The Dark Lake

by Sarah Bailey

  Monday, 21 December, 7.12 pm

  Scott’s chest rises and falls. I can see his heartbeat pulsing in his neck. In that moment I am scared of how much Ben means to him. His need for our son is palpable. I feel frozen to Felix. His arm is still around me but my body seems to be hovering above us all. I look down from the ceiling and can see a line between the two of us and Scott. My future and my past circle each other like salivating dogs.

  ‘Where is he?’ His words are knives thrown onto the floor.

  Felix springs up from the couch and puts his arms out as if Scott is a child who needs to be calmed. He slowly brings his hands down as he takes a step forward.

  ‘Gemma called me. I’ve got the entire station working on this. We’ll find him.’

  Scott barely looks at him. ‘Where is he, Gem? Where is Ben?’

  I rise slowly. My legs are jelly. I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is this to do with your work, with that dead teacher?’

  My vision blurs as I shake my head again. ‘I don’t know.’

  He half coughs, half splutters, then rests his hands on his thighs as his head flops forward.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper and reach out my arm to him.

  Scott pushes past me and then stops. He grabs his hair and turns in a slow circle. We stand in the room, the three of us, our breathing merging into a rhythmic pulsing, waves crashing onto us, over and over again. Scott whimpers and I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the pain in his face. The room flips in a slow circle. I’m spinning and spinning and then I can hear the sound of Ben’s crying ringing in my ears and I begin to cry again. My arms just want to hold him. I ache for his tiny body. I lift my head as the scene breaks apart. Scott runs from the room into the kitchen. The back door bangs loudly against the wall and as I open my eyes I’m already running too because I realise that the sound I can hear is real and that Ben, our little boy, is in the backyard crying for us to come and get him.

  Felix was a long-awaited arrival in the Smithson police department. The cop from out of town; from the other side of the world. The older guys had been making jokes about episodes of The Bill for weeks. Their attempts at English accents had become very tedious. But I could sort of understand their curiosity; we hadn’t had a new staff member since Amy in accounts a year earlier. Jonesy had told me Felix and I would be partners, which I was fine with. Back from maternity leave, I simply wanted to put my head down and get on with it. Adding ‘mother’ to my already precarious status of ‘female’ wasn’t doing me many favours in the office.

  ‘You’re back early,’ had been the standard comment during my first week, closely followed by a judgmental look that made it clear ‘early’ really meant ‘too soon’.

  ‘Aren’t you even feeding the poor boy?’ was another favourite, the subtext being that Ben was a child to be pitied, both from lack of proper rearing, as well as his unfortunate genetic potluck.

  ‘The thing is,’ Jonesy told me, pulling me aside and showering my face with soft spittle, ‘you might find things different now.’ He clapped his hands awkwardly. ‘You know, you might not be as tough. And that’s okay.’ He cleared his throat as if it had the ocean in it. ‘Kids can make it real for people. Even the boys.’ He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Now, I’m not much familiar with mothers on the job, but I’m guessing it’s worse.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  His eyes widened with relief at the dismissal. ‘You’re a good girl, Gemma.’ Another slap.

  I was running late the day Felix finally arrived. Something had gone wrong with his paperwork and his start date was pushed out, so the initial excitement of him turning up on the Monday had dissipated somewhat by the Thursday. I’d forgotten Ben’s bottle and had got halfway to Cloud Hill before realising, so had gone home, adding another twenty minutes to my already long, brand-new morning routine.

  I pushed into the briefing room at the same time as I pushed my frizzy hair from my eyes. Everyone was standing in an odd little circle with Felix in the centre, Jonesy slapping him on the back while the others looked on.

  Matthews and Kingston sniggered as I joined the circle. Jonesy saw me and beamed, seemingly deciding my arrival was a signal to end the huddle.

  ‘Ah, Gemma. Excellent. Felix McKinnon, this is Detective Sergeant Gemma Woodstock, your partner. She’ll tell you everything you need to know. A child wonder is Gemma.’

  Marty Pearson smirked at me. At least five of the others rolled their eyes.

  ‘Hi.’ I swatted stray hairs from my eyes and tried to smile. I became painfully aware of my fuller figure and tatty jacket.

  ‘Gemma’s just had a baby,’ said Jonesy helpfully.

