The Wake: an absolutely gripping psychological suspense

by Vikki Patis

  ‘Follow me,’ I say, and turn towards the steps. The waves are lapping at the rocks; the tide is coming in and will soon cover the sand. I want it to swallow us whole.

  My feet take us to the place where it happened, on the other side of the beach, where the tide now creates pools of water, flooding the caves. The place detailed in my father’s letter, the one I found hidden in his bedside drawer tonight beneath the box containing Saffy’s bracelet. The bracelet she was wearing the day she disappeared.

  We go up, the rocks slippery beneath our feet, fingers gripping the moss-covered headland. She knows where we are going, doesn’t speak as she scrambles up behind me. She is fit for her age; a life full of the highest quality food, the benefit of gym memberships and a private swimming pool, and private healthcare will do that for you. Everything she has comes from one single act, the act that ripped our lives apart, and now I’m going to take it from her.

  The climb leaves me breathless, my heart pounding as we finally reach the top. The view is stunning, the sky streaked with red and gold amongst the blue-black as the sun’s final traces disappear beneath the horizon. A fingernail moon shines in the distance; shapes move across the sky, wings fluttering. I breathe in, and Saffy appears before me, her bright hair damp from the sea, her eyes glistening with tears. A part of me always knew that she wasn’t out there to find, that she wouldn’t be coming back. I should have known when our father came home that day without her that she was lost to me forever.

  The ghost lifts an arm, something clenched in her palm. Her fingers open slowly to reveal a seashell, and my own eyes fill with tears. Find me a seashell, Saffy. I reach out to take it, but then Fiona comes up behind me and my sister disappears into the sea mist.

  Fiona stops a few feet away, her eyes wide. I have never seen her like this before, her true feelings always so well hidden beneath the mask. Except for the time Toby almost drowned. She was wild then, her carefully constructed veneer washed away by fear and love. I wonder if she looked like this that day, when she followed my sister across the rocks, the dog’s barks echoing from below.

  I take her in, the perfectly applied make-up smoothing out the lines on her face, the grey-blue eyes focused on mine. ‘It was you,’ I say, and she crumples.

  It was Toby who told me everything. Toby, the sweet, harmless child that everyone forgot about. Just like Saffy. They underestimated him, had conversations where he could hear and remember the words. Whispered arguments in the kitchen while he sat on the stairs, his young mind unable to process what he was hearing. An older brother who told him tales about something wrapped in a blanket in the boot. Tales that frightened him, that kept him awake at night, that his father told him were just bad dreams. But the sweet, harmless child turned into a man, a man who remembered what he had heard, and he told me where to find our father’s final confession. He told his sister everything.

  45

  The Deceased

  THEN

  ‘Not too far!’ Richard called as his daughter ran across the beach, Nala at her heels. His phone rang and he cursed, fumbling in his pocket and pulling it out. Fiona. ‘Hi, darling,’ he said. He still called her darling and sweetheart then, their romance still new and exciting. Perhaps it was because they didn’t live together yet, could still hide their flaws from one another. But that was all about to change.

  ‘Daddy.’ The voice on the other end of the phone was young and high, almost a whine.

  ‘Felix, what’s the matter? Why do you have Mummy’s phone?’ He tracked Saffy with his eyes, watching her jump over the waves as they crashed against the sand, a stick held aloft for Nala.

  ‘Why didn’t you come to watch me play football today?’ Felix whined.

  Richard suppressed a sigh. ‘Next time, Felix. I’ll be there next time. Where’s Mummy?’

  ‘Over there.’

  ‘Over where?’ Richard could feel his frustration building. ‘Put her on. Where’s your brother?’

  ‘He’s here. Say hello, Toby.’

  Richard could hear his youngest child babbling in the background. He was almost two, and still wasn’t talking, relying on his brother to do most of his talking for him. For a moment, with Saffy heading towards the rock pools, Skye at home in bed, and his two sons on the phone, Richard wondered what the hell he was doing. Four children with two women, and barely five years between them. How long could he carry on living this double life? How much longer could he continue to juggle Fearne and Fiona, splitting his time between his two houses? Something was going to give, he could feel it, and a part of him almost welcomed it. But he could not have predicted what was to come.

