Submersion (41 page)

‘It was the blood on the floor that inspired me, crude as that might sound. Your father had accidently dropped the corpse at the top of the stairs, whilst carrying it from the kitchen. It stained the hallway floor, almost instantly. There was no denying it but I also knew there was no way of identifying whose blood it was. At least, Monty didn’t have this capability. So, I played a clever game – put the ragged, limp body of the dog in the river road, hoped it would flush away and then I rang Monty Harrison myself and made a confession.

‘I knew this decision would tie me to the man forever, but I couldn’t think of another solution. I needed to save your father and still have Monty on side. And I needed to protect you above anything else. So I made my confession – swapping your father for the dog. Told him I’d lost my temper, stabbed your father and rolled his body into the river. Told him there was blood everywhere. That I needed his help. That I might need his protection too.

‘He didn’t doubt me for a moment, you know. I did have a bit of a temper – not violent, but what my mother would have called feisty. I stood up for myself, and I was certain Joe must have moaned about this to his colleagues, to Monty even. So, I guessed my violent outburst might not be so questionable. I also thought he might come over, check out my story, so I didn’t clean up the blood as well as I could. Despite the fact I knew you might notice, that you might ask questions, I left a bit of a stain, a bit of evidence, if you like. Yet Monty never came. He just took my word for it that I’d killed your father in a fit of rage. But I didn’t get away with it entirely; he did use his belief I’d killed your father to his advantage.

‘
I’ll look after you, Esther,
he told me a few days later.
I’ll keep you and your boy safe, keep your secret safe, but you might have to look after me, too. Help me out a bit.

‘And so I did, Billy. I began working for Monty Harrison, using my
very exclusive talent
,
as Monty likes to put it, to
keep him safe.’

‘You clean for him?’ I said, stating the obvious, but the look on her face said there was more to it.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed, her tone heavy. ‘Whenever Mr Harrison or one of his boys make a mess – which is frequently – I go in and clean it up. Clean up every trace.’

She didn’t elaborate any further, but I didn’t ask her, either. My interests lay elsewhere.

‘So where did he go?’ I asked, sitting up a little. ‘I thought he’d vanished, Mother. I heard the door that night. Remember I came down and Father sent me back upstairs. Told me to go back to bed.’

‘The last thing he said to you,’ she said, confirming she remembered the detail, too.

‘Yes. And then the door slammed, and he wasn’t in the street.’

Mother looked puzzled.

‘I looked. From your bedroom. And he wasn’t there, he wasn’t in the street. I thought he’d left then. But he wasn’t there. I thought he’d vanished.’

‘Into thin air?’ Mother checked.

‘Yes. Like magic.’

She shook her head.

‘We still had the puppy’s corpse when you came back down. It was too much of a risk that you might come down again, so we got rid of it. Opened the door and dropped it into the water. And we must have slammed the door after that, Billy.’

So, there was another childhood mystery solved – my father’s enigmatic exit reduced to the disposal of a dead dog and a slammed door. No vanishing after all. Yet, it didn’t explain his disappearance. It didn’t explain that when I got up in the middle of the night and scouted quietly through the house, he was no longer there.

The image of the shattered coconut on the red cloth flashed back in my mind.

‘Did you kill it in the kitchen? On the table?’

Mother nodded, her brow creasing with an anxiety, as she feared what was coming next.

‘I got up after you’d gone to bed, went into the kitchen.’

She nodded, acknowledging what I see could see in my head.

‘Oh Billy, it made such a mess… Such a terrible, terrible mess… I should have cleaned it all up straightaway, but I couldn’t face… I’m so sorry you saw that, so sorry, my love…’

I managed to shrug my shoulders: it didn’t matter and I hadn’t been traumatised at the time, after all. Confused, yes, but the stories Mother had told me had kept me safe from the horror. Her lies had done me some good.

‘In my head it’s still coconut,’ I said and, through tears, mother found herself almost laughing.

My original question still hadn’t been answered, so I went back to it.

‘So where did Father go?’ I asked again.

The immediate answer was simple.

‘Nowhere, Billy,’ she told me. Seeing my surprise, she elaborated. ‘Not for weeks, at least. Not for nearly two months, in fact. He stayed in the house, hidden.’

‘Hidden?’

‘Yes, hidden, in a special room under the house. A room we keep locked.’

I knew instantly where she meant – there was the locked door in our kitchen, with a staircase behind it that led straight down to the cellar, bypassing the ground floor entirely. I wasn’t allowed in there and it was always locked. I’d assumed that Mother kept something secret or precious in there, but hadn’t imagined she kept a person in there.

‘He was here all that time?’

‘Yes, he was,’ Mother said, smiling a little. ‘So I got to keep him for a bit longer.’

