The Missing One

by Lucy Atkins

  He didn’t even lower his camera.

  ‘Jonas,’ she shouted over the wind. ‘Look what’s coming at us, for Christ’s sake!’ He glanced up and she pointed at the horizon. It was closing in, much too fast.

  But he went back to his viewfinder. ‘One minute.’

  ‘We have no life vests!’

  He focused on the pod.

  ‘Jonas. Turn the damned boat around!’

  He didn’t. So, she stood up. ‘Go sit with Susannah.’ She lifted Kit off the seat with her one arm and held him out at Susannah. ‘Hold on to him – hold him tight,’ she said, as Susannah took him. ‘Don’t let go of him – don’t let go.’

  She shoved past Jonas, who wobbled, almost dropping his camera. Purple clouds swarmed.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Elena.’

  She grabbed the wheel. If he wouldn’t bring their children back to safety, then she damned well would.

  ‘Elena,’ he boomed at the back of her head. ‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

  She turned on the engine. ‘I’m taking us back.’

  ‘The fuck you are!’

  She felt his hand on her arm.

  Chapter seventeen

  I need to get away. I ease Finn onto the sofa and scrape everything into my bag. I can’t be here. We have to get out of here. I need to get us home.

  I can’t think about what I just read.

  Survived by …

  I just need to go home.

  I look at Finn. If I wake him, he might cry – and then he’ll wake her. I can’t have her back down here when I’m trying to get away. But I have to be prepared. We might have to walk for a while out there. I don’t know how far away the nearest house is. And what if we get lost? I need supplies from the kitchen – food and drink and nappies.

  I tuck the parka over my sleeping boy. Then I tiptoe to the bottom of the stairs, and I listen. Nothing. Just the creak of the floathouse and the slap of waves. I wait for a moment or two more. I’m reluctant to leave Finn alone on the sofa, in case the creatures that are living in the walls of this house come out and crawl on him. Crawl on my bag. Crawl on the red file. Shred everything with their needle teeth. But I need to know that she’s sleeping if I’m going to leave him on the sofa and go into the kitchen.

  I take a few steps further up the twisting staircase. Each step creaks. It is dark. I pause. There is no sound in the bedroom. I get to the top of the stairs, half expecting her to be there, looming out of the darkness. But the doorway is empty. The room is shadowy and panelled. It smells of rotten wood and sea and birds’ nests. There is a peaked ceiling and a big bed beneath it. It is bitterly cold up here. As my eyes adjust, I can make out a hunched shape in the bed. There is no movement. I watch the shape, and listen with every fibre in my body. Another gust of wind hits the house and the window panes rattle. The sea sucks at the rocks and the house sways. She does not move or twitch. She has to be asleep.

  I creep as silently as possible back down the stairs.

  Finn is face down, as I left him, wrapped snugly in the parka. He’s fine. I go back over to the bottom of the stairs again, and listen once more. I’ll hear her, anyway, if she comes down those creaking stairs while I’m in the kitchen.

  A beige light is seeping in through the kitchen windows and I don’t need the torch to see the decay; weeds worm through the window frames, there are flecks of peeled paint on the floor, the gingham curtains have been shredded by some animal.

  I dig around in the bags of food, finding the bottle of water and taking great gulps of it, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I realize I am famished. I grab some bread rolls and a couple of cereal bars and, using the bottled water, I rinse Finn’s duck cup, then fill it with milk. Somewhere in the forest, not too far off, something howls. I tear open a cereal bar and bite into it, swallowing the sweetness, gulping water between bites.

  Then I hurry back into the living room.

  And I stop.

  Susannah is standing with her back to the stove. She is holding Finn. I drop the food with a thud. ‘What are you doing?’ I swallow. I march towards her. ‘Give him to me.’

  Finn’s face is bleary – she has woken him by picking him up – but he isn’t crying. He holds out his arms to me but before I can take him, she swoops him around and away from me. She has my bag, too, strapped across her body, it flaps as she turns and I glimpse the red file inside.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I say again. ‘Stop!’

  Finn opens his mouth. ‘Mama!’ He struggles against her, squirming to get to me. ‘Mama!’

