I Saw You Page 29

  It was cooler now and the sweat on his back had chilled. He pulled out his phone. It was eight fifteen. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed since he had driven out here.

  He got to his feet. The only way to get past the house without being in full view of its windows was to go behind the stables. The trees came down right behind them and he could make his way through them and come out at the far side in the deer pasture. From there it wasn’t too far to the boathouse. He hoped. He pulled the handkerchief from his hand. The ripped skin had stopped bleeding. He wiped his forehead and took a deep breath. Time to go.

  Vanessa woke with a start. For a moment she thought she was at home in Monkstown. The shape of this room was like that of her bedroom in the mews. Its ceiling sloped down to the floor and the windows were low and small. She could hear the sound of the radio coming from downstairs. A chatter of voices. Perhaps one was her mother’s. She would be cooking dinner, listening to the evening news programme. Talking to one of her friends on the phone. Maybe Janet whom she had known from school. Or Margaret – so sad always, but she had helped her mother, there was no doubt about that. It was such a relief to be able to leave her. To go out without worrying about her all the time. But now, she was sure, her mother would be worried about her. It was the day before her birthday. They had planned her birthday dinner. Her mother had told her she could have all her favourite things.

  ‘I’ll make you an Indian feast,’ her mother had said. There would be dal and spinach and potato. Okra, cooked with sugar and lemon. And chickpeas done in the sweet-and-sour fashion. There would be cucumber with mint and yoghurt, and carrot salad with mustard seeds and lemon juice. ‘And one meat dish. You must have one meat dish,’ her mother had said.

  So she had picked rogan josh, made with lamb and yoghurt. There would be a bowl of rice with peas and a pile of naan bread, hot and puffy from the grill.

  ‘And to drink – what will we have to drink?’ she had asked.

  ‘Well,’ her mother lifted her pencil and tapped the shopping list, ‘I remember your father saying there was only one thing to drink with Indian food and that was champagne. So that’s what we’ll have tonight. Champagne. How does that sound?’

  Imagine that, she had thought. Imagine having a father who knew that champagne was the right thing to drink with Indian food. And it made this man whom she had never known, who had always been a face in a photograph with hair the same colour as hers, seem real and alive for once.

  She rolled on to her back. She was alone. The dog lead trailed across the floor. She sat up slowly. She began to crawl towards the door. It was half open. She peered around it, then moved out on to the landing. And saw. The dog was lying across the end of the stairs. He lifted his head and looked at her.

  ‘Ah, you’ve decided to join us.’ Helena stood beside him. She had a bundle of clothes in her hands. ‘Here, put these on. We’re going for a walk.’ She flung the skirt and blouse up to her. ‘Hurry up, now, it’s getting late. And there’s something else I want you to do before we go out. Quickly now. Don’t keep me waiting.’

  ‘My shoes. Where are my shoes?’ Vanessa held out her hand.

  ‘Christ almighty, you want everything, don’t you? Count yourself lucky that you’ve anything to wear. And don’t start getting any ideas about going home. Home is the last place you’re going.’ Helena’s face split into a grin. ‘Of course, you could say that you’re being called home. But that phrase will be lost on you, I’d say. You’re too young to have heard it regularly. Now,’ she put a hand on the dog’s head and he rose to his feet, ‘put that stuff on. Quickly, before I feel the need to come and do it for you.’

  McLoughlin could see the boat through the stand of beeches at the lake end of the deer pasture. It was tied up at the little jetty. There was still no sign of life in the house. He hurried through the trees, his feet crunching on the beech mast that lay inches deep on the mossy ground. He reached the boat. He stopped and flopped down beside it to catch his breath. The wood of the jetty was warm. He leaned over and scooped up a handful of lake water. He splashed his face, then wetted his handkerchief and mopped his neck, letting the warm liquid dribble down his back. It felt lovely. He’d have given anything to strip off and lower himself into its smooth, silky darkness. But this wasn’t the time or place, he reminded himself. He got up on to his knees and peered into the boat. It was in pretty good condition. The paint was faded but there were no signs of rot or decay. He leaned down on the gunwales and the boat tipped beneath his weight. Tipped, but did not sink beneath the surface. He stood up, then untied it from its mooring ring and began to pull it around the end of the jetty, then back towards the shore and the entrance to the boathouse. He pushed at the wooden door, which swung back on its hinges. He moved quickly inside, the dinghy following like an obedient pony on a leading-rein.

