The Dark Water

by Helen Moorhouse

  It had been so odd to see him there in the first place, dressed in such familiar things – a checked shirt and jeans. But not once had he broken into a smile. Not for one second had he been anything but hard as nails with her. His words rang in her ears. “I don’t think that we should be together any more.” There was such a finality to them. Martha had pleaded and cried, begged, tried to explain herself over and over again, but Will had refused to listen to her. The tears came again at the bottom of the stairs in Calderwood as she remembered how the conversation had ended. Close to tears himself, he had asked her to leave. “There’s nowhere else to take this conversation,” he’d said. “You’ve hurt me so much,Martha. I’d have died for you and the whole thing was just a lie. I just can’t be around you right now. Please leave.”

  She burned with shame as she’d made her way out the door without a goodbye. Dan had literally told him everything – and then some. Told him that she’d agreed to work with Dan again on whatever terms she chose, that she’d given him access to Ruby just like that, that she was thrilled he’d split up with Paula and that Dan’s overriding feeling after their night together was that a reconciliation was on the cards. That the marriage was to pick up, tentatively, where it left off. That some bonds were too strong to be broken, like that between a man and his wife, and that between a father and a daughter. She’d tried to interrupt, to explain to Will that this was typical Dan-style embellishment but in the long run she stayed silent. What point was there? Will was hard as nails when he wanted to be. And right now he had every right and her excuses sounded feeble. She leaned her head against the bannisters as the tears streamed silently down her face.

  The babble of Ruby’s voice, engrossed in some game in the living room, did nothing to make Martha feel better, like it normally might. For a moment she sat there, feeling every ounce of energy and fight physically drain from her limbs. She couldn’t get up, she felt. She stayed where she was for a moment, eyes shut, with no clue how she was going to even stand, much less get on with putting Ruby to bed and then following herself – though she longed to pull the duvet around her ears hoping for dark, protective sleep to envelop her and stay with her until the following day. A lively squeal from the living room, however, indicated to Martha that this was some time away.

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock. Way past bedtime, but Martha hadn’t had the energy to rouse her from a long snooze that afternoon when she returned from the bitter encounter with Will. And now she was paying the price, in every respect.

  She was startled by the sound of the doorbell. Her heart leaped all the same. Will, she thought to herself, her chest starting to pound. Maybe he’d come to talk?

  Martha somehow summoned the energy to stand up and padded across the hall in her stocking feet to the front door, fingers fumbling on the clasp of the lock. Her body thrilled as she pulled the door inwards, the thrill turning rapidly to anger as she saw who stood outside.

  Dan looked exhausted, his skin grey, his face unshaven. His nose was red and his eyes watery.

  A rage bubbled inside Martha as she looked at him, equipped now with an additional insight as to why he might look like that. “Dan,” she barked, “what do you want?”

  He shuffled a little from foot to foot before whipping his right hand out from behind his back. In it was clasped the familiar form of Hugo, Ruby’s bear. Despite everything, Martha felt relieved. She hadn’t been able to find it anywhere, and Ruby wasn’t content with any substitutes. She’d resigned herself to the fact that Hugo would never be found – fuelling her sense that no good could happen to her.

  “I picked this up by mistake when I was leaving the castle,” Dan said politely, taking a step forward as if to come inside.

  Martha suddenly felt herself begin to shake. A combination of rage, discomfort and the sheer disappointment of it not being Will overcame her. Without realising it, she squared her shoulders and filled the doorframe as best she could, blocking his passage. He paused for a moment, confused, before taking a small step backwards, moving nonchalantly, trying to look as if he hadn’t intended coming in at all.

  He was dressed in jeans and loafers and a black V-neck sweater which looked as if it had been washed at too high a temperature. Everything about him looked crumpled and dishevelled.

  “You got back okay, then?” he said, casually.

  A flash flood of rage coursed through Martha. How dare he, she thought.

