On holiday in Turkey one year, when she was two years old, her father and I watched her walk along a wooden jetty. Halfway along she decided, despite the fact she couldn’t yet swim, that she should jump in. I’ve never moved so quickly in my life. Luckily she was wearing one of those swimming costumes with built-in floats. Seconds later I was dragging her out of the water. Initially she looked shocked but it only took a moment before a large grin spread across her face and she demanded to do it again. She’s always been fearless.
Once the bath is hot and deep enough I drop my t-shirt and shorts onto the floor and climb into to the water, leaving the bathroom door open so that I see Gracie and she can come in if she wakes. It has been years since I could have a bath in peace, but it’s what you get used to when you’re a parent.
A memory of telling Hope to bugger off so I could enjoy a bath haunts me and I wish now I’d never said it. I should have let her get in with me that time. I was tired and grumpy and wanted some time to myself, now I wish I could take it back. But I can’t and the worst thing of all is that I can’t even tell her I’m sorry.
Silent tears start to fall as I rest my head on the edge of the tub, closing my wet eyes, aware that despite the fact my body is submerged in warm water my skin feels cold.
I already know I have a long day ahead and I’ve not even had a cup of coffee yet. The worry is exhausting. I feel tired all the time but I cannot give up. I have to keep going. We have to find Hope and I have to be a good mother to Gracie and a good wife to Danny. This is my role, whether I like it or not.
Letting my head sink under the water I lie there immersed in the warmth. My body feels weightless and small as if I might slip down the plughole when the water is drained. Holding my breath for as long as I can, I imagine what it might be like to drown at sea. The thought doesn’t scare me like it should. My head is somewhere else, trying to find an escape from my situation. Death seems easy in comparison.
Rising up out of the water, I suck in a large gasping breath and find Gracie standing next to the bath watching me, with her thumb in her mouth and her other hand wiping the sleep from her eyes.
‘Morning, monkey.’
She nods, not ready to speak yet.
‘Did you have a good sleep?’
Again she nods.
‘What did you dream about?’
She removes the wet thumb from her mouth, cocks her head to one side and thinks for a moment. ‘Elephants eating cucumber.’
‘Well that sounds like a nice dream.’ I say, amused.
‘Lots of cucumber.’ She smiles showing her small white teeth.
‘Do you want to get in the bath with Mummy?’ I move my legs up to make room for her.
‘Not now. After.’
‘After what?’
‘After breakfast.’
‘Oh OK. Just give me a minute to get out the bath and get dry and then we’ll go down and get something to eat.’
‘Are we seeing Alex today?’
‘No baby, sorry.’
Disappointment shadows her face.
‘But,’ I encourage, ‘we are going to go to a hotel with a swimming pool in it. Would you like that?’
She stares a me for a moment deciding. ‘Yes, but I haven’t got rubber ring.’
‘I’ll buy you a nice new one,’ I tell her, wondering where the fuck I am going to get hold of a rubber ring in England in the middle of December. I wrap a threadbare towel around myself. The tiles beneath my naked feet are freezing and I hop out of the bathroom and onto the navy carpet in the bedroom.
‘Will Dada be there?’ Gracie puts her thumb back in her mouth and crawls back onto the warm patch in the bed.
‘No. He’s at home.’ I rub my hair roughly trying to warm my dripping wet skull. ‘Let’s put on the TV and see if we can find some cartoons,’ I pick up the old-fashioned remote control and point it at the set, waiting for the screen to light up. After channel surfing for a little while I eventually find what I’m looking for. Gracie’s blue eyes fix on the brightly coloured images as I turn my attention to getting dressed as quickly as possible. The room really is unbelievably cold and I decide I’m going to grumble about it to a member of staff when we go down for breakfast.
After hurriedly pulling on a pair of jeans and a green mohair jumper I check my phone again to see if Danny has been in touch. No messages. No missed calls. What is he playing at? I try and call again and again I’m taken straight to the answerphone.
‘Please call me, OK. I haven’t heard from you and I’m getting worried.’
