The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller (14 page)

Chapter Twenty Two

I peer out through the crack in the door, scared of who might be out there, but too curious not to answer it. The security light illuminates a man dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, a concerned look on his face. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place him.

‘Hi Mia,’ he says. ‘I’m just checking to see if everything’s okay. We heard shouting and some . . . noises.’

As soon as he begins talking, it clicks with me who he is. I close the door, slide the chain out of its slot and re-open the door. The cool night air creeps inside and chills me further.

‘Hi Matt,’ I say to my neighbour, trying to keep my teeth from chattering, wondering what on earth he must be thinking. ‘Sorry about all that, before. I’m fine. I just . . .’ There’s no point in lying to him, they probably heard every word. ‘. . . I had an argument with Piers. He’s gone now. Hopefully for good.’

Matt puts his hand out toward my head. ‘You’re hurt. Did he do that? Should I call the police?’

‘God, no. I’m fine. It looks worse than it is. It was an accident.’ I realise how that sounds. Like I’m covering up for Piers. I guess it was his fault, but at least it was an indirect injury, rather than an actual physical attack.

‘Are you sure? Do you want to come over to ours? You look like you could do with a cup of tea, or maybe a glass of something stronger.’

‘I . . .’

‘You’re shivering,’ he says. ‘You must be in shock.’

His kindness will be the unravelling of me. ‘No . . . I’m fine, honestly.’ Even as I say the words, I hear the crack in my voice and feel a tear escape from the corner of my eye. The salt stings my cut. Matt steps forward and pulls me into a hug, patting my back in a calming manner, the way I imagine a parent would soothe a crying child. I let myself sink into his bear-like embrace, mumbling about how sorry I am, and how I don’t mean to cry all over him.

‘I couldn’t say so before, but I always thought Piers was a total dickhead,’ Matt says.

His words bring a small smile to my face and I sniff, trying to get my emotions back under control. ‘You and me both,’ I say.

A shape looms behind him and I lift my head a fraction to get a better view.

It’s Suki.

I step out from the security of Matt’s hug. Suki is immaculate in a fitted dress and a full face of makeup, her dark hair glossy and bouncy, straight out of a shampoo ad. Her face is taut. She must have been unnerved hearing me and Piers yelling like that.

‘Hi, Suki,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry about the noise. It’s nice of you to come over. I was just telling Mat
t
―
’

‘Just because you can’t keep hold of your own man,’ she interrupts, ‘there’s no need to make a play for mine.’

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in. Did I hear her correctly? I’m stunned into silence. In a caricature of shock, my eyes widen and my jaw begins to drop.

I replay the past few seconds in my mind. There was nothing remotely romantic about Matt’s hug. He was simply being kind. How could she have misinterpreted it? I actually can’t think of a single thing to say. My tears have dried up and I suddenly have the urge to laugh hysterically at her insane accusation.

‘Are you coming, Matt?’ she says. ‘I told you to leave it alone. It’s none of our business what she gets up to. Unless she starts involving you.’

‘I’m sorry, Mia,’ Matt mumbles.

‘Don’t apologise to
her
,’ Suki says. ‘Apologise to
me
.’ She turns on her heel and stomps back next door. Matt throws me an apologetic glance and follows her home, like a lapdog.

Did she really just accuse me of going after her husband? I think she must have a screw loose. Honestly, that woman is an absolute nutter. Any sympathy I might have felt for her in the past, vanishes.

Matt’s so sweet. I have no idea what he’s doing married to someone like that. Someone who talks to him like he’s nothing. I hear their door close and wish I had never come down to open mine. I should have ignored the doorbell and tried to salvage some of my evening. But now it’s totally ruined. My nerves are shot, what with both Piers’ and Suki’s attacks. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone? I didn’t ask for any of them to intrude into my life. I’m too tired and shaken to cry about it.

I stand outside my doorstep, delaying going back upstairs to my ruined bedroom. To the memory of Piers’ violent intrusion. I’d almost forgotten his revelation about us having split up before the accident. To think, I had to finish with him
twice
. Once was bad enough – at least I can’t remember the first time.