  “What have you done, Dan?” she asked, feeling the anger bubble up even more inside her as his smile diminished. “Are you so thick,” she continued in an icy tone, “that you went and said what you did to Will and expect me to be glad to see you? To invite you in when you just turn up on my doorstep?”

  Dan frowned in response, his expression flickering from contrived confusion to a cold stare at his ex-wife.

  “‘Thanks for going all the way up to the Highlands to look after our daughter’,” he responded sarcastically, speaking as though he were Martha. “‘Our daughter who I let fall in a freezing cold lake in the middle of December when I left her to party the night away with my boyfriend’.”

  Martha’s face remained stony. “She didn’t fall in a lake, Dan,” she hissed. “She’s fine. She –”

  “Was left unsupervised so that she could escape into a storm and nearly drown!”

  Martha was momentarily silenced.

  “I think that this could do real damage to you as sole custodian,” he hissed quietly, a sneer spreading over his features.

  Martha squeezed her fists into a ball, dug her nails into her palms, and felt herself tremble all over.

  “Why, Dan?” she replied in a low voice. “Do you want her, is that it? Do you want sole custody? Only it’s going to be awfully busy round at yours being a single dad of two kids in that case.” She watched for a reaction.

  Dan blinked. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to hold his combative tone.

  Martha knew that she had him rattled. It was so easy to lapse into the old war games.

  “When your baby comes along, Dan,” she said. “Yours and Paula’s. Only, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t actually want custody, sole or otherwise, of anything, do you? You’ve run away again. I know everything. You’ve done a runner on Paula. Your Queen Bitch turned out to be a breeder, just like everyone else who’s let you down. So what do you do? Come running back to me? And you thought I’d take you? You thought some tapas and a trip down memory lane would solve everything?”

  Martha’s chest rose and fell as she glared at her ex-husband. She was oblivious to everything else, her rage growing minute by minute, fuelled by tiredness, fear and Will’s desertion.

  Dan’s hard expression, his sneer, suddenly softened into something approaching a smile.

  “You see, that’s why I’m glad you’re here,” he responded. “I’ve just had a call from London. From the Portland, if you must know. Paula’s gone into labour, so I’ve really got to make tracks if I’m going to make it to her.” He paused for effect, watching Martha’s face with cruel intent as the words began to sink in. “I couldn’t leave Ruby without her bear for another night so I called here on my way – my car’s at the end of the drive. Don’t you see, Martha, I’ve got a second chance now. I got scared for a while, true. I ran away, as far as I could think to go which was here. But now I know Paula needs me. I know now, having taken care of Ruby over these last days, that this isn’t something I should run from. I should run to it. To being a father. To doing it right. And don’t think I’m going to leave Ruby out either – I’m going to be a proper dad to both my kids from now on. Take care of the two of them. Make sure they don’t come to any . . . harm . . .”

  Martha reeled at the words, his patronising tone, at his barefaced cheek. “You don’t miss a bloody beat, do you?” she whispered as though winded.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I got your hopes up,” he said quietly.

  Martha watched, incredulous, as he raised a hand and gen
tly rubbed it down her cheek. She didn’t flinch, was rendered immobile with shock. Her heart pounded so fiercely that she thought it might just stop altogether.

  “Leave . . . Ruby . . . alone!” she wheezed, her eyes wide. For a second her concentration was disturbed as she thought she saw the hall light flicker on and off behind her but not for long. Dan’s hateful face soon filled her vision again to the exclusion of everything else.

  “I just want to make sure that she’s safe,” he said in a too-quiet voice, infused with warning.

  “I’m sure she’s safer here than with her druggy, deadbeat, unemployed dad,” Martha retaliated. “If I am to allow anyone else take care of her, Dan,” she said, the warning in her tone equalling his, “it certainly won’t be you, do you hear me? Who fails to provide as it is and now has another mouth to feed . . .”

  Electricity crackled between them.

