Under the Ice

by Rachael Blok

  Taking a sip of her drink, Jenny looks over at the buggies. ‘I’m seeing a therapist now…’ she begins, casually, unsure of what to follow it with.

  ‘Yes? That’s good, Jen. It can’t hurt. Do you feel OK about it?’

  Jenny nods. She’s surprised that she does feel fine about it, good, even. The appointment that morning had gone well. After she’d told him about finding the phone, she had felt lighter – unburdened. He hadn’t laughed, but then he must be used to hearing crazy things. Things that people conjure with tired, jumpy brains; vulnerable minds that work hard in the dark, when the world sleeps.

  ‘Is he good?’ Sam asks, a mouth full of cake.

  ‘I bloody hope so,’ Jenny says, and smiles. He’d asked her to describe the pain of the birth: it had been beyond her control. But when she thinks of it now, she feels calmer, and the jokes she had always thrown in when recounting the birth had already slipped away. She’d be able to just say it and smile next time.

  When they’d spoken about her mum she hadn’t been able to finish. She had tried to articulate the sense of nearness – a new thing. That she missed her when she rocked Finn at night. She didn’t cry easily before, and now, tears lie beneath her skin as though she’s been soaked in saltwater.

  And more recently, since moving to St Albans – her sense of self had shifted further. A part of her was a little more out of reach, as though it was grappling with something to which Jenny wasn’t privy.

  Signalling to the waitress, Sam says, ‘Another one?’ as she points to the empty coffee mugs.

  Jenny nods, and then looks out of the window, as Sam orders.

  The pallid sky is empty.

  ‘I think—’ Sam begins.

  ‘What’s that?’ Jenny interrupts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That,’ Jenny says. The fear, dormant at the pool, unwinds and rises. She stands, leaning forward, poised. Staring out of the window, she raises her hand, gesturing beyond the glass.

  Opening her mouth to speak, the room spins, and she knows she must gather herself. This must not be ignored.

  ‘There’s something poking up. Something from underneath the waterwheel. There’s something…’

  Sam stands and looks.

  ‘I can’t see anything.’

  The watermill windows are lead-lined and thick, looking out through the old, chalky walls. The wheel turns in the water, but only for decorative purposes. The current pushes its lazy circle when the river is full. Today it moves slowly, and from one of the rungs at the bottom, half trapped by bushes, there is a red object, waving and bobbing.

  It is long and slender, and looks like it might be made of wool. As the water swells with each push of the rung, it lifts up, and offers a salutation. Grasping at land? Sinking? Disappearing in the icy current.

  It is an arm.

  Jenny tries to swallow the cake in her mouth. The room is a vacuum. Her eyes dim and her lids droop over the hazy view of the café. At the back of her mind, she can hear a drip, rush and drip again.

  ‘Where are you going?’ shouts Sam.

  Jenny pounds the stairs. She’s heading to the water. Finn is with Sam and fast asleep – not that she could stop the momentum if she tried. The pull towards the water, sweeping under the wheel, is magnetic.

  ‘Jenny!’ The shout carries loud and clear, but doesn’t slow her.

  She is outside. The cold hits, and running at full pelt, legs pounding and chest straining, she approaches the edge of the water.

  She knows she will jump before she does it, and she closes her eyes; terrified of what she is doing, but unable to slow, to desist. Remembering to take a breath, just before she hits the water, she plunges.

  As she flies, the air like ice against her face, her body soaring, time slows like a showreel winding down, there’s another shout: ‘Jenny! Jenny!’ It’s not Sam, and she can feel it, coming from inside. It’s there, bubbling up, ready to break through but not quite there… it makes her heart burn; she’s heard it before. The split second before she enters the water, she catches sight of a figure in the water, splashing, flailing. Arms reaching upwards, and a head emerging and sinking. The figure is gone in a blink. ‘Jenny! Jenny!’

  The force of the cold is overwhelming and she opens her mouth, choking, as she kicks her legs and moves towards the wheel. She is pulled forwards and manages to grab one of the old wooden spokes. She hangs on, a moving ballast, and reaches for the girl.

