Across the Water

by Ingrid Alexandra

  I was the first of my friends to marry. Nowhere near the thinnest, nor the prettiest, I was a blushing twenty-one-year-old bride with my life ahead of me, a brand new house in paradise and a handsome husband. It was more than I’d ever dreamed of. I could hardly believe I’d outdone my pretty, popular sister and her silly, shallow friends.

  We did everything the right way. We saved ourselves for marriage and the first time we made love, he undressed me like he was unwrapping something precious. He tried to make sure it didn’t hurt, and even though it did I didn’t care because I loved him, and we were married and nothing could spoil the dream I was living in. Everything was perfect.

  When we found out I was pregnant, it seemed things couldn’t get any better. I was still so young and it felt like life had nothing but delights in store for me. It seemed I’d been blessed in every possible way. Samir was so overjoyed he looked like he might explode with pride. It never occurred to me that I’d peaked too young and the only way left to go was down.

  How proud I was! I glowed. I beamed. I watched mothers with their children and smiled, knowing someday soon that would be me. Samir couldn’t keep his eyes – or his hands – off me. I felt like a goddess. I felt like I’d done the most womanly thing a person could do: I was becoming a mother.

  The first time I lost a baby I was only a few weeks in. I didn’t feel anything much, apart from some cramping. It was just a globby red mess that oozed out during a shower, and at first I didn’t know what had happened. I’d heard about spotting during pregnancy and thought that must be what it was, only really bad. But when I talked to my friends, I realised what had happened. And I felt the void where the baby had been in more than just a physical way.

  The second time I was a bit further along and didn’t find out until my second scan that the baby was dead. Emotionally I was raw, feeling I’d failed – failed myself, failed Samir – and that my body had turned against me. But there was still hope. I knew we didn’t have any problem getting pregnant, and – as I told myself back then – that was the hardest part. We just needed to stay pregnant.

  When it happened again at four months, that time nearly broke me. Because by then I was showing, I’d felt the baby move and felt a closeness I’d not felt the previous times. I’d had numerous additional scans to ensure everything was progressing as it should, and I had hoped this time would be different. We’d thought of names and we knew the sex – a little girl we named Amanda.

  And then the impossible happened. I carried You to term.

  I loved them all, of course, because they are all my children. But You. You were different. I held you in my arms, even though you were already dead by the time you were born. Nothing can ever wipe that memory from my mind. No number of years can dull the intensity of the pain I feel every time I re-live the shock and loss, how empty my arms felt once you were taken away. How broken and sore my poor, battered body had become, and all without reward.

  Sean was the name we’d chosen, and that’s what is on your gravestone. But to me you’ll always be You, the name I called you during those precious months when I carried You inside me. Now I am a mother without a child. But I always have your memory, and no one can take that from me.

  After trying for a decade, I didn’t have it in me to do it any longer. When I lost You, something inside me died too.

  Chapter 29

  Liz

  June, 2017

  Thursday, 10am

  I’m half way down Cockle Street on a jog when I spot Zac crossing the road. He waves and I slow my pace, eyeing him warily as he approaches.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said what I said,’ he says without preamble. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit … on edge.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ I say grudgingly. Yeah, sorry not sorry, I think. But I don’t want to make an enemy of Zac, particularly as I don’t quite trust him yet.

  I study his face. Are you a bit on edge because you know something you’re not saying? I wonder. But he seems sincere, and it’s a bit hypocritical of me to judge when I’m holding my own cards so close to my chest.

  ‘Look, I need to show you something,’ Zac says, gesturing in the direction of the creek.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  He leads the way through the bush and over the bridge, and I refrain from pointing out that he’s not using the boat. I suppose he’s familiar with the movements of the tide, having known this place as long as he has.

  ‘You seen this?’ He asks a short way into the bush over the other side.

  ‘Oh.’ I stop in my tracks. It’s a campsite similar to the one I spotted last week, only in a slightly different spot. There are more beer cans and rubbish scraps, only there’s one noticeable difference: the embers are still smoking.

