‘I work for them. I couldn’t help noticing our letterhead in your office.’
Susan glances around the bar, perhaps hoping for a distraction.
‘I didn’t actually know that,’ she says, as if she knows other things about me. As if she’s been collecting snippets of my life.
‘Are you interested in a property?’ I ask, horrified at how pushy I sound, wishing I’d got through to Steph so she could check. Adrian’s signature at the bottom of the letter makes me uncomfortable. After everything that’s happened, there’s no way I trust him, though I realise it could just have been a marketing circular. We send them out in batches regularly.
‘I tell you what,’ Susan says, ignoring my question. ‘Let’s do something crazy.’
‘Crazy?’
‘Come with me,’ she says, getting up and taking me by the hand.
As I stand, a wave of dizziness hits me. I have no idea if it’s because my mind is fabricating things I want to believe – that all these cruel coincidences mean nothing – or if, deep down, it’s because I’m wondering if Susan knows something about Rick. It’s this last thought that makes me follow her.
The water is smooth and still with the moon hanging low over the trees. It casts a shimmering runway across the lake, as if there’s a silver bridge from one side to the other. I imagine Rick standing on the other side, beckoning me across.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say. ‘I had no idea it was here.’
After we left the bar, Susan led me by the arm into the restaurant kitchens. We harvested pâté, cheese and crackers, plus deep red grapes and a bottle of wine. She packed them into a basket and we set off, grabbing a couple of coats on the way out of the back door. We walked past the stable block garage, but I looked the other way.
‘It’s worth it, I promise,’ she said as we climbed a steep hill, breathless. She turned back, beckoning me on with her smile.
And indeed it was worth it. Once we crowned the wooded rise, we were greeted by an amphitheatre-like dip filled with a lake, and a starry skyline beyond.
We walked down a winding path and crumbling stone steps, ending up at a small boathouse and jetty, which stretched out across the water. There were a couple of battered wicker chairs on the deck and a small table between, upon which Susan set the food. She opened the wine and poured it into plastic beakers. I sipped gratefully, already feeling tipsy.
‘It’s my guilty pleasure,’ she says now, pushing a knife through a wedge of Brie. She cuts several slices and opens the crackers. ‘I love to escape here, to think about things.’
‘I see why,’ I reply. The twilight has brought an entirely different palette to the countryside. Bats scull the air above our heads, and I hear an owl in the distance. Beneath the wooden slats, fish break the surface of the lake, making a gentle plopping sound every now and again.
I shiver, even though I’m warm inside my borrowed coat.
‘When I come here,’ Susan continues, ‘I realise just how much there is to think about.’
I feel her staring at me, though I don’t turn. There’s something about the burn of her eyes that I don’t like, as if she’s boring holes in my cheek. I watch as a bat swoops and turns, avoiding the little building’s roof at the last minute.
‘Soon after we took over the hotel, Phil set about renovating the boathouse.’ She admires the wooden structure as if her husband were actually there, building it, pulling off his shirt as he works in the hot sun. ‘It was hardly a priority and he never uses the boat,’ she says, laughing fondly. ‘The hotel had a load of other repairs that needed doing, not to mention Phil’s regular job. It took him a couple of years, fitting in the odd hour here and there when he was home. Sometimes he’d even pop back to bang in a few more planks while travelling from one airport to another.’
‘That’s dedication,’ I say, trying not to conjure up an image of Phil. I don’t want someone else’s husband filling my mind when I can’t have my own.
Even in the half-light, it’s obvious that the little hut has seen better days. Peeling paint, curled boards and a cracked window pane show me it’s both old and well loved.
‘We call it a boathouse, but it’s more a summerhouse really.’ Susan hands me a cracker thick with pâté. ‘We keep the rowing boat tied to the jetty.’ She points to a red-and-white-painted boat bobbing gently at the end of the boarded walkway. A pair of oars have been left inside.
‘It’s all lovely,’ I say, trying to imagine Rick undertaking such a project. With the best intentions, he’d sweat over plans and designs and materials for months, probably never getting started. Much of Rick’s life was spent agonising rather than doing. That’s why his career never really took off.