  The wheel is powerful; the current throws her hard against the turning spokes. She is lifted out of the water, and as she rises, she catches sight of Sam at the window, caught in a scream.

  A grind and screech, and the wheel slows. She can see a man lying over a lever nearby, thrown hard against it as though he’s taken a flying leap. He wears the outfit of a waiter at the mill, and then she sees nothing as the slowing wheel plunges her once more beneath the surface.

  The darkness is calming and she doesn’t try to breathe. Opening her eyes, she looks clearly into green eyes in a pale face. Jenny’s arms move out towards her and, abandoning the spoke she has been grasping, she stretches her arms wide for an embrace. The world goes dark.

  28

  Maarten’s feet are cold, his hands are blue and he hasn’t moved for a good fifteen minutes. He thinks of nothing, bar the expectation of a body, as he watches his team pull the clothes of a young girl from the river, upstream from the waterwheel. They have managed to shut down the power on the wheel completely; the steady flow of the water works against them, but there is no danger of being caught.

  Imogen is down there, in waders, next to the diver, positioned under the heavy wheel. She is bent low, gesturing and calling out to the team. The CSI team have been at it for hours. Her arm is still wrapped in bandages but she had sworn the sprain had dulled.

  ‘Another shoe,’ comes the shout.

  ‘Still no sign of a body!’ Imogen calls.

  A fucking shoe. Christ.

  He moves forward to take a look. He has looked at all the items but it has been thirty minutes since they last found anything, and so far, no sign of the girl herself.

  The hum of work is unbroken by chatter. There are people standing further back from the banks, watching silently. A second body will be big news. Just as the media was beginning to step away from the city.

  Each time there is a shout to alert the crew that something else is coming up, Maarten steels himself. A body will be an utter failure on all accounts.

  His head is throbbing. He’s due more painkillers but in the rush he’s left them at the station. ‘Kak,’ he mutters, rubbing the side of his head.

  The call had come from the café that two customers had spotted a red cardigan puffed up with water. One of the customers had jumped in, thinking she was saving a life. When she’d been pulled out, the garment was empty. She had been unconscious and an ambulance had been called. One blow of mouth-to-mouth had brought her round quickly. He looks at the spread of vomit and bile lying on the side of the bank, coughed up river water, clogging up airways. If only these girls were so lucky.

  The woman, Mrs Brennan, is being checked now, and he glances at his phone to see if there is a message to confirm she is OK. They will need a statement from her soon. She seems to have a knack for entangling herself in this case. The phone she had brought in is still with his team. They are working to unlock the secrets that almost died with it, in its soggy grave.

  Once the search had begun, the clothes found hinted at the very worst possible outcome to the report of another missing girl. He can hear the press in his head, the news bulletins.

  The call from the mill had come close on the heels of the arrival of Becky’s parents.

  He still thinks of looking at Liv’s face, as he’d looked at Jess.

  He’s floored, feels bottomless. This girl had been in his home only a few days ago, and he had promised Nic he would catch whoever… And now, Becky?

  And then in had come the call. Rarely, in police work, do events co
njoin so smoothly. A dull hush had settled in the station. Despite the rush of action to arrive at the scene, the tone was sombre. Jess and Kemmie, still present in the station, had been told. Not out of choice, but out of proximity.

  Maarten would have preferred to have something concrete, some hard facts, to offer before he spoke to them, but now they are here, at the edge of the scene. Short of arresting them, he cannot keep them away. They are not permitted to enter the crime scene itself, as they are classifying the riverbank, but they will not be held back. Their audible, physical grief and hope, twinned in tears and their tangible longing, pin them to the very edge of the cordoned area.

  Now there is just waiting to be done.

  Soon he will have to begin gathering details of the girl’s disappearance. He rubs his head, distracted by the dull ache. He will later allow anger to supersede the sadness of such a loss. Liv knows him well enough to allow him the space, but it isn’t fair on his kids. None of this has been fair on his kids. He has missed two nativity plays in the last week. And now they will have to face this. How can he tell Liv?

