Deep Water

by Christine Poulson

  A love letter – an old-fashioned love letter in these days of mobile phones and texts and emails. But then, Nick always had been the literary type. He was an English teacher and a published poet. The letter was explicit about what they had been up to. Daniel had to read it twice before he could take it in, and even then his mind offered him a variety of explanations. It was just a literary exercise, unrelated to real life; no, it was real but Nick’s feelings were unreciprocated; OK, maybe they were having a flirtation, but… Even as he ran through these alternatives, he knew that he was just buying time, bracing himself for the awful truth. His wife and his best friend were having a full-blown affair and they were at it every chance they got.

  “So where’s the ironing board?” he said now. “Did you see one?”

  She thought about it. “No, but then I wasn’t looking for one. But so what?”

  “I’ve just had an idea. Something I’ve remembered about Jennifer. A hiding place… Bear with me. Please? Just five minutes.”

  “Oh, alright. You take downstairs and I’ll take upstairs.”

  Five minutes later they met back in the hall. He hadn’t found it and he could tell from the look on her face that she hadn’t found it either.

  “There has to be one,” he said.

  “Professional woman with a busy life, perhaps she sent her stuff out to be ironed.”

  “Maybe.” He was unconvinced. “But there is an iron. I found it in a cupboard in the kitchen.”

  She shrugged and turned to the door. Then she paused, seemingly struck by a thought. She turned back and went into the kitchen. Daniel followed her. She opened a drawer. It was full of cutlery. Next to it was what looked like a solid piece of wood.

  “We’re planning to have our kitchen redone,” she said. “They’re awkward things to store, ironing boards. I’m thinking of having one built in.”

  She curled her fingers under the bottom edge of the wooden panel and pulled. The wood slid out and tilted forwards to reveal an ironing board. She pulled it out and felt along it into the recess. She drew out an A4-sized notebook.

  Once again Rachel had gone to bed, leaving Daniel working in his study. This time he really was working, going through the lab book just to check that it was complete, no pages missing. And it was fine. There was still a lot to do before the deadline, but he had everything he needed now. Thank you, Jennifer, he said silently.

  He’d emailed Honor to let her know the good news.

  It was midnight now. He was absolutely shattered, but there was still a decision to be made. He opened his desk drawer and took out Harry’s toothbrush. It was green, and the handle was shaped like a dinosaur. Chloe had one similar, but the handle on hers was shaped like a seahorse.

  He went online and typed “DNA tests” into Google. There was no shortage of private labs carrying out this kind of work. He was offered a range of options. It would take around a week. He hesitated. He had thought he’d made his mind up – why else risk stealing this from Jennifer’s house? Because he was under no illusion. It was stealing. Even if the DNA proved that he was Harry’s father, he wouldn’t be able to explain how he knew. He’d have to find another way of bringing it to light. If he was going to bring it to light. Because first he would have to confess to Rachel that he had a child by Jennifer.

  “Daddy?”

  He gave a start. He looked round to see Chloe standing in the doorway.

  “I want a drink.”

  He got up and went over to her.

  “Come on, little chick. Let’s get you back upstairs.”

  He hoisted her up and she put her arms round his neck.

  The plastic mug by her bed was still full of water. He was touched by the obviousness of her subterfuge. He sat down on the bed with her on his knee.

  “Did you have a bad dream again?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Daddy, I don’t want to go to the hospital again.”

  A cold hand closed round his heart.

  “I know,” he said. “I wish you didn’t have to. But you have to go so that you’ll stay well and be able to do all the things you like doing. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and the resignation, the acceptance, made her seem much older than four, and pained him even more than her reluctance to go to the hospital. There were things small children shouldn’t have to understand.

  “Shall I tell you a story?” he asked.

  Her face brightened. “Yes, please. Rumpytiltskin.”

  As he tucked her into bed, he reminded himself that she lived very much in the present. Already she had moved on. For her the disease wasn’t the constant burden that it was for him and Rachel.

  She snuggled down with the rabbit in the crook of her arm and put her thumb in her mouth. He lay down beside her and began for what seemed the hundredth time. “There was once a…”

  Sometime later, his eyelids jerked open. Chloe was fast asleep beside him. He looked at his watch. He must have slept for at least an hour. There was a sour, metallic taste in his mouth. He got up and looked down at Chloe. He removed her thumb from her mouth and tucked her hand under the duvet. She sighed in her sleep.

  He got up and went into the bathroom. He opened the bathroom cabinet where sensible, well-organized Rachel kept the spare toothbrushes. He got out one for Chloe, took off the packaging and substituted it for the one currently in use. Luckily it was the same colour and shape, so hopefully no one would notice. He took the old toothbrush down to his study. He put each toothbrush in a separate plastic bag, taking care to keep them well apart, labelled the bags, and found a padded envelope. He called up the page of DNA testing companies. He noted with a grimace that most of the websites emphasized the potential of the test to settle questions of paternity quickly and reliably, and he had a vision of hundreds, even thousands, of men up and down the country looking at their children and harbouring suspicions that they weren’t really the father. If it hadn’t been for Chloe, his instinctive distaste would have got the better of him. But he was doing it for her, so he pressed on. He found one website that was relatively sober in its claims and presentation. That would do.

