In Too Deep

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘That’s how it feels, and I really understand that,’ Paula said. ‘It must be so hard, but look how far you’ve come already. You survived those terrible early days. The human mind and body have an amazing partnership,’ she continued. ‘Concocting all sorts of clever ways to adapt. You’re getting used to a new way of living, Gina, and it feels odd. It feels horrendous. But you are coping. You are doing it so well.’

  I frowned. I didn’t think I believed her; wasn’t sure I entirely trusted her, though God, I wanted to.

  ‘What if Rick never returns and I’m left in limbo for the rest of my life?’

  ‘Then that too is some kind of an outcome,’ she said calmly. ‘An outcome that needs accepting and processing, just as if he walked into this office right now would also need dealing with. Already you’ve moved on from who and what you were last November. You’re not the same woman that Rick left behind.’

  I nodded. She was right and I hadn’t realised. If Rick came into the room right then, I’d be filled with anger, disbelief and . . . love, or so I thought. But my love for him had shifted ever so slightly. It wasn’t quite the same.

  I talked to Paula about the police search, how it had affected me. No body had been found, and God knows they’d looked – from scouring railway embankments and local wasteland with highly trained dogs, to dredging the canals and diving the river with special equipment. There were no forensic clues to suggest that Rick had been hurt or murdered or even a single sign of a struggle in the locality. There were no witness reports of trouble or a fight – just the possibility that someone saw a man like Rick walking along the pavement around the time he vanished.

  Those early days had been a time when I’d read everything into nothing, searched for clues wherever I could, taking any minuscule occurrence as a sign, a reason, or an excuse for what had happened. I’d been desperate for proof that Rick hadn’t left me, that there was a rational explanation. And underlying all of this had been Adrian’s big hands wrapped around me.

  I couldn’t bear it that Rick had seen us.

  ‘Adrian was harassing me at work,’ I told Paula the next time I saw her. She was wearing a slim corduroy skirt with dark tights and knee-length boots. Her chunky-knit cardigan fell open at the front, showing her figure beneath the grey wool. ‘Sexually.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said in that kind manner of hers that I’d become so used to; so trusting of. The gentle nod she gave, the way her intense eyes focused solely on me were like a thread attached to my thoughts, drawing them out of me.

  ‘Actually, that gives the wrong impression,’ I said, suddenly fearful, wanting to retract. ‘It probably wasn’t harassment. He wanted to make me feel special. I don’t know how it happened exactly, but it was . . . well, I’m not proud. I suppose it was kind of flattering at first. He’s a good-looking man.’

  I looked out of the window to my left. It was raining and I could see the pavements were slick and glittering in the late-afternoon street light. It had been dark for an hour already, and I couldn’t help but wonder what Rick was doing right at that moment. Was he soaking or dry? Hungry or cold? Dead or alive?

  ‘It started when he joined our office. To begin with, he was aloof, but after a while I sensed something extra from him, a vibe he didn’t give to the others. It was mainly looks, and the way he acted around me. Once or twice we chatted about our private lives. He told me he was divorced, that his ex-wife was a psycho-bitch, that he had a couple of kids he saw every other weekend.

  ‘Most of us keep our personal issues out of work – apart from Steph, of course, who virtually broadcasts all the disasters in her life on an hourly basis.’ I smiled briefly, unable to help it. Steph’s middle name is calamity, though I didn’t bother explaining how Adrian had made a play for her first.

  ‘So what changed?’ Paula maintained her warmth towards me, even though I reckoned she was probably feeling the opposite inside.

  ‘I don’t know for certain,’ I said, trying to pinpoint a moment. ‘A few months ago, there was an impromptu work gathering. We’d had a particularly good quarter sales-wise, so the bosses put on a celebration supper at a local place for the staff and their partners. Rick came, though Adrian was there alone. I wondered if he was jealous. He kept staring at me and Rick.’

  Paula urged me on with a nod.

  ‘After a few drinks, Adrian latched on to Rick and they talked for a while. Rick looked a bit uncomfortable, if I’m honest, and at one point I tried to rescue him. Adrian can be very overbearing.’ I scanned back over what I could recall, seeing the boredom on Rick’s face, the way he kept looking over at me then looking quickly away. I noticed he was sweating.

