The Cry of the Lake

by Charlie Tyler

  We didn’t talk about the knickers.

  I didn’t mention the hug. It was nothing.

  No, the shoes and pants had to be the fish murderer’s handiwork; he or she had planted them and then poisoned the carp. But, every time either of us said our theories out loud, they sounded utterly ridiculous and the why never got its feeble head off the ground.

  I could hear the owners of the B&B clattering around in the kitchen – I really didn’t want to have to speak to them; they were super weird; all the shelves in the dining room were covered with dancing china pigs. I crept downstairs, towel tucked under my arm, and opened the front door very quietly. The sky was grey, but the air was warm and fuzzy. Last night I’d tied my bike up against a railing to the left of the house. We’d been forced to cycle here as Annie, in full bitch mode, had decided Tom’s car was something which also needed a thorough investigation.

  Shoving Annie out of my head, I wiped the dew off the saddle, bundled the towel into the basket on the front of my bike and set off.

  At this time of morning the roads were eerily quiet although a speedy milkman frightened the tits off me as he appeared out of nowhere and overtook me on his jingling float. It was still far too early for the commuters to be crawling out of their villages. It must have rained a bit last night because the tarmac was shiny and as I pedalled, fine spray coated my ankles. God I was unfit! My legs were already aching as I free wheeled down the hill past the church of St. Terence The Greater. I swerved left and joined the bumpy bridleway which led to the south basin. I liked this side of the lake; it was less touristy. The shore was lined with trees and the dark track leading towards the water was riddled with hoof marks; the potholes semi-filled with puddles despite the boiling weather.

  I spotted Lily waiting for me at the water’s edge, her gaze focused on the early risers as they sucked in big huffs of breath before launching into the water. I watched as the mist, like something from a zombie movie, rose from the lake and disintegrated into the pale sky. I loved the different way the swimmers dealt with getting into the water; some swaggered along the decking and plunged straight in; others tiptoed over the shingle and waded in until they were nothing but coloured dots bobbing on the surface; only bright caps and goggles visible. I liked how no one gave a shit what anyone else’s body looked like – apples on sticks, pears, pencils – it didn’t matter.

  No one shrieked as their flesh made contact with the murky water. This was hard core swimming; sliders worn down to the water’s edge, rolled towel positioned on top of them next to re-usable mugs and small wallets for car keys and loose change. It was far too early for The Southside Restaurant to be open, but some clever clogs had taken over a hollowed-out caravan, serving up breakfast for the baptised; filling their bright, neon cups with steaming tea or coffee and handing out breakfast rolls. The smell of bacon and fried sausage mingled with the peaty scent of the lake and made my tongue itch.

  I seized Lily around the shoulders and gave her a little shove, before pulling her back.

  “Saved your life,” I dug her in the ribs. “Now then, Lilster, what’s all this about? I thought we agreed, you need your beauty sleep.”

  Lily didn’t respond. Instead, she kicked off her shoes then peeled down her tracksuit bottoms, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the ground.

  “Oh, so we really are doing this?” I unzipped my top so that the faded Speedo sign on my costume poked out. Lily took a step into the water, stopped short and clenched her fists. “Aren’t you going to take your shirt off first?” Lily ignored me and carried on walking. Soon the water kissed the back of her knees.

  “You owe me a bacon butty,” I muttered, before breaking the swimmer’s code and letting out a huge shriek which sliced through the silence and caused a pair of ducks to quack like mad before scuttling into a heap of reeds. The impact of the cold water knocked the air from my lungs, and I gasped. “You-also-owe-me-an-explanation.”

  Lily, on a mission, kept her face forward and continued wading into the lake. I stumbled as the pebbles bruised the soles of my feet and soft weed tangled between my toes. I remembered the weed on the floor of the bathroom, the night Lily had gone for a midnight dip. How had it got there?