A few yards away, the river gurgles and sighs, sympathising over the awfulness of my evening. I wonder what other dramas the river has witnessed tonight. What other arguments and upsets have taken place on its winding banks. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe it just my life that’s such a godawful mess.

I’m up and out early today, in a surprisingly good mood, despite my crazy ex-boyfriend and psycho neighbour. I can’t let other people’s neuroses get me down. I have enough on my plate without taking on their issues. And anyway, I’m off to the rowing club to see Jack. The thought of him makes my stomach flip. I can’t pretend to myself that I’m not interested in him. I am. He’s all I think about. I can put up with all the other crap as long as I know there’s a possibility of us. We’re so right for each other. There’s electricity between us. No matter how long it takes, I can wait for him. I’ll give him all the time he needs.

If it weren’t for Jack, I would have no hesitation in selling up and leaving Christchurch for good. Beautiful as it is, I’ve had too many unnerving experiences here. Maybe, sometime in the future, I could persuade him to leave with me. Start afresh somewhere else. Maybe even abroad. But I’m letting my imagination spool ahead. For now, I must be content to stay in this pretty town with Jack’s friendship.

It’s another sunny morning. Chilly and bright. Those sticky, humid days before the storm have melted away. Perhaps this is the start of autumn. The end of summer. I don’t mind. I welcome the change. Cool evenings and refreshing early mornings – perfect for rowing. I’m wearing my fleece over my rowing gear, walking briskly to warm up, swinging my arms as I pass the sailing-club car park and cross the stone bridge.
Trip trap, trip trap
– Why has that phrase come into my head? Why is it so familiar? I suddenly recall a children’s story about a troll under a bridge. I remember the pictures in the book.
The Three Billy Goats Gruff
. They
trip trapped
over the bridge. Is that cause for celebration? Remembering a story from my childhood? Or maybe it was one I read to my pupils when I was a teacher. Either way, I’ll have to mention it to Dr Lazowski when I see her next.

I managed to find the energy to clean up my bedroom last night. It would have been easier to leave it and sleep in the spare room, but I would have known the mess was still there. It would have plagued me. I had to get rid of all traces of Piers’ break in. I’ve already decided not to report him to the police. I can’t face it. It would mean seeing him again, raking over our past. There’s enough going on in my life right now, without adding to the layers of drama. It’s bad enough that we still own a business together. If I didn’t loathe him so much, I’d give him the whole lot, just to be rid of him. But he doesn’t deserve any generosity – not after what he did, so he’ll have to buy me out. I’ll let my solicitor handle it.

I pass the mill house and the café on the corner, nod hello to a couple of dog walkers. Today, I decide to walk across the
quomps
– the area of reclaimed grassy marshland by the river – rather than along the path. The grass has been recently mown, and its scent draws me. It’s still dewy, and dark clumps of dead grass cling to my trainers.

A couple of swans fly overhead to land on the water with a honk and an inelegant splash. Two guys in kayaks paddle past. One of them catches my eye and we share a smile at the swans’ crash landing. I turn away and admire the Victorian bandstand up ahead, wondering if it’s still in use. It looks like something out of a fairy tale. That would be a lovely way to spend an afternoon – a Sunday picnic on the grass listening to the band playing traditional tunes. Maybe I’ll ask Jack if they still play there. I hope so. Maybe he’ll ask me to go with him. Looks like someone’s up there now. On the bandstand. I’m sure I didn’t see them there a second ago.

I slow my pace. Catch my breath.

They’re looking this way. As I draw closer I feel a familiar ringing in my ears. A rush of blood. A tightening in my chest.

No.

Not again.

She stands in the centre of the bandstand staring at me. Anger etched across her face. But this time, her anger twists into a sneer. As I draw closer, the sneer becomes a smile. Mocking. As if she’s in on a secret I know nothing about. I keep on walking but I can’t feel my feet beneath me, just my legs moving forward like I’m walking on air. Drifting past as though in slow motion, and all the while she follows me with her eyes. The morning light has dimmed, the smell of cut grass replaced by the damp scent of the river at night. My heart thumping in my ears, pulsing down my arms.

