The Cry of the Lake

by Charlie Tyler

  I splashed a bit of water on my face to cool down then grabbed my sunglasses and picked up the box of coffee beans which I took back with me to the café. The women had moved onto the virtues of wigs and hair pieces. I hadn’t been missed.

  ***

  Somewhere along my murderous route the earring must have come loose. As soon as I got home, I would retrace my steps. I had to find it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lily

  I was questioned by a young policewoman who took a good ten minutes getting to grips with the fact that I didn’t speak. Most people’s first reaction to my silence is to talk slower – it’s either that or they start signing. I don’t sign, nor do I want to sign and indeed any sympathy flung in my direction is withdrawn once it is discovered I am mute by choice. At one stage Grace thought she could smack the words back into my mouth but then she must’ve realised it was easier for her if I didn’t speak. Lack of any effort on my part led to avoidance and then neglect; no one cared how I broke my arm or got bruises across my back: there was something wrong with me ‘up top’.

  Then I met Flo and she interpreted my words and gave me a different sound. I liked the Lily she projected into the world. Flo became my defender as well as my voice and, bit by bit, her affection for me rubbed off on those around her. I grew a bit braver and dared to wonder if there was a better life out there for me – away from Grace.

  I am not stupid. I simply do not speak.

  The PC blushed. The crimson glow deepening as she asked me personal information about Tom. Each time she mumbled her question, she looked up at me and had to push her thick-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of her flat nose.

  Until that interview, I hadn’t realised the extent of Grace’s handiwork.

  I gave them nothing. Absolutely nothing, but already it was too late.

  As I was escorted along a narrow corridor and out of the police station, I caught sight of Annie leaning against a noticeboard. I was surprised when she said in a loud voice to the officer standing next to her that the suspect’s daughter was going to be staying at Heartlands Hotel in Chipping Redbury. It was a throw-away comment which she followed up by saying something about how she would love for someone to take her to lunch there, never mind actually staying the night in such luxury. The female officer she was speaking to laughed and said that she thought herself lucky if her husband took her to a MacDonald’s.

  I let Grace think I was studying in the library and caught the bus to Chipping Redbury. The village, according to my geography teacher, was actually a hamlet made up of a few stone cottages with mossy, thatched rooves. Heartlands Hotel was a famous retreat where the rich and famous dropped in, often by helicopter, for luxury spa breaks.

  Nina and her fabulously wealthy husband were in town.

  The hotel was a bit of a trek from the bus stop, but it didn’t matter; I needed thinking time. I walked along a narrow path which ran parallel to the road. Clouds of custard coloured dust shot out with each step I took. My head was bursting; it was as though I had two voices battling inside my mind; one filling my thoughts with misery, the other frantically trying to search for an escape route.

  After quarter of an hour, I stopped at a five-bar gate and stood on the lower rung leaning over the top, the metal cool against my skin. I was pathetic. I had never doubted what Grace relayed to me about my early life and had gone along with whatever she told me to do, after all, she was the only family I had. But, until the very moment I stood over Amelie’s dead body, the question had never raised itself: what if everything Grace told me about my childhood was just a pack of lies? After all, Tom was only a faint memory, kept alive by the underwater channel he created.

  But it was Barney’s death that was the final tipping point. When I came back from school and saw his poor little lifeless body lying on the patio, I knew this senseless killing was going to continue – Grace had to be stopped.

  I knew I could make things right for Flo and Tom. But it wasn’t as easy as walking into a police station and confessing. Grace was far too clever for that; out would come Cassie’s medical records, the proof I was disturbed and damaged goods. And if Grace caught me in the act of trying to trap her, she’d almost certainly kill me and make it look like suicide; I was a self-harmer, wasn’t I?

  Or maybe she’d just give me a bloody great overdose of my sleeping tablets.

  A grey horse with a pink and white muzzle came over and puffed hot breath at me. I picked a huge clump of grass by my feet and held it out to him on my flattened palm. His lips were velvet against my skin and his whiskers tickled my wrists. A couple of flies danced around his ears and I tried to swat them away.

