The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller (12 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Another early morning, and I’m on my way to the rowing club again. Excited to get back out on the water and – if I’m honest – to see Jack. I can hardly believe I’m finally free of Piers. That he won’t be coming around anymore. But my relief is tinged with guilt. I hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

As I round the bend, my heart lifts as the clubhouse comes into view, along with the sight of Jack setting up the boat stands. He glances up and smiles.

‘Hey. You coming out again?’ he says.

‘If that’s okay?’ I reply.

‘Course it’s okay.’

‘Look, I’ve got a baseball cap, and my own water bottle today,’ I wave it around for him to see. ‘I reckon one more session out there with you, and then I’ll be good to go out on my own. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

‘Mia, it’s fine. I’m happy to go out on the water with you whenever you want.’

‘Thanks.’ I feel heat in my face and hope he hasn’t noticed.

We stay out for an hour or so, until Jack says he has to get back for a training session with some of the juniors. It’s been another heavenly morning. Peaceful. Nothing but the hiss and splash of the blades, and the occasional quacking of ducks. I suddenly realise that I’m dreading going back home. Panic bubbles up inside me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for the rest of the day. There’s nowhere I have to be. Nothing I have to do. Nobody who needs me. I am completely on my own. I wish I could just keep rowing. But that won’t solve anything. I need to go back and face my fears. Start living my life. But how? I don’t know where to begin.

We reach the bank and begin lifting our boats out onto their stands. It’s even hotter off the water and I’m glad I remembered a hat today. No one else is around, just the odd dog walker along the footpath. Jack’s juniors will be here soon, but for now, it’s just us. He heads up to the clubhouse, brings the hosepipe down and throws me a cloth.

‘I’ll hose the boats, you clean,’ he says, as water spurts out of the pipe.

I do as he asks and start wiping down my boat.

‘Want to go out for a drink later?’ Jack asks. ‘Nothing funny.’ He grins. ‘Just friends. I don’t want Piers to beat me up.’

It scares me how much I would like to go out for a drink with Jack. But he’s married. Wouldn’t it be inviting trouble? Maybe. But I’m lonely, and I could really do with the company of someone I actually like. I’ve only known Jack for a day or two, but he’s the closest to a friend I’ve got.  ‘Actually, Piers and I broke up yesterday,’ I say.

‘Oh,’ he says.

‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘We weren’t really getting on.’

I look up and catch his eye. He looks taken aback, like he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he only asked me out for a drink because he knew I was already with someone, and his wife wouldn’t mind. Being suddenly single now might now make it awkward. I should let him off the hook.

‘Won’t your wife mind us going out?’ I say. ‘Maybe she could come, too.’ Why the hell did I just say that? The last thing I want is to go out for a drink with a loved-up couple, especially when one of them is a complete stranger.

‘Funny you should say that about you and Piers,’ Jack says. ‘Because me and Lucy split up recently, too.’

My pulse quickens. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say, rubbing hard at a stubborn black mark on the side of the boat. I wonder why he’s still wearing his wedding ring if they’re not together anymore. ‘Maybe we can cry on each other’s shoulders.’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Maybe.’

The pub garden is crowded, but I spy Jack at a table near the fence, sipping a pint. He spots me and waves, beckoning me over. He stands and kisses me on the cheek. His skin is warm, he smells of water and soap.

‘You look good,’ he says.

‘Thanks.’

‘What do you want to drink?’ he asks.

‘That’s okay, I’ll get it.’

He looks at me with a smile. ‘Sit down,’ he says. ‘What do you want?’

‘Okay, thanks, I’ll have a beer,’ I say. ‘A bottle of something.’

‘Becks?’

‘Yeah, anything’s good.’

‘Be back in a minute.’