  “Bloody hell,” I gasped, my voice a high-pitched squeak. My mottled thighs now resembled two slices of corned beef. I took a couple of giant steps, reached forward and clasped hold of Lily’s hand. We were now up to our waists in water and I was grateful for the warmth of my own blood as it pumped around my veins. Lily’s shirt ballooned around her middle like a rubber ring. There was no going back. I wriggled free and plunged my shoulders under the surface, gliding through the water, my mouth clamped shut. I kept going until the urge to scream had disappeared.

  “Come on.” I popped my head up and flipped onto my back, turning my arms into backwards windmill sails.

  Face pinched with concentration, Lily lowered her body, her hair fanning out around her.

  “Come on. See. It’s actually not that bad once your shoulders are under.”

  Lily stayed motionless, her chin resting on the water.

  “You can swim, can’t you?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Shit.” I lunged back towards her, grabbing her under the armpits. “Why? I mean why?”

  “I’ve got you. Lift your feet up.” Lily’s varnished toenails emerged from the water and she wiggled them. “Point your feet and kick a bit. Just gently.” Lily did what I told her, and I felt the almost magnetic drag of the water pulling around my thighs. Lily twisted her head, a flash of panic wrinkling her forehead.

  “It’s okay. I’m still here. Now take your arms and flap them in and out, keeping your fingers glued together.”

  Lily lay on her back, looking up at the sky, her legs frothing the water around the soles of her feet, her arms working against the current. Bit by bit I released my grip.

  “You’re doing it. You’re sort of swimming Lily.”

  After a few minutes Lily lowered her legs and stood up before turning and wading back onto the shore. Satisfied Lily was safely on land, I spent another ten minutes swimming out to one of the buoys and back, determined, after all this effort, to get some exercise.

  When, on jelly legs, I wobbled out of the water Lily, now dressed, passed me my towel and a hot sandwich. She’d wedged a polystyrene cup of tea into the stones next to my trainers.

  Teeth chattering, I wrapped myself in the towel and then sat down, the shingle digging into my butt cheeks.

  We sat, side by side, eating bacon sandwiches, sipping our hot drinks and watching the other swimmers coming and going.

  Eventually I turned to her. “What’s all this about?” I asked. Lily carried on staring ahead and rolled up the left arm of her tracksuit. I spat out a mouthful of tea. All the way from her elbow to her shoulder were tiny lines; some silver, some pale lilac, others deep violet. The very top of her upper arm was covered in a waterproof plaster.

  “You self-harm?” I whispered.

  Lily stayed motionless.

  “Fucking hell – I’m sorry, Lils. I’m guessing your Mum knows all about it.”

  Lily lowered her sleeve and bit her lower lip.

  “I suppose it explains why she’s so protective of you.” I stretched my legs out in front of me; cramp was taking hold of my calves. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Lily shook her head.

  I licked tomato sauce off my fingers, screwed up my sandwich wrapper and, giving my skin a half-hearted rub, clambered back into my tracksuit. I was buying time – I didn’t know what to say. I sat back down again and cradled my tea. I decided to change the subject. “Hey, did you notice a bit of an atmosphere between Dad and Grace yesterday?”

  Lily reached across for my phone.

  A bit. Mum thinks I’m at the gym.

  I shrugged. “I suppose it makes sense not to worry her.” I turned my head. “But why here? Aren’t you a bit sick of the sight of ponds and lakes?”

  I needed so
me space.

  “I get you.”

  I have to tell you something.

  My phone started to ring making Lily jump. She dropped it into my lap.

  It was Dad. “I’ve got to get back. That was Dad. He sounded really weird. Do you mind if I scoot?”

  Lily’s lower lip was trembling. We had our normal goodbye hug, although she hung onto me just a fraction too long. I felt bad – she had just shared a massive thing with me and here I was running away. But Dad had sounded in a right state. I wheeled my bike to the main track but before I got back on, I turned.

  “Good luck for the English mock tomorrow,” I shouted. “See you in the library after, yes?”