  The only way for Grace to be stopped was for someone else to get to the truth behind who we used to be and that somebody had to be Flo.

  The horse nudged me, and I stooped to tear at another handful of grass.

  I closed my eyes trying to force my splintered childhood memories to the front of my mind. What exactly did I remember? All I knew was what Grace had told me: I had been a terrible, feral child and Dad had sent me to see a doctor. This doctor was Tom and I said something to him which somehow led to my father’s death. For some reason, unknown to me, Tom had quit medicine and moved to Rutland and I was left with a recurring nightmare about a mermaid.

  The distant rumble of thunder brought me back into the present and I tickled my companion goodbye, promising him more lush grass on my return journey. I had the very sketchy beginnings of a plan and, just knowing that, gave me a sense of calm. The path took a sharp left turn and fanned out into a wide gravel drive at the end of which sat a large, white mansion framed by a broad sweep of parkland. Despite the heavy sky, pockets of sunlight filtered through the clouds and created bright lime patches of grass.

  I walked up the wide marble steps and a man in a powder blue jacket laced with gold brocade sprang forward and opened the door. He gave me a quizzical look which swept over my body and finished up following my dusty canvas shoes over the doorstep. Suddenly ashamed of my baggy clothes I slunk into the lobby and almost collided with a narrow plinth; an ebony vase sat atop, bursting with red lilies. Their stamens were loaded with yellow dust and their scent overpowering, like someone had sprinkled them with cheap talcum powder. The reception desk was nowhere in sight. I turned full circle to see a woman with slicked back hair wearing a grey trouser suit and circular glasses, materialise from behind the flowers. I started.

  “Good afternoon. My name’s Jessica. How can I help?” She held out an iPad as though it were a tea tray.

  I patted my back pocket and realised I hadn’t brought my emergency notepad with me. Grace had confiscated my phone before I left. Jessica tapped her pencil against the edge of the screen and my ears tingled.

  “Hey, Lils. What the hell are you doing here?”

  I turned to see Flo walking across the marble tiles and my eyes popped. She was dressed in the most extraordinary outfit; a pinafore dress, white blouse, white knee-high socks and patent buckled shoes. Her hair was tied up with a bow the colour of a pig’s snout.

  “She’s with me,” Flo said to Jessica who scuttled back to her hiding place behind the vase. The whites of Flo’s eyes were pink, her irises over-bright. She wrapped an arm around me, and I rested my head on her shoulder.

  “It’s all just a little bit shit, isn’t it?” she said before pulling away.

  I pointed at her clothes.

  “Oh, yes. I know. I look like an absolute prize twat. This outfit is a gift from my stepfather and Mummy dearest insisted I wear it to please the fat git. He’s totally old and decrepit – from an era where apparently girls should dress like girls, but I mean – how fucking old does he think I am?”

  I held up six fingers.

  “Of course, I refused point blank until Mum reminded me that Frank is paying for Dad’s legal fees.” She pulled at the skirt of her pinafore. “So, you see I didn’t have a choice. I’m being blackmailed to look like an extra from The Famous Five. I’m
just praying I don’t bump into anyone else I know.”

  I squeezed her hand.

  “Did Annie tell you I was here?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “It’s been awful not being able to talk to you. Why can’t you use your phone at the moment? Can you believe what they are saying about Dad?” Her voice grew thick. “Did…did they question you and Grace too?”

  I mimed writing on my palm.

  She pulled my arm. “You’d better come into the garden and say hi to Mum. I’m afraid Frank the Fuckwit is with her but do feel free to completely ignore him. One is pretending to be frightfully posh and one is having afternoon tea.” She laughed. “I must have left my phone out there when I went to the bathroom. Frank’s such a fat pig so we’ve had to order loads of cake so you might as well come and eat some of it.”

  We went along a dark corridor with wood panelling rising to waist height. Above it hung several portraits of creepy looking men with bulbous eyes, smooth skin and crimson lips. At the end of the passage the door was propped open and the rectangle of carpet next to the doorstep grew bright then dark as the thickening clouds rolled across the sun.