But her smile fell instantly, as she saw the look on my face.
But I didn’t get to see him,
it said. And, as I felt hot tears stream down my face, I saw them mirrored on hers.

‘It wasn’t safe, Billy. I couldn’t have risked you knowing. You were so young, so innocent. You’d never have been able to keep that secret, no matter what you might think. It would have just been too much to ask. Too much to expect. And I had to keep you safe, above everything else.’

‘What happened when he left?’

‘He just snuck away one night, when we felt it was safe enough.’

But that hadn’t quite been what I meant.

‘No, since then,’ I stressed.

‘I don’t know, Billy,’ she said, sorrowfully, and I saw her full ache in her eyes. ‘I haven’t heard from him since.’

Those six words drew a line under her story, made us both pause and think. I had so many questions to ask. About my father, about Monty Harrison, about my cousins Ethan and Joshua, too. It was hard to know where to start. What to ask first, and who to go to. But, if my father’s fictitious death had to remain as such, there wasn’t much digging I could reasonably do.

‘This really has to remain a secret, Billy. You understand? I only told you because of what happened – because you went looking and because your curiosity put you in such danger. But this brings it all to an end, okay?’

Mother’s sterner face was returning – not quite as harsh and controlled as before, but she had less of Aunt Agnes about her again.

‘Yes,’ I agreed and she softened, just an inch or so.

‘Good. Now, I’m going to leave you for a while. See if you can get some rest,’ she said, standing up, staring at the ceiling. There was a wide wet patch there, but the dripping had slowed down. By then, the heavy downpour had diminished to a gentle pitter-patter. ‘No more talk of this, though. You’ve got everything I know, now, and that has to be enough. For both our sakes.’

I let her believe that I would leave it there. That I wouldn’t pursue it any further. But inside I made a different promise. As soon as I was well enough, as soon as I could get out of the house and was back at school, I’d seek out my good friend Tilly Harrison. She was my way to the truth, I was certain. She was my way to get closer to the one man who might have more answers – Monty. I’d just have to be careful.

Yet, that wouldn’t be happening any time soon.

Below, I heard a gasp from Mother, alerting me that something was seriously wrong.

Imagining a whole range of horrors, I pulled myself out from under my covers, careful not to knock the steel bucket that was catching drips and made my way down the attic stairs.

I found Mother on the first floor landing. Standing in the very spot where five years ago Father had spilled the blood of that puppy he’d brought into the house – another mystery in itself. She was silent, stunned by the latest disaster that had befallen us.

The water level had risen.

Whether it was the heavy rains or some other trigger, our entire ground floor was underwater, the murky waves of the river road lapping the top rung of our stairs, its translucent lips licking at the ceiling.

We were trapped.

16. Agnes

I remember the first time I met Ronan. It wasn’t an official introduction, more an accidental stumbling across him. Or
them,
I should say, as it was Ronan and Mother I stumbled across.

After Father had died and Esther and I were no longer living at home with her, Mother downsized. Sold our family home and bought a small, first floor flat on the north-west side of the city, five streets on from where Esther and Billy live. I remember the ground floor was empty, as the owners couldn’t tempt anyone to reside on the same level as those fearsome packs of dogs. Everyone lived at least one storey up. Once her new home and associated fees were paid up, Mother split the remaining funds between my sister and me, allowing us to put generous deposits on the houses we still owned to this day.

The day I was unintentionally introduced to Ronan, Mother had been in the property about three months. We all had keys to each other’s places – Esther, Aunt Penny and myself – so we never knocked before entering, just let ourselves in. On entering the house, I could hear voices upstairs. Mother’s and his, which of course I didn’t recognise. Having no reason to think I might be intruding, I ventured forth as usual, making my way towards the sound – laughter and soft words in contrasting tones – unaware of the very personal nature of the scene I would encounter.

They were in the spare room and realising her companion was a stranger, I paused outside the door. It was generously ajar, enough that I could see them, but I held back so that they were unlikely to catch me unless I moved. There were dust sheets overlapping on the floor, covering up carpets and, from my limited view, I could see an opened tin of paint – a greyish white that Mother covered all her walls with. There was a pile of newspapers too, with spare brushes laid on top. They had their backs to me, but even without seeing her face, I could tell she was in love with this man. The way she jostled against him, the light peel of her laughter and her hair was down. Her long, greying hairs shaken onto her shoulders and unbrushed. This small detail was oddly shocking. I couldn’t recall the last time she hadn’t been immaculately presented. Her clothing gave her away, too. An old pair of worn trousers and a baggy shirt – not one of hers, not an unearthed shirt of Father’s either. One of his. One of Ronan’s. I wasn’t supposed to see her like this; this was just for him.