  ‘When I asked Rick about it later, he denied anything was wrong, that he and Adrian had been chatting about the rugby. He was quiet afterwards, though. Withdrawn.’ I shrugged. ‘But I’m probably reading too much into it. Overthinking things again.’

  ‘I’m sure Rick would have been sensible enough to discuss things with you if he was worried about Adrian’s behaviour. Or indeed if he thought you were having an affair.’

  My mouth went dry and my heart kicked up when Paula mentioned the word ‘affair’. That’s not what it was. Was it? Had my lies to myself become cemented in my reality?

  ‘Adrian has a way about him,’ I tried to explain, though it was impossible to convey his charm and allure without meeting him. ‘It was like he had some kind of power over me from the start.’ I looked away, hoping Paula would sense how much shame I carried. ‘If I’m honest, it scared me. I felt threatened, like I wasn’t the real me when he was around. He’d get up close and say things to me, causing this . . . tension between us. It simmered away, making me feel . . . dirty if I didn’t do what he wanted. You know . . .’

  ‘This is sexual harassment, Gina,’ Paula said without hesitation. ‘There are steps you can take, ways to deal with it.’

  The fact is, I didn’t want to deal with it. I felt the tears pooling in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them rolling down my cheeks. My shoulders began to shake as it all came out. I covered my face with my hands.

  ‘He was so persuasive,’ I said. ‘I’d been working late one evening and it was dark. He walked me to my car. It began with one kiss – and honest to God, it was a brief peck on the cheek from me. But Adrian turned it into something more, something I couldn’t control. Something almost violent that I shouldn’t have enjoyed, but I did. My body wasn’t mine any more. The other times after that, it felt so conditional, though we never actually slept together. If I didn’t do what he wanted, I was terrified he’d tell Rick. It wasn’t exactly like that, and he never said those precise words, but that’s how it felt. What choice did I have? I couldn’t bear to lose my husband.’

  Despite my story and the shame it gave me, Paula remained warm and accepting, explaining how sexual harassment and abuse is dependent on a control dynamic.

  ‘An imbalance of power forms, and it’s often very fast. Enough to sweep you off your feet, literally, when your boundaries are down. It’s smoke and mirrors,’ she said, ‘but with the perpetrator convincing the victim that she is beholden to him, instilling guilt where it’s actually an inappropriate response. The illusion is real for the victim.

  ‘It’s important for you to separate all this from Rick’s disappearance, Gina. I know you’re searching for answers, but you are looking in the wrong place. We’ll work through all this, the harassment included, and I’ll give you some advice for when you return to the office. You are not responsible for whatever has happened to Rick. And you are not responsible for Adrian’s behaviour either.’

  I left feeling slightly better, slightly less wretched. But I still played and replayed the scenario in my mind as I tramped the wet streets home. What had Rick seen that afternoon? What had it looked like from where he was standing? Had it been the point at which Adrian’s lips were sliding across my neck, or had it been when his hands grabbed my hips, lifting my skirt?

  What I am certain of, though, is t
hat when I’d shoved Adrian away, when his mouth had loomed large and wet against mine, Rick had gone. He’d never witnessed my fingers digging into the meat of Adrian’s shoulders to make him let go, or known just how terrified I’d become of things getting out of hand. We couldn’t afford for me to lose my job, and I didn’t want to ruin my marriage.

  I opened my front gate and let myself into the house. I breathed in deeply, hoping to catch the scent of my husband. As usual, I glanced at the shoe rack, praying there would be a man’s pair sitting next to mine, or his jacket would be tossed on the stairs. I went into the kitchen and dumped my coat and bag, wondering why, exactly, everyone kept referring to me as a victim.

  Hannah

  When I wake, Mum’s not there. I heard her leave earlier with Cooper, though I pretended to be asleep. I was surprised she was up so early considering the time she came in from Susan’s. I lay there listening to her bumping into things, clattering in the bathroom, getting undressed, before falling into bed and mumbling her way into a disturbed sleep.

