The Vanishing Tide, page 14
‘It’s virtually the summer holidays. She’d only be out of school for a few weeks longer than everyone else.’
‘She needs all the time she can get. She’s lost so much, Mark. Even if she’s not speaking, she can listen. I can organise some extra tuition for her in the holidays, get her back on track. I know I can.’
‘What are you afraid of? That she’ll grow up to be average instead of a genius?’
The silence that followed shocked them both.
‘My God, that’s it, isn’t it?’ Mark said, incredulous. ‘Your kid is turning out to be just the same as everyone else’s and you can’t stand it.’
‘No . . .’
‘Erin, why can’t we just aim for happiness? Frankie’s happiness? What’s wrong with that?’
‘She needs help, Mark.’ Erin winced. He had put his finger on the truth and it hurt. She stood before him, paralysed. His grasp of the situation made her feel the deepest, blackest shame.
She had spent the last six years pushing all her aspirations onto her daughter and it had generated the kind of satisfaction she had not imagined she could experience again.
Frankie was the proof she needed to show the world she was a good mother. With every achievement, Frankie had exonerated Erin. The awful feeling of guilt just after her birth had all but gone, only for it to return tenfold for falling asleep on the beach. It was up to Erin to make it up to her once more. There was a unique bond between her and her daughter. They understood one another. Until now.
She had lost the argument with Mark. Out of spite, she had rented the most expensive house she could find in the village. This experiment would end soon if they couldn’t afford it, but she was determined to live somewhere decent while it failed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ISLA
Isla knew the house. It was one of the nicest in the village. A perfectly proportioned Georgian cottage with its own front garden, symmetrical and neat. It was high on the hill with a view of the bay below. The lagoon was obscured by the church tower, but the sandy shore could be seen as a long, gentle curve, the islands beyond breaking the surface of the water.
Isla walked up the path leading to the front door, which was freshly painted the colour of cornflowers. The owners had edged the path with lavender. It grew happily enough during the summer months, but quickly became woody and thin. Penny had told her once that the owners, who lived somewhere in Manchester, ripped out the plants every year and replaced them with new ones. The waste infuriated the village, who had a low tolerance for incomers.
She rang the bell, feeling sick. She felt an uncomfortable anticipation about being around the child. There might be a presumption about some kind of bond between them, something she didn’t wish to foster. She reminded herself she need be there for only sixty minutes and then she could escape and avoid them for the rest of the summer.
Erin opened the door, beaming. She was smartly dressed, hair knotted, face made up. Isla hadn’t thought about dressing up and immediately felt at a disadvantage.
‘I made lunch,’ Erin said smoothly as she led Isla into the back of the house.
‘Lunch?’ Isla echoed. ‘I didn’t think . . .’
‘We owe you so much. It’s the least we can do.’
Isla felt outmanoeuvred.
‘Come and meet Frankie. She’s in the garden. I’m not sure where Mark’s got to.’ Erin swept through a cavernous gap at the back of the house. The owners had removed the original windows, knocked out most of the back wall and installed glass-panelled doors which folded back like a concertina. Isla made a mental note to tell Penny, who would be scandalised.
‘Frankie, this is Isla, the lady who saved your life.’ Erin gently took hold of Frankie’s shoulders and spun her round so they were standing face to face.
Isla was uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the girl, who looked as if she would prefer to be anywhere but here.
‘Hi.’ Isla smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you remember me very much.’
Frankie stood resolutely at Erin’s feet, grabbing on to her mother’s dress. The fabric bunched up in her fist and she shook her head, hiding her face in the folds of fabric.
‘Frankie, don’t do that, my love, you’re creasing my skirt.’ Erin tried to smooth the fabric down unsuccessfully. ‘What do you have to say to Isla? Can you say thank you?’ Once more, she turned Frankie gently by her shoulders to face forwards.
Isla, embarrassed, waited for a thank you she did not want nor deserve. ‘It’s fine, honestly. Let’s just forget about it, shall we?’
‘Come on, Frankie. We talked about this, remember?’ Erin stroked the child’s curls as if she was trying to smooth them out too.
‘Leave it, Erin.’ A low voice broke the moment. Isla jumped and turned round. Mark was leaning against the brickwork of the house. Isla had no idea if he’d only just arrived or been there all along, watching.
‘It’s just common courtesy, Mark,’ said Erin. ‘It’s not hard to say thank you. We can’t let her get away with not talking at all.’ Erin dropped her gaze to her daughter and squeezed her shoulders. ‘Two words, Frankie, can you say them to Isla?’ Her voice was brittle and artificially bright.
Frankie’s fist wound the fabric tighter round her knuckles and Isla was reminded of a boxer getting ready for a fight. She suddenly felt an urge to sweep the child up in her arms, run through the door and set her free.
‘Why don’t we have a drink?’ said Mark, ducking into the house.
‘Good idea,’ agreed Erin, who seemed relieved at the change in conversation. She indicated Isla should follow. ‘Shall we? What would you like?’
‘Water’s fine,’ Isla answered.
‘Oh I think we can do better than that,’ said Erin.
Mark was already opening a bottle of wine. Isla looked at her watch. It was barely past midday. An image of Penny with her hip flask bobbed up in her mind. Is this what people did at lunchtime?
‘So you’re our knight in shining armour. I’m Mark, by the way.’ He extended his hand across the table. ‘Red or white?’ His words were welcoming, but his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. There was something unfriendly about him.
‘Just water, please,’ Isla said faintly.
Mark and Erin consumed the bottle of wine remarkably quickly. From the way they both moved around the kitchen, avoiding contact with one another, and the lack of affection in their conversation, Isla guessed their marriage was in trouble before Erin served out the meal. By the time they finished lunch and a second bottle was emptied, it was clear Mark was drunk. Erin put a movie on in the next room and deposited Frankie, who had remained silent throughout the meal, on the sofa with a brown velvet rabbit in her lap. Isla looked at her watch. She had been here for more than ninety minutes.
