Secrets of the Tides (21 page)

‘Dora,’ urges Helen, desperate to stop the words tumbling from her daughter’s mouth, ‘you have to let go. It’s time.’

Dora shakes her head. ‘No,’ she states flatly. ‘I can’t. Not yet.’ She turns back to the window. ‘Not yet.’

It seems their conversation is over.

Helen sighs. The opportunity has passed her by, again. She is ashamed of herself for not speaking out, for not at least trying to ease her daughter’s burden. But then whatever she says, whatever her own private guilt, she knows she can’t change what has happened. There is nothing she can say, after all, that will fix what has been broken.

Dora stays the night. Helen makes up the bed in her old room and once Dora has showered and changed the two women sit in the kitchen and eat supper together. It is an uncomfortable meal. Both are awkward, embarrassed by the half conversations they have shared, but no mention is made of
the day
again, or of Dora’s pregnancy and by nine thirty Dora cries tiredness and takes herself off to bed.

Helen sits up a while longer in front of the television set as it fuzzes and drones in the living room. She pays it no attention. Instead she pictures Dora lying upstairs, in the same brass bed that she slept in on her first visit to Clifftops. She was pregnant then too, with Cassie. It is like some bad joke; history is repeating itself and despite the reassurances she has tried to offer Dora that afternoon, there is no escaping the fact that it plain terrifies her. She can’t comfort Dora or promise that her fears are unfounded because deep down she doesn’t know that they are. Helen has learnt the hard way that life can throw its absolute worst at you; and if she could say anything to her daughter at all, if they were having the conversation all over again, with the raw, brutal honesty she hadn’t felt able to speak with earlier that afternoon, she would tell her daughter to run; to run as fast as she can away from the tears and the grief and the terrible pain life is about to bestow on her.

As Helen sits in the living room and contemplates Dora’s dilemma, her head begins to fill with a carousel of images from the past. They crowd into her mind’s eye like faded Polaroids: the girls shell-seeking on the beach, skinny and sunburnt in swimsuits; Richard cloistered away in his study at Christmas, his fair head bent in concentration over a drawing board; Alfie giggling, his chubby limbs flailing wildly as Dora pulls him along the polished wooden floorboards in the laundry basket; Cassie stomping moodily up the stairs after yet another telling-off about a broken curfew; her husband running ahead of her up to Golden Cap, his coat flapping in the wind; Alfie drawing a smile on the kitchen table with uneaten peas; her three children, two fair heads and one dark, bent together as they thread summer daisies into long looping chains; and finally, Dora’s stricken face as she bursts into the kitchen that summer’s afternoon with the unbearable news that pulled their world apart.

Scenes from her life wash over her until, overcome by emotion, Helen’s carefully preserved countenance dissolves. As the television strobes colour across the living room walls Helen cries an endless river of fat, silent tears. She weeps for a decade of regret and she mourns, all over again, for a little life lost to them for ever.

HELEN

Eleven Years Earlier

The house was deathly quiet when Helen returned. She let herself in through the front door and closed it behind her with a gentle click, leaning her forehead against the coolness of the wall for just a moment. There was the familiar hum of the ancient fridge in the kitchen, and the soft reverberations of the house breathing on its foundations, but all sounds of human life were absent. The children were still out, probably down at the beach making themselves sick on ice cream and fizzy drinks. She smiled: it was the last day of the holidays; a little indulgence wouldn’t do them any harm. She’d make them something healthy for tea, extras for Richard. He’d be grateful for a home-cooked meal when he got in off the train from London.

She felt flushed and giddy. Tobias had been rough with her and she could still feel the weight of his body pressing down on hers in the long grass of the field they had found that morning. There had been nothing romantic about their encounter; it was sordid and hasty. But Helen had submitted to his desires, excited by his need to possess her. And afterwards, she had lain in his arms and abandoned herself to his daydreams of a life without husbands and wives and children and responsibilities. It was a game Tobias was fond of playing, a re-imagining of what life might be like for them in another world, and she was happy to indulge him. They’d lain together on the warm earth, planning their alternative life as long blades of grass and the seed heads of hemlock danced against the blue sky overhead.

