Or did you plant them there, Clara? Desperate to separate, jealous and insecure? Just how far are you willing to sink, I no longer recognise this twisted, warped, version you show. Or, are you right – is Camilla up to something?
68
Cornwall 2017
Clara
I saw her. Couldn’t believe my luck; my heartbeat quickening, the sheer excitement as I peeped through the slightly ajar door. She thought everyone was still down on the mooring at the bottom of the garden. They were too, except for me, I followed her. Thought I could finally have my time with her, slap out her true intentions, get her away from my best friend and of course, the lovely Elliott, my heritor and gentleman. Initially, I assumed she was heading for the bathroom to check on her unchanged appearance. But, no, as always, she had an agenda. I watched her shadow from outside the window as she entered the parents’ study. Moments later, with bare feet, I crept through the hall to squint through the crack of the ajar door. She was peering out of the window, keeping guard for stragglers from the beach, once satisfied, she began rifling through the desk. I couldn’t see what she took, she dropped it in her large beach bag, open on the floor. I pondered, should I burst into the room, confront her, but I figured Andi would never believe me. With how she’s been neglecting me lately, she’d side with her. No, I needed Andi to discover the theft for herself.
I returned to the estuary, rejoining the party, then some fifteen or so minutes later, Camilla wandered back down the sea battered steps to the small private shingle beach. Flicking glossy hair, no longer holding the large beach bag but a brightly coloured woven, only room for a lip gloss, strappy over the shoulder job. The gall of her. By the time we all wandered back to the house, I thought I would explode. I needed to corner Andi, then together we could search for the absent bag. But Andi, who had clearly consumed a few too many, became obstinate and irritated by my assertions. Why was I so persistent in putting a dampener on the week, with my dogged pursuit of someone she held dear? She accused me of being jealous, controlling and continued at great lengths to explain how weary she was becoming of my behaviour. My behaviour? Nonetheless, she agreed – to placate me, to keep me quiet, prove me wrong – to find the bag, alone, without me, to minimise the fuss.
But, Camilla, despite appearances, is anything but stupid. Why did I ever think she’d be so careless as to leave the stolen whatever hanging around in the bag? When Andi returned from her search she strode towards me, her eyes angry, on mine. Her face flushed, taut, anything but amused. Of course Camilla had hidden the items. And all that resulted from this act of deceit was an even greater wedge between Andi’s and myself. Can’t you see, Camilla’s eyes from across the room revealed, you’ve lost. Andi belongs to me, and so does Elliott, if I even wanted him. Everyone always leaves you, can’t you see?
69
Cornwall 2017
Andi
I’m standing on the terrace, shivering in the dark. Kyle will be home soon, so his garbled voice messages say. Suddenly, everyone wants to talk to me. The GP called earlier, he’d received a call from Eve, I managed to reassure him, I was low yes, but completely fine. Time isn’t on my side, but, I can’t rush to leave, not when I’ll not be coming back, like leaving for a holiday but much, much worse. Looking out across the serenity of the Fal Estuary, I feel nothing but numbness. Empty. Cold. Knocking back the dregs of my glass, I quickly refill.
I know who she is now, she was here, sitting, waiting in broad daylight, bold as brass, when I arrived back from Eve’s, my stalker. I was shocked but in a strange way also relieved, before falling back into impassiveness. Her agenda makes no difference to me, to what I’m now about to do, I didn’t tell her that it’s all too late. Strange, I almost felt sorry for her too, able to understand her point of view, if ever I had doubts about what I’m to do, she removed them, brilliantly. There is no way forward, no further places to hide. I’m supposed to be dead. Two graduates. Missing, presumed dead. Andi and Camilla, both dead, drowned, just like that.
She, my stalker knows everything. Everything.
Strangely, she wasn’t interested in details, it was me who needed to tell someone, how I hid that night, escaping the treacherous tides, holding on for dear life, unlike my best friend. The sea didn’t swallow me, I scrambled upwards to the arch of the dark cavern while angry wolfish waves bit at the rocks beneath, shivering – I watched and waited. Lights shone down across the beach, my eyes followed the beams, ducking from sight whenever they came near, an escaped prisoner Terrified. You could argue I was incredibly lucky, but in reality it cost me dearly, cost me my friend, and so in turn – my life. The times I’ve wished I’d drowned with her, unable to ever escape her haunting screams. Not able to return to Bedruthan Steps since, on her birthday, at Christmas, when I’m lonely –– I throw flowers from the cliff to the sea from the nearest cove.
