family, but first I saw a career for myself, a spring wedding with all our friends, a honeymoon somewhere tropical, and later, much later, children. Two boys and two girls.
‘I know, but Jacob’s still a—’
‘Child?’ I offer. ‘That’s how he might seem to us – but it’s not how he sees himself. Remember being seventeen? I felt like an adult. I felt like the whole world was out there waiting for me. Isla and I had a thousand plans about what we’d do after college, where we’d travel, who we’d become. Being parents didn’t feature in any of them.’
Nick nods slowly as he considers this. ‘We didn’t tell our parents when we found out you were pregnant, did we?’
I’d forgotten that. ‘We waited ages – a month, maybe two, wasn’t it? Jacob isn’t the only teenager not to confide in his parents. He’s probably terrified.’
I remember the sheer white panic I’d felt when my period didn’t arrive. I’d checked the dates again and again, praying I was wrong. When I had finally taken a pregnancy test, I’d passed it to Nick without looking at the result. I had watched his hands trembling as he’d angled it towards the light from the bathroom window. Then he’d lowered himself on to the edge of the bath, like an elderly man unsure his legs would hold him. ‘You’re pregnant,’ he’d said so quietly, I’d had to ask him to repeat it.
Later that night, Nick turned to me in bed and said, ‘Do you think we should get married?’ A question, not a proposal.
‘Do you?’
The bed creaked as he’d rolled on to his back, making a pillow of his arms. He thought for a long time before saying, ‘Yes. I think we should.’
‘Well, okay then.’
A few minutes later, I’d turned towards Nick, my mouth close to his neck. ‘Nick,’ I’d whispered. ‘You know, people will want to know how you proposed. Would you mind if you asked me … properly … some other time? With a ring.’
A week later, when I visited Nick at the sandbank, there was a picnic rug laid on the beach, and a ring box hidden inside a wicker hamper. Yes! I beamed, as Nick slipped a diamond ring on to my finger.
I find myself looking at my husband and wondering, not for the first time, whether he would’ve married me if I hadn’t been pregnant. I ask, quite suddenly, ‘Did you feel trapped?’
Nick runs a hand along one side of his jaw and I hear the scrape of his stubble. ‘Maybe,’ he says slowly. ‘Yes, I probably did.’ He glances at me, then qualifies, ‘It wasn’t that I thought you’d trapped me. It was just the situation.’
But I had, hadn’t I? That was exactly what I’d done.
‘The police are here,’ Nick says, glancing out of the beach hut into the late afternoon sun.
I move to the open doorway. PC Roam is walking at PC Evans’s shoulders, nodding intently at something he is saying. Every few steps she has to jog lightly to keep up. I wonder what they’re talking about, if there’ve been any developments, or whether they’re discussing the information I shared about Caz and Robert.
I should put the kettle on, I think. As I turn, I notice Diane hovering in the doorway of her hut, her watchful gaze pinned to the police. When she sees me, her face changes and she smiles tightly, then ducks inside.
‘We’re the local news at the moment,’ I say to Nick, gesturing towards next door.
‘Everyone’s just concerned.’
I don’t bother to argue the point. Instead, I pump water into the kettle with more force than it needs, then light the hob. By the time I’ve set out four mugs, the police are here.
I notice immediately that PC Roam has more colour to her face – a light tan. Has she found time to sit in the sun while she’s been working on Jacob’s case? I have an overwhelming urge to grab her shoulders and yell, Why haven’t you found my son?
I feel ashamed when she smiles warmly at me, enquiring how Nick and I both are, and whether we’re managing to get any sleep. This young woman has been nothing but nice and helpful. But I don’t want nice or helpful. I want efficiency. I want excellence. I want single-minded determination and fierceness. I would never say this aloud – but here it is: PC Roam is a new mother; if her child is anything like Jacob was as a baby, she’s probably exhausted and doing a sterling job managing to just get into the office each morning in a clean uniform. When you have a young baby, you are consumed by them – when what I want is for PC Roam to be consumed by Jacob’s disappearance. I want her to eat, sleep and breathe this case until Jacob is found.
I drop tea bags into the mugs, splashing milk on top. ‘Have you spoken to Caz about the pregnancy?’
PC Evans nods.
‘And Robert? Have you interviewed him?’
‘Not yet, but we intend to.’