  The odds were against Harry being a match, but he had to know one way or the other, simple as that. He told himself that it was more a matter of elimination than anything else. The test would come back negative – or even if Harry was his, he wouldn’t be a match for Chloe – and Daniel could put the possibility out of his mind once and for all. And no one need be any the wiser.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The garlic hit the hot oil with a sizzle. “When you said you were going to throw a meal together, I didn’t realize you meant it literally,” Katie said.

  Will laughed. “I spent two summers working in the kitchen of a vegetarian restaurant. Learned how to do it properly. And we can’t hang about, can we?”

  He was dealing with the onions now, chopping them in a series of rapid movements – so rapid that she feared for his fingers. Into the pan went the onions, releasing a scent that made Katie’s mouth water. She’d skipped lunch and she was ravenously hungry.

  Earlier that evening she had managed to time things so that she left the lab at the same time as Will. “Off home?” he’d asked. “Yes,” she’d said, “but I’ve got to come back later.” Turned out it was the same for him. They were both scrambling to catch up after their enforced break from the lab. She’d been going to suggest having a drink together, but he’d invited her to join him for something to eat. She’d readily agreed, curious to see where he lived.

  She had followed Will’s car to a Victorian house on the side of Ely furthest from the river and the quay. His flat was in the attic, a big room with a sleeping area divided off at one end and a bathroom and kitchen at the other. Tidy it wasn’t. There were piles of DVDs and books everywhere, and on the sofa a towering pile of clean clothes, folded but not put away.

  She watched him work. He was wearing a pale blue cotton shirt and had turned up the sleeves to reveal lightly tanned forearms covere
d in fine blond hair. Now that he wasn’t wearing a lab coat, it was more obvious how solidly built he was, how muscular his shoulders were.

  He said, “Some good news: Honor rang just before I left the lab. They’ve found the lab book.”

  “That’s great,” she said, thinking how relieved Lyle would be. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “You could make a dressing for the salad.”

  He opened a cupboard, passed her the olive oil and vinegar.

  She made the dressing and then went off to the bathroom.

  It was clean, thank goodness, a point in Will’s favour. She looked around for signs that he had regular female company, even sneaked a look in the bathroom cabinet. There was a box of tampons, so it looked as though there was someone.

  As she went back to the kitchen, she stopped to examine a framed photo. Will was standing on a beach, wearing a wetsuit and holding a surfboard. One arm was draped around the shoulders of an attractive blonde woman, also in surfing gear.

  Will saw her looking. “Lennox Head, New South Wales,” he said. “I caught the biggest waves of my life there.”

  “You’re a keen surfer?”

  “Love it. Spend all my spare time on it. Well, that and skiing.”

  “Off-piste, of course?” she said, tongue in cheek.

  He smiled, acknowledging the tease. “Naturally. Right old adrenalin junkie, that’s me. I need something to counteract all those hours sitting around in the lab. I’m a rower as well.”

  A glorious smell of tomato and olive oil and garlic and oregano filled the air.

  As they sat down to eat, Will said, “You didn’t choose a great week for starting in a new lab, did you? Is the new bench OK?”

  “Fine, thanks. Ian helped me move my stuff. He’s a sweetie.”

  “Did you know he used to be a roadie for one of those heavy metal bands, Metal Bodice? I’m surprised he hasn’t bent your ear about it. They were a bit of a one-hit wonder, but I think Ian misses the glory days.”

  That explained a lot – the earring, the ponytail – and she could just imagine him humping speakers about, soothing a temperamental bass guitarist, rustling up food at two in the morning.

  They went on chatting over the meal. Before she’d started at the lab, Lyle had emailed her a whole load of information about Will, and about Honor. She took care not to show that she knew far more about Will than he knew about her.

  Katie had gone to a comprehensive and had been the first in her family to go to university. Will’s background couldn’t have been more different. He came from a family of scientists and high achievers. After public school, he’d come to Cambridge as an undergraduate and had never left.

  “What’s Honor like as a supervisor?” Katie asked.

  Will twirled spaghetti round his fork as he considered. “Well, she’s the only supervisor I’ve ever had...”

  “Really?” That was unusual. Katie wondered what it was like being with the same supervisor all the way through your career, instead of leading a nomadic life, following the grant money from lab to lab.

  “She’s brilliant, of course – that goes without saying. When I run into problems, she’s able to stand back and see every angle. She’s got the best scientific mind of anyone I’ve ever come across.”

  “And as a person?”

  “As a person…” he mused. “She can be sharp, doesn’t suffer fools gladly; her own mind works so fast, she can get a bit impatient if people can’t keep up.”

  “But you can?”

  He grinned. “Usually. I’ve always found her very supportive. Very…” he cast around for the right word – “loyal,” he finally came out with.