  He turned, looking out across the shimmering sea. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled his ears, drowning out the sound of Felix babbling down the phone. For a second, he felt at peace. The calm before the storm.

  A loud bark jerked Richard back to the present. Nala sat beside him, a wellington boot in her mouth. Saffy’s boot. She dropped it at his feet, looking up as if waiting for a treat for a job well done. Dread pooled in his stomach as he scanned the beach, looking for Saffy’s hopping form, expecting her to be shouting after the dog. But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, ending the call and stuffing the phone back into his pocket. ‘Where’s Saffy?’ he asked the dog. She barked in return.

  He began to run, Saffy’s name in his mouth, panic closing his throat, stopping him from calling out to her. His feet pounded against the sand as he repeated her name over and over in his head. Saf-fy. Saf-fy. Saf-fy.

  She had been heading towards the rocks, her favourite place to play. She would often hide in the caves, her sister too afraid to join her. Skye was scared of the dark, and of the things she couldn’t see. Richard always thought it was a sensible fear, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

  He told himself that Saffy would be hiding somewhere, splashing in a rock pool or letting tiny crabs run across the back of her hand. She loved all creatures, had even given up eating meat after rescuing a baby duck a few months ago. Her foot will be wet without its boot, he thought as he got closer. Did I bring a change of socks?

  Nala ran past the entrance to the caves, barking, as if she was trying to lead him somewhere.

  ‘Where is she, Nala?’ Richard called, and the dog stopped, ears pricked, as if waiting for him to catch up. When he reached her, she bounded off again, leading him towards the sea. Saffy was a strong swimmer, often drifting beyond the safety zones. Fearne had been frantic once on a visit to Readymoney Cove in Fowey, when six-year-old Saffy had decided to swim out to the bathing platform alone. She’d laughed when Richard had caught up with her, leaping into the waves before he could stop her, surfacing with a wide grin on her face. Again!

  She was fine. She was fine. Saffy was strong and confident, a force to be reckoned with. She would pop out of somewhere any moment now, her hair drenched, her clothes spattered with wet sand, grinning from ear to ear. What’s the matter, Dad?

  Nala stopped a few feet ahead, her paws splashing through a shallow pool, and Richard followed, water seeping through his shoes. Above him were steps carved into the rocks, covered in dried seaweed and barnacles.

  ‘Did she go up there?’ he asked the dog, and Nala barked. He began to climb.

  46

  The Daughter-in-Law

  I hear a scream and begin to run, the rocks slippery beneath my feet. Eleanor follows, leaving Leo sleeping in the locked car, the headlights still on, lighting our way. We run towards the sound of voices, feet pounding in time with our hearts, and then we see them. Skye standing above Fiona, the older woman cowering against the rocks. My heart skips a beat as I realise how close she is to the edge.

  ‘Skye!’ I shout, and her head whips round. ‘Skye, stop!’ I don’t know what I’m asking her to stop, but I can feel the tension radiating from her, can see the pain and fury in her eyes. She is different, her features morphing into someone I barely recognise.
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  ‘Lexi!’ Fiona cries, and Skye turns back to her.

  ‘She isn’t going to help you,’ she says. ‘Nobody is.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Eleanor asks, breathless as she comes up beside me. ‘Is that…?’ She trails off as she takes in the scene before us.

  ‘Would you like to know what your mother-in-law did, Lexi?’ Skye says, taking a step back and crouching on top of a rock. Fiona is frozen, her back against the cold stone, one hand behind her, supporting her weight. ‘Would you like to know what kind of family you’re marrying into?’ Skye’s gaze turns to Eleanor. ‘And you. Did you know what my father was?’

  Eleanor’s eyes widen. ‘I… I don’t…’

  Skye laughs bitterly. ‘Of course you didn’t. He fooled us all, didn’t he?’ She lifts a hand and points at Fiona. ‘But she is the real master of disguise. She is the one who had us all fooled. She is the one who destroyed our lives.’