  He’s due a sit-down talk with Liv. He’s interviewing with Rotterdam in a few days and they haven’t even nibbled at the edges of the offer, but now that will be impossible.

  ‘Sir?’

  He steps forward. ‘Is there something else? Have they found anything?’

  ‘No. I think that’s it. We have the clothes, but as far as we can tell, there’s no body. Not here anyway.’

  He gazes up the river.

  ‘Get the teams ready. We need to begin dredging further up and downstream.’

  His phone buzzes in his pocket.

  It’s Liv. Oh, for Liv. He presses the green button.

  ‘Maart? There’s something on the news, about another girl?’

  ‘Ja, I’m here now. It’s slow and we’ve no idea what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘Nic’s in a right state. There are rumours flying round, but if they’re right, then it’s Becky Dorrington. Maart…’

  ‘Shit. I meant to call before the news came out. How is she?’

  ‘I can’t get much out of her but she’s really distressed. You’re going to need to speak to Nic today. She’s sobbing – can you get back early?’

  ‘Fuck, Liv, I’ve got no idea when I can get back. It’s chaos here and we need to do the scene properly, I’ve got the press, the parents…’

  ‘Look, it’s hard, I know, but you make Nic a priority. Come home at some point today. Make it happen, Maart. She’s her best friend.’

  She is gone, and he watches his breath, cloudy in the cold, disperse in air, like smoke.

  ‘Sir?’ Imogen has come up behind him. ‘Do you want me to speak to the parents? They’re asking for news.’

  His head throbs, the drab surrounds spin round him. He pushes his hand out towards her, and rests on her arm.

  ‘Are you OK?’ She peers at him.

  Feeling steadier, he pulls away. ‘Sorry, yes, I’m due some pills and I need a coffee.’

  It is very tempting to let her deal with the parents. He is so tired, but it’s too close. It needs to be him. ‘No, I’ll speak to them. But come with me, then I’ll disappear off to get the next stage organised. You stay. They’re needed to identify the clothes so I’ll meet you back at the station. Let’s go public with this as soon as possible. We have to assume she was taken by the same predator that took Leigh. If he’s keeping her alive somewhere outside, she won’t last long without her clothes. If she’s not alive…’ he pauses, and forces himself to go on, ‘then we need to find the body quickly so that Forensics can nail this bastard. Let’s get the press conference sorted and we’ll need the usual: up-to-date photo, last known whereabouts. I’ll leave that to you. We need to speak to Mrs Brennan, the woman who jumped in. I know she’s recovering, but we need her statement quickly.’

  Scanning the river, which leads down to the park, he makes a decision. ‘Look, once we’re done here, cordon off the area, but let’s open the search up to the public. We don’t have the manpower to cover the whole of the park fast enough. It’s freezing. If she’s alive. If. If she’s alive, then we’re on a countdown. We need to find her fast.’

  The DCI shouts a few instructions out to the team and then turns towards the parents of the missing girl, his muddy boots marking out the slow, heavy footprints of a reluctant stride.

  29

  Jenny hears the front door open. Will had said he’d leave work as soon as he could. She hasn’t checked the clock, but Finn has fed, is asleep, Sam has poured wine and she’s had a shower.

  The sound of shoes scuff the doormat and his footsteps tap tap in the hall. She glances at Finn in the buggy. She hadn’t wanted him too far away from her. He lies beside the wooden table, on which stands the half-empty bottle of wine. His fist is raised high in a salute and his chubby face is soft and crumpled by sleep.

  The steps slow. Will is pausing before walking through to the kitchen. She tenses against the possibility of anger, or gritted teeth.

  ‘God, how terrible,’ he says, moving towards Jenny as he enters the room.

  She stands up, her chair screeching against the tiled floor. She wears a dressing gown and her hair is wet. There is no reproach in his face. She leans against him.

  ‘It was… awful. It was just awful.’ Her words muffle in his shoulder.

  Sam takes a glug of the wine. ‘Want a glass?’ she asks.

  ‘No, not yet. Tell me what happened.’