  It was dark and cool. He stood on the wooden walkway and tied the boat loosely to a ring on the wall. Then he stepped down into it. The boat dipped and swayed beneath his weight. Imagine, he thought. Imagine you’re drunk and stoned and lying here in the dark. He sat on the rear seat and let himself slip to the side so his head was resting on the gunwales.

  ‘You have decided that you’re going to end it all. You’re going to jump overboard,’ he said aloud, as he swung his legs over the side. As his weight shifted, the bow reared up. He took off his shoes and rolled his trousers as far above his knees as they would go. Then he sat on the edge and pushed down. The boat gave way beneath him. Water slopped up and dribbled over the side. He swung his legs in and bent down to look at what had accumulated in the bilges. There was hardly enough to fill the bailing bucket. Certainly not nearly as much as there had been in the boat after Marina’s body had been found. The only way water could have got into the boat was if someone had poured it in. Or? Or? Or?

  He got out of the boat and slipped down beside it. The water sneaked up his legs. Shit, he thought. He should have taken off his trousers. Too late now. He stood beside the boat. Then he leaned down on the gunwales, half pulling himself up but keeping his feet firmly anchored on the lake’s sandy bottom. As the boat tilted at a steep angle, water poured in. He stood back, let it go and watched as the boat righted itself. The lake water slopped from one side to the other, then settled. He leaned over and looked in. At least six inches. Not as much as there had been the morning Marina was found. But he could see now how it might have got there. Someone leaning on the gunwales, maybe holding the boat down, that would do it. Someone leaning on the gunwales while the woman was asleep so she fell out into the water. Someone leaning on the gunwales, pushing and pulling the woman out of the boat. Someone strong, heavy, pushing their weight down, so the woman in the boat toppled out, and as she disappeared into the lake, water rushed in to displace her.

  He pulled himself back on to the walkway. He thought back over the statements he had read. He remembered sitting in the kitchen here, listening to Helena as she described how she and her dog had got up early to go for their morning swim. She had described it vividly. They had seen the boat drifting. She had waded out to catch it, to make it fast to the mooring ring on the rock wall. She had seen the woman’s body lying in the rapids. She had gone to look at her. She had realized that she was dead. She had raised the alarm. He bent to roll down his trousers, put on his shoes. But what if she had found the boat, as she said, and Marina was still in it? Unconscious, perhaps, but alive. And she had leaned on the side of the boat, and tipped her into the lake so that she drowned? Johnny Harris had said she drowned. Her lungs were filled with water. So she was alive when she went into the water. Alive, but unable to save herself. Alive, until Helena found her.

  He pulled his laces tight and tied them in neat bows. He stood up. It was about time he brought Brian Dooley in on this. Of course, he’d probably dismiss it as the fevered imaginings of a retired guard with too much time on his hands. But maybe he wouldn’t. Dooley wasn’t the worst. He bent down and untied the dinghy. He’d better put it ba
ck where he had found it. Try not to alert anyone that someone had been here. But as he put out his hand to push open the door he heard a voice. He drew back, but there was no escape. The door swung open.

  ‘Well, looky, looky, what do we have here?’ Helena’s voice was loud, triumphant. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and the dog sprang forward. It stopped just short of McLoughlin, its front feet planted wide, the hackles on its shoulders rising with its growl. But McLoughlin’s attention was on the girl standing in the doorway, her head slumped forward and a band of leather around her thin white neck. ‘What have you done to her?’ he asked quietly.

  Helena turned to Vanessa. She jerked the dog lead and Vanessa’s head jerked in response. ‘Not much. We’ve just had a bit of fun, haven’t we?’ She tightened her grip on the leather strap and forced Vanessa’s head up. Tears slid from the girl’s eyes. She did not speak.

  ‘Let her go.’ McLoughlin made as if to move. The dog barked once, a short, sharp sound, which stopped him.

  The girl sobbed, shoulders shaking. McLoughlin could feel his own legs trembling. ‘Let her go,’ he whispered. ‘Please, take me instead.’ Remember Mary, Margaret had said. He remembered. Her body wrapped in black plastic as she was pulled from the canal, beaten and abused. Her black curls shorn. He remembered Margaret’s face as she looked down at her daughter. He had seen other mothers’ faces too. Before that day and after it. He couldn’t bear to think of Sally Spencer. And the look on hers.

