The Well (24 page)

Helen surrendered herself to Abby’s embrace, shaking with both fear and cold –and sobbing uncontrollably. She tried to talk. “It – it was – her. It was her. God – it was awful.”

Abby shushed her. “Don’t talk. You can tell me about it in a bit. We need to get you cleaned up.” She fought back her own tears.
Time for that later,
she thought.

Sammy returned with the towels. She handed them to Abby, and said, in a quiet voice, “I suppose you want me to go upstairs now?”

Truth be told, that was exactly what Abby wanted – not because she didn’t want Sammy to see Helen in this state, but because she didn’t feel she could cope with both of the girls in her life crying at the same time. “No, Sam, you don’t have to. But I need you to be quiet for a moment, while I help Helen. I know this is scary stuff, but Helen’s going to be OK, really. I promise. Can you sit and be quiet?”

Sammy nodded.

“Good girl.”

Abby ignored the mud covering Helen and concentrated on her arm. She poured the water over Helen’s arm. Then she soaked one of the towels with it before carefully wiping her arm. It was a long, clean cut. Although there was a lot of blood, it didn’t look as though the artery had been cut – the blood was flowing, not pumping.

“Crap, Helen, this is a pretty bad cut.” Abby realised too late that she’d sworn in front of Sammy.
As if she’s not heard me say it – or think it – before
, she thought.

Helen nodded, sniffling. “Tell me about it.”

“We need to get you cleaned up. Then see if I can stop the bleeding. If I can’t, we’ll have to take you to the hospital. You might need stitches.”

Helen didn’t protest, but Abby knew that taking her to hospital wouldn’t necessarily be a smart thing to do. The cut was so straight that it was obviously intentional. Questions would be asked, such as
had someone done this, or had she done it herself?
They could come up with some kind of story, but if the doctor didn’t believe them, the police could be called.

One thing at a time,
thought Helen. She glanced over at Sammy, who was staring intently at them. “Is Helen OK, Mummy?”

“Yes, Sam, she is. We just need to get her cleaned up. She’s a mess. Could you go and turn the shower on?”

Sammy nodded and ran upstairs again.

Abby stood and helped Helen to her feet. “Come on, you, let’s get you clean. Just keep pressing this towel against your arm.”

Abby led Helen upstairs and into the bathroom. She sat her on the toilet. “Helen, give me a minute to sort Sammy, OK?”

Helen nodded, sniffing back tears.

“Come on, Sam.” She led Sammy into the sitting room.

“Look Sammy, I’m really sorry. But I need to clean Helen up and it’s going to take a bit of time.”

“I know, Mummy.”

“Will you be OK on your own for a few minutes? Watching TV?”

Sammy nodded. “Will you have to take Helen to the hospital?”

“I don’t know, baby. I hope not. I think it looks worse than it is.” She squeezed Sammy’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“OK Mummy. Look after Helen.” Abby turned to go, but Sammy held on to her hand. “Remember what I said, Mummy. Don’t be mad. She’s not saying, but she’s scared of you.” Puzzled, Abby squeezed Sammy’s hand again and kissed her forehead. “OK, Sam. I promise.”

She went back to the bathroom and closed the door gently. The hot shower was already steaming up the tiled walls. She knelt in front of Helen and took her hands. “You OK?”

Helen shook her head and started crying again.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s get you cleaned up and dried.”

She undressed Helen, taking care when removing her jumper to not hurt her arm. She was a soaked, shivering, muddy mess. Abby led Helen to the shower. “Hang on,” she said, realising that Helen couldn’t manage on her own. She quickly undressed.

She washed Helen down, brushing the mud away with a flannel. The filth seemed almost endless, but eventually the water under their feet was running clear apart from the blood. She then washed Helen’s hair, untangling it as much as she could. Then she reduced the temperature of the shower, took the showerhead and cleaned Helen’s wound as much as she could, probing it with her fingers to push any mud or dirt out. Each time Abby pressed the wound, Helen winced – but her crying had almost stopped. Then she turned off the shower and led Helen out.