  “The Portland’s pretty expensive, Dan, eh?” Martha continued, her voice barely audible. “You’d better hurry of course if you’re going to get back to the birth. To be there, this time. Best of luck to Paula. And to your baby, of course . . .”

  She left the words hang, allowed their implications to swirl in the air and settle on Dan’s shoulders. Her arms and hands visibly shook. She tensed her body so that her knees didn’t betray her and cave in. She felt so weak, standing there. To support herself, she leaned against the doorframe to her left. She lifted her head, however, at the distant crunch of car tyres on gravel, the familiar sound of a large engine growling up the drive. This time it was for real. Martha gasped. It was Will. Finally. The Volvo became visible at the turn in the drive, bathing herself and Dan in its headlights as it approached, and then it came to a halt.

  Martha waited, her nerves alive with anticipation of the sound of the engine cutting out, the door slamming, his footsteps on the gravel. She was again distracted by something from within – by a sound from the living room, a clinking sound. Ruby, she thought. No doubt she was doing something she shouldn’t. But it would be fine. In just moments, Will would be home to pick her up and cuddle her, to reassure her and calm her for bed.

  Then the Volvo began to move again, to reverse awkwardly in the space at the top of the drive. Martha frowned. What was he doing? Was he going to reverse toward the front door? Maybe he wanted to bring equipment in?

  She couldn’t hide her dismay as the nose of the big red car turned slowly and clumsily and headed back down the drive.

  Martha gazed in disbelief as the night air grew silent, the engine noise growing fainter and fainter until she could hear it no more. Her jaw dropped in shock and she straightened immediately. Why would he do that? She stared in disbelief at the space where she had just seen Will turn and leave. Where was he gone?

  And then it struck her. Did he think . . .? She looked at Dan in horror. Of course. Will had seen something that he didn’t want to see – Martha, casually leaning against the front door, deep in conversation with Dan of all people. Hugo being passed between them as if in some warped show of parental co-operation. Martha wanted to crumble. How could she explain now? She must call him. That was it, she had to phone him – had to get him to listen once and for all. She heard Ruby from inside – a sharp squeal followed by a longer note as she began to wail. Not now, Ruby, thought Martha, her irritation turning back to rage as she saw Dan shrug his shoulders and cough, a gesture that showed embarrassment, but not for himself. He was showing that he was embarrassed for her.

  “Wow,” he said quietly.

  Ruby’s wail grew louder and Martha half-turned to go back inside.

  “That was awkward,” Dan said, raising his eyebrows. “Look, thanks for everything – for giving me a go at being a dad. I mean, I feel I’m ready now . . . it was just a couple of days and in very odd circumstances, but rest assured you’ll be hearing from me again.” He smiled, confidently, before taking a step backward.

  Ruby’s wail turned to a scream just as Martha exploded. “Look, Dan, I wasn’t here to provide you with a practice run at being a parent. Now just leave – you’ve done enough damage for one night. Just fuck right off, would you? Just get lost, get out of here . . .”

  Her voice trailed as the crying from inside grew more and more distressed. There was so much she needed to say to him, so much that she wanted to hurl at him, but Ruby was hurt. Without another word, Martha slammed the door in Dan’s face, her attention switching instantly to the persistent wailing from the living room, concern flooding through her. She heard his footsteps crunch away as she turned and paused to wipe a cobweb from her face before charging toward the living room and her distraught daughter.

  CHAPTER 44

  Martha’s emotions were a jumble as she crossed the hall. Fury at Dan, heartache at what Will had just done, concern but also irritation that Ruby had managed to hurt herself somehow right at this particular moment. She didn’t think that her tether had any give remaining.

  Her irritation disappeared instantly, however, overtaken by concern, and then panic, as she stepped over the threshold of the living room onto the wooden floor and saw the blood.