I slide onto the bench and watch him disappear inside, trying not to focus on how good he looks in just his jeans and a navy t-shirt. I’ve been nervous about this evening all day, but at least it’s kept my mind off other stuff. I spent half the day chewing my nails, pacing from one room to the other, and the other half figuring out what to wear tonight. In the end, I settled on a patterned maxi dress with strappy sandals. I was going for boho chic, but now I feel a little overdressed. Everyone else here is in jeans, or shorts and t-shirts. I don’t know why I’ve made this evening into such a big deal. Jack already told me this was a drink “as friends”. It’s not a date, so I should just relax and enjoy myself.

He’s back within minutes.

‘That was quick,’ I say. ‘The bar was heaving when I walked past.’

‘Ah, but I know most of the bar staff,’ he says with a grin, putting a bottle of beer and a glass in front of me.

‘Thanks. I get the feeling that everyone knows everyone in this town,’ I say, ignoring the glass and raising my beer bottle in his direction.

‘Cheers,’ we both say, our drinks clinking.

I take a sip, enjoying the fizz in the back of my throat and the instant buzz that helps to relax me.

‘I guess it is a small town,’ Jack says, sitting back down. ‘A lot of us grew up here, so we do tend to know all the locals. But most people are pretty laid back and friendly.’

‘Did you know me very well . . . before?’ I ask.

He looks at me with a half-smile. ‘It must be so strange for you, not remembering anything. I still can’t get my head around it. But, yes, I knew you before . . . your accident. We all hung out together at the club. Like you said earlier – everyone knows everyone.’

‘And now I have to try and get to know everyone all over again.’ I study his face, willing myself to recognise him. On anyone else, such short cropped hair could be seen as thuggish, but Jack looks anything but.

‘Poor you,’ he says. ‘Do you think you memory will come back?’

‘I’m beginning to lose hope,’ I say. ‘It’s been over a week now, and all I’ve had is one tiny flashback.’

‘Oh, yeah? Well, at least that’s something.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Maybe it’s a good thing you lost your memory,’ he says.

‘How do you work that out?’

‘Well,’ he says, his face becoming more animated. ‘Not many people get the chance to start their lives over. Maybe you could reinvent yourself. Discover what it is you really want to do in life. Think about it – you can be whoever you want.’

‘It’s weird you should say that, because I’ve been having the exact same thoughts. It’s kind of why Piers and I broke up.’

‘So, you were the one who finished it?’

I nod. ‘I just didn’t seem to click with him. I didn’t feel like we were meant to be together. I don’t know what I was like before, but I must have changed, because I just can’t see me and him ever being on the same wavelength.’ I want to ask Jack if he thinks I seem any different than before, but it feels too needy. Like I’m fishing for compliments.  ‘All I do know about myself,’ I say instead, ‘is that I love to row.’

‘Well, that’s the most important thing,’ he says. ‘Shows you have immensely good taste in sports.’

‘Absolutely.’ We raise our glasses again, and grin stupidly at each other. I have this wonderful horrible feeling that I’m getting in too deep here. That I’m letting myself fall too fast. But I can’t stop myself.

We spend the evening in the pub garden, drinking, chatting and laughing. I’m so relaxed in his company. Everything is light and easy. He makes me laugh, and I feel comfortable in my skin for a change. The sky slowly darkens, and the outside lights blink on one by one. It’s still warm, but the air has become thick and heavy. The landlord rings a bell and calls last orders at the bar.

‘I think there’s a storm coming,’ Jack says. ‘Probably be too choppy to row tomorrow.’

‘D’you think?’ I ask. ‘The river looked so calm on the way here.’

‘It won’t be like that for long. We should go,’ he says draining his drink. ‘Pretty sure it’s going to start pouring any minute.’

Jack is right about the storm. A streak of forked lightning suddenly illuminates the garden. Everyone outside gasps, laughs, screams. Seconds later, a boom of thunder cracks above our heads. We follow the crowd back into the pub. Some people stay inside, finishing up their drinks, but many of us spill out into the street as the first plump drops of rain begin to splash onto the dusty pavement. Everyone else disperses, but Jack and I step beneath the covered porch of a tea room next door to the pub.

