The Dark Water

by Helen Moorhouse

  Martha sighed. There was the problem, she knew. Gabriel genuinely believed in what he did, had a sincere respect for the spirit world and would never have compromised himself for cash but since he’d signed up with Ghosts R Us, thereby earning more of it, Will didn’t agree with it. Will had very strong principles, Martha knew. It was one of his qualities that she admired most, but she couldn’t agree with his belief that Gabriel had completely sold out by taking the TV job and that it was only a matter of time before his integrity and reputation were compromised and, by association, Will’s.

  Will felt that the paranormal was an undiscovered science and, like any scientist, was desperate to prove his theories correct. Gabriel had been such a huge part of his research, and integral to that was Gabriel’s complete faith in what he believed and the fact that he received no monetary gain for it. Will – and Gabriel for that matter – had no belief whatsoever in mediums who performed on stage, or put themselves up for hire.

  They had visited a number of these ‘roadshows’ during the course of their work and enjoyed regaling Martha with their tales. Once, Gabriel swore blind that the medium on stage was accompanied by a spirit guide but chose to actively ignore him throughout the entire event, using only the names and basic information given to him to invent creative and emotive messages to pass on to the loved ones in the audience who lapped it all up. Gabriel particularly loved to tell the story of one elderly lady from the audience. It was true that her sister was called Margaret and she had worked as a dinner lady for many years in a particular school. However, the message from the so-called medium that ‘the money was in the carriage clock’ seemed to leave the lady stumped and she left the auditorium more puzzled and less reassured than when she went in. Until, of course, she bumped into Gabriel in the foyer who just couldn’t bring himself to let her leave without clearing things up. He had tapped her on the arm and when she turned to him, had whispered the words “Celery salt!” in her ear. Her delight was instant. That was the only secret she had needed to know from the other side. Margaret’s hidden ingredient for gravy. There was no money, Gabriel knew – there wasn’t even a carriage clock – the message was about what had been missing from Sunday lunch since Margaret had passed on. It was moments like this – the pure joy and gratitude on that old lady’s face – that convinced Will that Gabriel was genuine about his skill, as he liked to call it. The next step was convincing the rest of the world.

  Until, of course, Ghosts R Us. Big pay meant big compromises as far as Will was concerned and he couldn’t see how Gabriel could preserve his integrity and be part of this show at the same time. Will felt bitterly betrayed and had closed his files and his notes on the book immediately, telling Gabriel that he might consider speaking to him again once he’d left that awful TV show and had a long think about what really mattered. Martha knew, however, why Gabriel had taken the contract with the production company. The modest lifestyle to which Will referred in the book was just a little bit too modest and Gabriel simply wanted a mortgage, some nice clothes, creature comforts – all the things that his day job couldn’t afford him. He’d never had any intention of selling out or of suddenly becoming a showman – or a conman – like others they had seen. He’d been unable to convince Will of this however and now here they were, separated and unable to resolve the massive chasm that had grown between them, worsening with time.

  Martha noticed another tab open on the computer screen behind the manuscript which she knew Will hadn’t looked at for a very long time. She clicked the second tab and was immediately interested to see that Will had been reading a newspaper article from a Sunday magazine written by a reputable journalist whose name she recognised.

  The headline read “TheOther Side: How Ghost Hunting TV Might Not Have the Proof that There’s Something Out There” and the article went on to analyse various TV shows, amongst them Ghosts R Us. It was the only show where the reporter hadn’t been able to tag along with the team on an investigation – all the others had welcomed her with open arms, keen to prove that they were genuine. The article suggested that they weren’t, necessarily, although some fared better than others, but Ghosts R Us had cited ‘tight production schedules’ as their reason for leaving her out and then had refused to take any more of her calls and emails. It seemed, however, she had spoken to a show insider, who was keen to remain nameless but pointed out various features of the show that differed from others. And seemed to suggest that it wasn’t as genuine as it liked to make out.

  “The external locations were filmed by a small crew who headed off in a van last winter and did them all in the one go,” the whistleblower alleged. “Much of the other stuff – the actual supposed investigations – is filmed in a studio in night vision. It’s easy to fudge it with grainy night-vision cameras, and the style of the show means that there are frequent cuts to close-ups of the crew – who were really hired for, shall we say, their looks – doing pieces to cameraso there’s never a sustained requirement for a camera to point at one thing. The crew aren’t averse to sometimes creating their own drama as well, if you know what I mean.”

  Martha continued to read. This was all information that Gabriel had given her but under warning that it must remain strictly confidential or he could run the risk of getting the sack.

  The article continued with an observation from the journalist:

  “The only genuine thing about Ghosts R Us seems, oddly, to be the so-called ‘spirit medium’, a Gabriel McKenzie who claims to have had second sight since leaving the army a number of years ago. McKenzie often looks clueless on set when things ‘kick off’ as the team like to call it, and is never included as one of the talking heads recounting the increasingly breathless adventures. This could be down to the fact that he’s in his forties, tubby and balding – a father figure, if you will, to the team who have clearly been selected for the job at hand on the basis that their combined age wouldn’t even make for a good whiskey and each is more beautiful or more buff than the last. It could also be down to the fact that McKenzie has managed to maintain an unsullied reputation as actually genuine within the paranormal community and it has been queried more than once just what the hell he’s doing on the show.”

