In Too Deep

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘You know what, Hannah?’ She lifts her head, staring at me. Her eyes grow wide. ‘I’m pretty fed up of this now. Fed up of your attitude. I feel like shit too, you know, and I miss Dad more than is bearable most days. I brought you away on this trip because I thought it would do us both good. And quite frankly, you’ve done nothing but moan since we got here.

  ‘I know life’s not perfect any more, and it hasn’t been since we lost Jacob. But I can’t help that. I am simply trying to make the best of what we’re left with, because until Dad decides to come back, or we find out what happened to him, it’s just me and you, kiddo.’

  I inhale another lungful of breath. Deep and rejuvenating.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Wait, I’m not done.’ I shove my feet into my shoes and grab my handbag. ‘It’s been four months now. Four months since Dad went. During that time, I have experienced some of the darkest days of my life. I could allow myself to carry on feeling this way indefinitely, but what good would that do? If Dad had just flipped out and needed some space, there’d have been a sighting by now, or even some kind of contact from him. Maybe even an apology.’

  Hannah’s mouth opens and shuts.

  ‘It leaves me thinking that if he’s still alive, he doesn’t want to be found. And if he’s . . .’ I raise my shoulders, stopping myself. ‘And . . . and if it’s the alternative, then what can I do about it, Hannah? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. That’s what.’

  I snatch my keys from the side table.

  ‘Coming here has made me realise that outside of my protective bubble of home and work and scuttling back home again to drink and sleep, there is an entire world out there getting on with its life. I want to be part of it again. Do you understand? Don’t you want the same?’

  She stares at me as if I have three heads. She hates me.

  ‘I think Dad might be dead,’ she says in a whisper so convincing it sends shivers up my spine.

  Thankfully it’s a clear run to Kidlington. My mood wouldn’t have been helped by getting stuck in a jam. Part of me feels strangely relieved for saying what I did to Hannah, while the other part feels completely wretched. I’m just grateful that I convinced her to stay put at the hotel, at least until I get back. I suggested she take a swim or walk Cooper, but she didn’t seem keen on either.

  ‘But you’re virtually going back home anyway when you take the keys to Steph. I’ll get the bus the last part of the way if you like. In fact, I’ll get the bus from here. All I want is my own room and to be alone.’

  ‘Did something upset you last night?’ I asked.

  It hadn’t been the most relaxing of evenings, I admit, and certainly not the quality time I’d hoped for with Hannah. Tom had seemed a little awkward with her – acting more like a coy thirteen-year-old than a young man. And in turn, Hannah had been completely disinterested in him to the point of seeming rude. I was delusional to think she’d have boys on her mind right now.

  But there had been something deeper, something bigger than just shyness sitting around the table last night, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  I park a few doors down from 23 Evalina Street and lock my car. I scan the street for Steph’s little Fiat, but there’s no sign of her yet. My heart kicks up as I approach the front of the property. Four stone terraced houses sit up a slight incline and steps – all in good condition except number 23. I’ll be pleased to see it renovated and let out to tenants, giving me little reason to visit the place. I swore I’d never come again.

  I decide to wait outside for Steph. It’s silly, I know, but I’ve had a couple of bad dreams since I saw that face at the window. The place gives me the creeps. There’s a bench opposite, next to a shiny red postbox, so I sit down to wait.

  I tap out a text to Hannah, feeling suddenly guilty about my outburst earlier. It’s made me realise that I’m anything but ready to move on with my life. I’ve just been too afraid to admit it.

  ‘Gina,’ a man’s voice calls out. He’s crossing the road, striding towards me.

  ‘Adrian,’ I say, standing up quickly as if he’s caught me doing something I shouldn’t. ‘What are you doing here?’ My heart sinks.

  He looks me up and down. ‘Meeting you.’ Then the leer.

  This isn’t what I was expecting. I have an overwhelming desire to flee as fast as possible back to Fox Court – to Hannah, to Cooper, even to Susan and everything that’s become oddly familiar in the last few days.

  ‘You’re not Steph.’ I sound inane.