  ‘Great to meet you, Gemma.’ Emerald eyes held mine steadily. His accent was like music. I’d never heard anything quite like it.

  ‘Yes.’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. A vague waft of Ben’s vomit was coming from somewhere on me and I just wanted to bolt to the bathroom so I could freshen up. Or hide.

  ‘Well, good. Coffee’s that way,’ said Jonesy, pointing to the kitchenette before disappearing into his office.

  Everyone else slowly returned to their desks, a few final smirks directed my way.

  ‘Well,’ said Felix McKinnon.

  ‘Well,’ I repeated.

  ‘How about …’ We both started talking at the same time.

  ‘I know somewhere good for coffee,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we can go there now and I can tell you all about this place. Just give me a few minutes.’

  He nodded and I walked away from him towards the bathroom, blood in my ears, my heart pounding.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Monday, 21 December, 9.47 pm

  It feels very strange to be standing in my kitchen watching half the station pour over my backyard in the fading light. I watch one of the techs bag something and I almost walk out and demand to see what it is. I know what to do in this scenario, have worked a case like this several times, but I am glad not to have to move right now. My legs ache, it’s a miracle I’m still standing, and every time I focus, tiny dots appear and wriggle in circles like unformed tadpoles. Thank god, thank god, thank god. I glance over at my son. Scott has refused to let Ben go, aside from a customary check from the ambulance worker that Jonesy insisted on.

  Ben couldn’t tell us anything useful. He talked about a nice lady called ‘Grandma’ but could offer nothing further. Once he saw us he was fine. Overtired and clingy, but fine. Now he is slumped asleep on Scott’s shoulder. Scott is jammed into one of our old counter chairs wedged against the kitchen table, stroking Ben’s curly hair as he stares into space. They are the white chess pieces and I am the black. The red rose that was pinned to the back of Ben’s jumper is now lying bagged on the table.

  She is dead and I still can’t escape her.

  Jonesy bursts into the kitchen and lets out a deep, tired sigh. ‘Right, well, as far as we can tell, Ben’s been brought back here via the nature reserve behind your house and let in through the unlocked back gate. We’re assuming that the person who took him from the day-care centre is the same person who left him in the yard.’

  ‘Description?’ I say.

  For the first time since we found Ben, Scott looks up at me.

  ‘I’ve got one of the boys with the day-care girl now doing a sketch, but from what she said we’re looking at a middle-aged woman, probably around fifty but could be younger. Long brownish red hair. Slim. Softly spoken. No obvious accent. Average height. Well-dressed. One of those suit tops that women wear sometimes. Nothing else notable.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  Jonesy smirks. ‘Of course there’s no bloody CCTV. Do you think anyone around here actually takes security seriously? They’re worse than the bloody school. The only camera they have is in the staff car park round the back. Don’t worry, Cloud Hill will be having a serious review of its security as a result of this.’

  ‘So there’s no footage, no record, nothing. Did she sign something
? Say anything else?’

  Jonesy clears his throat and, for some reason, today I find the sound comforting. Ben lifts his head slightly then drops it back onto Scott’s chest. I notice a small ring of sweat forming on Scott’s shirt under Ben’s head. Ben is always so hot when he sleeps.

  ‘She signed the book, the standard roll thing. But it’s just a scrawl. The name written is Edith Bower but I assume that’s just random. Mean anything to you?’

  I shake my head.

  Jonesy looks at Scott but he shakes his head too. ‘No. I’m sure I don’t know that name.’

  Jonesy grimaces. ‘Well, something might turn up on the road cameras. We’re pulling everything we can get from this afternoon. Unfortunately, once the driver hit the bottom of the hill they could have gone anywhere.’ He gestures to our yard. ‘And there are no cameras in that bushland, we checked.’

  Matthews comes in from outside. ‘I think we’re done. We’ve searched the yard and a large stretch of the reserve but we don’t think we’ve found anything. We’re dusting the gate and looking for footprints but it’s so dry we don’t expect to find much. If the suspect was wearing gloves or wiped the surfaces down, there will be nothing on the gate. It’s a tough one.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the neighbours yet?’ I say.

  ‘Sure. Phil’s over there now. The lady on the left saw nothing but we’re working our way up the street.’