  Martha grinned, wondering if Gabriel had read this. ‘Tubby’ and ‘balding’ were certainly not words that would make him happy, she reckoned, but the reference to his reputation and the respect held for him amongst his peers would. She wondered if it had done anything to reassure Will.

  She glanced down at the remainder of the article which outlined two shows. Ghosts Wanted and Britain from the Other Side as seemingly the most reputable on air but ultimately put the success of these shows down to the appetites of “housewives and the unemployed whose lives are so humdrum that they become fascinated by the prospect that there has to be more out there – other than the prospect of cooking another plate of turkey twizzlers or having to go get a job.” The conclusion was that the paranormal was all escapism. Martha shuddered. She knew this not to be true but put the proof that she had witnessed to the back of her mind.

  She stared at the screen for a while, and then around her at the reams of paper, the files, the DVDs and the other paraphernalia of Will’s work. What was the point, she began to wonder, and then allowed her mind to go blank, merely tracing the familiar shapes of his handwriting scribbled in margins and the doodles of flowers and trees that he insisted on drawing on everything.

  She was roused by a whimper from Ruby’s room, only audible because the house was so quiet. Martha breathed in sharply, and glanced at the time on the bottom right-hand side of the computer screen. It was after five and she realised that she really had better get back to bed. She had a heavy day ahead taking care of the toddler. And some heavy thinking, she reckoned, as she pushed herself up from the swivel-chair. The room in darkness, she picked up her glass of water and returned to her bed, after satisfying herself that Ruby had merely turned over in her sleep.

  There was much to be done, thought Mart
ha, and closed her tired eyes against it all.

  CHAPTER 14

  November 18th

  Dan had wanted to meet at Martha’s home. His text messages had requested her address and her working days, but Martha had refused, instead insisting that they meet at five thirty for a drink at the Scotsman Hotel, near to her work. Neutral territory was essential, she felt, for her first proper conversation with her ex-husband in over two years.

  He was there, waiting for her, when she arrived. She saw him sitting in a corner, his mobile held to his ear, looking around almost nervously. A half-drunk pint of Guinness sat before him.

  Since bumping into him in the alley off the Royal Mile she had wondered endlessly what he wanted. Why was he back? What if there was something wrong with him? Something genetic, for example, and he needed her to know for Ruby’s sake? Martha had stewed and fretted for a week. It had been so long since he’d been around that she’d almost allowed herself to believe that he didn’t exist and she had grown to like it that way. His presence now was an intrusion.

  She had dressed carefully that morning, avoiding looking too businesslike – she didn’t for one second want him to think that she was dressing to impress him. Nor, however, did she want him to think that she didn’t care. She wanted to look her best, but look herself.

  She had settled on a simple pair of skinny black jeans and expensive leather riding boots with a cashmere polo-neck sweater in royal blue. She accessorised with a short, military-style jacket and a tan leather knapsack which Will had bought her in Barcelona on their last trip there. She had kept her jewellery simple – a pair of diamond stud earrings which had been a gift from her father on her twenty-first birthday and a ruby ring which Will had given to her when they moved in together.

  Martha studied her reflection with satisfaction. It looked like her. It would show him that she had regained herself and grown to be so much more than the mousy housewife he used to see in her. She had wanted domesticity in their marriage, to stay together and have a family. Dan had wanted someone to spar with, to enjoy the cut and thrust of business – someone entirely different from her. Their difference made him view her as weak. A view that she had begun to share after a while.

  She took a deep breath before striding as confidently as she could toward him. She noticed his Guinness was flat, leading her to believe he’d been there a while.

  He saw her as she made her way across the bar and stood to greet her with a wide smile. Martha glanced around her as she reached the table and hesitantly sat down. It was foolish, she knew – she was unlikely to meet anyone who knew her – but she didn’t want to appear eager to be sitting down with this man in case somehow it got back to Will. She still hadn’t mentioned the fact that Dan was in town to him – partly because she wanted to figure it out in her own head, to find out exactly what Dan wanted first. Partly because Will’s humour had grown no better since she had confessed to seeing Gabriel. If suddenly she piped up that her ex-husband was appearing to her in alleyways, she felt that Will might just go over the edge.

  “Thanks so much for coming,” said Dan, taking his own seat again once Martha was in hers.

  His accent was cut crystal, as always, she noticed.

  “I haven’t got long,” she said sharply. “I have to pick up –” She paused. She didn’t want to mention Ruby for some reason, to bring her to the table with her long-absent father on the other side of it. Martha’s stomach jolted as the realisation came to the forefront of her mind that it was possible that Dan might be looking for her daughter and the one thing that Martha did not want, above all else, was to share her precious little girl.

  “I have to get home,” she finished. “I’ve only got about half an hour, so . . .” She let the words trail off. She wanted to tell him to spit it out, to say what he had to say and then get back on the next train or plane to London and out of her life, but she also wanted to be civilised and polite. With the way she felt about Dan she reckoned that the best way of doing that was to say as little as possible in case the wrong thing was blurted out.