  Ruby’s face was distorted with pain but, much worse than that, it was smeared red, like a finger-painting exercise but this time it was her bloody fingerprints that dotted her cheeks, and her clothes, and her hair . . . It was everywhere – on her hands, the rag-doll on her lap, the couch beside her . . . dear God, where was it coming from? There was so much of it! How had she cut herself? And where was the cut? Martha knelt and plucked her into her arms as quickly as she could and searched her small body frantically for the injury, praying that it wasn’t somewhere that she couldn’t make it stop. But where was it? Where was the source of the blood?

  Ruby screamed in pain, looking at her mother with tear-stained eyes, desperate for comfort, yet Martha couldn’t give it fully yet, couldn’t stop searching until she found the source of the bleeding. Suddenly, she spotted something on the floor behind Ruby glint in the light. She stopped in her search for a moment as she identified, if not the location of the cut, the cause of it. Her own hands now stained red from her daughter, Martha held Ruby close to her with one arm while she reached out and picked up the small, sharp nail scissors that she concluded had been the weapon. The one she had used to cut the thread in her coat before meeting Dan, all that time ago. But how had it ended up on the floor? She was vigilant about keeping it in the dish on the mantelpiece, high above Ruby’s reach, to avoid this exact scenario. Even if the toddler had climbed on something she couldn’t have reached it. So how had it ended up within her grasp? Had Sue moved it?

  Martha’s mind raced to find a conclusion as she returned her attention back to the crying child. She tried soothing her this time, clucking and shushing and making soft noises which Ruby barely heard over her screams of shock and panic.

  After a second, Martha suddenly recalled the noise she had heard when she’d stood at the front door. The metallic clink. Exactly how the nail scissors would sound as it hit the wooden floor. But that was ridiculous. How could it have hit the floor by itself? She knew for certain that she had left it in the pottery bowl – her eyes strayed to the mantel to check but the bowl was still where she had left it. The scissors couldn’t have fallen of its own volition. It would have had to be lifted out and dropped on the ground. And thinking back, Sue hadn’t even come in here on her arrival. She was in too much pain and after a brief exchange in the hallway had gone straight to bed.

  It was impossible that the sharp implement could have got into Ruby’s hands. And yet it had.

  For a second Martha grew calmer as she looked at Ruby’s wrists and neck, rubbing them with a spit-covered finger to ascertain that they were un-punctured, and they were. A second later, however, she froze completely, a sensation of prickling cold tracing its way along her cheeks. The overhead light flickered for a moment. And, at the same instant that she heard it ‘pop’ as it blew, she knew that she wasn’t alone.

  It wasn’t just the living room lights e
ither. She heard more distant ‘pops’ from the hallway, through to the kitchen. She had her back to the living-room door but knew by the darkness that engulfed her that they were all gone. All blown. Plunging the house into darkness.

  Martha gripped Ruby tightly to her, the source of the bleeding now forgotten. It wasn’t the gravest danger, Martha realised. That, she knew instinctively, was whatever stood behind her in the doorway.

  She froze, couldn’t have turned if she’d been paid a million pounds, knowing so clearly that there was something there.

  Martha’s blood ran cold as she clutched her child and tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t support her, her body was incapable of movement. It was no good. She had to see . . .

  Slowly, Martha forced herself to turn around, her rational side trying to tell her that there was no one there, that she was overtired, an emotional wreck, and therefore just imagining things . . . it was nothing more than a tripped switch . . .

  But no. She couldn’t lie to herself. She knew that there was someone there. The low noise that she heard proved it wasn’t her imagination. The breathing. In and out, in and out . . .

  Martha trembled as she turned, still kneeling on the floor, her crying child encased in her arms, and forced her eyes to take in the doorway. To take in what stood there. A shadow. The shadow of a man. Martha’s body jerked involuntarily, spasmed with terror, as she took in the huge shape of something she recognised. Something she had seen before, that had terrified her. She was unable to tear her eyes away from the shape that was blacker than the darkness itself. At what she realised, beyond any reason, was the ghost of Jack Ball.