  ‘You? What would I want with you? You’re nothing to me. Nothing to anyone. I know you, Michael McLoughlin. You’re a nothing man.’ Helena turned to Vanessa. ‘This is who I want. This little one, who twitters like a bird.’ She reached out and touched Vanessa’s hair. The dog whined. ‘You know what day it is tomorrow, don’t you, Mr McLoughlin? It’s her eighteenth birthday. And you know what that means? Tomorrow Dove Cottage and the land around it become hers. Isn’t she a lucky little girl?’ She jerked the lead again. ‘Look at me, girl, when I speak to you. Pay attention.’ Vanessa’s head snapped up. Her eyes were closed. Her face was the colour of skimmed milk. ‘Dove Cottage, pretty name. But it’s not called after the bird, with its smooth feathers and neat little beak. It’s the Irish word, dubh, the same as the lake, Lough Dubh. Black, black, black.’ She shook her head so her hair fanned out around her head. ‘Black, black, black is the colour of my true love’s hair.’ Her voice was strong and melodic. ‘Black because of the water from the bog. Black because of the lake’s depth. It’s bottomless, you know. No one knows how deep it is. Will I put rocks in your pockets, Vanessa? Will I let you sink? Or will you float, as your sister floated? Such a pretty sight in her red dress, floating with her face in the water.’ She stopped, smoothed her hair back, tucked it behind her ears. ‘Now, to the business at hand. I have a plan.’ She clicked her fingers in Vanessa’s direction. ‘The note. Give me the note. Such a nice note. Just like the note I wrote for her sister. Now, where to leave it? That was the question.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘And then a brainwave. She had left her bag up in one of the top bedrooms. So I popped the note in it, and kicked it under the bed. Such a good idea to put it there.’

  Vanessa pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. ‘Now, read it for the nice man.’ Helena put out her hand and twined a lock of Vanessa’s hair around her fingers. ‘Smarten up, girl, off you go. Loud and clear.’

  McLoughlin listened. The words were familiar. She asked for forgiveness, if not in this world then in the next. Her voice faltered as she reached the end. ‘I love you, Mum. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.’ She began to sob.

  ‘When?’ He stared at Helena, at the smile on her face.

  ‘Soon. We’ll go out for a row on the lake. The dog, the girl and me. Out to the deepest part. And then the girl will say goodbye. She will leave her clothes in the boat. The note will be in her pocket. The dog and I will swim to the shore. We’re strong swimmers.’ She clicked her tongue. The dog moved forward. McLoughlin could feel the sweat prickle in his armpits. His mouth was dry. The dog lifted his nose. His nostrils opened wide. The inner skin was pink and shiny. McLoughlin tried to think.

  ‘Just tell me one thing.’ He shifted carefully from foot to foot. The dog followed his movements with its shiny brown eyes. ‘Marina. You did kill her, didn’t you?’ He looked at Vanessa. She was shocked, disoriented. Her pupils were huge.

  ‘Kill her? Well, did I kill her? That’s a debatable proposition. I leaned on the boat and she fell overboard.’

  Leans on the boat. The girl opens her eyes. Help me, she says, please help me. The water pours into the boat. The girl falls to one side. The water pours into the boat. The girl slides out.

  ‘She deserved it. She let my husband die. She sat here,’ she pointed to the boat, ‘she sat here and she watched him drown. That man told Dominic. He saw her. He saw what she did.’

  ‘She was fifteen, Helena, not much more than a child.’ He slipped his hand into his pocket. He could feel the hard plastic of his phone.

  ‘Fifteen? Not much more than a child? She was strong, she was healthy, she could swim. She was wearing a life-jacket.’

  She sits and watches him. She’d told him to put on his life-jacket. He ignored her. I hate you, she thinks, you never listen to me. She sits and watches him. He sinks beneath the water. He kicks himself up into the air. Help me, help me, he cries. She sits in the boat and watches him drown.

  Helena was shouting now. ‘He was helpless! She let him die!’

  Vanessa whimpered. ‘It’s not true, is it? She didn’t do that, did she?’

  ‘Shut up! Shut the creature up!’ Helena hit her across the face and Vanessa fell back.

  McLoughlin’s fingers slipped across the keypad. ‘And why did she do that, Helena? What was James doing to her that made her hate him so much?’

  Helena hit him then, her fist balled, a blow to the nose that made him stagger.

  ‘You think he was interested in her? You haven’t a clue. You know nothing. You’re out of your depth. You’re drowning. The water’s creeping up over your chin, over your mouth, over your nose. Soon you’ll disappear completely. You’ll be gone and no one will even miss you.’ She screamed. A scream of triumph. ‘And we’ll be on our own again. My son Dominic and me. We need no one else. No one. We’re all that matters.’