Time has slowed. It’s me and her. And I know she means to do me harm. She hates me. I want to run and scream in terror, but I’m still moving ever-forward in slow motion, stuck in this place out of time for as long as she wants me here. I have no choice but to endure her stare until she releases me. Is she a figment of my imagination, or a memory of something I’d rather forget? I hear a sound to my right. A steady thud. A flash of crimson. I glance up and the spell is broken. It’s a jogger in a cherry-red t-shirt. The sunshine has returned, the birdsong, the cry of gulls. My heart rate slows. I take in a lungful of air and turn back to look at the bandstand. But I already know it will be empty.

She’s gone.

I come to a stop and glance all around me, turning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees to double check. The woman is nowhere in sight. The morning has been restored. But it’s too late – my equilibrium has been disrupted. I know I’ll spend the rest of the day remembering her face, her bitter smile, the feeling of encroaching darkness, the moisture-laden air, the damp scent of the river. I cast my eyes over the bandstand once more. But she’s not out here, I know that. She’s in my head.

Chapter Twenty Three

I reach the rowing club in a daze. I’m sure these flashbacks, or visions or whatever the hell they are, are getting worse, becoming more frequent. The woman looks more and more real each time I see her. Like if I touched her she would be solid. Flesh and blood. Like I could speak to her and she would answer. Although, I’m not sure I’d want to hear what she had to say.

Jack is already in the boatshed. I can see him through the neat rows of shiny upturned boats on their stands. I’m wearing my baseball cap pulled down low today. I don’t want him to ask about the cut on my head. If I tell him about Piers’ break in last night, it might scare him off. Nothing like a lunatic ex-boyfriend in the picture to repel any possibility of a future relationship.

So many mixed emotions course through my body. I really want to go rowing with Jack right now, but what happens if I have another hallucination while I’m out there? He’ll think I’m crazy. Not to mention the fact that it’s dangerous. I could capsize, and the thought of tipping into the cold, green water terrifies me. But how can I not go? I’ll have to push the woman from my mind, and try not to think about falling in. I’m an experienced rower. I’ll be fine.

‘Hey, you.’ Jack comes out of the boatshed, making my stomach swoop. His smile is intoxicating.

‘Hi,’ I say, feeling suddenly shy.

‘You okay?’ he asks, stretching his arms out to the side, warming up.

‘Yeah. You? How was your row yesterday afternoon?’

‘Good, thanks. Two of my students beat their previous times, so we celebrated in the bar afterwards. You should’ve come down. It was a laugh.’

I think about how I actually did spend my evening, wishing I’d known Jack was down here. I would certainly have joined him if I’d realised. Maybe I could’ve avoided the scene with Piers.

Too late now.

‘Sounds good,’ I say.

‘Shall we get the boats out?’ he asks. ‘You warmed up?’

‘Yeah,’ I lie. I would’ve been nicely warmed up from my walk, if not for the terrifying hallucination which chilled me to the bone.

Our rowing session is a good one. I don’t freak out, or capsize, or cry, or make a fool of myself in any way, which is a bonus. We get back to the boat club an hour later, my limbs aching in a good way.

‘Got time for a coffee?’ he asks.

‘Okay.’

We clean the boats and put them away before heading upstairs to the clubhouse bar. I realise I haven’t been up here since my accident. It’s a huge space, ultra-modern with wide leather sofas and low coffee tables arranged artfully around the edges, interspersed with regular tables and chairs. But the most eye-catching feature is the stunning floor-to-ceiling window which runs the length of the room, and makes the most of the beautiful scenery. Even better, there’s a glass door which leads out onto a vast wraparound balcony giving a bird’s eye view of the river below.

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘It’s gorgeous up here.’

‘Yeah. It was refurbed last year. We’re lucky.’ He runs a hand over the top of his head. I can’t help imagining running my own hands over his hair and down the back of his neck. Him with his fingers tangled in my hair. Kissing, touching  . . .

‘Tea? Coffee?’ he asks.