  I swing my legs round on to the floor and go into the bathroom, sitting on the loo. I cradle my head in my hands, seeing an image of Dad coming to the hotel just as Mum has been hoping. They’re running up to each other, falling into each other’s arms . . . But then I drop down to my knees, leaning over the pan.

  Surprise!

  I stand up and wipe my mouth. The bitter tang of bile burns my throat and nose. I clean my teeth, dry-retching again as the toothbrush reaches round my mouth. There’s a knock at the door as I’m spitting and rinsing. I answer it with a towel pressed over my mouth.

  ‘I hope it’s not too early,’ Susan says, glancing behind me. She looks as though she’s been up for hours – her hair swept into a stylishly messy up-do. She’s wearing a crisp white shirt over black jeans. Red flats complete her no-nonsense look of authority.

  Despite her smile, I can’t help the frown. I’m in no mood to be pleasant and I find myself glancing at my wrist, despite not wearing a watch, just to make a point. ‘No, I’m already up,’ I say with a sort of smile, even though I’m still bundled up in the thick robe. ‘And Mum’s up too, though she’s not here.’ My mouth still tastes of sick.

  ‘Oh,’ Susan says, not hiding her disappointment. ‘Your mum and I had such a good time last night.’ One hand leans on the door frame.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, thinking again about the state Mum was in. ‘I don’t think she’s stayed up that late in a while.’

  I was going to add not since Dad last took her out, but they didn’t go out often. They had an easy-going marriage, happy with their usual routine – quite different to some of my friends’ home lives, by all accounts. I preferred it that way. It helped glue us together in the aftermath of Jacob. If nothing out of the ordinary happened to the three of us ever again, we used to say, it would be too soon.

  ‘Anyway, I hope we didn’t keep you awake last night,’ Susan says. ‘My living room is right above your bedroom.’ She peers inside, pretending to glance up at the ceiling, when really she’s sweeping a look around at our stuff. The room isn’t very tidy, mostly because of Mum. She always used to be a bit of a neat freak, but since Dad, she hasn’t really bothered.

  ‘Don’t worry. I was dead to the world. And I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for food last night.’ I clutch my tummy. ‘I think I’ve picked up a bug or something.’

  ‘I understand,’ Susan says. She turns to leave, but thinks better of it. ‘My son’s coming home from his trip later. He wasn’t feeling well either,’ she says, as if it’s the biggest coincidence ever. ‘I’ll introduce you. I’m sure you’ll have lots in common.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say without much enthusiasm. The last thing I want is to have to make small talk with a guy who I’ll never see again. ‘Though I think Mum and I are going out later.’

  I make to close the door, not actually asking what it is she wanted this early on a Sunday. Susan thankfully takes the hint and leaves, and it’s only when I shut the door that I see that wherever it is Mum’s gone, she’s forgotten to take her key card.

  ‘Damn,’ I said, feeling in my pockets. ‘I’ve left my keys behind.’

  Tom gave me a funny look. We’d barely even said hello, with me offering a brief apology for keeping him waiting as I braced myself against him at the bottom of the small incline.

  ‘I was sorting out other people’s problems,’ I’d said by way of breathy excuse, meaning Karen’s. I’d thought how amazing he looked as I’d broken from a cool-as-anything amble into an involuntary trot then an unstoppable run as the short-cut slope I’d taken got steeper and steeper. I’d been heading for the water at speed, and beyond that the wooden jetty, which hadn’t looked particularly sturdy as I’d careered towards it.

  Fortunately, Tom had been standing between me and the water, and I’d let out a silly laugh as I’d neared him, my hands flapping. He’d reached out and slowed me down, pulling me into his arms. I’d never had that feeling before.

  ‘Did you leave them in your flat?’ he asked.

  I nodded. ‘In my room. I’m so forgetful. It’s amazing I even remember that I’m forgetful.’

  ‘That’s silly,’ he said, nudging me with his elbow. The nudge turned into an arm-link as we walked around the lake. ‘Did you know, we have one of the greenest campuses in the country?’