She wrapped a towel around Helen and sat her down. “Give me a minute,” she said. “I just want to check on Sammy.” Still wet, she put on her bathrobe and quickly looked into the living room. Sammy was curled up on the sofa; the television was on, but Abby was surprised to see that Sammy had fallen asleep. Abby checked her forehead: it was still fevered, but definitely slightly less hot than it had been.
She must be wiped out
, thought Abby.
I’ll have to wake her in a bit,
she’s not had anything to eat yet.

She went back to Helen who still seemed to be in shock, towel wrapped around herself, clutching her arm. There was blood on the towel, but less than Abby had expected to see.

“Come on,” she said, rubbing Helen dry. “You can tell me about it now.”

Their eyes met, Helen’s full of torment. They began to fill with tears again, and Abby gently kissed her. “You’re safe now. It’s OK.”

“Oh, Abby,” said Helen. “It was terrible. It was – her.”

“I know. Sammy told me.”

“Sammy told you? Is she OK? What did she – see?”

“Not a lot, just that you were hurt and crying. She didn’t know what happened. She’s sleeping – her sleep pattern’s all to cock and she’s stressed out most of the time. Let’s look at that arm again.”

Helen extended her arm. The cut was clean; it hadn’t stopped bleeding but the flow was definitely slowing.

“I’m going to have to clean it again,” said Abby. “Hang on.” She went to the kitchen and brought back a small plastic first-aid kit, then cleaned the wound carefully – and as gently as she could – with iodine. It started the bleeding off again, though not as bad as before. Helen gritted her teeth as Abby applied the iodine.

“We might get away with not taking you to hospital,” she said. “Or at least we might buy enough time for you to settle down. You can’t go like this.”

Helen nodded. Abby dressed the wound with a bandage from the kit. “Not bad,” she said. “That must hurt like hell.”

“It does,” said Helen, “but less now.”

“Pain killers or alcohol?” asked Abby.

“Alcohol,” replied Helen. “Definitely alcohol. No – screw it, I’ll have both.”

Abby led Helen into the bedroom.
At least she’s moving of her own accord now,
thought Abby.
She was like a zombie before
. She helped Helen get into a t-shirt and some knickers. “I’ll get you a drink.”

When Abby returned with the half-full glass and tablets, Helen looked exhausted. “Whiskey,” said Abby. “The good stuff.” She passed the drink to Helen and sat crossed-legged on the bed, facing her. Helen took a long drink. Then she put the tablets in her mouth and washed them down with a little more.

“What happened?” asked Abby.

Helen told her.

If the woman hadn’t said that she would need to lie, Helen wouldn’t have even considered it – even so, she considered it only fleetingly. She told Abby everything. She’d never lied to Abby before and she wasn’t going to start now.
My trust in Abby is as absolute as my love for her
, reflected Helen.
Well, perhaps not quite absolute
,
otherwise I wouldn’t have even considered lying to Abby.

Abby listened while Helen spoke, her hand resting on Helen’s injured arm while she sipped whiskey with the other. As each minute passed, Abby grew increasingly angry.

Helen grew more tearful and hesitant when she reached the moment where she and the woman had kissed. “I’m so, so sorry,” said Helen, breaking down again.

“Hush, now,” said Abby. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it
is
,” said Helen. “I wanted her. I – really wanted her. I
enjoyed
it.” She lowered her voice. “I didn’t even think about you.”

Abby shook her head. “You wanted her because she told you to. Not because you really wanted her. Like hypnosis.”

Tears poured from Helen’s eyes. “No,” she snapped. “I really did want her. She felt evil and cold – and I – I loved it. You can’t possibly forgive me for that.”

Abby shook Helen. “Listen to me. That’s not you, and you know it.” She lowered her voice. “Helen. You feel guilty. And because you feel guilty you want me to be annoyed. Well I am annoyed. I’m fucking livid. But not with you, not even in the slightest. I don’t forgive you, because there’s nothing to forgive. I love you.”

Helen wiped away her tears and looked into Abby’s blue eyes. They were unblinking, earnest.

“Sammy says that you’re scared of me,” said Abby, gently. “Is it because of this – the kiss?”

Helen nodded, her eyes lowered.

“Don’t be so daft,” said Abby.

“But I
wanted
her,” said Helen.

I have to tell her,
thought Helen.
Trust her, trust yourself and trust your relationship.
“Abby,” she said, hesitantly. “I
really
wanted her. She – she turned me on. Maybe more than you ever have. It felt – good and awful at the same time.”