I feel ashamed for thinking about him like that, as if only his flaws have been left behind.
‘What do you think happened to your husband, Gina?’ Susan says, knocking the breath from me. She tops up our tumblers and offers me more cheese. I take a large sip of wine. ‘Really happened to him?’
This time I take her stare head-on. Her eyes are silver in this light – shiny coins under her glistening hair. She’s the kind of woman Rick would have described as untouchable.
‘I like my women real,’ he once told me after I’d teased him about crushing on an actress. He’d grabbed me around the waist, pressing me against him, telling me I was more real than he could handle.
‘I really don’t know,’ I say quietly, thinking it a strange question. ‘If I knew, I’d tell the police.’ I see the thoughts rushing through Susan’s mind, showing up in her glittering eyes as she tries to imagine what it’s like to be me, living in a world that permanently stands still.
‘And what if someone said that you could find out what happened to him?’
I sit up straight. My heart pounds.
‘But there’s a condition. If you discovered the truth, it would mean you’d never see him again. Or you could stay the way you are, not knowing, always hoping, and maybe one day he’d come back. Or not. What would you choose?’
She’s playing with me.
‘That’s not a choice I could make.’
‘But what if you had to?’ she says, peering at me over the rim of her glass. ‘What if it was life and death?’
‘Then I’d prefer to keep the hope alive,’ I say, troubled by her cruel question.
We’re silent for a while.
‘Personally, I’d want to know,’ Susan says, breaking the stillness. ‘I’d want to know everything.’ She draws in a lungful of cool evening air. The mossy scent of the woods permeates around us. ‘It’s the kind of thing I contemplate down here, in fact.’
‘Except your husband’s not lost,’ I add, rather more sourly than I intend.
Susan laughs. ‘Sometimes I’m not so sure,’ she says, getting up and going into the little hut. She returns with a candle, lighting it and setting it between us.
‘But knowing where he is, knowing that he’s OK, it’s easy for you to speculate how you’d act in my situation. Until it happens, you don’t know how you’d feel.’ I’m on the verge of tears, so I drink more wine.
‘Come with me,’ Susan says, standing and going down the jetty, beckoning me on. Tentatively, I follow her. The boardwalk is narrow and uneven, with a couple of planks rotted through. She turns around to face the boathouse again, her back to the water, and urges me to do the same.
‘I love this view,’ she says. ‘I often sit with my feet in the water. Sometimes I’ll bring my fishing line.’
I sense there’s more she wants to tell me.
‘Tom’s been so unhappy recently,’ she finally admits, clapping her hands by her sides.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ I feel selfish again, for being so wrapped up in my problems. ‘It’s tough being a new student. Hannah’s the same, actually.’ I don’t mention that her meltdown was over a boy.
Susan looks at me. Our faces are close as we stand side by side on the jetty. If I take a step or two back, I’ll fall in.
‘It was all over a girl. He was destroyed,’ she continues. ‘She was his first proper relationship, and she ended it without explanation. I felt so helpless.’
I feel myself go cold, a shiver snaking through me. Were Tom and Hannah seeing each other at university?
‘He came home a mess during the autumn term,’ she continues. ‘I wanted to help, so I offered to hand-deliver a letter he’d written to the girl. He’d bought a gift too. But . . . but I couldn’t go through with it.’
‘That sounds tough,’ I say, hoping she’ll say more.
‘He returned to his studies,’ Susan says, recovering her composure. ‘Though things haven’t been the same for him since.’
She fiddles with her watch, drawing my attention to the significance of it again, though she seems unaware. ‘Sometimes it’s best just to let things die a death. Don’t you think?’ Her voice is quiet, yet pointed, as if she’s trying to tell me something.
‘Perhaps,’ I say, my mind racing. But I check myself, trying to stay calm and rational. There are thousands of students at the university, so the likelihood of Hannah and Tom having met and fallen in love is low. Besides, it was clear the two of them had only just met at dinner last night.