  He sits down and they tell him. From the moment of arriving, to the point where Jenny thought she’d seen the body of a dead child, to finding out it was remnants of clothes from a missing child. A trip to the hospital, but only a quick check and then back home for a shower. No water in her lungs, up to date with her tetanus. ‘A big gulp of water, but mainly the cold causing the problem. A bath, hot drinks, call if you feel unwell.’

  ‘I had no idea what she was doing,’ says Sam. ‘I thought she’d gone mad. One minute we were chatting and the next she is jumping in the bloody river.’

  Her hands fidget. ‘I gave up smoking years ago, but I could go for one now. Christ.’

  ‘Christ,’ he repeats, slowly, sitting back. ‘What the fuck is going on? Why haven’t they caught whoever is doing this? Another girl missing? Are you OK, Jen? It was fucking brave of you, to jump in like that.’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I passed out in the river, but they said I hadn’t stopped breathing. The waitress tried to give me mouth-to-mouth and it made me throw up.’ She can still taste the bile in her mouth. She reaches for the wine.

  Will picks up the bottle and tops her up, pouring himself a glass after all. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was in a meeting, and I just didn’t get your call. It was bloody clever of you to call the firm, Sam. My secretary came to the meeting to get me out. Erin was in the meeting too – she’s worried about you as well. When I heard hospital…’

  ‘No problem. I’ve left you a stream of messages. God, I feel like shit now – I’m exhausted.’ Sam stretches out again and then bends to pull her phone from her bag.

  ‘I’ve left a message for your dad. Hopefully it will get to him – he will want to know.’ Will pulls off his tie.

  ‘The police are collecting us tomorrow to take us to the station. They want us to give full statements. They didn’t want to go today; once we were out of the hospital and back, time disappeared. Can you work from home? Look after Finn?’

  ‘Of course. How did you cope with the babies?’

  ‘The Mill were great; the waitress changed nappies, and then came to the hospital with me to help out looking after Finn while Jen was being checked. I’ve had too much caffeine and booze. I need to get home,’ Sam says. She rubs her head and pushes her dark hair up into a ponytail. Her phone beeps, vibrating on the wooden table.

  ‘Is Ben coming for you or do you need a lift?’

  ‘He’s coming. He left work after I called. Christ…’ She stretches her arms out again, and leans h
er head back.

  They sit. Recounting the story, hearing it aloud, has loosened the atmosphere. The charge has gone, the crackle in the air. Now, it is just… sad. Jenny feels like weeping.

  Will looks relieved.

  ‘I’m just pleased you’re OK,’ he says to Jenny. ‘I get that you thought you saw a child… It’s bloody brave of you to jump in, but Jen, you could have been seriously hurt… think… calm down…’

  It isn’t as bad as she had been expecting.

  ‘No,’ she replies. ‘I wasn’t really thinking. I’m not really sure what I saw. It’s a bit of a blur now.’

  ‘Jenny saw it before all of us. I couldn’t see anything out of the window. Until she came up again, clutching it, I had no idea what she was doing. You must have eyes like a hawk.’

  Will looks tired. It has been pretty rubbish recently. His stores of reserve must be running fairly low. Jenny watches him. He leans forward to take her hand.

  Jenny begins crying. She will be no use to Finn like this. She keeps thinking of the arm, of the red arm, moving up out of the water. And those green eyes. Staring like gems in the dark.

  ‘They’re searching the park now,’ Sam says, glancing out of the window. ‘I can see all the lights. Ben said he’d help once he’s got us settled.’

  ‘I should go,’ Will says, looking out.

  ‘Yes.’ Jenny nods, shivering again. ‘Help me get Finn ready first?’

  *

  The evening spins forward. The door bangs when Sam leaves. The bath runs for Finn and the heating comes on, warming her through, burning off the damp, clinging to her skin. Will cooks dinner, leaking the smell of garlic. He leaves to join the search for a few hours, then snakes back in bed.

  They are lying in bed, side by side, touching from shoulder to heel. She realises she is talking, telling him again that there had been a red arm, then once in the water, eyes, and a mass of black hair.

  And when she hears herself telling it afresh, she stutters and grinds to a halt.