  ‘The keys, Gina?’ Adrian says, holding out his hand.

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Flustered, I rummage through my bag. I drop them into his palm.

  Please don’t say anything. Please don’t . . .

  ‘Come inside,’ he orders. ‘I want to show you the plans for the property.’ He watches me for a moment, reading my reaction. ‘You need to know what the owner has in mind for the place. The builder’s coming soon.’

  I glance at the time on my phone. ‘Technically I’m on holiday. And I’ve actually been in the house before.’

  ‘Did you hear me?’ He waits for a reaction, but I don’t give him one. I’ve discovered blanking him as far as possible works best. ‘I want you to come inside.’

  The last few weeks he’s mainly left me alone, making me wonder if he actually has feelings and a sense of decency. Now I’m not so sure. It’s probably all part of his game.

  ‘You don’t usually argue,’ he says, touching my sleeve, pulling it, trying to get me closer.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, realising it’s easier to agree in this case. ‘But I need to be quick. Hannah is back at the hotel.’

  ‘Hotel?’

  I mentally kick myself. ‘Rick booked us a break in the Cotswolds before he . . .’ I hate telling him anything, though at the same time I want him to know that Rick and I are OK, that we’re solid, that it’s not because of Adrian that this has happened. ‘It was a surprise for our anniversary. Hannah’s come with me to save wasting it.’ I give a little smile, willing myself to be quiet, not to fuel his fire.

  ‘That’s such a loving thing to do.’ Adrian’s face is mean and pinched. I can’t tell if he’s simply being nasty or he knows something. I try to put it to the back of my mind. ‘But are you certain he’d do something like that for you?’ He laughs, vile and hurtful.

  We cross the quiet road and go up the front steps of the terraced property. He glances down at me as he unlocks the door. ‘Glad to see you’re finally moving on, Gina. I’ve been worried about you.’ He pauses, staring. ‘We all have.’

  Adrian’s finger comes out to stroke my cheek, but I recoil before he touches me. We go inside, and he shuts the door behind us. The hallway is dark and smells musty. He’s standing too close.

  ‘No point pining for ever, is there?’ He tips his head sideways, trying to catch my eye, but I keep my gaze fixed on the dirty floor. There’s a pile of mail and flyers on the stair tread, as if someone’s been in recently.

  ‘We’ve not had much of a chance to talk, me and you, have we?’ His hands slide down my arms. I stifle a shudder.

  ‘Let’s look in this room first,’ I say, pulling my arms free. I go into the living room. ‘What are the owner’s plans for . . .’ But I trail off. ‘Oh dear,’ I say, hoping it will distract him. ‘Steph mentioned the neighbours had been concerned about squatters.’

  Adrian follows me in, standing close again.

  ‘It’s par for the course,’ he says, kicking a few trays of old takeaway food left on the floor. The dusty bare boards are strewn with other stuff – a few cans, some beer bottles, a couple of burnt-down candles stuck inside cut-off water bottles. There’s an old mattress and ash in the grate.

  ‘We should get the locks changed,’ Adrian says, making a note in his phone.

  ‘You think they have a key?’ In my experience, squatters force entry.

  Adrian gives me a look. I watch him stride off towards the back of the property, perhaps to check for broken windows, open doo
rs.

  If I hadn’t been weak, if I hadn’t succumbed to his undeniable charm, his lascivious ways, then I wouldn’t be feeling so intimidated. He was confident and charming, impeccably dressed and not at all afraid to show his feelings. To start with, I thought he was being friendly. By the time I realised he wasn’t, it was too late.

  I forced myself to believe it was because I never got over Jacob, that I was broken and hurt and seeking a way to fix my inner pain . . . but the excuse isn’t even close to the shape of the disgusting way I chose to block it out.

  There was no actual sex, thank God. Not even close to it. Several rainy afternoons he tried to lure me into a cheap motel to crush the soul from me – and for a time I wondered if it would pound out the poison. Instead, I wept silently, realising that our loveless, opportunistic encounters simply injected more poison, binding me to his controlling ways further. It wasn’t about the act. It was all about the power.

