‘You can cry all you like, Mia,’ he says. ‘But it won’t change my mind. You’re too much of a risk. What would I do if all your memories came rushing back? If you remember everything I’ll be screwed. You’ll see to that.
‘My sister agrees with me. Suki’s not one to keep her feelings bottled up. But don’t judge her too badly. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her support. She’s the only person who knows about all this. The only person I trusted enough to confide in. I knew she wouldn’t judge me, so I told her everything, the pure, unvarnished truth. She was shocked – course she was – but she’s been my rock. My shoulder to cry on. The only thing she can’t understand is why I’ve let you live this long. She always thought it was far too risky. So I’m taking her advice.’
His words hit me like more blows to the head. Hearing how much he hates me, how he and his sister were in on it together.
‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘I’m sick of pretending. Of having to keep on seeing you. Faking concern, when all I really want to do is… is…
‘So, that’s why we’re here,’ he says, pulling harder on the blades. ‘We’ll finish this where it all started. We’ll do it properly this time. I’m going to take you far, far out to sea. Further than last time. I’m well prepared. You might have already noticed the heavy-duty chains,’ he says, inclining his head. ‘Those are for you. I’m afraid there won’t be any chance of swimming to shore tonight. Not this time, Mia.’
Despite the cold, I break out into a sweat at his words. I wish I could speak, so I could reassure him that I won’t tell anyone what he’s done – I would swear an oath of silence. But he wouldn’t believe me. He doesn’t care. Poor Lucy. She was married to this man. He needs to be locked up… for a long time.
I can’t believe I fantasised about this guy. That I wanted us to be together. His face is set, concentrating on getting us where he wants us to be. His muscled arms pull at the blades with hardly any effort. His powerful legs slide back and forth. This isn’t one of the river boats we normally use. It’s wider, more spacious. I guess that’s because we’re going out to sea. It needs to be more stable, because of the waves. Oh my God, I’m going to die.
No one knows I’m out here. No one knows I’m in danger. The police don’t even know whose body it was they found in the river. Even if, by some miracle, they have already found out and they go to Jack’s house, it will be too late for me. They won’t have any idea that I’m tied up on an ocean-going boat with a murdering psychopath. By the time they work out that Jack is responsible for his wife’s death, I’ll be dead.
And I don’t want to die.
I test my bonds. There’s no chance I’m getting out of these on my own. I cast my eyes about wildly, wondering if there’s anything sharp nearby that I could use to cut myself free. Maybe a rough edge on one of the chain links. But I can’t move, and, anyway, I’m in Jack’s direct line of sight. He’ll see me if I try anything. A tear escapes down my face. Salt water. The thought makes me shudder. I can’t panic, I have to keep calm. Think. Think. Think.
I realise with horror that my bladder is full. Please don’t let me humiliate myself in front of him. Now I’ve thought about needing the bathroom, I can’t seem to focus on anything else. Another tear, and another. A stream of them merging, falling.
If I come out of this alive, I promise I won’t waste another second feeling sorry for myself. I may be alone in the world, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. I really don’t want to die. I want to live a good, long life with someone to love, maybe start a business, or a family. Do something worthwhile. I have money. It gives me options. But why am I thinking all these things now? Why now do I appreciate my life? Now, when I don’t have a cat’s chance in hell of living it.
I close my eyes and try to focus again. Try to think of a plan. Maybe, when the time comes for him to… do it, maybe I could swing my legs out and kick him in the balls. But what then? Unless I can free myself, hurting him will only make him madder, more dangerous.
It’s hopeless.
‘Nearly there,’ he says. ‘It’s so beautiful out here in the bay at night. The stars are so bright away from all that light pollution on land. But you’ve ruined it for me, Mia. How will I ever enjoy coming out here again?’
So don’t kill me, I want to yell. Turn around before it’s too late. Keep your perfect memory of the bay at night. Of the stars. Don’t sully the image with my murder.