  I stepped out onto a terrace. Butterflies fluttered on the breeze and the cream roses, weaving through a trellis next to me, gave out a sweet, vanilla perfume. The tier of patio I was standing on was dotted with circular tables all set with linen cloths and silver cutlery. Women in floral dresses and men in linen suits sat on wicker chairs, sipping tea and nibbling on triangular sandwiches. Flo beckoned and I followed her down a trio of wide steps, ending in a white, gravel path which stopped before a bubbling fountain with two winged cherubs entwined in a passionate embrace at its centre.

  “They’re over there,” said Flo, pointing to a table next to the lawn.

  My feet crunched over the gravel path as I skirted the base of the fountain which spat droplets of cold water at me. I rounded the circular pond and was met by a wide expanse of manicured lawn with an orchard at the far side; squat trees covered in glossy leaves and dotted with small, lime-green bullets. I could see hens with feathered legs, like grey snow-boots, pecking around in the meadow. It was beautiful, as though I had stumbled across a remote island, cut off from civilisation.

  “Oh, hello you,” said Flo, stooping as a little toffee and white Jack Russell came tearing over, wagging its stumpy tail.

  I stopped. I recognised the folded down ear and floral collar. I pressed against the stone wall of the pond, keeping myself in line with the cherubs. I grabbed Flo’s hand and pulled her back.

  “What?”

  I pressed a finger to my lips and crouched down. Slowly I peered around the edge of the water feature. There, sitting next to Nina was the man with the snowy beard who I had met on the steps of the library. I pressed the back of my head against the damp bricks.

  I made a beard with my hand and pointed.

  “I know. Gross isn’t he? And Mum actually shags him.” She pretended to vomit.

  My scalp prickled. This wasn’t a coincidence. Uncle Frank? I forced myself to look again but this time he saw me – his steely-grey eyes narrowing and a small smile dancing on his wet, mauve lips.

  Dizzy, I got to my feet and hurried back the way we came, the soles of my shoes skidding against the gravel. I could hear Flo calling after me, but I didn’t turn back. As soon as I was inside the building I headed for the nearest cloakroom, diving into the first cubicle and bolting the door behind me. I sat on the loo with my head buried in my hands, breathing in a nauseating spiced ginger pot pourri.

  The door creaked open.

  “Lily? Are you in here?” said Flo.

  I banged the wall with my foot.

  “What’s up? You feeling okay?”

  I forced myself upright and opened the door. On the other side of the loos ran a shallow, ceramic trough, gold taps placed at regular intervals. I splashed water onto my face, all the time gazing at my reflection in the mirror; my skin now chalky white under the stark neon lighting. Flo had grabbed a handful of paper towels and thrust a pen under my nose.

  “What’s going on?”

  I dried my face with one sheet then unfolded the next, smoothing out the crease with my fingertips.

  That man has got something to do with my past.

  Flo shook her head. “Who? Fuckwit Frank? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  You have to trust me. Grace and I, we used to have a different life. I think he was part of it. Somehow, he’s involved with what is happening to your Dad.

  “Lily, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  Our names haven’t always been

  The door burst open again and in sashayed Nina. She was groomed to perfection and it was hard not to gawp at her; not an eyelash was out of place, her honeyed skin smooth and flawless.

  “Are you alright, Lily?” she asked, her voice stretched and slow.

  “She just felt a bit faint,” said Flo, screwing up the handtowels and throwing them into the bin.

  Nina took out a silver cylinder from her purse and leaned into the mirror, dotting the plum point onto her lips. She continued talking all the time giving her angular face a once over. “I’m not surprised. It’s muggy out there today, but with all that’s going on…” She grabbed a tissue from a ceramic box and blotted it against her mouth. “Frankie, the dear, sweet man, is very worried about you. He’s sent for his chauffeur to take you home.”

  My eyes bulged and Flo shook her head at me.

  “No, Mum, it’s fine. Lily’s okay now. We’re going up to my room to chill.”