Now, as the darkness swamps the estuary, I choose the brightest star and whisper. ‘Please know – it wasn’t supposed to end as it did. Trapped and frightened, I made devious plans but I never meant to hurt you. Throughout our friendship, I kept you close, desperate for what you had, your freedom to live but I never wanted you to die. You know, it was Clara who led me back to the beach, desperate to speak with me alone but I’ve never understood – why were you there? I miss you. In my heart – I killed you. That night changed everything, in the aftermath I then made foolish decisions, ones I’ve never learned to live with. Everything I was, all I became, damaged for good. Listen to me, will you, like it matters any more.’
70
Cornwall 2017
Kyle
Kyle ripped along the M5 as best he could on a Friday evening, the traffic at Bristol lost him twenty minutes. Finally, he reached the A30, the last stretch before home, an hour or so to go. The last few hours eaten up with stress pumping adrenaline, anxiety, anger and sadness. Why the hell was no one responding to his calls? Andi, Carol? Even the bloody gardener? Opening his window, eyes fixed on the black unlit route he slaps his face, hard enough to sting, hot against cold air. Eyes heavy, mind wired, skin clammy then freezing cold, he’s closing the window when the trill of his mobile causes him to jump, fraught eyes dart to the lit up dashboard screen, it’s Carol.
‘Carol? For fuck sake, thank God.’
‘You’ve been trying to get hold of me? So many missed calls. What’s up?’
She doesn’t sound alarmed, something at least. ‘Jesus, I’m going out of my mind here. Where are you? Are Andi and the kids with you? Why hasn’t anyone been answering my calls? I’ve left countless voicemails for you, and Andi?’ His words pouring from a constricted throat, ‘fuck sake, where have you been?’
‘Christ, Ky. Calm down. We’ve been down at the stables; I took the kids riding, all of them. There’s no signal down there. Then I’ve been unloading the car, full with shopping from earlier, now – I’m in the middle of cooking dinner, do I need to go on?’
For the first time in the last four hours, Kyle allows his shoulders to relax. ‘You’ve all been? As in, the kids and Andi are with you too?’
‘No, not Andi, love. Only me and the kids.’
‘So where’s Andi?’
‘No idea.’ Carol pauses. ‘She called me earlier, said she had a work appointment or something, one she’d completely forgotten about. Some posh restaurant, no doubt? Where are you anyway?’
Kyle doesn’t answer straight away, his mind ticking over the last few conversations he’d shared with Andi. Knowing full well he hadn’t been engaged in any of them. So angry with her behaviour, or denial of it and to be honest, he’d given more attentive thought time and had engaged in more conversation with Camilla. Who’s been amazing, listening to him crooning on with nothing in it for her, other than a handful of meals and drinks. ‘On my way home,’ he says, still trying to think. ‘Andi hasn’t mentioned anything to me about an appointment tonight.’
There’s a moment’s silence before Carol speaks again. ‘Look, Ky, if you’re thinking abo
ut what I said, but shouldn’t have, the other night, you know, about…’ Carol lowers her voice, ‘about the affair. Then, don’t. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘I’m not,’ Kyle snaps.
‘You know how sensitive I am to these things. What with my own father? Deceit. Betrayal. You know what I’m like? I completely despise dishonest… anyway, still I shouldn’t have said what I did.’
‘Carol. Stop. I’m not thinking about that.’
‘Right. So what’s the big deal then?’
‘I had a call from Eve. Eve, her therapist.’
‘And?’
‘She said she was worried about Andi, as in, not only a little concerned but lead me to believe…’ Christ, the conversation has circled his mind for the last few hours, now he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, ‘she pretty much informed me, she thought Andi might do something stupid, might harm herself.’
‘Shit. Kyle. Really? Jesus.’