Oh God, no. He’s slowing down. He’s stopped rowing. We’re bobbing about in the bay. He’s staring at me and I’m begging him with my eyes. Pleading with him not to do this. To take pity. Have mercy. My pulse is pounding in my ears. The blood is whooshing in my head. Whirring, making me feel dizzy. It’s all so surreal. This can’t be happening.
Jack lets go of his blades and leans towards me, sending my fear spiralling upwards. I cringe away from him, my wet, trembling body rebelling against what’s about to happen. As he grips me under my armpits, I tip my head violently trying to get close enough to head butt him, but he’s wise to that, and keeps me at arm’s length. There’s nothing I can do, I’ve run out of time. No one is here to save me and he’s not about to change his mind. Within seconds, he leans me backwards over the side of the boat, and I hang there, feeling like my back is about to break as he heaves up the chains.
I can’t breathe properly. I can’t pass out, I have to stay alert. Slow my breathing, calm down. If I want to get out of this, I need to fight back, before it’s too late. I imagine I see an expression of regret flash across his face. Maybe he won’t do it. But it’s nothing more than a trick of the light. His face is set. Determined.
‘One last mercy,’ he says, ripping the tape from my mouth. ‘You’ll drown quicker without it.’
I’m frozen in shock. The boat tips precariously for an instant, and I think we’re both going to end up going in. But, at the last moment, Jack leans back and the boat rights itself. The chains go over with a deep splash, and I’m not prepared, I’m not ready. It can’t really be happening. But it is.
I manage to suck in a deep breath as I’m yanked overboard by the sinking metal, suddenly, violently. The waves smother me. I’m tugged down fast. The water invades my nose and ears. My mouth. My eyes are open, but all is black. Sadness mingles with horror. This is it. My final moments. No one will know what happened to me. No one will even care.
Down I go. How long until I hit the bottom? I try to hold on to the last bubbles of air in my lungs. Try not to be overcome by fear again, to remain lucid for my last precious seconds, staring upward at the darkness where I now see a pinprick of white. A dot of light expanding, like a never-ending tunnel stretching into the distance. A trick for the dying to make them believe they’re going to a better place. Do I believe in all that?
I convulse, my body thrashes against the chains. My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of my skull, the pressure in my head is so great. There must be a pocket of air somewhere down here.
I need air.
Please, someone, help me.
I don’t want to die.
Please.
Twenty-Nine
The light expands to fill my vision. My lungs are about to explode. I squeeze my eyes shut. A feeling of lightness envelopes me and then the night air hits. Cold and salty. Bright and loud. A whirring sound that deafens. Amplified, metallic voices. Movement. I’m gasping and retching. Seawater in my nose and throat, stinging my eyes as I try to draw in deep lungfuls of frigid air.
I realise I’m being carried in someone’s arms, my clothes heavy and dripping. A man in a diving suit. He deposits me on the ground. Or in a boat? We’re illuminated from above. I choke out mouthfuls of foul-tasting salt water. It burns the back of my throat. My chest feels as though it’s on fire, but the rest of my body is cold to the marrow of my bones.
Shit! Jack tried to kill me. He threw me overboard. I thought I was dead. I felt the last few seconds of my life ebb. I felt myself sinking, drowning, dying. But now I’m h
ere, coughing my lungs up, trying to breathe, trying to get my thoughts straight. It seems the bright light I saw from the briny depths wasn’t a stairway to heaven, but a helicopter searchlight.
Have I really been rescued – or is this merely the fantasy of a dead woman?
Thirty
Three weeks later
Autumn has come early. Cold rain cleansing away the dust of August. The wind doing its best to strip green leaves from the trees before their time. But, no matter what the weather does, every day I go outside and I run. I run to remember and I run to forget.
Today, my feet pound the pavement away from the river, heading instead along busy main roads choked with cars and ugly out-of-town office buildings and superstores. I can’t even look at that pretty stretch of water anymore without feeling sick and panicky. Until I leave this town, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live a proper life. Christchurch has been tainted for me. Which is why I’m selling my house.