A little embarrassed and feeling like a clandestine voyeur, I stepped away from the scene as quietly as possible. A few boards creaked and I was certain they would have heard the door as I closed it.

The next time I saw Ronan was when he was officially introduced to me at a family gathering at Esther’s house. I noticed that change in Mother again. Her hair was in place, her clothes up to her usual smart and tidy standard. But her eyes were different – soft, hazy, gazing rather than looking. Esther saw it too. Only, whilst I was pleased for her joy, Esther instantly objected – to this happiness without our father, and to the man himself.

‘She’s got to move on,’ I warned her, softly. ‘And look how happy she is, how at ease.’

Esther stuck to her instincts and let Ronan into her heart and home as little as possible. Years later, I was wondering how often my sister’s rash decisions had hidden wisdom like this one?

‘I should have listened,’ I reflected, as we rowed closer and closer, my stomach sick with anticipation.

In the past, I had often thought how sad it was that we so rarely visited Ronan at the old flat. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the place where Mother had died, and Esther didn’t visit as it would suggest she recognised him as a family member, a campaign she was devoted to. Rowing there that day with Augustus, it struck me as foolish. To have not kept an eye on this man, who in reflection we knew so little about. To not have gone looking for Elinor in more obvious places. Yet, I’d been so distracted with my belief that she’d been taken by the authorities that it had never occurred to me to look closer to home. We’d even sent Ronan out looking for her, taking his word that he hadn’t found a trace.

When we arrived, I was shocked by the state of the area. It seemed pretty abandoned. Not like the centre of town, where whole buildings had been emptied and boarded up. But many appeared empty; at least, not fit enough to inhabit. As we rowed our final feet, I eyed the window frames of shattered glass - a blow away from disintegrating - and graffitied walls with intensified fear.

‘No one else is here,’ I whispered to Augustus and he replied with a neutral nod. No reassurances; he was thinking the same chilling thought as me.

‘Let’s pull up,’ he said, slowing his oars, but not mooring.

‘Oh, it’s this one, Augustus,’ I told him, pointing to a house three doors along. ‘A bit further up.’ Already, the sight of the flat’s exterior door - swinging out into the river road, held open by the weight of the water - had my heart pumping, my hope dissipating. ‘I don’t think he’s here,’ I voiced, as we reached the entrance.
I don’t want to go in,
is what I meant.

Ignoring my hesitancy, Augustus secured the boat and gently pushed me on.

‘Come on, dear, let’s look.’

I called out as I climbed those stairs, each step up taking an eternity, my cries of her name sounding long, and low, as if someone had slowed down the tape.

The tape.

Reuben had taken the tape. My invisible, imaginary Reuben had taken the tape.

How was that possible?

‘Agnes, I’m right here, keep going,’ Augustus encouraged, unaware of what had distracted me. ‘Agnes.’

His tone was sharper, not quite a scolding, but enough to get me moving up those last rungs. I banished Reuben’s mystery from my head; I could come back to it later.

‘I didn’t bring the evidence,’ I managed, though that wasn’t quite the truth – it had been taken.

‘It’s okay. He won’t have anything to play it on. We’ll come back to that,’ he reassured, as we finally reached the first floor.
It’s okay, he’s not here,
the old man might have said.

Like the exterior door, the door to my mother’s old flat was open, but forced open. The lock hanging off, the wood around it splintered. Augustus pushed a finger up to his lips, to quieten me, but anyone remaining in the flat would have heard us already. Besides, my sense that no one was here increased its certainty level. I pushed ahead, determined to see inside and whatever, whoever was there first.

Some instinct drove me to the spare bedroom. The smaller room where I had first encountered Mother and Ronan’s relationship – innocent, yet exposed, their intimacy unguarded amongst the paintbrushes and dust sheets. My thought that day was that this would be exactly where he might have kept Elinor. His granddaughter. He was grandad to her. I had encouraged her to call him that - had been furious with Esther when she’d kicked up a fuss and we’d compromised with
Grandad Ronan.
Now it left me cold with regret. Another mistake made; another distraction from what this man was, from what had happened.

Every sign that she had been there, that she had been so close all along, whilst we had been so far away, was evident in that spare room. There was a single bed, the covers torn back, the base sheet wrinkled. Instinctively, I moved onto it, drew in the smell. Yes. It was her.
Elinor.
I fought back tears, determined not to let my emotions overpower me, determined to keep looking. There were long, dark hairs on the pillow. I crawled up the bed, reaching out, but something distracted me – something tucked under the bed. Reaching out, I felt something I didn’t like. Rough, thick material – woven tight, a metal loop sewn in the end. A strap. On inspection, there were eight of them, one on each side of the bed in pairs.