I throw the phone down onto the bed with frustration. Gracie manages to tear herself away from the screen for a moment, long enough to frown at me.
‘Why did you throw the phone?’
‘Because it’s annoying me.’ I dig through the suitcase looking for something clean and warm to dress her in. ‘Come on, little one, time to get dressed.’ Gracie sticks out her bottom lip before pulling the duvet up over her head in an effort to hide. ‘Come on, monkey. I’m tired. Please be a good girl. If you get dressed, then we can go and have some breakfast.’
‘Not hungry.’ The muffled words travel through the thick blanket.
‘Fine,’ I feel myself losing my temper, ‘don’t eat anything then but you still need to get dressed.’ I stand with my hands on my hips waiting for an answer but there isn’t one. ‘Gracie?’
‘Not hungry!’
‘OK. No hotel and no swimming pool then.’ I watch her legs through the fabric starting to kick and twist as she groans low screams. ‘No use acting like a brat.’ I tug the duvet realising she has a firm grip on it. ‘Get out of bed now!’ A tug of war commences and I try to remind myself not to pull too hard because she is little but my anger is rising with each defiant tug she makes. Then common sense kicks in and I let go of the duvet and straighten up.
‘You have until the count of three to come out of there and start to get dressed. One,’
‘Hmpf.’ I watch her outline roll up into a ball.
‘Two,’
‘Nahhh.’
‘Two and a half. I’m not joking Grace. If you don’t come out now you will go and sit in the car in your pants and I’m telling you, it’s freezing. Two and three-quarters…’
Slowly the duvet peels back revealing the top of her head and her wide eyes peering over.
Sitting down on the bed I separate a pair of folded pink child’s socks.
‘Sorry Mama,’ she looks at me, knowing I mean business.
‘That’s OK. Now be a good girl and come here and get dressed. If we get a move on we can make it to the hotel before it gets dark.’
Gracie hugs me, knowing full well that I was never going to cancel our plans.
‘Chop chop, monkey,’ I pull the snug fitting jumper down over her head, ‘or there will be no breakfast left!’
‘Yoghurt. Rawberry.’ Gracie grins like a clown.
‘See, I knew you were hungry. They might not have it but if they don’t we’ll get you something else yummy instead.’
She offers a satisfied nod as she stretches out her legs for me to feed into her red corduroy trousers. They are hand-me-downs from Hope and my heart does a somersault remembering how I used to dress her when she was little. She was so different from Gracie when she was three. They are chalk and cheese and it never fails to amaze me how Danny and I have produced such opposite little girls.
Watching Hope grow had been such a pleasure and I keep hoping that it’s not over, that somehow she will be returned to us so we can carry on being a family. I want to know what sort of woman she is going to become. I want to see her married with a family of her own. Her father should be able to give her way on her wedding day. We are meant to wave her off to big school and then university. That is how the story is meant to go. Not like this. Not like this.
Danny
We’ve been waiting for him to wake up for hours. My adrenaline was pumping when we got him into the building and tied him to the chair but now I
feel exhausted. Sitting here waiting has killed my energy. Neither Simon nor I have slept or eaten anything. It’s sodding cold and I’m really doubting my decision to go through with this.
Panic is setting in and I keep getting up to check his pulse. He is alive, I’m certain of that.
Most of the time Simon and I sit in silence. Neither of us have much to say, we are both brooding.
Frustrated by the lack of action I get up off the floor and pace around the small building.
Simon watches me go back and forth. ‘All right, mate?’
‘No. This is taking too long. Why won’t he just wake up?’ I approach the slumped figure in the chair and shake him by the shoulders.
‘Careful,’ Simon warns.
‘We’re not here to make friends.’
‘I know. Just be careful. The bloke has been dosed up to his eyeballs.’
I flash Simon a look and it’s clear he instantly regrets his decision to show pity.
Knowing my old friend is right I back away from Amit and return to pacing. ‘The sooner he wakes up the sooner we can let him go.’