  I take a step forward, my hands held out as if in supplication. ‘What do you mean?’ I keep my voice light, my face neutral, trying to reach her. If I can reach her, I can stop this, whatever it is. ‘What’s happened, Skye?’

  She reaches into her pocket and pulls something out. A silver bracelet, with tiny seashells glinting in the dusk.

  ‘This is the bracelet my sister wore,’ Skye says. ‘The one she never took off. Not in the bath, not to go to sleep. Never.’

  ‘Where…’ My voice trails off as the realisation hits me.

  ‘In my father’s bedside table. With this.’ She pulls out a folded sheet of paper, opens it up and begins to read aloud.

  To Skye, my daughter, though I’m not sure I deserve to call you that. For twenty years I have kept a secret that has eaten me alive. It has destroyed me, as it destroyed your mother, though for different reasons of course. I believed that it would be worse if I told her the truth. If she knew what really happened to Saffy, it would break her heart. But I know now that I was only fooling myself. I kept this secret to protect myself, to prevent this house of cards from tumbling down. But if you are reading this, it means I am dead, and I cannot take this secret to the grave.

  I need you to know that I wanted to be a good father. I was never a good husband, probably not even a good man, and I had no idea how to be a father to you. But I loved you, Skye. I loved you and your sister more than I can explain. Life with your mother was never easy; we married too young, too fast, caught up in a whirlwind romance that cast a rose-tinted light on everything. But that light faded, and we quickly realised that we had made a mistake.

  You were not that mistake, Skye. Neither was Saffy. The mistake was staying together, trying to make things work when we only made each other miserable. And then I met Fiona.

  Skye glares at the woman, who is watching her with wide, terrified eyes. I can almost hear Richard’s voice as she reads his words, picture the way his eyes would crinkle with sadness as he spoke. I imagine him sitting in his office, writing this letter to his daughter, knowing she would never read it while he was alive, and the similarities between us hits me once again.

  In truth, I had known Fiona for a while, but we were not close. Acquaintances, I suppose you would call us. On nodding and how’s-your-family terms. We lost touch when I moved away from Cornwall, meeting again at your uncle’s birthday party. You might not remember it, you were so young, only four years old. You and Saffy had dinner with us, and then we put you to bed upstairs, snuggled together in the spare room. Peter had finally divorced his first wife, and he was struggling with her moving away with their son. He drank too much, which wasn’t usual for him at the time, and it was Fiona who helped me put him to bed. She was so warm and caring, making sure he was on his side and leaving a glass of water by his bed. We went outside for a cigarette, and, well, the rest is history.

  She fell pregnant quickly. Felix is only five years younger than you, as you know. Soon enough I was juggling two families, four children, trying to keep you all separate. But I knew it couldn’t last. When your mother found out about everything, it was almost a relief. I could finally stop trying to keep up the pretence. But the relief came later, of course. Because the catalyst was Saffy’s disappearance, the thing that blew everything apart, and I thought I would die from the grief. Old lies were replaced with new lies, piling up until I thought I would suffocate beneath them. But it was fear that stopped me from confessing. Fear of prison, of losing the rest of my children. Fear of leaving my boys without their parents. Because my confession wouldn’t just implicate me. It would bring everything down around us.

  Skye pauses, looking up and catching my gaze. I am speechless, my skin prickling with dread. There is more, I can tell by the way her fingers grip the page, and her emotions are written across her face. Pain, anger, grief. She already knows what comes next.

  ‘Tell them.’ The words come from behind us, and we turn in unison towards the figure emerging from the darkness. I hear myself gasp as I realise who it is. ‘Go on, Mother,’ Toby says, his lips curled into an uncharacteristic sneer that reminds me of Felix. ‘Why don’t you tell them how it ends?’

  I look between them – mother, son, sister – and feel myself start to sway. Eleanor grabs my elbow, holding me steady. I don’t want to hear it, the conclusion to this horrible story. I cling to Eleanor, the edges of my vision darkening as Toby moves towards us. He places a hand on my shoulder as he passes and I pull away, fear blinding me.

  ‘Finish the story,’ Skye says as Toby moves to crouch before his mother, who stares at him wordlessly, her mouth an O of surprise. ‘Unburden yourself. You’ll feel better.’ A small smile flickers across her lips. ‘Or perhaps not. But we will.’