‘Restraining straps,’ Augustus barely mouthed.

There was a bin in the corner, which Augustus peered into, then steered me away from.

‘Nothing to see,’ he said, but clearly there was.

‘Oh my god, what was he doing to her?’ I cried, barely audible, as I drew something out of the bin - a used syringe. I remember it so clearly – the plastic was a pale, translucent pink and on the end of the pin prick was a tiny, black-red bubble.

‘You shouldn’t…’ the old man began, but didn’t finish, as I dropped the object back. ‘Can I leave you, search the rest?’ he asked, seeing that I was stunned to the spot. I managed to nod, and lowered myself to sit on the edge of the bed.

I was cold with the shock of it all. I had expected us to confront Ronan, for him to explain who he was and tell us where she was. Yes, in my heart I’d been that hopeful, my head equally sure. But I hadn’t anticipated finding the area so desolate and the flat equally abandoned. And the room with the single bed, her smell in the sheets, hair on the pillow, and the straps and the syringe with that dried trace of her blood. I couldn’t bring myself to admit what he might have been doing to her, and yet I couldn’t keep the possibilities out either. What had Papa Harold said to him on that tape?
‘What you did. Families suffered, and some of those children, well, they didn’t make it home.’

Was Elinor another child not to make it home? We were now just another family who had
suffered?

‘Agnes! Agnes!’

Augustus’ cry drew me out of the spell, allowed my limbs to move again, my mind to function with them, though somehow my brain was a little further behind, like my body was moving ahead, too fast, not allowing me to keep up.
Wait!
I wanted to shout at it.
Wait for me!
I wanted to reach out and pull it back – yet that was the problem itself – the arms, the legs, the whole of my physical self was running ahead of me. All I had was mind tricks. ‘
They could get into your mind. Work their way inside your head and make you think something was happening, when it wasn’t. When it couldn’t possibly.’
Wasn’t that on the tape? I could have done with that knowledge, that ability right then and there. But it wasn’t possible, was it? My mind would have to lag behind, as my body hit the scene first.

‘Agnes! Agnes!’

It came from the living room. And that is where I found them both in pieces. Augustus emotionally, his companion literally.

Following my instincts to the spare room, I’d completely bypassed the living room. What I now confronted was a bloodbath. Red was sprayed around the room, as if a rogue hose of warm blood had been let off, splashing haphazardly. I felt sick, woozy at the sight of it all. I wasn’t good with blood. Never had been. But this was worse than anything I had encountered before. I could easily have collapsed, physically and mentally, but I used all my strength to remain conscious. Used all I had to stay focussed and keep my eyes on the scene.

The obvious source was collapsed in the middle of the room, with Augustus knelt beside him. Ronan. He was in one piece, but only just. Even from where I stood, I could see his neck was broken. Worse, torn away. His legs also, twisted outwards.

‘Oh my god!’ I cried, instantly looking around for another body.
Hers.

‘No sign,’ Augustus managed, reading my thoughts.

‘Oh my god, Augustus! You know what this looks! You know what this-.’

My words dissolved, my tongue tied itself, as the true shock of it all sunk in. I couldn’t even comprehend just how close we’d got to her. Couldn’t even consider just how quickly she had slipped from my grasp. I just saw the blood and the remains of a man that could only be the work of a rabid animal.

Later, as our petrifaction lessened and our limbs were loosened again, we were able to think with some reason, a small amount that gave shape to our thoughts and feelings. There was no blood on the stairs, no trail on the boards. So, whatever had done this had somehow managed to avoid stepping in the blood or cleaned itself off. A discovery by Augustus confirmed the latter – the bath had been used recently, the residue of water pink around its plughole.

‘Whoever did this knew what they were doing,’ Augustus managed.

‘But that…’ I said, indicating but not looking at Ronan’s battered, bitten corpse – for there were bite marks about him, in the neck, where I guessed the blood spray had shot. ‘That’s the work of an animal.’

‘An animal that washes itself off, no,’ Augustus continued, getting clarity, somehow finding focus to form a theory amidst this red chaos. ‘Not an animal, not in that sense. This was calculated. Bloody, vicious and calculated. And there’s no sign of Elinor, not amongst the bloodshed. None at all.’

‘You can’t be sure.’

‘No, but I can be certain,’ he said, as if that was something altogether different.

Later, much later, he would turn out to be right. But I didn’t know that then, couldn’t know it then. I could only take his hope and wish it into a fact. And, in absence of anything else, I took it.

Eventually, I descended to the boat, whilst Augustus took one last look around, checking as calmly as he could amongst the calamity of gore and destruction. He joined me and uttered the single word
nothing
before we numbly rowed ourselves home.