‘Look, we’re both tired and hungry. Give me the keys to the van. I’ll go and get us some supplies. This isn’t happening as quickly as we first thought. If he wakes up, talk to him. Don’t DO anything without me.’
I nod, knowing that food will help quell my building frustration.
‘Don’t be long, yeah?’
‘I won’t.’ Simon takes the keys and disappears out of the building pulling his hood up over his head.
I return to my position sitting on the floor in the corner of the room with my back against the cold, stone, wall. The rough hardness from the local stone can be felt through my thick jacket. Simon’s right: eating something will help. We need to keep our energy up, especially since it’s so damn cold.
Since Amit appears to be still unconscious I decide to talk a little walk around the outside of the building. The room is beginning to feel claustrophobic.
Pulling the rickety wooden door closed behind me I rub my hands together and look out at the view. The sky is white and thick with cloud. Looking out over the rolling green fields around Cleish and the Loch Glow Reservoir I admire how peaceful it is. It is much more beautiful than the flat arable countryside around Cambridge.
Taking a moment to breathe in some of the clear air I decide that what I need to do is make a fire. It’s too cold to be stuck in a building without central heating and the last thing any of us needs is hypothermia – Amit included.
With a new-found determination I scour the area around the disintegrating building. It has clearly been used as a dump by the locals. Old tyres, bits of wood, metal and even a burnt-out car are scattered around the perimeter. Eventually I spot what looks like an old oil drum, which I roll towards the door. It will make a suitable fire pit. Then I set about collecting as many pieces of wood as I can to fill it.
By the time I’m done, I’m sweating and I see the van and Simon approaching in the distance. After persuading the awkward oil drum to pass through the small door way I push it to the centre of the room, about a metre and a half away from Amit, so that he, too, will benefit from its warmth. Then I begin to retrieve the wood I have collected and bring it inside and pile it up. Looking around I wonder what I can use for kindling. In my inside pocket I have a hip flask of whisky. A splash of that should help but I need paper or leaves to soak it in to get the fire going.
Simon appears in the doorway carrying a plastic bag full of food and drink.
‘Still asleep?’ He nods over to Amit whose head is flopped over to one side.
‘I’m trying to make a fire. This place is fucking cold.’
‘Let me help.’ Simon drops the bags and comes over to peer into the empty metal barrel.
‘We need something to get it going. I collected all that wood.’ I point over at the stacked pile.
‘This is proper Ray Mears shit.’ Simon smiles boyishly.
‘I’ve got a lighter and some whisky,’ I show him the solid silver antique hip flask. It was a wedding present from my father.
‘I know!’ Simon returns to the shopping and rummages through the bag. He pulls out a packet of kitchen roll. ‘I thought, you know, if we need a crap.’
‘I’m sure we will, after eating all the grub you brought back with you.’ I open a packet of Doritos and shove a large handful into my mouth. ‘That should work to get the fire going,’ I take the kitchen roll and rip the plastic off using my teeth.
‘I nearly picked up a few beers but I didn’t think it was a good idea. Looks like you’ve taken care of that front already.’ Simon runs a disapproving eye over my hip flask.
‘It’s just a drop, mate. A bit of Dutch courage if we need it.’
‘Fine. But we have to do this straight.’
‘I know we do.’ I start to ball up bits of kitchen roll and place them around the thinnest piece of wood I can find. ‘That should do.’ Stepping back I admire my handiwork before cautiously bringing the flame from the lighter to the doused paper.
Orange and blue flames lick their way around the inside of the drum searching for something to grab before settling around the piece of wood like witches around a cauldron.
I shove another handful of crisps into my mouth and settle in to watch the fire but just as I start to relax something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. My head darts towards the movement and I see Amit regaining consciousness.
‘He’s waking up,’ Simon squeaks.
‘Right.’ I put my crisps down and wipe the crumbs from my short beard using the back of my hand. ‘This is it. It’s too late to pussy out now. You’ve still got time,’ I turn to Simon, ‘you can back out.’