  We inhaled the scented evening air, the circumstances perhaps making me more aware of the early-autumn chill, and the berry-filled bursts. Midges were going crazy a foot or so above the water.

  It was dusk but not dark. Birds were indecisive, flitting between trees, passing low over our heads, not knowing whether to settle down for the night or keep busy searching for grubs. Perhaps our chatter was disturbing them. Apart from us, it was deserted and serene down by the lake – the greeny-black surface broken only by spirals of weed, the waxy slabs of lily pads, and the occasional gulp and ripples from fish.

  ‘You learn something new every day,’ I said with a giggle, already knowing that bit of campus trivia from the copious amounts of literature I’d pored over before applying. It was one of the top places to study in the country.

  For some reason, though, it hadn’t impressed Dad, and neither had the many other appealing facts and statistics. But it had the undergraduate course I wanted with an achievable offer, and so far I was loving it.

  ‘My parents left it up to me to choose,’ Tom said when I told him how Dad had wanted me to study overseas. ‘Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t as if they didn’t care. They’re both busy and were happy for me to do what I wanted. The engineering department here is one of the best,’ he said proudly, as if he was already devoted to the place.

  ‘I can’t believe I have a whole three years here.’ I drank in my surroundings. To the left was the beautiful lake, while up ahead and spanning out to my right was the large campus, made up of a mix of sixties- and seventies-style concrete structures as well as more modern glass-fronted buildings. The careful yet natural landscaping flowing throughout softened it, making it easy on the eye. It could almost have been mistaken for a small town, albeit inhabited only by students. It was filled with so much knowledge and talent, I wondered if I actually deserved to be there.

  ‘Let’s sit,’ Tom said as we approached a bench. There was a plaque on the back of it.

  ‘In memory of K. D. Walton,’ I read. ‘I wonder who they were.’

  ‘A benefactor, maybe?’ Tom suggested as we sat down. ‘Or a famous dead alumnus?’

  But I was already shaking my head. ‘No. Nothing like that.’ I paused, considering the story brewing inside me. I grinned. ‘I think she was another hapless student stumbling down the bank. She ran so fast she couldn’t stop and she ended up falling into the water and drowning, dying a horrible, waterlogged and lonely death, only to be found months later when they dredged the lake. Her parents were devastated and bought this bench in her name. To this day, K. D. Walton haunts the banks, preventing others from meeting the same sticky end.’


  But then I stopped, dead still and silent, processing what I’d just said.

  ‘You’re bonkers,’ I vaguely heard Tom say. ‘What course are you doing again? Joint honours in fanciful theory and bullshit?’ He play-punched me, a grin on his face.

  But I was reeling. Reeling from the odd feeling that I wasn’t about to break down and turn into an emotional wreck, or at the very least make my excuses and dash off at the mention of someone dying, even if I had said it myself.

  ‘That was weird,’ I said, shrugging, feeling strangely calm.

  ‘You’re telling me.’ He gave that laugh again – the one that made me melt a little inside.

  ‘No, really. Take it from me, it was weird.’ I stood up and walked to the water’s edge, almost as if I was expecting to see the soggy, pale face of K. D. Walton staring, open-eyed, right at me from under the surface.

  ‘I lost my brother in an accident a few years ago.’

  There. I’d said it.

  My voice had switched tone, enough to turn Tom’s manner sombre. He listened, leaning forward on his elbows, paying full attention.

  ‘It was awful. It hit us all hard.’

  I had no idea why I was confessing this to him. It could have scared him off. But even from the beginning, it didn’t feel like that with Tom. I felt comfortable, as if there was total honesty from the start.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hannah,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine how that must feel.’

  ‘I’ve never . . . since the accident, I’ve not been able to talk about . . . death like that before. Not in such a flippant way.’ My mouth was dry, my thoughts fearful, waiting for the anger and grief to come. But they didn’t.

  ‘Maybe it’s because you’re away from home.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, but I knew it wasn’t.

  ‘Things get pretty intense after A levels. Everything piling down on you.’

  I went to sit down again, closer to him this time. Our thighs were touching.