  ‘Someone’s been here recently.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Zac looks at me and I shiver.

  ‘Just wondered if you’d had any trouble lately? Sometimes these types of folk like to steal stuff too. Your locks secure? You got a smoke alarm?’

  ‘Um … I think so. I’ll check with Adam.’

  ‘Anyway, just thought I’d warn you.’

  I smile. ‘Thanks. Listen, while I have you, have you noticed anything strange happening at the Haddads’s lately?’

  Zac shrugs. ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s just … I can’t help feeling there’s something off about Erica. She’s so … jumpy and nervous all the time. And you know the shed at the side of their house? She’s always in there, even late at night.’

  Something crosses Zac’s face. ‘That is a bit weird. Still, it’s not a crime, is it?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ I sigh. ‘Is … is there anything you know that you’re not saying?’

  Zac grunts. ‘I know what you’re thinking. But you can trust me. I haven’t had anything to do with Dee, other than some gardening and fix-it stuff Rob wanted around the house.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t …’ Zac raises an eyebrow and I laugh nervously. ‘Okay. Well, maybe I was. Everyone’s a suspect and all that.’

  Zac doesn’t smile and I clear my throat. ‘Uh, that’s good to know.’

  ‘I was at the pub down in Brave Cove that Wednesday night – worked a long shift from midday to midnight and stayed with a friend in the next town over. You can check if you like. The cops already have.’

  ‘No, I … I believe you,’ I say, secretly wondering whether that’s the truth.

  ‘I’m a lot of things, but I don’t go sleeping with other people’s wives,’ Zac says gruffly. He holds my gaze long enough that heat floods my face and I turn away.

  ‘Right, well I’ll be off,’ he says, heading towards the bridge. ‘One more thing, though,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘I’d be careful snooping around the Haddads’s place.’

  I pull my coat tighter to my chest.

  ‘What do you mean?

  ‘Like I said, he’s an ex-cop. He’s got some connections. But just make sure you stay out of his way, yeah?’

  He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he starts trudging off.

  Chapter 30

  Erica

  June, 2017

  Tuesday, 3:15pm

  I’m booked in with Doctor Jones for nine tomorrow morning, and I’m hoping it will be our last session. Honestly, there’s nothing I enjoy less than sitting around being forced to talk about personal matters with a complete stranger. It’s invasive. Unnecessary.

  What exactly is it he needs to hear to convince him I’m perfectly fine? I’ve mentioned Dee, of course, hoping he’ll see what a good neighbour and friend I am and how capable I am of taking care of babies and mothers. But he wants to talk more about my relationship with Dee and with Ruby. He keeps bringing it up, wanting to know how being around them makes me feel, and all of a sudden we’re talking about why Samir and I haven’t had children of our own and I end up telling him more than I mean to. I don’t understand how he does it.

  Dee’s been acting strangely lately. I g
et the feeling there’s something she’s not telling me – apart from the fact that I’m fairly sure Rob’s run off, which, frankly, I saw coming from the day he brought her up here. How someone could abandon their child is another matter, however. I simply can’t understand it. But fathers are different, I suppose. It’s not the same connection.

  She called me last night in hysterics, saying she just couldn’t cope any longer. Of course, I rushed over there and took Ruby for her. It’s not the poor child’s fault her mother’s a wreck. But, in all honesty, I’m starting to get quite cross about the whole situation. Not about Ruby, of course, but between being stuck here day in, day out and Dee’s assumption that I’ve got nothing better to do than be at her beck and call, I’ve been growing increasingly frustrated.

  I called the hospital to ask whether I can come back to work soon and the new nurse – I don’t know her name, but she was very rude – snapped that that was up to my ‘shrink’ to decide.

  I’ve been trying to stay positive, but then the smallest thing goes wrong – like a dropped stitch or a broken glass – and anger bubbles to the surface.