But then the chill comes again. I pull the coat around me.
Paula’s words chime loud in my mind, though it doesn’t stop the dizziness that’s sneaking up on me.
Intrusive thoughts . . . allow them to pass . . . watch them come . . . feel them go . . . Ground yourself, Gina . . .
‘Gina . . . Gina, are you OK?’ Susan’s face is close, her breath hot on my cheek. ‘You don’t look well.’
No, no I’m not, I attempt to say, but I don’t get the chance, because the next thing I know, Susan’s hands are against my shoulders and I can’t tell if she wants to stop me falling into the water, or if she’s trying to push me in.
Gina
‘Come on, start, damn you . . .’ I turn the ignition key again.
The early-morning sun makes me squint, sending a bolt of pain between my temples. The last few days have hardly been the relaxing break I’d hoped for.
Last night at the boathouse was the final straw, making me determined to leave first thing this morning. After I broke free from Susan’s grip, I made my excuses, saying I was tired, wanting to get back to the room as quickly as I could. Hannah was fast asleep when I came in.
I turn the ignition over again. Nothing. Just a fading wheeze from the engine as it sputters and dies.
I told Hannah to get her stuff together while I went and brought the car around to the front for a quick departure. Lazily, without even looking at me or speaking, she prised herself out of bed and went into the bathroom. I was thankful she seemed much better.
‘Ten minutes,’ I said, after explaining that I didn’t want to stay here a moment longer. ‘Just throw anything on. Stuff your clothes into your bag, and meet me by the entrance with Cooper.’
I didn’t care about breakfast, and Susan had a swipe of my credit card for the extras we’d incurred. I just wanted to get out and get home, which suddenly seemed a million miles away, even though it was less than an hour’s drive. Fox Court was triggering too many uncomfortable feelings, as if everywhere I looked reminded me of Rick – and not in a good way. Even if it was my imagination working overtime, I still didn’t like it.
‘Damn it!’ I thump the steering wheel before digging out my RAC card from my purse. I give the operator my details and she tells me a service vehicle will be here within the hour.
I try the ignition a couple more times, but the same thing happens – it fires then chokes, getting weaker and weaker each time. Looking inside the engine tells me nothing. I’m no mechanic, and wouldn’t have a clue if it was the battery or something more serious.
Propping open the bonnet with my hand, I sigh, staring back up at the hotel – the same view which filled me with such hope and excitement just a few days ago.
A crow flaps off a chimney stack, swooping low over the car park, over me and my broken-down Ford. Wherever Rick is, I know he would comfort me. Tell me not to fret, to put a bad experience behind me. He’d embrace me, distract me, make me laugh about everything.
Make everything OK.
I drop the bonnet down with a loud bang.
Except now it will never be OK. If Rick left for his own reasons, then where does that leave me? Bereft, hurt, destroyed.
Either way, there is no happy ending.
I’m trying to decide whether to wait for the breakdown truck or pay for a taxi, when I see someone running out of the hotel, though only fleetingly. ‘Hannah?’ I whisper, squinting to where I thought I saw her. Quickly I get out of the car, standing on the door ledge to get a better view, but whoever it was has gone.
‘Hannah, is that you?’ I call out, not caring who hears. Locking up the car, I stride off to find her. I know the shape and form of my own daughter, even if she has become slightly hunched and withdrawn these last few weeks. She looked as if she was still wearing her pyjamas.
I swing round the front of the hotel, breaking into a run, wondering why she’s gone into the garden. I didn’t see Cooper with her. Instinctively, I look up to our room. I lurch to a stop in the middle of the lawn. Was that a face looking down? I scan around for Hannah, but she’s nowhere in sight, and when I look back up, whoever it was has also gone.
‘Strange,’ the mechanic says, staring down at the readings on his battery monitor. ‘I’d have sworn you’d got a flat battery, but it’s showing full charge.’
He’s young, though he moves slowly and methodically, reminding me of my dad.