  Lily made a heart with her hands and I left her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace

  I was like a jack-in-the-box. My shiny, metal handle was close to being wound tight, to its pinch point, and any moment I was going to spring open, my emotions spilling over the edge and puddling onto the floor. Then, surely, I would slip over in the mess that I had nurtured inside for all these years. Grace could not exist for much longer. The moment Tom refused my offer of a bed for the night, I knew her time was over.

  Emily must return while Grace must fade.

  It was only now that I could sit back and appreciate how much effort it had taken out of me to exist as Grace. It was far easier to be myself where vindictiveness and hatred sprang naturally from the well. I heard the drip, drip, drip of self-loathing as it filled up the empty corners of my mind whilst self-pity gnawed away at my heart, making it a hollow shell once more.

  Grace would have escaped; put on her Hermes headscarf and dark glasses like she was some film icon dashing away to an exotic location, but I knew there was no disguising myself from Frank. I had been conceited; thought I was in charge but, as always, I had screwed things up and now could only sit back and wait for Frank’s inevitable wrath. Frank was the only one who could see through my pale skin and identify my true being because he was the only one who truly loved me. After all, he was the one who put me back together again. Even when the parts didn’t fit, he bashed them up against each other until they did.

  I caught a bus to an out of town supermarket and filled my trolley with bottles of cheap vodka and expensive tonic water. My thirst had returned. Just wandering up and down the booze section rekindled my desire for alcohol; the need for its comforting sting seeping into my bones so I could wait no longer. I reached into the chiller cabinet and took out a ready mixed G&T. It was ice cold; the tin smudgy with a cloud of condensation. My fingers were trembling as I cracked it open and took a surreptitious swig. The sensation of the liquid sliding down my throat made my eyes close in rapture and soon the entire contents had disappeared down my gullet. A kid, far too big to be sitting in a trolley, gawped at me whilst his mother chatted to the white-aproned man behind the sliced meat counter. I scowled at him, revelling at the sound of his cries about a nasty lady, as I wheeled towards the check-out.

  When I got home, I sank into the armchair in the cosy snug which overlooked the garden. I stared at the butterflies which fluttered around the cone-shaped blossom dangling from the buddleia bush and sipped my vodka, relishing each mouthful and sucking it in through my teeth.

  We had featured on the news last night. The lack of any hard facts, apart from that Amelie’s body had been found, made the journalists desperate for a story. They had needed an angle and I, like a fool, had handed one to them by standing in front of the camera, scolding the reporter; telling her to leave us alone. A girl is dead, have you no shame? So, they had run with ‘Community left reeling; emotions running high’. The bulletin appeared at teatime and was the main story for the late news which meant we had received double exposure.

  There was no doubt in my mind that Frank would have been watching. He was the sort to turn on the late headlines whilst finishing a large glass of claret and morsel of salty stilton.

  Uncle Frank.

  I stared at the bottom of my glass and there was his face, looking up at me. I closed my eyes. I wouldn’t think about him or how I had let him down. None of this was his fault. All he had ever done was love and protect me. I forced myself to sprint through my memories, searching for something else to dwell upon and it wasn’t long before I turned my thoughts towards Tom and the first time we met.

  ***

  It was a hot day; the crowds overwhelming. I slipped through a side door and found myself in the middle of a passageway which smelt of bleach. I scurried along, the soles of my pumps squeaking on the shiny floor tiles. I embraced the coolness which crept over my body. Once more I was in the shade.

  My head was spinning with emotions I didn’t know how to put into words. I was lonelier than I had ever been in my life and there was no one for me to turn to. Not even my beloved, for surely talking about it with him would make him regard me differently; see me as tainted goods. Perhaps he would think it was my fault – perhaps it was. My heart ached with the burden of carrying around this sense of shame and I didn’t know what to do with it. But, then again, maybe I was just being silly? After all it was just a touch – nothing more than a friendly exchange and I knew Frank really did love me and this was just one way for him to show it. And he was a good man. He took care of me; gave me beautiful clothes and gifts. But then why did I feel so sad and confused?