  McLoughlin could taste blood. He could feel it on his lips, his chin.

  ‘Poor Marina. She wanted Dominic to like her.’ Helena’s face was lit up. A bright shining light that came from within. ‘She was so frightened that he would find out what happened in the boat. She would do anything to please him. When they went back to school after James died, Dominic told me, he was having the best time. Marina was at his beck and call. He got her to torment that boy, Mark Porter. They were all at it. It was his game. And they played it for him.’

  She walks towards the tennis courts. She has to do it. Dominic has told her. And she is so scared that Dominic knows. Knows what happened in the boat. And he will tell her mother. And her mother will never forgive her. She will do whatever Dominic asks. He has a list of tasks. Ben Roxby is top of the list. Give him what he wants. And then there’s little Mark. We’ll have some fun with little Mark, won’t we, Marina? Poor little Mark. He doesn’t realize what we’re doing. He just wants us to like him. He wants you to love him. Go on, Marina, and I’ll watch you and tell you if you’re doing well.

  Blood was dripping down his shirt and on to the wooden floor. The dog sniffed. Vanessa whimpered again.

  ‘So what is it about the men in your family and Marina?’ He had to concentrate. He had to keep calm. He had to think. He tried to visualize the buttons on the phone. ‘You know that Dominic was fucking Marina, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course he was. Of course I knew!’ Helena screeched. ‘He was playing her. Like a trout on the end of a line. Letting her out, then reeling her in. Until she was exhausted. And he could grab her, pierce her with his gaff, net her, drag her o
n to the ground. Watch her gasping for breath. Then smash her head with a rock.’ She raised her arms high in the air, then let them drop. ‘He found out what happened in the boat. And he was punishing her.’

  ‘Punishing her with the messages and the photographs?’ She smiled again. It struck him that her lipstick was smudged. She clapped her hands. ‘I wish I’d been there to see her face when she got those photos. But I saw plenty of her that night at the party. I saw her and I made a nice little film with my camera. Plenty of details. Pity you haven’t seen it, as you seem to be so interested in her.’

  A beautiful night. A full moon. The house filled with people. Loud music playing. Tables laden with food, with bottles of wine, vodka, whiskey, gin. Mark drives Marina down the track by the lake. She is scared. She doesn’t speak. She should never have come. Dominic will be here. She is frightened of him. Does he know what she did? She has tried to find out. She has been getting the messages, the photographs. The words written on the walls of the apartment. Dominic must know. But she can’t bring herself to ask him. The lake is so beautiful. The moon hangs above. Its blue light ripples across the water. Dominic will be here with his wife. Marina hadn’t wanted to come. But Mark begged her. She felt so sad for him. So sad for what she had done, how she had made him suffer. But she knew it would be a mistake to come here.

  She stands and looks out at the lake. She sees the little boat tied up at the jetty. Dominic catches her arm. Here, he says, come here. He takes her into the house. Up to a bedroom at the top. He lays out a line of coke on the dressing-table. She bends down and puts the rolled-up note to her nose. And now how about this? he says. He gives her the small white pill. Acid, he says, you’ve had it before. Haven’t you? She nods. She swallows it.

  They walk through the throng. She takes a bottle of vodka from the table. He leads her into the wood. He brings her to the little clearing. A huge fire is burning. She sees the familiar faces. She feels warm, content. For a moment she feels loved. Dominic kisses her. Over his shoulder she sees his wife. Gilly smiles at her. Maybe everything will be all right. Then Mark takes her by the hand. He pushes her to the ground. She looks at Dominic. He nods and smiles. Mark lies on top of her. The fire is warm on her bare legs. Mark pulls down her dress. He kisses her breasts. But something is wrong. He stands up. He is crying. She rolls over. She vomits. She stands. She shouldn’t be here. This place is cursed. She picks up the bottle of vodka. She staggers away. She is dirty. She smells. Her mouth tastes foul. She staggers towards the lake. And sees the little boat. Bluebird, her little Bluebird. She stumbles to the jetty. Fly away, little Bluebird, we’ll fly away together. She unties the rope and steps in. The boat rises and falls beneath her weight. She pushes it from the jetty. It is so beautiful on the lake. Quiet. Peaceful. She raises the bottle to her lips and drinks. She lays her head on the seat. She sleeps.