I flush. ‘Coffee please.’

‘Take a seat, I’ll be back in a minute.’ He strolls over to the bar, nodding to a couple of guys who are sitting on a sofa, talking loudly about race times and river conditions. Jack starts chatting to a girl who’s serving the drinks. She lights up when she sees Jack, flirting shamelessly, flicking her hair and pouting. I hope I don’t come across like that when I’m around him. I’ll have to try and keep my feelings in check. I can’t embarrass myself . . . again.

I don’t sit down straightaway. Instead, I wait by the window and gaze down at the sparkling river, watch it meander all the way up to the sailing club and beyond. The mass of boats, like blue and white toys, their delicate masts sharp against the clear blue sky.

‘Mia,’ Jack calls.

I turn at the sound of my name.

‘Sugar in your coffee?’

‘No thanks,’ I mouth. My head is hot. I long to take off my baseball cap and shake my hair out.

Jack walks over, drinks in hand. ‘Shall we sit outside?’ he asks.

I was hoping he’d suggest that. I need to feel a breeze on my face. He nods towards the door and I grasp the handle, push it open. We sit ourselves at the very edge of the balcony. Jack leans back in his chair and sighs with pleasure.

‘Why would anyone live anywhere else?’ he says. ‘This place is the best.’

I nod and sip my coffee, tongue-tied. Too aware of him.

‘So, Mia. What’ve you got planned for today?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I wonder if he’s going to ask me out again. ‘How about you?’

‘This is my one and only break,’ he says. ‘I’m booked solid from 10 am with sessions all day.’

My stomach swoops with disappointment. But at least we’re spending time together now.

‘How’s your memory?’ he asks. ‘Any better?’

‘Not really. But, weirdly, I remembered a children’s story,’ I say with a smile. ‘Not the most helpful memory in the world, but it’s something.’

‘Depends on the story.’ He grins.

‘The Three Billy Goats Gruff.’

‘Hmm, maybe not. Is that the one with the troll?’

‘Yeah. It came to me as I was walking across the bridge this morning.’

‘Maybe it’s a good thing,’ he says. ‘Maybe it means more memories will follow.’

‘I hope so.’ I love Jack’s optimism.

‘You look a bit distracted this morning,’ he says. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

Should I tell him I’ve seen the woman again? Jack is my only friend. If I don’t talk to him, there’s no one else, other than my doctor. And I’m not seeing her again until next week.

‘Do you remember me telling you about the ghost woman I saw?’

‘The one from the graveyard?’

I nod and take another sip of coffee.

‘Go on.’ Jack nods encouragingly.

‘I saw her again. Today.’

‘While we were on the river?’

‘No. Before, when I was on my way here. It shook me up a bit.’

‘I’m not surprised. What was she doing?’

‘It’s going to sound a bit weird, but she was on the bandstand, staring at me. It was creepy as hell.’

‘It sounds terrifying. Do you recognise her?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘But it’s like she knows me and she wants to do me harm. She doesn’t do or say anything, but the look she gives me is awful. Like she wants to hurt me.’

‘God, that doesn’t sound good.’ He reaches across the table and takes my hand. He runs his thumb across the tops of my fingers, his touch sets the rest of my body on fire, and I have to fight to concentrate on our conversation. ‘What does she look like, this woman?’ he asks.

‘I’m not sure. She’s young, with blonde hair, slim. She looks crazy, though. Maybe I should see a therapist. Maybe I’m losing my mind.’

Jack tightens his grip on my hand and stares into my eyes. ‘Of course you’re not losing your mind, Mia. You went through a traumatic experience. It’s obvious there’ll be some fallout. I’m sure it’s a symptom of your amnesia. Your mind trying to come to terms with everything. Look, after you told me about your accident, I did a little research online. It says that with amnesia, you can have false memories. So this woman is probably no one. And even if she is a real memory, she can’t hurt you. She’s just a hallucination. She’s not real.’

All I can think of is that Jack went to the trouble of researching my condition online. I can’t believe he’s so thoughtful. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Not to sound soppy or anything, but I’m really lucky to have you as a friend.’