  Fiona is focused on her son’s face. ‘Toby, I–’ she begins, but he shakes his head.

  ‘You owe it to her. To Skye.’ He moves away to stand beside his half-sister. ‘You owe her the truth.’

  I watch Fiona swallow, her limbs trembling as she curls her arms around her knees. I can almost smell her fear.

  ‘You knew he wrote this letter. You knew he wanted to confess.’ Skye sits on the rock, one leg bent at the knee as she considers the woman below her. ‘It’s why you killed him, isn’t it, Fiona?’ she says, and the world tilts beneath me.

  47

  The Deceased

  THEN

  Richard looked at his wife, his eyes drawn to the smear of blood on her cheek. He could not look at the body lying beneath them, the flame-red hair splayed out across the rocks. He could not. He would not.

  ‘Help me, Richard!’ Fiona hissed, and his body jerked, his eyes finally taking in the scene before him. His daughter, his beautiful, brave, strong daughter. Blood trickled from her left ear, mingling with her hair and puddling on the ground beneath her. Fiona stood on the ledge, balancing precariously as she tried to reach Saffy. She looked up, her hair flying into her face. ‘Richard!’

  He had to get down there, he had to pull his daughter out. Fiona wasn’t strong enough, was going to slip off the edge if she wasn’t careful. Maybe he should let her. A cry carried on the wind, and he looked up to see Felix pressed against the window of Fiona’s car, his eyes wide and fearful. What had his son seen? Had anyone else been around, walking along the coastal path? Someone could come along at any moment, he realised with a jolt. They could be caught, and it would be over.

  Forcing down the rising nausea, Richard climbed down the rocks, fitting his feet into the natural footholds and carefully lowering himself down. Somehow, he managed to reach them, helping Fiona scrabble back to the ledge above. Somehow, he lifted the body of his daughter, limp and lifeless, and carried her up to the top. Somehow, he laid her in the boot of the car, wrapping her in a large blanket they usually used for picnics. Somehow, he managed not to vomit until later, when he was alone in the bathroom, the rug beneath him wet with tears.

  Fiona drove, Felix and Toby quiet in the back seat, their gaze fixed on their parents. Would they understand what had happened? Had they seen their sister before she had
fallen? Because she had fallen, Fiona told him in a lowered voice as she drove towards home. She had slipped on the rocks, disappearing before Fiona could catch her.

  ‘But why was she there?’ Richard growled, his fingers digging into his thighs. ‘Why were you there?’ The wipers flashed across the windscreen, flicking away the raindrops. He watched tears drip down his wife’s face, sliding off the end of her nose. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper, sobs catching in her throat, and Richard felt his insides turn to ice at her words.

  48

  The Daughter

  ‘It was an accident,’ Fiona cries, eyes flitting between me and Toby, her desperation palpable. ‘I swear, I didn’t mean for it to happen. She just slipped. I–’

  ‘You took her,’ I growl, silencing her. Rage still flows through me, making me tremble. ‘You lured her away, and for what?’

  ‘Because you were jealous,’ Toby says. ‘You wanted him to yourself.’

  ‘No!’ Tears slide down Fiona’s face as she shakes her head. ‘Toby, no, that wasn’t it. I didn’t–’

  ‘Why then?’ I demand, moving forward to crouch before her. Her eyes are bloodshot, her mascara leaving trails down her cheeks. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘All I ever wanted was to be a mother,’ Lexi whispers, and Fiona’s head swivels towards her, her face a mask of horror as she shakes her head.

  ‘I just wanted to get to know her,’ she whimpers. ‘I thought… I thought if she liked me, if you both did, that Richard would want to be with me. That he would bring you both to live with us. We had the space, three empty bedrooms waiting to be filled with children.’ Desperation fills her eyes and she reaches out, her hand stopping just before it touches my arm. ‘We could have been a family.’ She turns to Toby, her hand stretching towards him now. ‘Wasn’t I always a good mother?’ She sobs, her voice thick with tears. ‘Didn’t I always love and care for you?’