‘I’ll walk you home,’ Jack says.

‘No, I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘I’m only five minutes away. Where do you live?’

‘Over the bridge in Tuckton. Not far either, but in the opposite direction.’

‘Okay, well, thanks for a lovely evening,’ I say, now wishing I hadn’t insisted on walking home alone.

‘Are you sure you’re okay to go back on your own?’ he asks again. ‘I don’t think you should walk home without company.’

Now’s my chance, but I wimp out. ‘Yes, honestly, I’ll be fine. I’ll probably run, though, judging by the monsoon on its way.’ To echo my point, thunder rolls and lightning flashes, this time simultaneously. The raindrops come faster now, until the clouds finally burst open releasing sheets of water.

‘Well, I’d prefer to see you home,’ he says. ‘But if you’re sure . . . Goodnight, Mia. It was fun getting to know the new you.’ He leans over and pushes a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. My skin tingles at the touch of his fingers, my breathing becomes so shallow I can hardly draw breath. I can’t stop myself – I lean forward and kiss him. It’s electric. I lose myself. The feel and smell of him is intoxicating.

But it’s over too soon.

‘Mia,’ he says.

I can’t speak. My heart is pounding and I want to feel his mouth on mine again.

‘Mia, we can’t.’

I come back to my senses. He has just told me we can’t do this. I want to disagree with him, but I stay silent.

‘I’ve only just split up with my wife,’ he says. ‘It’s not a good idea for me and you to . . . I’m sorry.’

Disappointment crushes me. But I swallow down my feelings and nod. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.’

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he says. ‘I want to . . . but, it’s just too soon for me.’

‘No, no, of course it is,’ I say. ‘Of course. Same here, with Piers and everything. I’d better go.’ I turn to leave, stepping out from the shelter of the porch, the rain instantly drenching me, making me gasp.

‘Mia.’ He catches hold of my hand, joining me in the downpour. His grip warm, firm. ‘Don’t let this keep us from being friends,’ he says. ‘Come rowing with me again this week. It won’t be awkward, I promise.’

‘Okay,’ I say, desperate to leave, my humiliation open and raw.

‘Promise?’

‘Sure.’

‘Say it. Say that you promise.’ He smiles.

‘I promise,’ I say, feeling stupid.

‘Good. Okay. See you soon.’ He lets go of my hand and turns to leave.

I’m absolutely drenched. My heart is clattering against my ribcage and I can barely breathe. I know I should run to get out of this downpour, but I can’t make my legs obey me. Instead, I walk as though in a dream, letting the water run in rivulets down my body. My dress clinging to my legs. My skin soaked. My hair plastered to my face.

The thunder and lightning doesn’t scare me. It suits my mood. I almost wish the lightning would strike me. What was I thinking? How could I have kissed him? I barely know him, and he already told me about him and his wife recently splitting up. Feelings of humiliation and mortification bloom as I walk along the rain-drenched pavement. A group of young women, about my age, run past, giggling and shrieking. Swearing and laughing, their footsteps echoing away behind me. I’m a total idiot, and there’s no way I’ll ever be able to show my face at the rowing club again. What the hell must he think of me? I’ve ruined the only good thing in my pathetic, lonely life.

I reach the end of the High Street and walk toward the Priory in a drunken, depressed, rain-sodden daze. The cobbles are slick with rain and I have to tread carefully in my slippery sandals. I push open the kissing gate, its hinges squeak and groan as I slide through. The Priory stands proudly unaffected by the downpour, like it has done for the past millennium. Solid and enduring.

The graveyard is deserted apart from a lone woman coming towards me, her blonde hair soaked through. She looks angry. Maybe she just had an argument with someone. I stop dead. I know her. It’s the woman from my dream. The one from my balcony. She’s coming closer, her face twisted in fury. But she looks so much more than furious – she looks mad. Dangerous. Murderous.