  Dan nodded. “Absolutely,” he said, raising his hand to attract the attention of the waiter who headed straight for their table. “Let me get you a drink. I really appreciate you coming. Eh, white wine, please,” he said to the waiter. “Still Sauvignon Blanc?” he asked Martha with a smile.

  Martha felt cold and her expression remained fixed as she turned slightly to the waiter standing just behind her. “A glass of Merlot, please,” she requested. She didn’t normally drink red but it galled her that Dan had taken the liberty of ordering for her, literally over her head. Assuming that she was the same person he’d known once, when she wasn’t.

  Dan was aware that he was being corrected and, having ordered a second Guinness for himself, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A silence fell over the table. If he thinks I’m going to jump in with chitchat, thought Martha, he’s got another think coming.

  Martha looked at his face and noticed that he had lost weight – though that was a perfectly reasonable thing for a human to do in two years. The silence was broken by the arrival of the waiter and Martha leaned back a little to allow him place the glass of wine in front of her and the stout in front of Dan.

  “What’s this about, Dan?” she asked once the waiter had left them alone.

  Dan ignored her – another habit she realised had driven her nuts when they were together. His face suddenly growing animated, he leaned over to study her right hand.

  “Nice ring,” he offered.

  Martha was unsettled. “Thank you,” she replied. “It was a gift from Will.” Dammit. She hadn’t wanted to mention Will. Not yet anyway. She didn’t want to keep him a secret but she also didn’t want to seem like a schoolgirl, dropping her new boyfriend’s name into the conversation within minutes.

  Dan’s eyes flickered, but he carried on with his line of questioning. “Will’s your new partner, right? What does he do for a living?” He licked off his Guinness moustache.

  Martha stared back at him, uncomfortable, seeing that he was genuinely waiting for an answer. “He used to be in property,” she replied, and sipped her glass of Merlot, longing to pick it up and gulp it back in one go before asking for another.

  “Used to be?” said Dan, sitting back in his chair. “What does he do now?”

  Martha squirmed slightly, thought about lying, and then thought better of it. “He’s a student of parapsychology,” she said. If she didn’t look ashamed, then Dan might leave the subject. Saying it out loud, however, made it suddenly seem flaky and a waste of time, when it had never bothered her before.

  Dan’s eyes widened slightly and a slight smirk formed on his face, a familiar grin of derision. At once, Martha recognised it and her anxiety shifted up a gear. It was exactly the sort of thing that Dan liked to make fun of.

  “So he studies ghosts? Am I correct?” he asked, the smirk growing wider.

  “The paranormal,” clarified Martha, growing furious. “Not just ‘ghosts’ as you put it. And at least he isn’t a cheating shit who lives a double life with his mistress. Now why am I here, Dan?”

  There it was. She’d said it, it was out there. Two years of communicating carefully through solicitors and she’d managed to lose it within five minutes of meeting him. Who did Dan think he was? She sat there, stony-faced, her eyes fixed on Dan, almost daring him to respond.

  Experience led her to expect a sharp retort, or at the very least to have him snap at her to calm down. What she didn’t expect was for him to suddenly lower his head and nod in chastened agreement.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I am a total shit and I want to apologise.”

  Martha was shocked. She again reached for her wineglass and this time took the big gulp that she had wanted. Of all things that she had expected Dan Smith to say, ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t one of them.

  Dan looked at her suddenly, with his blue eyes, and again she saw Ruby in them and felt irked.

  “I screwed up
big time, Martha. I can see that now with the benefit of hindsight. I had a really good thing with you and our marriage, and our home, and I blew it all in a really bad way and I hurt you very much. It wasn’t right for me at the time but I truly am very sorry.”

  Martha had waited a long time to hear those words, but instead of giving her satisfaction they almost made her feel even angrier than she had before. If they’d been insincere then it might have been easier to deal with – she expected nothing better from the man who had set up a second home with his girlfriend while she was pregnant – but what galled her most was that, judging by his expression, he seemed to actually mean it.

  “You can’t have it back, Dan,” she said.

  “I don’t want it back,” he replied quickly, leaning over the table toward her. “I mean, yes, I’d love it back but I know if I did . . . I’d just cock it all up again. You and I weren’t meant to be together and we both know that.”

  Martha knew he was right, but his reasoning made her realise something. That she wanted him to demand to have her back and she wanted the power to refuse him, to deny him what he most wanted, like he had with her two years previously. She wanted the control, the revenge, and here he was taking that away from her. It had been a bad idea to come here, she thought.

  “How is Paula?” she asked coldly, taking another swig of wine, realising that her hands were starting to tremble. In saying the other woman’s name, it was as if the rest of the room went dark around her and Dan was illuminated in a single spotlight. She knew she didn’t want him back, but she wanted him to say that Paula had left him. Or better still that he had left Paula, or that Paula had cheated on him. Anything to indicate that they weren’t still together, happy and solid as they had been throughout the marriage break-up, the relationship that was meant to be – Dan and Paula, not Dan and Mousy Martha. More than anything, she wanted him to be unhappy. And she hated herself for that.