‘You spoke to her earlier, how do you think she sounded?’ Tapping on the steering wheel. ‘Carol? You still there.’ Kyle grabs his mobile, checking the signal, three bars, he should have a connection. ‘Carol?’
‘I’m here, yes. Just trying to think. She sounded normal to me. In fact, if anything, more calm than I’ve heard her in a while.’
‘Have you actually seen her today?’
Another pause. ‘No, I haven’t. No wait, yes, I have, I’m telling lies. I saw her this morning at school. Briefly. She seemed – normal. Ish. Or at least nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘I’ve a really bad feeling about this, really bad.’
Carol sighs. ‘Would you like me to go over to the house?’
Kyle glances at his navigation map, hurtling down the A30 on auto pilot with no idea of his whereabouts. ‘No, stay with the kids please. I’ll be there myself soon. And, Carol, if she turns up, don’t let her take the kids.’
‘But…’
‘Seriously, Carol, lock her in a room if need be. Anything. I’ve no idea what state of mind or condition she’d be in.’
‘Kyle…’
He ends the call.
71
Cornwall, 2017
Clara
I find a spot on low level rocks, next to a giant Bedruthan step, to sit. The thing is – I didn’t want it to go quite as far as it did that night. At least, I don’t think I did, despite the raw hurt I felt. Andi meant the world to me, I clung to her desperately after losing my sister, sometimes I used to swear she even had the same mannerisms as Lizzie, the same sayings, responses, almost as if her spirit lived on in Andi. I wouldn’t have scrambled through those times without her, especially when my parents then ended up in the divorce courts. Her home, her friendship, became my sanctuary. It was all fine until Camilla. I hated her, not least because – she made me hate Andi even more.
The party of all parties to end our graduation celebrations, it was meant to be. She was there, of course – Camilla. I hated her but I didn’t intend for her to die. My conscience sometimes tries to convince me otherwise. But… Then that stupid, gullible, pathetic, Jo, certainly convinced herself different, leaving me with no choice but to help her on the way. Compromising everything with her weakness, threatening to finish me, not literally but that’s what she’d have achieved with her squeaky clean conscience. In the end, as far as I was concerned, it was no different than putting to sleep an animal in pain. Of course, I didn’t do it, she put herself to sleep. Out of any pain. If it wasn’t because of Andi and Camilla, missing, presumed dead, she’d have done it anyway at some point in time. Most probably.
At the end of the party, everyone made tracks to return to the house, I knew I’d at least an hour to kill before the bus returned, so I took an unexpected opportunity. Slightly coerced, she dutifully followed me back down the metal steps that hugged the steep rock face on to the beach, oblivious to the tide sneaking up on us. Slithering its way over dry sands, strangling and suffocating all in its way. We headed for the giant domineering rock forms, me – with a constant eye on the escape route I’d established the evening before with Jo. Taking Jo was my first mistake. Nonetheless, I learned the tide wouldn’t quite make the cliffs on the right, some distance from the steps to the beach and it would be possible to scramble to the top.
I think I only hoped to frighten her, didn’t I? I mean, surely she’d follow me back up? I only wanted her to feel how I felt. But as that last tidal surge took our legs from beneath us and I ran for the cliff, she darted left to one of the giant rock steps. Slip sliding, gasping, her voluminous tresses not quite so voluminous, more straggly seaweed. This was the last I saw of her. Frantically climbing, panting, my heart hammering. Blood smearing my knees, slate pitting the palms of my hand. I kept climbing. When I reached the top, the small group of remaining friends were waiting, grabbing at my arms, then pulling me to safety. Jo was one of them, a half-knowing, questioning expression smeared across a sanctimonious face.
For some time, we looked on, no one except me knew, where were Andi and Camilla? The top of the rock, where I last saw the one small figure scrambling, as for the other, she must have followed us. How boringly typical. Eventually, the emergency services arrived. I was wrapped in a blanket, delivered to hospital, just in case. But both girls remained missing. Why couldn’t she let go of her, what was her obsession? Still – missing, presumed dead. The both of them. That’s what they said, the police, the coastguards, the entire search and bloody rescue caboodle. Missing, presumed dead. Both of them, lost to the hunger of the Cornish tides. Or so I thought.