  I began to feel dizzy and lunged at the nearest door handle to find a quiet place to sit down.

  “Hey!” said a man in a lab coat who was leaning against a wooden counter. “What are you doing in here, kiddo?” There was something in the way the man smiled as he talked which made my body crumple inside. His eyes were bright with energy and his cheeks were smooth and at the same time they glowed. I burst into tears; horrid fat drops which stung my eyes and made me gulp and snort for breath.

  “Oh! Hey there, kiddo, I’m sorry. You having a bad day?” The man rushed over and pulled out a stool for me to sit on. He gave me a bundle of tissues. “Really bad day, from the sounds of it.” He made a whistling noise and shook his head.

  I nodded several times and dabbed at my hot eyes.

  “Well, technically you’re not allowed in here, but…” he tapped the side of his nose, “…I guess I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. The official tour group isn’t visiting this part of the hospital.”

  My breath began to fall into its regular pattern. I blew my nose and stared up at the illuminated glass-fronted cabinets that towered behind the man’s head. Each shelf was stuffed full of slim white boxes stacked on top of each other like mini building blocks.

  He followed my gaze. “This is the part of the clinic where we store all the medicine. I’m doing a stock take. I’m Dr Tom Marchant, by the way,” he added pointing to his name badge and giving a wave. “But you can call me Tom.” He lifted up a hatch and ducked behind the counter. “Pill counting isn’t part of my job description, but we’ve all got to be here for the grand opening, and I hate all that schmoozing so I’m doing what is known as making myself useful.” He leaned across and grabbed the clipboard, pulling it to his chest.

  He pushed a small stepladder up against one of the cupboards. “I’m actually a children’s doctor. So, I guess if you need someone to talk to, I might be your man. I’m a super good listener.”

  I stared at the backs of my hands and bit the skin off my bottom lip.

  Tom pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and as he fumbled with the lock, the clipboard fell to the floor.

  “Damn!”

  I slid off the stool, dipped under the hatch and passed it back up to him.

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded and returned to my seat on the other side of the divide.

  “You know, in my experience – not that I’m that old…” he laughed, and his eyes disappeared into a cluster of crow’s feet, “…if there’s something troubling you, it’s always better to get it off your chest. It’s as though saying it out loud takes the sting out of it.” He
fell silent and tapped the tip of his pen against the boxes, whispering under his breath. He scribbled something down on the chart then re-locked the door. He climbed down one rung of the ladder and unfastened the next cabinet. “And because I am a doctor, we actually have lessons on how to listen, would you believe it?”

  I swallowed. My stomach was fluttering. Could I really talk to him about what had happened?

  Tom’s fingertips moved over the cartons and again he scored something on the clipboard. “We’re not allowed to talk about what we discuss with a patient. It’s all confidential. So, I mean, if you want to talk to me about what’s bugging you.” He turned and pretended to zip his mouth together.

  Would he believe me?

  I heard Uncle Frank’s booming voice coming from the room next door. I jumped up. He couldn’t find me here talking to Tom. What if he thought I had been telling tales? I scarpered towards the door.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Tom called out. He walked towards me and pushed a card into my hand. It had his phone number on it.

  “That’s my direct line. You can call me any time, if you need to talk.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lily

  They found a canvas school bag with a dolly-pink and baby-blue striped handle in Cupid’s Wood. It was hidden inside the hollow at the base of a large oak tree, known by the locals as The Tree of Promises. According to Tom, this tree, like the well, was reckoned to date back to the time of King Charles I and as trees went, it was pretty cool. The trunk was squat and wide, and the first branches stuck out horizontally then rose into a series of forks. It was the sort of tree, as a little girl, I would have imagined marked the gateway to an enchanted forest. There was a legend to it which Tom told me about in great detail, but according to Grace, it was utter nonsense and she listened to the entire story with one eyebrow arched.