Even now, as I run in the rain, the estate agent is back at the house with a wealthy couple from London. It’s their second viewing – they want it as a holiday home – and the agents are confident they’re going to put in an offer today. Houses like mine are in great demand, apparently.
As for me, I want to live in a much larger town than Christchurch. A place where I can be anonymous for a while until I recover from the trauma of the past few weeks. So, I’m moving to Cheltenham in Gloucestershire. I’ve put in an offer on a beautiful Georgian mansion house in the town centre. No rivers or oceans in sight. I’ll be happy if I never have to get into a boat again.
That night, when Jack tried to kill me, feels like months ago. I can’t believe it’s been just a few weeks. Yet, at the same time, it only seems like yesterday. The fear and despair I felt are so fresh and raw.
It was my neighbour, Suki’s husband, Matt Willis, who saved me. He glanced out of the window that night and saw “someone” bundle my unconscious body out through the back gate. He was about to call the police when Suki tried to stop him. They argued, but eventually she broke down and told him a version of events where she believed I deserved to die.
Thankfully for me, he called the police anyway, explaining that Jack was planning to kill me. They mobilised police boats and a helicopter. Two officers dived down after me. They managed to free me from the chains, and haul me out of the sea. If they had arrived just thirty seconds later, I would have been dead. They saved me. Just in time.
The rest of that night was a blur. I remember being wrapped in some kind of huge metallic blanket. Then, I must have passed out, because I woke up in a hospital bed.
A day or so later, I remember DS Wright visiting me in hospital, asking me if I had anyone who could stay with me for a while. A member of my family, or a friend who would look after me and make sure I was okay. I remember how she took my hand in hers, a surprisingly intimate gesture for a police officer. I must have been semi-delirious, for the first name that came into my mind was Jack.
Suki was arrested for being an accessory to attempted murder. Jack was arrested for the murder of his wife, as well as my attempted murder. Of course, he’s denying it. Saying it’s all my fault. That I drove him to it. He’s even trying to pin his wife’s murder on me. But the police have formally charged Jack and Suki, and they’re now both locked up, awaiting trial.
My mobile phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. It could be the estate agent with news, so I slow my pace a little and pull out my phone. It’s an unknown number and I debate whether or not to answer it, but I guess it could be important, so I slide my thumb across the screen to accept the call.
‘Miss James?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Mike Frenchay here, from The PC Repair Shop.’
‘Sorry, who?’
‘You left your laptop with us a few weeks ago. You wanted us to try and recover some emails for you.’
‘Oh, yes.’ I remember now. Something to do with Piers deleting my messages. I’d wondered if there was something Piers didn’t want me to see about our business arrangements. All that seems unimportant now.
‘Sorry it’s taken so long,’ he continues, ‘but I’ve managed to retrieve some of the more recent emails for you. We’re open till five if you want to pop over now?’
I check the time – four twenty. The shop is on my way back so I may as well call in there today. ‘That’s great,’ I reply. ‘I’ll be there in about ten minutes.’
‘Okay. See you in a while.’
I slip my phone back into my pocket. The rain is heavier now. The wind driving into my back. The PC shop is back the other way, so I turn around and face the full force of the weather, squinting and lowering my head to protect my face from the needles of rain. The most I can manage is a jog. No one else is foolish enough to be walking or running in this weather. Instead, rows and rows of cars stream past, headlamps on, windscreen wipers set to turbo mode.
Ten minutes later, I push open the door to the little store. The bell jangles above my head. The PC guy looks up from the counter. I push down my hood and take a breath. I’m dripping all over the shop floor.
‘Nice day for a swim,’ the guy says.
I smile and roll my eyes at the weather. ‘It’s lashing down out there.’
‘You walked?’
‘Can’t you tell?’
We give polite chuckles. I tell him who I am and he slides my laptop out from under the desk, along with some paperwork.