  ‘Give him to me, Susannah.’ Trying not to scare Finn, I keep my voice as even as possible. ‘Give him to me right now.’ If I try to grab him there might be a struggle and I can’t do that to him. I can’t try to wrench him out of her arms. He could get hurt. And it will terrify him. ‘I’ll take him, OK, Susannah? Then we’ll talk about it. OK?’

  She looks at me oddly, her head cocked. ‘His father needs to see him now.’

  ‘Yes. That’s right. That’s exactly where he’s going, that’s where I’m taking him now. His father is in England. His father is Doug.’

  She scowls.

  ‘Susannah. Please give him to me and we’ll talk. I promise. Just give Finn to me now.’

  ‘Talk?’ she says, lifting her chin high, her strong arms pinning Finn to her body so he can’t reach me. He starts to cry. His eyes are frightened and wide. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I step towards her. ‘He’s crying, Susannah. You’re hurting him.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ she growls. ‘Stay.’

  ‘You’re confused.’ I step towards them again. ‘Just give him to me then we can talk. You can tell me what happened. You can tell me everything that happened. OK? You can tell me everything. Help me to understand what happened.’

  She steps backwards. ‘Do we really have go over all this again, Elle? Do we? We do? OK. Fine! Your face was turning blue. I mean, what would you have done? Tell me that? What would you have done? You told him to turn the boat around. The storm was coming so fast. It was madness to be out there, the two of you yelling, and with the babies on board – Kali strapped to your chest for Christ’s sake – and those whales milling around, too close to the boat – the wind was picking up. It was fucking madness, Elena! Total fucking madness!’

  I take another step closer but she raises herself up, pulling Finn to one side, away from me. ‘He was going to kill you, Elle. He had his hands on you … I had to do something.’

  ‘Yes.’ I try to sound soothing. ‘I know. Of course you did.’ I step closer. ‘Now, give him to me, and we can talk about this properly.’

  ‘No.’ Her eyes don’t leave my face. ‘I have to show Jonas that he’s back. You told me to.’

  ‘I really didn’t.’

  ‘Mamaaa?’ Finn struggles to hold out his arms, but she pins them back down. ‘Mamaaaa?’

  ‘It’s OK, love,’ I say. ‘It’s OK. I’m here.’

  ‘No,’ Susannah snaps, pulling him further away from me. My bag slaps against her thigh, a flash of red. Finn wails, ‘Mamaaaa!’

  ‘We were all going to drown out there!’ she shouts. ‘He was attacking you, and the baby too. He was going to crush her against you. He was going to kill you both. I’ve seen that before, don’t forget! I know what it’s like.’

  ‘That baby was me, Susannah. It was me: Kali. I’m Kali. I’m not Elena. You’re confused. You’re mixing things up. Now just let me hold Finn, OK?’

  ‘The oar was right there, what would you have done?’ She looks at me, head on one side, as if posing a metaphysical question. ‘Just tell me that, Elena, what would you have done?’

  ‘You did the right thing.’ I edge closer, nodding. ‘The only thing you could have done. Absolutely, definitely the right thing.’

  ‘Maaamaaaa.’ Fat tears roll down Finn’s cheeks. I reach for him again, but she whips him away. His hands jerk up and down and he looks startled, then wails with fear.


  ‘I just didn’t see Kit, I didn’t know he’d gotten behind Jonas – I didn’t – he was just too small. You have to believe me, Elena. I had to do something. You would have done the same thing for me. Wouldn’t you?’

  I step forwards again. ‘Yes, of course I would,’ I say. ‘Of course. It’s OK, Susannah. I completely forgive you. You did the right thing. You really did. Just give me the baby now, OK?’

  Finn reaches his hands out to me, sobbing. His tears leave pale streaks on his cheeks.

  I lurch forward for him, but she swoops him away again and across to the sofa. ‘That wave came right up over us, do you remember? For a moment I thought it was that big bull, flipping the boat.’ One of the hands that is holding Finn flies to her head again and she slaps her temple. ‘I can’t live with these images in my head.’ She shakes her head. ‘I think about ending all this – you must too. Don’t you?’ Her face brightens for a moment, as if this is a brilliant plan. ‘Don’t you think we should just end this?’

  ‘No.’ I edge towards her again. ‘No, not really, Susannah, I don’t think that’s a good idea at all. I think you need to give me Finn, give me the baby, and we’ll sit down and we’ll talk about all this and it will all be OK. I promise. Susannah, you need help. It’s OK. I want to help you. Just give me my baby.’