There was the briefest of pauses. “Helen,” said Abby, intently. “Nothing can come between us – and certainly not her. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I trust you. Completely.”

Helen met Abby’s eyes, but said nothing.

“Is there something else?” asked Abby.

“Abby – I – yes, there is. I just don’t agree with this. I try to. I try to see the alternative, but I can’t. I can’t get over the fact that an innocent girl is going to die – because we let her. Abby,
it’s not right
. It makes us murderers as surely as if we kill her ourselves.”

“Helen, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, but – well, I guess I didn’t say what I really thought.”

“Which is?” said Abby, tersely.

Helen hesitated. “Well – I can’t help feeling that you’re letting things play out too easily. This is a girl. A real life. We’re letting her die.”

“And? What do you want me to do – go and save her so that ten other children can die? You know what’s at stake here.”

“Yes, but…”

“Ten, Helen. Ten.” She held up both of her hands, with only one finger outstretched. “Which do you honestly prefer? One?” She extended all of her fingers. “Or ten?”

“Wrong is wrong, Abby. Have you forgotten that?”

“No I bloody well haven’t,” said Abby, annoyed.

Helen’s eyes widened; she’d never seen Abby so cross.

“I damn well
do
know what’s going on,” said Abby, raising her voice. “And I really don’t like it. But what do you really, honestly want me to do? Go and rescue her for five minutes of fame and a warm feeling that lasts about as long? By the next day, ten –
ten!
children will be gone.”
Abby extended her fingers one by one, her voice becoming more emphatic as she counted off each number, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and yes ten,
ten
other bloody children will be dead. I know it’s crap, but I don’t see what I can do. Do you?”

Abby was almost panting from her rant. Helen was stunned: never had they had such an exchange.

“Abby – I, I just don’t know if I can deal with it.”

Abby calmed herself and cupped Helen’s head in her hands, kissing her forehead.

“Please, please trust me,” said Abby. “All of my life, I thought that I would have to deal with this on my own. Now that you’re here, with me, I don’t want to be fighting you. If you really think there’s something different I could be doing, I’m all ears. Otherwise, please – trust me. Crap though it is. I need you.”

The two women faced each other, drawing breath. Helen clasped Abby’s arms.

“I know you’re right,” said Helen. “Logically. It’s one versus ten. But it feels so wrong.”

“It does to me too,” said Abby. “Really, it does.”

Helen inhaled and closed her eyes. “I know,” she said. “It’s been brewing inside me since this whole thing began. But tonight – the power of that, woman, thing, whatever she is – made me feel so… I can’t explain it. Against you.
For
her. I really wanted her. I didn’t care about you. I wanted her.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” repeated Abby. “Nothing. Well, other than drive home via the lane – that was a bit stupid.”

“I know,” said Helen, feeling chastened.

“Anyhow,” said Abby, “If anyone should be guilty, it’s me.”

“How so?”

“If you weren’t with me, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“But –” Helen began, but Abby raised her hand.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be made to feel guilty for loving you,” said Abby.

There was a long silence. Helen finished her whiskey and put down the glass. Abby got into the bed and hugged Helen. “This changes nothing,” she said. “Not in the slightest.”

“Thank you,” said Helen. “I was worried –”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t. She said – that I’d need to lie to you. That – God, I don’t know – me wanting her would be the end of us, I guess.”

Abby smiled and kissed Helen. “Well,” she said, “all that proves is that she isn’t all-powerful. She doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t understand love, only hate. There’s nothing she can do to drive you from me.”

Abby spoke as if she believed it, but Helen wasn’t convinced. “She’s dead – gone. But she cut me. For real. How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” conceded Abby. “I’m not making up the rules here.”

“What do we do now?”

“Same as we have been,” replied Abby. “We wait. And hope. And look after each other.” She kissed Helen on the nose. “Now, you need to rest a little. OK?”

Helen nodded. “I’ll try. I don’t think I can sleep though.”

“Don’t worry,” said Abby. “I have some sleeping tablets. I got them after I was broken into. I had trouble relaxing at night after that. But I didn’t use them all.”

“Painkillers, whiskey
and
sleeping tablets,” said Helen. “Bring it on.”