‘Aw, shucks,’ he says with a smile. ‘But really, Mia. Try not to let the hallucinations freak you out. And if she appears to you again, call me and I’ll come over. You can talk to me anytime. I mean it.’

‘And what about a therapist? Should I see one, do you think?’

‘It’s up to you. Personally, I wouldn’t bother. They just want to take your money for letting you talk to them. And anyway, you can talk to me for free.’ He finishes up his drink and lets go of my hand. ‘I don’t want to leave you now, Mia, but I have to go. My rowers will be here in a minute.’

‘Of course,’ I say, happy that he’s reluctant to leave me. ‘Sorry. I’ve been wittering on about my problems for ages.’

‘No. I told you, you can talk to me anytime. I’m here for you, okay?’

I nod.

‘Stay here. Finish your coffee. I’ll give you a call later.’

‘Thanks,’ I say.

He smiles and heads back inside. I watch as he takes his mug back to the bar and leaves. The sun still blazes overhead, but I shiver now he’s gone. Already lonely without him.

The rest of the morning passes slowly. There’s no urgency about anything in my life. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. But instead of enjoying this freedom, I feel untethered, like a balloon floating up and away, unsure if I’ll finally come down to rest somewhere good, or if I’ll fly too close to the sun and explode with a bang.

After showering and changing, I walk into town, browse in a bookshop, and then half-heartedly try on a few clothes in one of the high street’s many boutiques. Lastly, I pick up some groceries from M&S and head home.

As I walk back through town, I have so many awful things I could be worrying about, but my head is filled with nothing but Jack. Of whether I’ll be able to see him again tonight. Of whether he’ll ring me, or call round after his coaching sessions. I should have asked him over to my place. Told him I could cook us some dinner – okay, bought us something ready-prepared and pretended I’d cooked it. But I don’t think I could pluck up the courage to ask him round. Not after his rejection when we kissed.

I wish I knew how he really feels. Whether he’s just being kind. Or whether he really likes me as something more. Is the split from his wife permanent? I don’t know him well enough to ask. It would seem – rude, presumptuous. I’ll just have to wait. See if he’ll make a move. I decide not to cut through the priory today. Although it’s a clear, bright day with lots of people around, I’m still spooked by the memory of the woman. Instead, I turn right and walk along the back streets.

At home, I kick off my shoes, put away the shopping, and make myself some lunch. I take my salad over to the sofa and flop down. As I eat, thoughts of my family come to mind. My sister yelling, and my mum crying. My mum hasn’t even called me since last weekend. I wonder if she ever will. Did she forgive Cara? Did she let her come back home? I don’t feel the urge to contact either of them. My mum doesn’t seem as bad as my sister, but neither of them feels like family.

My brain hurts to think about all that, so I stop. Pushing them down into the empty chasms of my mind. My mum and sister are part of the old Mia. Right now, I’m going to concentrate on the new me. On the rest of my life. I polish off the last of my salad, take a swig of water, and head downstairs to the office.

A few minutes later, I’m sitting at my desk staring at my tablet – my laptop is still at the PC repair place. I’m browsing through pages on the British Rowing website, at the section on qualifications and coaching. There are various levels of skills and courses on offer, and I’m not sure which one would suit me best. Looks like I’ll have to call on Jack’s expertise once again. I hope he isn’t going to get sick of me.

I spend a while studying the images on the website. Happy people in their team kits, rowing on different stretches of water. But I’m beginning to feel a little sleepy, my eyes growing heavy. I think I may have to head back upstairs and take a nap. I blink and focus on the screen again, on an image of a girl on the water. She’s staring out at me, her smile fixed forever. The river around her, deep and dark. I should turn it off, but I can’t seem to stop looking at the water on the screen. The sky in the image appears to be darkening. It looks like the water is moving, growing choppier. It’s not a video, it’s a photo, so why is it moving?

My head swims. A whooshing sound envelops me, like water rushing into my ears. I grip the desk to steady myself, but it’s not the desk any longer, it’s the side of a boat.