  “Loyal,” Katie said. It was an interesting word to choose. Had Michael been loyal? Well, loyal to the work, maybe. She hadn’t thought of their relationship in quite those terms.

  The food was delicious, the sauce rich, sweet, and oily. She took a piece of bread and mopped her plate.

  “So, what’s next for you, Katie?”

  She sighed. “Just been turned down for a job in Glasgow.”

  They were at much the same point in their careers, had both reached the stage where they could start applying for grants on their own account. The next year or two would be crucial for both of them.

  “How about you?” she asked.

  “One or two possibilities.”

  The alarm on Katie’s phone went off. She had to get back to the lab.

  Will stacked the plates in the sink and they went out into the night. They agreed that she’d drive them both in and bring Will back later.

  They didn’t talk much on the way to the lab. Katie concentrated on driving. The temperature was dropping and the roads would be icy later. The car park was empty except for Malcolm’s Ford Fiesta.

  They signed themselves in.

  “Just us tonight,” Will said, scanning the book.

  “Just you,” Malcolm agreed.

  The lift had been switched off for the night. They went up the stairs to the fourth floor and Katie swiped her card to let them into the lab. She and Will had been moved into the same one.

  Will clicked on the lights and the room lit up section by section. Katie was glad that she wasn’t alone. Even with Will there it felt as if the lab had a secret life of its own and they had interrupted something.

  She worked away at her bench while Will was busy at his own on the other side of the lab. The room was cooling down. The heating went off at night. Her fingers got cold and clumsy.

  Will finished before she did. She was conscious of him in the background, flicking through a copy of Nature, yawning and fidgeting.

  She’d already cultured her E.coli and she’d be able to check that in the morning. Her current task was to find out whether her cell-line had been contaminated. That meant testing the culture medium the cells were growing in. She set to work using a pipette to pick up tiny amounts and mix them with reagents. Then the little plastic tubes went into the PCR machine, which would amplify the DNA overnight.

  In the morning she’d find out if her cell-line had been infected with mycoplasma or some other organism. And in a way she hoped it had, because at least she’d know. The worst scenario was that she’d go on testing every link in the chain and not be able to pinpoint what had gone wrong. That could and did happen. But you’re a long way from that point, she told herself as she at last loaded up the PCR machine. She set it to run for thirty cycles and pressed the button.

  Katie grabbed her bag, and they headed for the door. Will turned out the lights, and section by section the lab disappeared into darkness. They went out, allowing the door to swing shut behind them and lock itself.

  They’d reached the half-landing between the second and third floor, when Will paused and touched her arm. Katie turned and saw him pointing out of the window. This was the back of the building and there was a tangle of bushes beyond the tarmacked area. A fox had emerged. No, two foxes.

  As they watched, the animals began to chase one another, batting each other with their paws, tumbling over and over, playful as kittens. Afterwards, Katie couldn’t have said how long they stood there mesmerized by the sinuous movements, the speed, and the elegance. Then the foxes must have been spooked by something, because one moment they were there and the next they were gone.

  Somewhere above them, Katie heard a sound. Will had heard it too; he gripped her arm and they stared at each other.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “I’m not sure.”

  They stood listening in the silence. It came again: footsteps overhead. Someone was moving around, very quietly, very surreptitiously.

  “There’s someone up there – and look – ” Will hissed. He gestured to the window. She turned and looked. Except for the pattern of light thrown out by the windows in the stairwell, it was dark.

  “No lights on up there.” He spoke close to her ear and she felt the damp heat of his breath.

  Someone must have heard them leave the lab
and set off down the stairs. Someone who thought they had the building to themselves again. They weren’t to know that she and Will had stopped to watch the foxes.

  Will moved away from her. He sat down on the stairs and started unlacing his shoes. He gestured to her to come close. She bent down to listen.

  “You go for Malcolm,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure they don’t get away.”

  She hesitated. She didn’t like this. Those other things that had happened in the lab… if this was someone crazy enough to leave a radioactive trail, what else might they be capable of?

  “Go on,” he breathed. “I won’t confront them. I’ll wait for Malcolm.”

  She nodded and slipped off her shoes. Will started off up the stairs, moving slowly and silently. She set off the other way, tiptoeing, one hand holding her shoes and the other touching the wall. After a few metres she looked back. Will had reached the corner. He nodded to her and went on.

  She tiptoed down the stairs, concentrating on not making a sound, her mouth dry and her heart racing.

  At last she rounded the final corner and Malcolm came into view. He was a peaceful sight – a newspaper spread out in front of him and his hand reaching into a lunchbox for a sandwich. Never had he seemed more solid and reassuring.

  Surely she was out of earshot of the upper floors by now. She put on her shoes and ran down the last flight of stairs. Malcolm looked up, and when he saw her expression he got to his feet.

  “No one signed in after us, did they?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, there’s someone up there on the third floor in the dark. Will’s making sure they don’t get away.”

  Malcolm’s mouth set in a grim line. He pulled the phone towards him and dialled 999. Katie listened in an agony of impatience as he reported an intruder.