‘I’m staying.’ He says puffing his chest out as grunts begin to come from the bagged head.
‘Pass me the bottle of water.’ Adrenaline is kicking in again and I feel ready to tackle this. ‘He’s going to want a drink.’ Simon nods and hands me the bottle of Evian. I notice his hands, like mine, are shaking.
Libby
By the time we arrive in Bath it is almost dark. The journey was long and troublesome with horrendous amounts of traffic crawling slowly along the M5 due to an accident involving an overturned lorry. Inquisitive drivers slowed down to look at the carnage on the southbound side of the road causing the delay. Out of frustration I got off the motorway and decided to take the route past Glastonbury instead.
The gods were not on my side. Not only did I get stuck behind a huge piece of machinery that trundled along the road but then I got to a road closed sign and ended up getting lost after following what was meant to be a diversion. When we arrived at the hotel in the fading light, I had spent too long cooped up in the car with Gracie, who thought it a good idea to sing songs from The Little Mermaid at the top of her voice. I was in a foul mood.
‘Come on, Grace,’ I only called her that when I was cross, ‘we’ve been in the car long enough. Out you get.’ With a teddy tucked firmly under one arm and her thumb in her mouth she finally conceded. ‘It’s got a pool, remember, and if you are a good girl, after mummy has had some coffee, you can go for a swim. OK? Deal?’
She rolls her eyes but that is answer enough.
Our hotel is on the outskirts of the city. According to the website, it has seventy acres of garden and woodland and the Bath stone manor house has long views over the valley. It sounded like heaven when I read about it – but now, with night falling, and the rain and fog descending, it is not where I want to be at all.
I march over to the reception desk with Gracie in tow and announce our arrival. A woman in her late forties wearing enough makeup to sink the Bismarck, peers at her computer screen while typing unnaturally slowly. For a moment I imagine myself climbing over the desk and pushing her backwards off her chair.
‘Bird. Yes. A twin room.’ Her nasal voice is as irritating as her face.
‘That’s it.’ I smile through gritted teeth knowing that this woman is not solely
responsible for my anger but unable to feel anything other than cranky.
‘Room 11.’ She hands the key over and I wonder how her lashes can bear the weight of that much mascara. ‘It you take the lift to the first floor the room is a few doors down on the left. Breakfast is served from seven-thirty until ten o’clock. Enjoy your stay at The Combe Grove Hotel.’
‘Thanks.’ I take the key and retrieve my small overnight bag from my feet before pulling Gracie away from a large variegated indoor plant that she has decided to tear leaves off.
A moment after the bell on the lift dings, and just before we are about to step inside, my mobile phone begins ringing in my handbag. Hopeful that Danny has finally decided to get back to me, I scrabble about looking for it in amongst the chaos of make-up, pens and other junk I deem important enough to lug about everywhere I go.
Finally, my hand finds the glass screen and I pull it out not bothering to check who is calling.
‘Danny?’ I answer.
‘Is this Mrs Elizabeth Bird speaking?’ My hopes are dashed when I realise it’s not my husband.
‘Yes,’ I fight to keep hold of Gracie’s hand as she pulls back in the direction of the helpless plant.
‘It’s Inspector King, Mrs Bird. Do you have a moment?’ I let go of Gracie and without realising it bring my hand to my mouth. My heart feels as if has stopped and I cannot speak.
‘Mrs Bird?’ King prompts.
‘Yes,’ the word comes out in a half whisper.
‘This is regarding your husband.’ Time seems to stand still.
‘What’s happened? Is he OK?’ I manage to choke the words out, not knowing if I’m relieved or horrified.
‘We are trying to locate him. Do you know where he is?’
‘Erm, at home, I think. Why? What’s going on?’ Dread grabs hold of my stomach.
‘We need to speak to him regarding a matter. Can you please tell me when you last spoke to him?’
‘Why are you asking me these questions? What’s happened?’
‘Please Mrs Bird; it would be very helpful if you would just cooperate.’
Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner Page 13