Chapter Twenty

I should turn and run, but I can’t move. Terror has me rooted to the spot. Even if I could make myself scream, no one would hear me through the drumming rain and thunder crashes.

The woman is only a few yards away now. I close my eyes. Squeeze them tight. Why don’t I turn and run?

‘Are you okay?’ A woman’s voice next to me.

I open my eyes and stare into hers. It’s not the woman from my dream at all. Did I imagine her? Am I going mad? This woman is older, with mousy brown hair and she’s looking at me like I’m crazy.

‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Sorry, just a bit tipsy. The rain and the graveyard . . . they must have spooked me.’

‘It is a bit creepy here at night,’ she says. ‘Got far to go?’

‘No, I only live a couple of minutes away.’

‘Okay, well, take care, love.’

‘Thanks. You too.’

She continues on her way. I turn and stare at her departing figure through a veil of rain. She looks nothing like the woman from my nightmare. Nothing at all. I turn back around. My heart is still pounding, my mouth dry. What if the woman from my dream is still here somewhere? She could be hiding behind a tree, or crouched behind a gravestone. Anywhere. I need to get out of this place. I gather up the dripping hem of my dress and start to run through the graveyard, along the rain-slick path, past the crumbling headstones, beneath the distorted shadows of the looming priory. Down the lane I race, into the empty car park with its high stone walls and swaying trees.

I want to scream, but I don’t. Instead, I try to hum a tune to give me courage, but with my ragged breath, it sounds more like I’m whimpering in pain, so I stop. Another crack of thunder makes me lengthen my stride, my footsteps muffled by the raging storm.
Almost home. Almost home.
I chant the words like a charm to ward off evil.
Almost home
.

Is she real, that woman? Is she stalking me? Or is she a figment of my imagination? Either way, I can’t get my panic under control. I can’t keep the image of her at bay. I’m certain she means to do me harm.
Almost home.

Finally, I reach the gap in the wall which leads to the cobbled path by the stone bridge. I pause for a second to catch my breath, but fear pushes me forward. I clatter across the bridge, and onto the private road which will take me to my front door. My feet crash through puddles, splashing rainwater up my already-soaked legs.

Almost home.

I glimpse the dark river and the swaying shapes of the trees beyond. The boats brought into sharp relief as another streak of lightning illuminates the night.

Almost home.

But what will I do once I
am
home? I can’t escape my nightmares. I’ve seen her in my house before. She has already followed me into my dreams, and onto my balcony. What if she’s there, now? What if she never leaves me alone?

I shiver and pull the soft grey cardigan closer to my body. The weather has cooled since the storm the other night. It’s still sunny, but gone is the blistering heat from the past ten days. Instead, a chill breeze ripples the surface of the river, tugs at the sailboats’ rigging and whispers through the reeds.

As I recall the storm, an image of the woman flashes into my mind, but I shove her away into the recesses of my brain. I don’t let myself dwell on her. If I let her in, she’ll trigger another “episode” and I can’t handle it. I can’t handle her. I wish I could lock her away forever, whoever she is.

I lean forward and reach for my coffee, cradling the mug in my hands as I gaze down at the comings and goings beneath my balcony. It’s a perfect morning for sailing, and the river is busy. I wonder what Jack’s doing. I haven’t seen him since the night of the storm when I made a first-class idiot of myself. I’m realising that it was probably a pity date anyway. He felt sorry for me because of my amnesia thing, and then I went and ruined our new friendship by drinking too much and behaving like a needy fool. My cheeks redden at the memory.

Now, I have too much time on my hands. Too much time to think. To over-analyse, dwell and brood. Instead of thinking, I should be doing something. Something constructive and worthwhile. Piers said I used to be a teacher. Maybe I could go back to it? But I can’t remember anything about teaching. I wouldn’t begin to know how to act around kids. The thought unnerves me. No. I can’t do that. My mind keeps jumping back to the fact that I love rowing. But how can I ever go back to the club when Jack coaches there? That’s something I’d love to do – coach rowing. I wonder if I could. I’d have to train, but I already have a primary teaching qualification, so maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to get qualified as a coach.