Gathering herself, Helen floated through the hallway humming quietly, an inane pop song that had stuck in her head on the drive home. She always felt so alive after time with Tobias. It was like having a jolt of electricity flow through her body, recharging her tired limbs and refreshing her mind, clearing away the banal cobwebs of her life for just a few short hours. Tobias was right; he did do her good.

As she wandered down the hallway she checked her watch. It was nearly three. If she were lucky she would have time to shower and change before the kids returned. Reaching the bottom step of the staircase she turned to regard herself in the long mirror. Yes, the difference was noticeable; she looked lighter, happier. Would it be obvious to anyone else? As she surveyed her reflection carefully in the mirror her eye was suddenly caught by a dark green smudge ground into the daisy-patterned fabric of her skirt; a grass stain. It must have happened when she was with Tobias. Damn. She rubbed at it but she knew she’d never get it out of the pale cotton; it was ruined. With a sigh she turned to head upstairs but as her foot touched the bottom step she heard the slam of the back door.

‘Mum? Mum are you home?’

Damn. It was Dora. They were back already.

‘In here,’ she called out airily, running her fingers through her hair and patting at her face self-consciously. She could have done with five minutes to herself, at least.

Dora emerged from the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed red and she seemed to be struggling to breathe, drawing air into her lungs with great, ragged gasps.

‘Is he here?’ she panted, her eyes flicking nervously around the hallway.

‘Is
who
here?’ Helen forced an innocent smile but she couldn’t help the slow blush that crept over her face. There was no way Dora could know about Tobias. It was impossible. But her daughter’s face burned an even deeper red and there were tears welling visibly in her eyes. Helen swallowed nervously.

‘Oh, Mum,’ she cried, ‘something awful’s happened.’

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Please God, she willed. There was no way she could know about the affair – anything but that.

‘It’s Alfie,’ Dora sobbed. ‘He’s missing.’

The innocent smile that had been playing on Helen’s lips froze as her daughter’s words slowly sank in. She shook her head. ‘What do you mean
missing
?’

‘We can’t find him anywhere.’

Helen moved closer. She seized her daughter’s arm and looked searchingly into her wide eyes. ‘Where is he, Dora? Where’s your brother?’

Dora couldn’t hold her mother’s gaze and Helen, feeling the first coil of fear twist in her gut, dug her fingers deeper into the flesh of her arm. Dora flinched and tried to squirm out of her tight grasp but Helen wouldn’t let go.

‘Where is he?’ she demanded again.

Dora let out a hysterical sob. ‘I don’t know! We’ve looked and looked but he’s vanished.’

‘Vanished? Where’s Cassie?’ Helen stopped for a moment. ‘Is this some silly prank you kids have cooked up to scare me? If it is, it’s not funny.’

‘No,’ Dora whispered. ‘I swear. We were at the beach. I went to get ice creams. I thought he was with Cassie. But he must have followed me, and now we can’t find him. Oh, Mum . . .’ She couldn’t finish her sentence. The tears were flowing fast and heavy now.

‘Where’s Cassie?’ Helen asked again.

‘She’s still at the beach.’

Helen moved quickly. Her car keys were sitting on the hall table where she had thrown them only moments ago. ‘You stupid girl! I
told
you to all stay together. Wait here. I’m going to find him. I’ll deal with you when we get back.’

‘Mum, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t—’

Helen held up her hand to silence her daughter. ‘We’ll talk about your punishment later. When Alfie’s home.’

She didn’t stop to listen to Dora’s pitiful sobs. Instead she ran from the house, leapt into her car and raced down the driveway as fast as she could.