  I look at Ben again, his mouth slightly open as he breathes sweetly. I try not to break in half all over again.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Matthews nods at me with unfamiliar kindness. ‘At least it all worked out. You won’t be letting him out of your sight for a while, no doubt.’

  I am painfully aware of our shabby carpet. The cheap décor and un-mown lawn. I haven’t even offered anyone a drink.

  ‘Do you want water or—’

  Jonesy cuts me off. ‘Now listen, we’ll leave you alone to be a family.’ He pulls his pants high around his gut. ‘Woodstock, you let me know if you need some time off. We’ll discuss what this means for the case tomorrow. We’ll probably need to talk to both of you again. Tonight, get some sleep.’

  Panic rises at the thought of being taken off the case. ‘But, sir …’

  ‘No, Woodstock, I’m not talking about this now. Rest. I mean it. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  I nod and slump, exhausted. There is no more fight left in me. Outside Felix is walking across the yard. He stops when he sees me, dips his head and then keeps walking. I turn back to Scott.

  ‘I’m just glad Ben is safe and sound where he belongs,’ says Jonesy. ‘You two look after yourselves now, alright?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I say.

  Scott nods and smiles weakly at Jonesy.

  The yard clears out. I close the blinds. I want to speak to Felix but it’s impossible to see him tonight. I have no idea what to write in a text message or an email.

  Scott hasn’t moved.

  ‘Do you want something to eat? I can cook some pasta.’

  There is a flash in the corner of my eye as the microwave clock flips over. I think maybe Scott hasn’t heard me.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I think Ben should sleep in our bed tonight,’ he says.

  ‘Of course. That’s a good idea.’

  He shifts his weight, careful not to wake Ben. ‘I do need to eat. I shouldn’t have driven before. I had four or five beers and then left as soon as you called me. I meant to stay and sober up.’ He jerks out a laugh. ‘Pretty funny that my house is crawling with cops and I drive here pissed.’

  I don’t say anything. Words close in my throat, choking me. The clock on the wall has stopped. I squint to look at it properly and then jump when the second hand moves again.

  ‘Can you make me a sandwich or something? I’m going to sit with Ben on the couch for a while.’

  ‘Sure.’ My hands shake as I pull out bread, tomatoes, cheese and lettuce. I flick the kettle on and shiver as it boils. I stare at my reflection in the kitchen window. I clench my jaw. Fuck you, I think. How dare you take my baby? I cut Scott’s sandwich in half. I pour myself a milky cocoa and slosh in a shot of bourbon. I need to sleep tonight.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Ben is curled on the couch. The red cushion under his head makes his face look white. I can see the soft feathery veins that disappear into his hair. I sit next to him and hold his tiny head in my hand. So fragile.

  ‘Gemma, I know that you are used to this kind of thing, but that world is not my world. Cops pawing through our things. Everyone judging us. I was scared today, Gem. Fucking terrified. And I didn’t even let my mind go where it could have.’

  Scott is not looking at me. He is staring at a bearded man on the TV who’s fondling the roots of a small tree, the dirt sprinkling neatly into the hole he has prepared.

  ‘I was scared too, Scott. I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I called Felix, so he could take over. I knew I couldn’t do what I needed to do.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  An ad break starts and the voices are louder. Ben stirs. Scott pokes at the remote to turn the sound down.

  ‘I think we’re just really different,’ he says.

  The bourbon is creating a soft buzz in my ears and I knock back the rest of the drink and place the mug heavily on the coffee table. I close my eyes so I don’t have to respond to Scott, but as I sneak a look at his profile in the dim light I’m not sure whether he wants an answer from me or not.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Tuesday, 22 December, 6.02 am

  My dream is horrifying. I am at a florist’s and every time I choose a bunch of flowers and pick it up, I realise it’s sitting in a bucket of blood. The florist is amused when I show her. ‘What do you want me to do, love? They still look pretty. Do you want to buy them or not?’ I start to cry. I wipe tears away and taste copper: there is blood all over my fingertips. The florist screams with laughter.

  I wake with a start to Ben’s sleeping face. Slowly relaxing, I trace the soft slope of his nose with my eyes. The spray of dark lashes, the sweet smatter of lemonade freckles. He is breathtaking.