  Nina pinched the tops of her cheeks. “Too late for that. The car is on its way.” She turned and put a finger under my chin. “You look ghastly, darling girl. I think the best place for you is at home with your Mum.”

  I grabbed Flo’s hand and ground her fingers together.

  She yelped. “Mum, seriously. Lils had a funny moment and now it’s passed. We’re gonna do a bit of English revision together cos it’s our last literature exam tomorrow.”

  Nina flapped her hands around her face. “Florence, you mustn’t be embarrassed about accepting help from a friend. Frankie was just about to leave anyway, he’s got some business to attend to and then he’s heading off to his bolthole, or man cave, as I like to call it. Taking all things into account, he was most concerned that Lily should get home safely. I think it’s a good idea for him to escort her back. Anyway, you know Frankie, he absolutely won’t take no for an answer.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Flo

  I was squashed into a crowd of nosy onlookers; gagging over the disgusting combination of other people’s sweat, washing powder and perfume. Mum had offered to come with me, but I didn’t want her there; she would’ve pitched up dressed like a film star, trying to look all mysterious. I knew she was trying her hardest to be supportive, but the presence of the tabloids was too great; she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from standing on the stone steps of the court house and making a dumb statement – probably handing out fliers for her next exhibition while she was at it.

  Also, to be honest, I wasn’t sure whose side Mum was on.

  Frank’s super expensive lawyer, Clive ‘Bungle-Toad’ QC, wasn’t needed for this bit and though I’d been told a hundred times that Dad wouldn’t be getting bail, it didn’t stop me hoping.

  I knew Grace wouldn’t be there. She’d already sent me a flaky message saying she’d finished with Dad. Some self-centred garbage about ‘overwhelming evidence’ and her need for ‘some me-time to process things’. Of course, she hoped I’d understand, but, after all, she had her own daughter’s safety to think about too. Bullshit.

  I’d hoped Lily might show, but I hadn’t heard from her since she’d left in Frank’s car which was a bit worrying. As well as needing her support, I’d wanted her to explain what she’d been going on about in the hotel bathroom because it hadn’t made any sense.

  I was herded into the court room. It was a large, boxy space, a bit like our scho
ol lecture theatre with pale, wooden-framed seating covered with scratchy cushions. There were no windows. White tubes of light lined the ceiling tiles and showed up the grey blobs of chewing gum splattered on the nylon carpet. I slid onto the nearest chair and a fat woman with an ugly pageboy cut elbowed me in the waist.

  She gave me a wonky smile. “So sorry. Heavens – it’s like being at a wrestling match, isn’t it?” She was wearing a dress made of lots of shiny fabric which rustled as she moved, and her jacket puffed at the arms where the excess material had bunched up.

  I nodded but said nothing. I was wearing black trousers and a polo neck and had scraped my hair up into a ballet bun, slapping on a thick layer of face powder in the hope that no one would recognise me.

  “I just want to look him in those evil eyes. Tell him God is on our side,” the woman said, wheezing her disgusting coffee breath in my face. “You?”

  “My cousin is in for a traffic offence,” I blurted out. “I’m here to support him.”

  The woman clamped her sausage fingers around my upper arm. “May God be with you and him.” Then she leaned over and cupped her hand against my ear, her warm breath tickling my neck. “Besides, I’m sure He’s got His mind on more important things today.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to wipe the smirk off the fat bitch’s face by declaring that my imaginary cousin had ploughed into a mother and toddler group killing everyone in sight but was stopped by a sharp increase of chatter. A man in a charcoal suit was ushered onto a front row seat. It was Amelie’s Dad – I’d seen him on the news. He didn’t look at anyone and when he sat down, his long body concertinaed into the chair. He leant forward and buried his face in his hands. From my angle all I could see was a bald patch on the top of his head where the neon lights shone through his thin hair and bounced off his scalp.

  A few minutes later someone shouted for the courtroom to stand and be silent. Then a door opened and in shuffled a trio of oldies who plonked themselves down on a raised platform.