  I try very hard not to judge Dee, but she doesn’t make it easy. Women can be very good at judging each other, especially mothers. I know that. And I’m not perfect. We’re not supposed to do it, and most won’t admit it, but we do. But sometimes it’s justified. Some women just don’t make very good mothers. And Dee’s one of them. I was born to be a mother and yet nature made her one. Where’s the justice in that?

  I know being a single mother isn’t easy. But it’s not an excuse, is it? I could do it alone. I know I could. There’s no question of it; when you want something badly enough, you’ll do anything. That’s what a real mother would do. She’s not hard done by. She’s just selfish.

  Samir comes into the living room as I’m jigging Ruby on my hip, admiring her halo of soft red hair as she giggles and coos.

  ‘Oh,’ he says as he comes up beside me. ‘I hadn’t realised …’

  He turns to go, but I call him back. ‘Look! She has two teeth now. Aren’t they precious little pearls?’

  Samir’s smile wavers as he looks down at Ruby. After You died, we both had trouble being near babies and children for a while. But although it’s bittersweet, I revel in it now. Yet Samir always finds an excuse to leave the room whenever I’m minding Ruby.

  This time I manage to convince him to hold her and, once he recovers from the initial shock of having an infant in his arms, his face softens in a smile that warms my heart. I never tire of witnessing the effect that babies have on people. As I watch my husband holding Ruby in his arms, I glimpse the life I’d always dreamed I’d have. And I think of how much I loved him, once, until it all became about one thing. Something that never came to be.

  After a minute or so, Samir clears his throat and hands her back, a suspicious shine to his eyes. He leaves the room without a word.

  I watch him go with a heavy heart, leaning in to bury my nose in Ruby’s hair. It’s then that I smell something familiar; a distinct fragrance that isn’t baby shampoo or nappy rash cream or sweet baby skin. It’s perfume.

  Ruby often smells of perfume, of course – mine, her mother’s. But I’ve given her a bath – Dee doesn’t bathe the poor child often enough – and she hadn’t smelled of perfume until Samir held her.

  The arms that cradle Ruby begin to tremble. Because I know who that perfume belongs to.

  Chapter 31

  Liz

  June, 2017

  Friday, 3:02am

  Moonlight filters through the gap in the curtains and casts a silver stripe across the bed. I’m unsure if it’s the cold that’s woken me, but my bare feet feel frozen and I’m shivering under the bedclothes.

  I’m debating whether to get out and find some socks or snuggle up closer to Adam and risk waking him, when the rhythmic creaking of floorboards underfoot sounds from the hall. Adam on his way back from the bathroom, probably. I’ll get those socks after all.

  I’m about to swing my legs over the side of the bed when I hear it. A soft snoring, coming from Adam’s side of the bed. I reach out a hand and, sure enough, my fingertips find a warm body.

  My mind jumps to the image of the smoking campfire and my heart starts to thunder. Through the roaring in my ears, I listen for the footsteps but they’ve stopped.

  I tap Adam urgently on the shoulder. ‘Adam!’ I whisper. ‘Wake up!’

  Adam groans softly and rolls onto his back. ‘What …?’

  ‘Shhh!’

  Adam seems to sense the urgency as suddenly he’s sitting upright.

  ‘There’s someone out there,’ I whisper. ‘I heard footsteps. I thought it was you … but you’re here.’

  Adam places a finger over my lips and we sit in silence, waiting.

  Nothing. Then, after a beat, the distinct click of the front door closing.

  ‘Shit! Did you hear that?’

  ‘No. Hear what?’

  ‘That was the front door!’

  I jump out of bed and rush down the hall. I’m about to try the handle on the front door when I stop. I don’t know who’s out there. What if they’re dangerous?

  I lift a corner of the blind on the little window at the top of the door and stand on tiptoe to peek through. In the moonlight, through the mist, I can just make out a figure on the shore, climbing into a boat.

  Adam appears behind me and I grab his arm.

  ‘Look!’ I hiss. ‘There’s someone out there.’

  The figure begins rowing away, disappearing in and out of clouds of mist.

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ Adam squints beside me.