I give a little start as a doorbell rings. Is it mine? No. It’s next door. Their French windows are also open and I can hear my neighbour – the delightful Suki – on the phone:

‘Matt, can you come home? The man from the fence company’s here. He’s early.’

I can hear Matthew’s reply. Suki must have him on speakerphone.

‘I can’t come home, I’m at work, Suki. Did you show him the fence?’

‘No, he’s outside, ringing the doorbell.’

‘Well let him in.’

‘Matt, I can’t! You promised you’d be here. Just ask Darren – he’ll let you leave work for twenty minutes. It’s an emergency.’

‘It’s not an emergency, Suki. It’s a guy to fix the fence. Please, just open the door to him. I can’t leave work to let someone in, not when you’re already there. All you need to do is open the door, show him the broken fence and let him get on with it.’

‘No, I’m not opening the door,’ she says. ‘Come home now, or don’t come home at all tonight.’

Wow. Suki sounds like a crazy person. I shouldn’t really be eavesdropping like this, but I can’t help it. She’s so loud. I picture her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion and her shiny brown hair. Her disdainful expression. I wonder why she’s so freaked out about opening the door. Maybe I should go and see if she’s okay . . . but then she’d know I was listening in to her conversation.

The doorbell rings again, followed by a sharp rapping on their front door. I feel like I’m in the middle of a TV drama. Suki seemed so quiet and stand-offish at the party. Now, she sounds terrified. And more than a little unhinged.

‘He’s still out there, Matt. He won’t go away.’

‘What’s going on with you, Suki? Please, just let him in. We need that fence fixed. I can’t come home. I’m working.’

‘Well, thanks for nothing, Matt.’

I lean back in my chair as I see a hand reach out and pull next door’s balcony doors shut with a bang. What the hell was all that about? After a while, the doorbell stops ringing. I hear a car door slam, an engine start up, and a vehicle drive away. Suki was true to her word and didn’t answer the door to the fence guy. Maybe she has anxiety issues. I swig the last of my coffee and stand up, deciding to go back inside. I guess it isn’t just me who has problems.

The doorbell rings again. Maybe next door’s fence repair guy is back. Or maybe Matt was able to leave work and he’s come back to help Suki after all – but why would he need to ring the bell? I shake my head – my day has dissolved into nothing more than speculation about the neighbours. I really must start doing something with my life. But then I realise this time it’s
my
doorbell ringing.

Who could it be? My right eye twitches. The best scenario would be a Jehovah’s Witness or someone trying to sell me something. Anyone else will just mean trouble. The bell rings again. I must stop being so timid. Maybe I’ve got more in common with Suki than I thought. I shake myself out of my stupor and go into the lounge. There’s an intercom at the top of the stairs, I press the buzzer.

‘Hello?’ I say.

‘Mia? It’s Jack.’

My heart begins to pound. What’s he doing here?

‘Hi,’ I say.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah, I’m upstairs in the lounge – top floor.’ I press the buzzer and hear the faint click of the door opening below. What do I look like? I’m wearing jeans, a grey vest-top and a cashmere cardigan. Hair in a messy ponytail. Not too bad. No makeup though and it’s too late to go downstairs and smear on some lip gloss. Never mind. There’s nothing romantic going on between us, anyway.

I hear his footsteps on the stairs. Relax when I finally see him. His smile puts me at ease.

‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘Just thought I’d pop by. I couldn’t stop worrying about you walking home alone the other night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I saw you were okay.’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘You could’ve texted – saved yourself a journey.’

‘It’s hardly a journey,’ he says. ‘But if this is a bad time . . .’

‘No, no, course not. I just meant . . . thank you. It’s sweet of you to check up on me. I’m fine. Apart from getting completely soaked and imagining a ghost woman, I got home fine.’ I gesture to one of the kitchen stools. ‘Sit down if you like. Do you want a cuppa? Or a cold drink?’

‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘Back up. What do you mean a “ghost woman”?’

‘Oh, you know, the usual – walking through a graveyard at night with thunder and lightning and torrential rain. There has to be the obligatory ghost.’ I smile, trying to make light of the memory, but an echo of fear darts through me, the same fear I experience every time I see her – or
imagine
I see her.

‘You saw a ghost?’ he says, raising an eyebrow.

‘I don’t know,’ I reply. I’m beginning to wish I’d never mentioned her. Even thinking about her makes me break out in a sweat.

‘You can’t just leave it at that,’ he says. ‘Tell me. What did you see?’

‘Do you remember I told you I had a flashback after the accident?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘Well, I’ve had the same flashback three times now. Of a woman walking towards me.’

‘What –as in like a memory?’ he asks, his eyes widening.

‘I honestly don’t know. It feels like a dream, but a really realistic dream. Like it’s actually happening, but then I open my eyes and there’s no one there, so I know it can’t be real.’

‘And the other night?’

‘I was walking back through the priory gardens and I saw her coming towards me. It was definitely her, with this scary, angry expression on her face. I was terrified. But when I looked again, it was just some normal woman. She asked me if I was okay and carried on walking.’ I don’t tell Jack about my absolute terror afterwards. About my mad dash home. He’ll think I’m a lunatic. He may already think that. I wouldn’t blame him.

‘Mia, you’re shivering.’ He walks over and wraps me in his arms, Rubbing my back and shoulders. ‘Here, sit down.’ He leads me over to the sofa and sits next to me, still rubbing my back.

‘Sorry,’ I say, tears brimming behind my eyes. ‘I think I’m still a bit shaken up by everything. Bet you wish you’d texted now.’ I give a strangled laugh.

‘Don’t be silly. I’m glad I came over,’ he says. ‘Have you told anyone else about these flashbacks? A doctor or anyone?’

I sniff back my tears, willing them not to fall. ‘No. Well, I told the doctor that I remembered the clubhouse, but I didn’t mention the girl. Why? Do you think I should mention it? Could it be an actual memory, do you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘But I think it’s good to talk about these things to somebody. It’s not good to bottle stuff up.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t have an awful lot of people in my life at the moment,’ I say, regretting the bitter tinge in my voice.

‘Piers, you mean?’

‘Piers . . . my mum . . . my sister. I can’t talk to any of them.’ I’m now doing my utmost to stop myself crumbling into a sobbing mess. I need to change the subject, quickly.

‘You can always talk to me,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder.

‘Thank you,’ I sniff, ‘but you don’t want to listen to my problems. I’ll be fine. It was just the memory of that woman – it freaked me out a bit.’ I stare down at my lap, trying to get myself under control.

‘Of course. It would freak anyone out,’ he says. ‘Hey, how about we go out for a walk? We can pick up a salad or a sarnie from M&S and have a picnic lunch by the river. I don’t have any more coaching sessions until later this afternoon.’ He bends down so his face is millimetres from mine, trying to make eye contact with me. I look up and we stare at each other for a second before I turn away and rise to my feet, feeling crumpled and unsteady.

‘Let me just wash my face,’ I say. ‘But, yes, lunch by the river sounds lovely, if you’re sure you’ve got time.’

Now we’re outside, I feel much better. More in control of myself. We walk to the supermarket and battle the lunchtime crowds to grab ourselves a makeshift picnic, shivering by the chiller cabinets. It’s a relief to head back out of the store into the warm sunshine. I walk with Jack, not paying any attention to where we’re going. Just happy to be doing something other than sitting on my balcony, worrying about my life. We walk across a road bridge, cars zooming past us too fast, and we chat about the weather and rowing and nothing else of any great consequence, which suits me fine. Jack has been a gentleman and hasn’t brought up “the kiss”, thank goodness. Hopefully, that embarrassing incident is behind us, and we really can concentrate on being friends.