  ‘What I need,’ she smiles, ‘is to keep this child safe. I know what you’re trying to do. I am not going to let anything happen to him this time. I am not. And I need to show Jonas that Kit is back and I am forgiven – he needs to see Kit.’ She shoves my bag back, swishing Finn, too roughly. He wails again.

  ‘This isn’t Kit,’ I shout. ‘It’s not Kit! This baby is Finn – mine, my son. Not Elena’s. And Jonas is dead. Susannah, try to think, OK? Think hard. I know you’ll know this, if you’ll just think. Please. Give him to me.’

  She looks confused, and for a second I think I’ve got through to her. ‘You’re not Elena … ’ she falters. ‘But wait. If you’re not … then … she’s … Oh! I know now. She’s here too … She’ll be coming … she’ll be out there! They’re both out there. They’re waiting for him!’

  ‘Susannah. You have to stop this right now. None of this is real. Elena isn’t out there. She’s dead. The whales aren’t dead people. That’s all got twisted up in your head. This little boy is my baby – he’s Finn – and you need to give him back to me right now. He’ll be safe with me.’ I slide closer. I can almost reach him now. ‘I love him. He’ll be totally safe with me, OK?’ I hold out my arms, as unthreateningly as I can, and seeing them, Finn launches himself at me again.

  But her face twists, and she wheels him away, out of my reach; he lets out a high-pitched shriek. He kicks and writhes and I see her big, hard, dirty fingers, digging into his leg. I throw myself at him. She thrusts out one arm and thwacks me square in the chest so that I stagger backwards. My spine crashes against the stove. Finn’s howls bounce off the wooden walls.

  ‘Stop!’ I stagger to my feet, hurling myself back across the room. But she bats me off again with one muscular arm.

  My body crashes into a side table this time. It collapses under me into soft slivers. As I scramble to my feet the floorboard gives and one leg plunges downwards. I throw my weight in the other direction, yank my foot back and then haul myself away from the hole in the floathouse floor. Finn’s cries are travelling away from me.

  I see her disappear through the kitchen doorway – I glimpse his terrified, tear-stained face over her shoulder, mouth open, unable even to scream, his star-shaped hands bumping with each step. Her wasp clasp is loose and her wild hair streams behind her, my bag flaps on her thigh – then she vanishes.

  I hurtle across the rotten floor but she’s out the door already. I wrench it open and burst after her, into the grey dawn. Freezing mist hits the back of my throat and I gasp – but there she is, running, up ahead. I can just see her through the mist with Finn jolting against her shoulder and his screams echoing through the ghostly pines.

  I leap from the floathouse onto dry land and sprint across the stony ground after them. She is scrambling over rocks up ahead, using one arm to steady herself. Her legs are strong and fast; she is a blurry shape, but I will catch her. My body powers me along faster than I’ve ever moved in my life, and then I’m in the air as if I’ve taken off and am going to fly to Finn – as if I have unfurled vast maternal wings – but I’m falling, coming down, and stones slam into my torso, jolting my teeth inside my skull.

  For a second, everything rings and I open my mouth but nothing comes out, no breath will go in or out of my lungs. Then I give a terrific gasp. I am on my front, with stones in my face, spitting gravel and twigs. Finn’s cries are further ahead, muffled by the crash of the waves and by the mist. I get up, stagger a few steps – my right leg doesn’t seem to work properly – but it has to – it has to – and despite it, I start to run again.

  I claw my way to the top of the rock. I am above a white beach, a tiny beach and I can hear Finn, somewhere close by – down there, beneath the ledge of rock below me – but I can’t see him. I bend my knees to leap down onto the beach and something hits the back of my head. Everything goes black.

  *

  I am swimming. It is so cold, this water, and I am so tired. I can’t keep swimming under this freezing water. I have to open my eyes and come up to the surface. I have to breathe.

  Stone shapes – an eyeball, a teardrop, a heart. Something flexes in the background through a shroud of white. Out of the corner of one eye I can see the fur of the parka hood, flickering. I must lift my head. I must get up. My cheekbone hits down hard, and I’m swimming again beneath the surface.

  Then I hear her voice, sharp and clear, next to my ear. Open your eyes, Kali. Get up. Get up now. Run.