  ‘What? Keep looking. There’s someone out there, rowing across the water.’

  Adam rubs his eyes ‘Lizzie. I don’t see anything.’ He sounds a bit annoyed.

  ‘Look, I’ll prove it.’ I turn the door handle and push, but it doesn’t open. ‘What the …?’ I try again, pushing harder this time. It doesn’t budge. I shove my body against it, swearing under my breath.

  ‘Lizzie … Liz! Stop!’ Adam takes me by the shoulders and whirls me around to face him. The whites of his eyes gleam in the moonlight. ‘It’s locked.’

  I stare at him in disbelief. ‘No, that’s impossible. How—?’

  My heart thrusts itself against my ribs. Oh God, maybe he’s right. Maybe I am losing my mind.

  ‘Look.’ Adam lets go of my shoulders and turns the lock on the door. He tries the handle, and the door creaks open. ‘See?’

  When my husband turns towards me, his eyes traveling over my face, it’s not just concern I see in his eyes. It’s fear.

  Chapter 32

  Liz

  June, 2017

  Friday, 10:15am

  I’m trying not to think about last night, but my mind keeps wandering to the shadowy figure crossing the creek. Adam hasn’t mentioned it again. I know he thinks I’m mad and have imagined the whole thing, but I can’t convince myself he’s right.

  I’ll admit, this business with Dee has stirred some things up for me, but I’m not delusional. I can concede Adam may be right that the sounds I heard in the hall may have just been the house settling (it is run down and rather creaky) and there’s no denying the door was locked from inside, but I didn’t imagine the figure crossing the creek. Adam probably wasn’t able to see it due to the mist and the fact that by the time he got there they were too far away.

  The ocean side of town is almost an entirely different landscape: an endless stretch of beach gives way to choppy, slate-grey sea and distant, misty mountains. As I jog the beach, it dawns on me that Dee and Ruby have been missing for over a week. I’m starting to wonder if they’ll ever be found.

  I researched what happens to drowned bodies, and because the lungs act like sponges and fill with water, the body sinks, at least in the beginning. The ocean’s a big place and there was a king tide the night they disappeared. If no one started looking for them until days later, who knows how far out to sea they could ha
ve ended up?

  It’s possible Dee’s just run away, of course. But wouldn’t it be tricky to stay hidden for so long when the whole state is looking for you? Dee didn’t strike me as someone with a grand plan.

  I’ve been keeping an eye on the Haddads’s place, but I haven’t seen an opportunity to find out what’s in the shed. One or both of them always seem to be at home during the day, and night-time isn’t an option as Erica is always out there. I’m not imagining that there’s something in that shed that the Haddads don’t want found. I just need to find out what it is.

  The wind bites into my cheeks as I begin at the southernmost side of the beach and I have to raise the hood of my windbreaker and draw the string around my face. It’s colder than I ever expected it would get in this part of the world; it’s the wind from the ocean and the moisture in the air that exacerbates it.

  It’s not until I’m halfway along the shore that I notice anything amiss. A handful of fishing boats can be seen in the waters surrounding the pier situated directly opposite the pub; that’s true of any given day.

  But today something’s different. There’s a small crowd of people on the shore and, as I draw nearer, it’s clear they’re all looking at something in the water.

  My heart rate increases with my pace and when I reach the edge of the crowd I can see what they’re looking at. At first, it doesn’t register. What I’m seeing can’t be real; I simply can’t process it. It’s as if time slows, and the sounds around me are drowned out as if I’m under water, then all of a sudden time speeds up again and everything comes into sharp focus. I fall to my knees.

  ‘Get that hook out of my wife!’ a male voice is screaming, raw with grief. Between the shifting bodies of the people who’ve gathered around me, I can see a tall man standing with his shoulders heaving. He’s staring out at the ocean, his face the picture of anguish. I recognise him from the television.

  Rob Waters.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I bend over and throw up violently on the sand. Spots dance before my eyes and for a moment I think I might faint. I wipe my mouth, retch, then fumble for the water bottle at my hip.