  I was in love with my husband. I adored him. I had never cheated on him before, and had never wanted to. Rick was my world; he was everything.

  It was only when I tried to escape, ashamed and full of self-loathing, that the blackmail began. Adrian positioned me in a place filled with fear and consequences. A place where I hardly dared move or breathe for what he would do.

  For what he would tell Rick.

  He’d made me feel so special that I’d barely noticed what had been happening right under my nose. It had begun as a mistake that I thought I could somehow cast off, get over, perhaps even confess to, yet it ended as a nightmare.

  ‘That promotion is not for you,’ Adrian said once when an opportunity came up. There was a look held too long. A flicker of a raised eyebrow. A tiny swallow at just the right moment.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said quietly, even though Rick and I needed the money. ‘I won’t bother applying.’

  It only ever took a look – a look that told me the consequences in one slow blink; a look that made me regularly hand over my dead-cert clients to him, as well as have me take the blame for any careless mistakes he’d made. A look that kept me coming back for more.

  But it was OK, I told myself, dishevelled, exhausted and often late home from a hasty fumble in the back room. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. This type of thing always went on in offices. I could stop it at any time, and it wasn’t hurting anyone. It was barely anything, in fact. Adrian was just a headstrong idiot with a big ego.

  Laughable, really. Yes, one day soon I’d be laughing about it. Forgetting it.

  All those disgusting kisses. His hands everywhere.

  But then Rick came into the office that Friday afternoon to surprise me. To take me out for supper. To be kind.

  ‘Looks like an inside job, if you ask me,’ Adrian says, turning away from the back door. ‘It’s all secure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I feel myself redden.

  ‘Someone’s been using a key,’ he says, pointing to fresh footprints on the pale tiles leading in through the door. ‘No broken windows or jimmied locks.’

  He tosses the house keys from one hand to the other, making a jingling sound.

  ‘You’re not supposed to take keys home.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘And especially not on . . . holiday. Even if it is only down the road.’ He laughs. ‘Benidorm all booked up, was it?’

  ‘That’s unfair,’ I say, following him into the hall. I want to scream, thump him, but I know it’s pointless. ‘You didn’t bring me here to show me plans, did you?’

  He turns to face me again, his hand resting on the banister.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘You brought me here to show me it’s my fault that there are squatters because I was forgetful with the keys.’ I glare at him, knowing I won’t be able to hold it long.

  ‘Oh Gina,’ he says, reaching out for me. ‘You’re always so paranoid.’

  I feel the tears welling up. I sidestep around him before he gets his hands on me, heading for the front door. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop me.

  I dash down the front steps, calling back up to him that I’ll see him in the office later in the week. My voice just about holds out.

  Back in the car, I listen to a message from Steph, explaining that Adrian will be meeting me instead of her. I toss the phone on to the passenger seat. Resting my head back for a moment, I play over what just happened.

  I can’t get out of my mind what Adrian said about Rick and, as I drive off, his words run through my thoughts.

  But are you certain he’d do something like that for you?

  ‘No,’ I say quietly to myself, turning left instead of right on to the main road. ‘No, I’m not certain at all.’

  Which is why I’m heading back home.

  Hannah

  Cooper needs to go out, so I pull on a sweatshirt and slip into my trainers, making it through the foyer without anyone seeing me. When Mum gets back, I’m going to convince her it’s time to leave. I only agreed to stay so as not to upset her, but I can’t do it any more. Not now. Not after last night.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ I say, tugging gently on Cooper’s lead. He’s sniffing the base of a stone urn, suddenly not in any hurry to get to the spinney.

  We walk on down the lawn, my mind churning with worry, still unable to believe that Tom is here. For a second I consider that Mum had something to do with it, that she knew Tom was Susan’s son and orchestrated our meeting, but that doesn’t make sense because it was Dad who originally booked the break for him and Mum.

  More paranoid thoughts about Susan, about Tom and about the man from the pub flood my mind, wringing out into the start of a migraine as I trail after Cooper.

  What do they know?