  The shingle grinds into my knee bones, stones icy and smooth under my palms. My head is ringing, singing, like the high wind. I sway, hands in stones. But her voice is very clear and firm in my ear. Get up, my mother says. Run, Kali. Run.

  *

  And I’m up. Something is pressing on the back of my head. I touch it with my fingertips. Then I remember what’s happening and where I am.

  I open my mouth and I bellow, not a word but a continuous, prehistoric sound that rattles around my skull.

  Then I see them. They aren’t far away – grey shapes on the rocks – there is a boat and she is climbing onto it and I can see him on her shoulder; I can hear his cries.

  I scrabble back up the rock, slithering and scratching to the top, and I hurtle towards them through salty mist. My head sings – something in my leg is very wrong but I move it anyway – the bad sensation is far off, irrelevant, a hypothesis of pain – I gasp for air and power towards them.

  Pain jolts through me but it doesn’t matter. Seagulls wheel overhead, ghostly shapes in the mist. I see her look round, gripping Finn with one arm as she unhooks a rope from a tow post. Her face is grim and her hair flies like snakes.

  ‘Get off him!’ I roar. ‘Stop!’

  My feet hardly touch the ground but the boat engine snarls and it is moving away now – she is in, and driving Finn away from me. It is a small boat, with ropes around the side and a little cabin, and the engine is loud. She is pointing the boat out across the bay, pinning my screaming baby to her side with one arm and steering with the other.

  I think about plunging into the freezing sea but I know I won’t catch them, not like this. The boat is moving too fast. Somewhere above the engine I can still hear him desperately howling for me.

  And I turn. I run again – back over the rocks, aware that my leg is wrong, but that it means nothing. Over the stony path where I fell – I am running through the undergrowth, now, jumping over roots and boulders, ducking round the back of the floathouse, in darkness, plants slashing my face and torso, I don’t know how I know where to go – I just do. It’s instinct that propels me and I am among the trees, dense trunks, the stink of pine needles, and the sea, and the distant rumble of the engine out ther
e in the bay – and I’m pushing past trunks, dodging sharp rocks; my muscles burn but I keep going. I see a crouching animal, fur, yellow eyes – I leap past it – and I am out – on rocks again, above the water. Icy rocks. Mist hangs low. I scrabble to the flat top of the rock; my hands and feet move deftly.

  I crouch there, sucking in the freezing mist. My lungs are on fire. There’s a drop of about fifteen feet to the water – I see rocks beneath the surface. And I can see the boat approaching, shrouded in mist. It is almost level with me already, passing through the neck of the bay out to the open sea. Susannah is looking straight ahead. She doesn’t see me, maybe the mist hides me, or maybe she thinks I’m back on the beach still. Finn is struggling and howling – she has him wedged against her flank with one arm. As the boat gets closer, I know that there is only one thing left to do.

  I kick off my boots and tear off the parka and Doug’s too-heavy sweater, hurling them one on top of the other on the rock.

  And I leap.

  Suspended in mid-air, I know that if I have misjudged this I will impale myself on the rocks. The shock of the water bites into my flesh, the cold burns, salt stings, filling my eyes and mouth and nose, pouring down my throat, into my ears. For a moment I am far below the surface, kicking inside a block of ice; I feel the vast frozen body of water over my head, pressing into my eardrums, biting at my skin, clamping at my muscles like teeth, but my feet hit rock and I thrust off it, pushing myself up to the surface with the one leg that seems to work best, and I am out – gasping for air, tossed on a huge wave, then under again, blinded, another lungful of brine. Back up again – back up – choking – a great gasp of air – the boat is right here – just an arm’s length away. It is moving too fast. I can’t. My limbs are frozen. I can’t get it. But I have to.

  With every cell in my body I power myself towards the hull and, miraculously, I feel the side of the boat – slippery under my palms – if I can’t hold on then the next bit of the boat to hit me will be its propeller – my fingers close over the rough rope that runs around the flank. For moment, I am towed along, swallowing water, gagging, gasping, my legs trailing behind me, gripping the rope with both hands – my arms are wrenched from their sockets, every muscle and sinew is stretched tight. But I hear Finn’s cries above the motor and it’s as if his voice is pulling me out of the water – somehow I haul myself up and dive, head first, over the side.