‘Come down, spend some time with us,’ my friends urged, some weeks ago. But, did I want to return to Cornwall? Eventually I decided, with both girls – missing, presumed dead, and Jo – dead too, what was the harm? Maybe it would be curative, help clear a murky conscience. Not that I ever physically caused any harm. But, never in my wildest imaginings did I expect to see her in the restaurant. Was I mistaken? A ghostly figure, sitting aloof from her male companion. But then afterwards, some digging back in my room, proved I wasn’t. A writer no less. All night I tossed and turned, how would I confront her? In the end I texted her, asked her to meet up. God, how I was seething. So many years with a conscience heavier than it need have been. But, when I woke this morning and I still hadn’t heard back from her, it occurred to me, why stir it all up again? All these years, haven’t I been angry with the wrong person? The force, the being that stole my sister, Lizzie, is where my hatred belongs. Not with her, with them, not really. Isn’t it finally time to let go?
Time to go home.
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
I make my way to the very top, a handful of flowers from the coarse grass borders, say whispering small words to make my peace, I let them fall to sea, one by one. One of you is still missing, presumed dead. At least. Perhaps there is such a thing as Karma? I push the thought away.
72
Cornwall 2017
Andi
I’ve been in position a while now, still can’t seem to stop the tremble. The slight quivering of my skin, working alone, disconnected from me. Millions of tiny goose pimples, I run my finger over them, as if they belonged to another body – I’m so numb from within. I pinch anaesthetised fingers together, but – nothing. Wrinkles, premature aging, superficial behaviours all of them. Squeezing my knees tight to my chest, the water swooshes past me, I know I haven’t got long. I couldn’t change my mind if I wanted to, without the strength to climb from the bath, or reach for a towel, I can’t wet the floor. I’ve told the kids off enough for this over the years. Their faces come to mind, so I push them gently away. Not now. Not now, you two. Mummy is busy.
I glance down over my Cornish tanned skin, it tells lies, it says – I have life in me. I haven’t. I’ve nothing left. I’m unbelievably tired. Though in this last half hour I’ve felt more at ease, without pain, than I have in a long time, perhaps more than I’ve ever felt before. All these years, longing for independence, yet love and
stability. I now wonder, has one cannibalised the other, were three a crowd? Next to the tap, sits one of Kyle’s pint glasses, full to the brim with his very best whisky. A present, for all his hard work on one of the many projects he commands. He was saving it for a special moment in time. I hovered over it in the kitchen, feeling a tad guilty for opening it. But, I’m sure he will understand, after all – I am about to set him free. Free from the wife I have become, the mother I have become to his children. I say his children because this is how it feels. I can no longer feel them either. I’ve simply been drudging through the motions for the last few months. All of them really will be better off without me. It’s better to know you’re without, than to think you are with, yet still go without. All I am is a false sense of security. Perhaps now Carol will step in. She’s a better mum, wife, than I’ll ever be and she knows it.
The china saucer next to the pint glass is covered almost entirely with white cylinder shaped pills, I take a small handful, popping them one by one. Small drips of water tickling their way down protruding cheekbones as I do. I swallow then press my face into my knees, my time is running short. Why did everyone think I had everything? My life so perfect? Undiluted selfish intentions lead me to a lonely, imprisoned life, aching loss. And guilt, so much guilt. I should have died, not her. That’s what she, my stalker, said earlier too, downstairs in my home, all proud of herself with everything figured out.
After my final appointment with Eve, for the first time in so many years – a peace slid over me like a silky glove. I’d made the right and only decision, I thought that Eve would be the last person I saw. But then I arrived home to find her here, a newspaper article clutched in her hand. Photos. My old passport, a letter confirming a placement for a magazine in Miami. A look of utter resentment saturated her eyes, a genuine hard life running through her bones. And for what, as she said – for only more of it to come. Trapped. Bitter eyes regarded me as I took the passport. I was supposed to travel, I couldn’t go anywhere, not when I was dead. Then marrying Kyle, I applied for a new passport, holding my breath, someone would make the connection, they didn’t. But I was still a prisoner on the run.
Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 29