‘Any ideas?’ I tread from one foot to the other, hugging my arms around me. I look back down the lawn again, tracking my gaze along the long edge of the hotel in case Hannah is walking back up. The first shoots of rambling roses are erupting from the winter twigs entwined around lead pipes and trellis.
Still no sign of her.
By the time I wandered around calling out her name, dashed back up to the room to check if she was there, which she wasn’t, the RAC had arrived, earlier than they’d predicted.
‘I’ll need to run a few more diagnostic tests, but it could just be something as simple as a loose lead.’
‘And if it’s not?’ I ask, but he doesn’t reply.
Instead, he shakes his head, getting down on his knees, peering underneath my car. I don’t know what to do, so I just watch, hoping he’ll discover the answer soon. I don’t like it that Hannah has gone off somewhere as we’re about to leave. Even if we abandon our belongings as soon as the car starts, I just want to go. I’ve had my fill of this place.
‘No sign of leakages,’ he says, springing up. ‘Which is a good thing. Let me get the rest of my tools and equipment from the truck and I’ll set to work. Why not go and have a cuppa while you’re waiting?’ he suggests, clearly hoping I’m not going to stand there watching him the whole time. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’ He gazes round, straightening out his back.
‘Yes, yes, OK,’ I say. ‘Will it take long?’
‘Give me half an hour, love, and I’ll come and find you.’ He grins, heading to the back of his truck. ‘If all else fails,’ he says, peering out again, ‘I’ll get you home on this.’ He pats the side of the recovery vehicle.
I nod gratefully, taking out my mobile and calling Hannah’s number. It goes straight to her voicemail. The trigger for another shot of adrenalin is immense as I’m reminded of when I called Rick after he’d been gone nearly an hour. It was only a ten-minute walk to the corner shop. My heart sank when I heard his phone ringing up in his office, realising he’d not taken it with him.
I tuck my phone in my bag and leave my stuff in the boot, heading off, deciding my priority is to find Hannah. Briefly I’m reminded of the time Rick and I lost her at Disneyland in Paris, and a familiar rush of adrenalin shoots through me at the thought.
‘You’re such a little squirmer,’ Rick would tell her whenever we were out
. ‘Hold my hand tightly, princess. We don’t want anything happening to you.’
Sometimes she’d ride atop his shoulders, but Hannah still ended up fighting for her freedom. As a toddler, she was rarely still, and it only took a second for her to break free of Rick’s grip and disappear into the crowd.
It was the longest ten minutes of our lives – pushing and shoving, screaming out her name and clawing our way between the hundreds of excited people all waiting to see the parade. The music was loud, the cheering louder, drowning out any chance of hearing our little girl’s cry for help.
Then I saw her. Her little pink T-shirt and lilac hat getting swept along amongst the sea of legs. I called her name, pushing towards her, the elation of finding her, of pressing her warm body against mine, all I needed to warm me from the inside out.
I never once imagined that the person who would actually end up missing would be Rick.
‘Hannah!’ I call out once I’m away from the hotel entrance. I squint around the garden, my hand shielding my eyes. ‘Where are you, Hannah?’
I stop and listen. Nothing except for a few birds and someone heading off down the drive in their car.
I pick up my pace, running along the path between the lavender beds, through the clipped rose gardens and round to the rear of the hotel. If she’s gone all the way down to the woods, it will take me ages to search.
I dart off, scuffing on the gravel, tripping and twisting sideways on my ankle.
‘Hannah? Hannah, are you here?’
My mouth is dry, my heart pumping pure anxiety as I round the back of the hotel, approaching the stable block. Then I see the track leading up the steep bank and onwards to the lake, where Susan and I sat last night. I stare up it, snaking its way through the thicket of trees. A shiver runs the length of my body.
Why would Hannah go up there? Why isn’t she packing up her stuff like I asked her?
These are questions I can’t answer, so I try to calm myself as I tackle the sharp incline at speed, forcing myself to put into play Paula’s anxiety-calming techniques . . . breathe, centre, focus . . .
In Too Deep Page 26