‘Wait a moment,’ he says. He turns and goes through the door which leads to the back. A few seconds later he returns. ‘Here,’ he says, passing me a towel over the counter.
‘Thank you so much.’ I wipe my hands and face and place the towel next to my laptop, thinking what a nice guy he is.
‘You’re not planning on walking home are you?’ he says. ‘Even with a bag, your machine will get wet in this weather. It’s chucking it down out there.’
I hadn’t thought about that.
‘Shall I call you a cab home?’ he asks.
‘That would be brilliant. Thank you.’
He pulls his phone from his pocket and calls me a cab, reading out my address from the invoice next to my laptop. ‘Should be here in about ten minutes.’
‘You’re an angel,’ I say.
‘All part of the service.’ He smiles. ‘Now, about these emails. Like I said, I couldn’t get them all, but I managed to retrieve some of the more recent ones. Here…’ He opens the machine and shows me my inbox and sent folder. ‘Most of August’s emails are there, and a few from July.’
‘Thank you. That’s great. How much do I owe you?’
Luckily I have my bank card and some spare change on me, so I settle up and wait for my cab to arrive. He gives me a plastic bag to shield my laptop from the weather. We make a little small talk and then he’s called away by a phone ringing in the back. While I’m waiting for my cab, I decide to take a quick peek at some of the emails he retrieved for me.
Most of it’s spam. I’m specifically looking for messages from Piers – to see if there’s anything dodgy about our business that he might have deleted after the accident. But it’s all innocuous stuff – nothing that’s worth hiding or deleting. Then my eyes alight on a message sent from the rowing club on the day before my original accident, back in August. It’s marked as unread, but the subject heading reads:
What the fuck
I click on it. My eyes skim to the bottom of the email to see who it’s from.
It’s from Jack.
As I read Jack’s message, a sick feeling sweeps across my body. The words swim before my eyes, wavering and reforming. Blurred and then suddenly sharp. I reread the email with a crawling sensation in my belly.
The PC guy returns from the back room. He starts speaking to me, but I’m not listening. My body feels suddenly heavy, my head suddenly too full of memories. They crowd my mind, jostling for space. Throwing up new and more terrible glimpses into the real me. And I wish with all my heart that I could go ba
ck to forgetting. That my mind could remain a deep void of nothingness. Wiped clean. Innocent.
I sink down onto the floor, knocking the laptop onto the tiles with a dull crack.
‘Are you okay?’ The PC man rushes out from behind the counter. Crouches in front of me as I lie there, curling my knees into my body. Wishing I could shrivel up and die. Wishing I could disappear. Wishing I was lying dead at the bottom of the sea.
Thirty-One
Five weeks earlier
Right on time, her Fiat pulls into the car park. I’m sitting on one of the large decorative rocks, waiting. It’s that secret silent time between night and morning when only creatures are awake. Way after sunset, but not close enough to dawn. Dark and cold. Nothing stirring. The half-moon casts just enough light to see by. My heart starts to race. I should’ve done this a long time ago. I’m doing her a favour really. She needs to know. I called her earlier today to tell her to meet me here. To tell her that I have some information about her husband. She sounded annoyed. Said she was busy all day. That they were going to a party this evening. So I told her, okay, come after the party. How about 2 am? Surely she wouldn’t be busy then.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m not meeting you at two in the morning.’
‘Come, or don’t come,’ I said, ‘but I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.’
I wasn’t sure if she would show. But here she is. She couldn’t resist. No going back now.
I haven’t been sitting here long. I spent the past ten minutes getting one of the boats out. It’s now on the shingle by the water’s edge waiting for me. I’m going to head out on the river afterwards. It’s one of my favourite things to do – to row at night when everyone’s asleep. Makes me feel like I’m the only person alive. The moon reflecting off the water. The stars winking down at me. I told Jack about my secret night-time trips down the river. Asked if he wanted to join me. That’s when it all started between us – one cold, clear March night. A night that changed my life.
The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller with a heart-pounding twist Page 18