‘Robert was out looking for Jacob the night he disappeared. He said himself he was furious with him. I’m not saying, well, that he’d hurt Jacob, but he does have a motive.’
Motive. Am I really using words like that?
Nick shoots me a warning look.
PC Evans nods lightly, but I can’t help but think he looks a little uninterested – as if he’s thinking along different lines.
I hand out the tea, then sit on the sofa beside Nick.
PC Evans glances into his notebook and says, ‘We’ve also interviewed Ross Wayman, who owns the harbour ferry. He’s confirmed that Jacob didn’t use the ferry on the evening of his disappearance, or any time since.’
Ross Wayman has run the ferry for years. I like his story: he left school at sixteen and headed to the City, where he fell into a banking role. By nineteen he was on the trading floor, cutting huge deals with City folk who had degrees and a decade more experience. On his thirtieth birthday he retired – rumour has it with a few million in his pocket – and disappeared to Africa for the next ten years. He came back when his father died, and moved himself and his mother into an Edwardian house overlooking the harbour. At the time, the old sandbank ferry came up for sale, so he bought it, and he and his mother used to run the business – she collecting the fares, and he captaining it. He must be in his sixties by now – and he’s still running the ferry every day. Eight till eight, the sign reads, 365 days of the year.
But just because Jacob hasn’t used the ferry, I’m careful not to let myself believe that he’s still here. He could easily have walked across the headland; it might take an hour at a good pace – though probably longer in the dark.
PC Evans looks at Nick, then me. ‘It’s been brought to our attention that the day of Jacob’s disappearance fell on the anniversary of another boy’s death. Marley Berry.’
My face flushes hot. Brought to our attention, by whom? I think of Diane’s curious expression as she’d watched the police arrive. By her? I can’t think of any reason Diane – or anyone – would have for bringing up Marley’s anniversary.
‘Marley was Jacob’s best friend,’ Nick explains. ‘His mother, Isla Berry, is Jacob’s godmother. She has the hut next door to us.’
PC Evans says, ‘I understand that Jacob was with Marley when he drowned?’
Nick nods.
‘I’m surprised neither of you thought to mention this.’
‘We didn’t think it was relevant,’ I say.
‘Where did it happen?’
There’s a pause before I answer, ‘Here. This bay.’
PC Evans looks between Nick and me. ‘So, just to get this clear, Jacob’s best friend, Marley Berry, went missing from this bay. Then on the same day �
�� seven years later – Jacob also goes missing, from the same spot.’ He says the words slowly, carefully, imbuing each one with importance.
‘Marley didn’t go missing,’ I amend. ‘He drowned.’ I will not let him imply that the two cases are the same.
PC Evans responds with another question. ‘How was Jacob affected by Marley Berry’s death?’
‘Devastated,’ Nick answers. ‘Marley was his best friend. They did everything together.’
‘So Marley would’ve been on Jacob’s mind, seeing as it was the anniversary of his death?’
A shiver travels down my spine as I think about the photo in Jacob’s wallet. My mouth is dry, but I swallow and answer clearly. ‘It’s possible.’
PC Evans takes a drink of his tea, then sets the mug on the side table, neglecting to use one of the coasters that I’ve left out. When I bought them – banana-wood coasters that toned with the sofa cushions – Nick had said with a smile, You know this is a beach hut?
PC Evans leans back into the sofa. ‘I want to talk in a little more detail about the last time you saw Jacob.’ He is looking at me closely. At my eyes. At my mouth. It’s as if he can see right inside me, as if he knows exactly who I am, what I’m capable of – and knows the exact chain of events that have led us here.
‘What, specifically, do you want to know?’ My tone sounds clipped, defensive.
‘You mentioned previously that you’d had a disagreement with Jacob.’
My mind’s racing to recall what I’ve told them. ‘It was nothing. Just a spat.’
PC Evans looks down at his notebook. ‘Someone mentioned that they overheard a commotion in your hut at around 8.15 p.m. They said they could hear Jacob shouting. Then there was a loud thud, followed by the slamming of a door.’
I can feel a slick of sweat building underarm as everyone focuses on me.
It must’ve been Diane. She’d have overheard us arguing from next door. Did she hear everything? I’m sure I’d pulled the hut doors closed during the argument – but when?
‘Can you recall what the thud might have been?’ PC Evans asks, his gaze fixed on me.