It was only a short drive to the beach, but by the time Helen pulled into the car park, she had convinced herself she would find Cassie and Alfie sitting astride the sea wall waiting for her. She could see them now, their two fair heads shining in the afternoon sunshine as they waved and swung their legs carelessly in front of them. It was all just some silly mix-up. Dora had overreacted.

She parked in a disabled spot and leapt from the car, running through the throng of holidaymakers all laden with deckchairs and picnic hampers, rugs and inflatables as they started to leave the beach. A few gave her curious glances as she pushed past, but she ignored them. She had to get to the foreshore. She had to get to Cassie.

And then she saw her, exactly where she had pictured her only moments before, standing by the sea wall. But as she drew closer, she could see that the second fair head she had imagined next to her daughter’s was missing. Cassie was standing next to a girl Helen didn’t recognise, a girl with long, black hair and the whitest skin. There was no sign of Alfie.

Helen moaned and ran towards them blindly.

‘Where is he?’ she gasped as she drew closer. Then when Cassie didn’t reply, she screamed it again, ‘Where’s Alfie?’ She seized Cassie’s arms and shook her violently until she went limp like a rag doll in her arms and she felt someone restraining her from behind and murmuring soft, reassuring words.

‘Calm down . . . we’re searching for him . . . Coastguard on its way . . . we will find him.’

‘You don’t understand,’ she said, turning to the woman who held her, ‘he’s only a baby.’

‘I understand this is very distressing for you,’ the young woman soothed. ‘If you’ll just come with me for a moment, Mrs Tide . . .’ Helen noticed for the first time that the woman was wearing a police uniform. She let herself be led away into the shade of the awning of the little beach shop. There seemed to be a crowd gathering around them, but Helen ignored the stares and whispers, scanning the crowds frantically, willing the face of her son to appear in front of her. Why were they all just standing there? Why weren’t they looking for Alfie?

Helen gazed out across the beach in desperation. The sun had begun its slow descent towards the horizon and a light scattering of amber-coloured clouds was forming out at sea. She could see fishing boats making their way in to shore, spent from a day on the ocean. There was a sudden flurry of activity down by the breakers as a series of gulls flapped and squawked territorially over the remains of a picnic. Further up the beach a plastic bag blew towards them across the pebbles. Helen’s heart leapt as she saw a little boy chase it across the stones, but hope turned to dismay as she realised it wasn’t her son. It wasn’t Alfie. She looked around again and realised Cassie had disappeared from view.

‘Where’s my daughter?’ she asked, rounding on the policewoman next to her.

The woman put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘They’re just asking her a few questions.’

‘I want to see her. I want to hear what she has to say. Where have they taken her?’

‘She’s in the shop, but it might be best if . . .’

Helen didn’t wait to hear the rest. She lunged through the doorway into the shop, and then, finding it empty, barged through into the back room where she could hear the murmur of voices.

The stockroom was dark and cramped. Cassie was perched on a pile of boxes in front of a policeman who scribbled hasty notes into a pad. Cassie’s gaze seemed to be fixed on a spot of tatty linoleum on the floor in front of her and she was picking agitatedly at the torn corner of a box, shredding the corrugated cardboard into a million little pieces which fluttered slowly to the floor. She looked up nervously as Helen entered the room, and then returned her gaze to the floor.

‘Do you mind,’ Helen addressed the policeman. ‘I’m her mother. I’d like to hear this too.’ It wasn’t a question.

The young policeman nodded and turned back to Cassie. ‘So you all walked down together from the campsite.’

Cassie nodded.

‘What time did you arrive at the beach?’

‘It was about eleven o’clock this morning. We met Sam first and then headed to the Crag.’

‘Who’s Sam?’ Helen asked sharply.

The policeman shot her a look. He wasn’t angry but it was clear that he thought it best if he were the one asking the questions.

‘Is Sam the girl outside?’ he asked.

Cassie nodded. ‘She’s my friend.’

‘And where is the Crag, Cassandra?’ the policeman asked.