  ‘Wait up!’

  The voice startles me. I swing round to see Tom running after me.

  I pick up my pace, hoping to disappear into the wooded area before he catches up, but it’s no use. By the time I reach the metal railings he’s by my side.

  ‘Why are you avoiding me?’ he says breathlessly. He’s wearing the old sweatshirt that I used to pull on when I stayed over in his room. It makes me want to hug him, hold him close for ever. But I can’t. Not any more.

  ‘Just because,’ I say, shrugging and staring around to see where Cooper’s gone.

  ‘You owe me more than that, Hannah.’

  I climb over the fence and Tom follows. He sticks beside me.

  ‘You dumped me without explanation, refuse my calls and texts, then turn up at my home expecting me to shrug it all off?’ He shakes his head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say robotically. ‘I didn’t want to come here. And I had no idea this is where you live.’ It’s all true, even though it sounds unbelievable. ‘If you’d bothered to tell me more about your home life, then I’d have known your Mum ran a hotel.’ I draw breath. ‘Can’t you get it into your head? It’s over between us.’ I fix my gaze on the trees, the stumps, the twisty path that leads through the woods. ‘Finished.’

  I walk on.

  ‘No, Hannah. I won’t accept that. Not without a reason. We were good together. You said it yourself. You said you loved me, and you knew how much I loved you back.’

  His hand is on my arm, gentle at first but then the pressure increases as he tries to slow me down. I swing round to face him. His eyes are dark and pleading, knowing this is his only chance to find out the truth. I must make sure he doesn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I scuff the ground between us. He lifts my chin with his finger.

  ‘Not good enough.’

  I swallow. I hear Cooper trotting through the undergrowth.

  ‘Believe me, I did you a favour.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Tom says. ‘I miss you, Hannah. After you ended things, I came home for a while too. I couldn’t face life without you.’

  ‘That’s not why I went home, just so you’re clear,’ I say, though it’s a lie. It comes out way too harsh, but I need to get him off my back.

  ‘Wh
y are you being like this? Did someone say something to you? Was someone spreading rumours about me?’

  Tom paces about, kicking the mushy leaves underfoot, pushing his hands through his hair. ‘Christ, I don’t even have any jealous exes who’ve got it in for me. I just don’t understand what this is about.’

  I swallow and walk off again, calling Cooper, who’s run way ahead. Even the new hard-hearted Hannah is finding this tough going. I daren’t look at him in case he spots it in my eyes, sees it written all over my face.

  It was the day after I’d broken up with Tom that I went home to Oxford. I only took a small holdall – things I’d crammed into a bag without thinking what I’d need. On the coach I’d sat numb, unable to think about anything other than that letter, let alone make up plausible excuses as to why I was back early. I rested my forehead against the cold glass of the window and watched the world streak past in flashes of colour, wondering if I’d ever be a part of it again.

  I phoned Mum from the coach station, but there was no reply so I took a taxi. In hindsight, it was a relief they hadn’t met me – I couldn’t face them right away – plus it allowed me more time to think what to say.

  When the taxi dropped me home, Mum and Dad still weren’t back. I had my keys, so I let myself in and ran straight up to my room. I needed to wash my face, freshen up, make it seem as if nothing much was up. That I was just homesick. Or bogged down with work and needed a few days to catch up. Truth is, I didn’t know if I could ever go back.

  And then it occurred to me.

  I should let them think the truth. Well, almost the truth.

  I’d come home because I was devastated that a boy had broken up with me. The boy of my dreams. My love. My best friend. The boy I’d invested so much in, even though we’d only been seeing each other a couple of months.

  He’d smashed my heart to pieces.

  That much at least was true.

  That way, I knew they’d give me space. That Mum would come up and sit on my bed, telling me how I shouldn’t let a boy ruin my degree, that if I missed too many lectures I’d fall behind. She’d hug me, make me soup, watch funny movies with me, and not moan when I stayed in my PJs all day. Then she’d gently encourage me back to my studies, most likely driving me to my university halls with a week’s worth of home-cooked meals for the freezer.