  Beyond his head, Scott is asleep too, his breathing deep and even. His hand clutches Ben’s arm lightly.

  I slide carefully out of bed and pull on a grey hoodie. Some days I feel manipulated by my biology, tricked into the feelings I have for Ben, but today I want to feel like a mother. Want to hold him in my arms. I want him to need me. In the bathroom I swallow a couple of painkillers and brush my teeth. My skin looks puffy. Fine lines weave along my forehead. I am so plain. There is no light in me and I wonder whether there ever really was. I think about Maggie’s perfectly made-up eyes and taut cheekbones and think I must look twenty years older than her rather than ten. I look like her mother. I shut the bathroom cupboard in frustration.

  In the kitchen I detach my phone from the charger. Nothing from Jonesy but a text from Felix. I hold my breath as I click on it.

  I’m glad Ben is safe. Hope you are okay.

  I shove my phone into my pocket and wander through the house. It’s quiet; only the sound of birds chirping outside breaks the stillness. I think about yesterday, about the hours when Ben was missing. The disorienting stabbing pain that seized my entire body. And then I think, just for a moment, what I would be doing right now if Ben was still missing. Would Scott and I be together, clinging to each other? Would we be arguing, blaming, hating? I look at a photo of Scott on the fridge; he’s smiling as he holds up a bug-eyed fish. It’s a face I know so well but I don’t see it anymore. I haven’t looked at him properly for so long. Felix’s face floats into my vision. So familiar. The exact grain of his emerald irises. The gentle swallow he does when I begin to touch him. If Ben was gone forever, would Felix and I have a chance? Scott and I can’t work without Ben, I know that. I’m not even sure that we can work with him either.

  Felix was impossible to read yesterday but I know it mu
st have been bizarre meeting Scott, especially under those circumstances. I saw him looking at the pictures on the walls, noting the fraying rug and sagging furniture. Watching Scott and me as we grabbed at Ben, crying with joy.

  I open the fridge and welcome the cold on my face. How can I be thinking like this? I’m a monster. Rosalind is making me crazy, just like she always has. Icy air bites at my eyes. The nerves in my teeth jangle.

  ‘Hi, Mummy.’

  ‘Ben!’ I slam the fridge shut and rush over to hug him. His body feels small as I lift him up; his bony hip pokes into my side.

  ‘Are you alright, darling?’

  He nods. ‘I want toast.’

  Tears brim in my eyes.

  Ben looks worried and rushes to say, ‘Please.’

  I smile at him. ‘Sure, baby, you sit here and I’ll get your toast.’

  I shove bread in the toaster and grab some crayons and paper. Ben begins to scribble with the blue crayon. Big loopy circles. I butter his toast and place it in front of him. He wolfs it down, crusts and all.

  ‘Morning.’ Scott comes into the kitchen and makes a beeline for Ben. ‘Hey, little man.’

  ‘Daddy!’ Ben gives Scott a smile that is all sunshine. ‘Look, I did this.’

  ‘Amazing. I love it.’ Scott pulls Ben onto his lap.

  I stand up and get a glass of water. I look outside. A magpie is sharpening its beak on the top of the fence. It seems crazy that less than twelve hours ago I thought I might never see my little boy again, and yet everything that I am looking at now would appear exactly the same. ‘I’m just going outside for a bit.’

  Scott shrugs at me. ‘Okay.’

  It’s already warm out. I unzip my hoodie and walk across the lawn to the back gate. I’m careful: the dewy grass is slippery. The magpie eyes me before crouching and pushing off, flying to a nearby gum. I lift the hook on the gate and step into the clearing.

  Our house backs onto a stretch of land that is about a kilometre long and a few hundred metres wide. It is dotted with thick trees, squat shrubs and patchy grass. It’s not a thoroughfare. Unless you live nearby you wouldn’t even know it was here. Unless you’d been watching the house, I think. Is the woman who took Ben the same person who killed Rosalind, trying to warn me off, or are the roses just a decoy for something else? Is she working with someone? Being paid by someone to spook me off the case? The Ryans have money; they could probably arrange something like this. I push away the possibility that it’s an inside job, that someone wants me to give up and admit defeat. Inviting paranoia in won’t help me right now.