‘How is she doing?’ Isla asked, when Erin returned.
‘Not very well, actually,’ Mark replied, his words uneven.
‘Mark,’ Erin pleaded a warning that he didn’t heed.
‘But . . . I thought you said that she was fine?’ She turned to Erin, who was staring down at a stain Isla had made on the tablecloth earlier. ‘You said yesterday that she needed a break, that’s all.’ Her stomach descended at sickening speed.
‘Erin’s wonderful at putting a gloss on things. She used to work in PR, you know,’ said Mark.
‘I worked in event management, not PR,’ said Erin under her breath before she turned to Isla. ‘What I said is true. She needs a break. But Frankie isn’t quite herself yet. Psychologically, she’s struggling and we’re trying to figure out how to help her.’
‘So it’s not permanent?’ Isla asked hopefully. She could feel heat gathering inside her body and willed it not to reach her face.
‘She has selective mutism. Due to cerebral hypoxia. How long is a piece of string?’ Mark said darkly.
Isla looked to Erin for clarification.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ Erin said. ‘There’s some research on how adults are affected when they have a near-drowning experience, but not much on children. Frankie’s been quite withdrawn since the accident and she doesn’t want to talk. So we have to wait and see if she gets worse – or better.’
‘It would help if we knew exactly how long she’d been in the water before you found her, Isla,’ Mark interrupted, ‘do you know?’
‘I – I didn’t see her go in. I just saw her and then – I didn’t.’ She felt so hot she thought she was going to pass out.
‘That’s what you said to the paramedics, wasn’t it?’
‘Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?’ Erin scolded. ‘You can see it’s upsetting Isla to talk about it.’ She patted Isla’s arm. ‘It must have been awful for you, too. I’m sorry.’
Erin stood up and cleared the rest of the table. ‘I’m going to see if I can persuade Frankie to have a nap. She’s been up since five. Isla, please stay and have a coffee with me when I get back.’ She turned to her husband before she left the room. ‘Mark, I think you should have a nap too.’
Mark didn’t go. He stayed at the table, stroking his wine glass. Isla willed Erin to return. She heard her talking to Frankie in the sitting room, trying to wrestle the remote control out of her grip, reasoning with her in gentle tones.
Mark broke the silence in the kitchen. ‘I was there, you know. I saw you.’ His fingers brushed the stem of his glass, up and down.
‘Sorry?’ Isla watched his face take on an unpleasant expression, as if he could smell something bad.
‘I was coming back from the coastguard station. Too far away from the lagoon to be of any use to Frankie, but I had a good view of the bay. I saw you running. I watched you run right across the beach. You’re quite fast, aren’t you?’
Isla didn’t answer. She heard Erin carry Frankie up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms above. Their voices muffled and then there was silence as she shut the door.
Mark tapped the tablecloth with his index finger. It was wet and left a damp spot on the fabric. ‘And then, quite suddenly, you stopped. I thought maybe you’d hurt yourself, pulled a hamstring. But you were looking at the lagoon wall. Like you’d seen something. So I followed your line of sight, tried to see what had put you off your stride. I couldn’t see anything apart from a buoy, floating in the water. And I knew it couldn’t be that. You could only see the wall from where you stood, not the water. You were too low down.’
Isla couldn’t take her eyes off his tapping finger. It was like he was working everything out in morse code.
‘And then, quite suddenly, you shot off. I thought: that’s weird. But not as weird as when you did a U-turn, straight back to the lagoon. Like a bat out of hell. And when you scrambled up the steps and onto the wall . . . that’s when I realised that buoy wasn’t a buoy at all. It was Frankie’s anorak.’
Mark had a faraway look, as if he was seeing it all again. ‘I only started thinking about it properly when we came back here.’ His finger began beating out the truth once more on the tablecloth. ‘The only way you knew she was in the water was if you’d seen her on the wall first. And if you’d seen her on the wall, you must have known she’d fallen in. That red anorak. It was hard to miss.’
Isla made to speak, but nothing came out. She could barely breathe.
‘You have no idea,’ he said softly. ‘You have no idea what that does to me. Knowing you could have been there faster. Knowing that you chose not to help her straight away.’
Isla took a breath. Finally, the words came. ‘I went over as fast as I could. As fast as I could. I promise.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I want you to say that you didn’t hesitate before you went to her. I want you to say that you saw her fall and you didn’t wait, because she needed you.’ He was pleading with her.
Isla shook her head. ‘One minute she was there and the next she was gone. I . . . didn’t know what was going on.’
‘You were already pumping Frankie’s chest when I got there. You shouted at me to give you space.’
‘I couldn’t think with you there.’
‘After a while, you forgot all about me. I could see your lips moving and I thought you were counting, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? You count the compressions. But when I listened, I knew it wasn’t that; it was Frankie you were talking to. It was so quiet I could hardly make it out. The same two words, over and over. I didn’t understand until now what you meant.’
It was then she remembered the whispered words that fell on Frankie’s still face as she tried to save her life. She had forgotten until now. They had tumbled from her lips like an enchantment.
Isla looked at her hands and said, ‘I’d better go.’
Suddenly he looked exhausted. ‘No, don’t do that,’ he said. ‘We need you. It might actually help Frankie to see you, I don’t know. And I suppose . . . she’d be dead if you hadn’t got to her first. I need an explanation, that’s all. I am . . . grateful . . .’ the word was hard for him to say, ‘. . . for what you did. I just don’t understand why you waited.’ He rose slowly from the table, swaying slightly.
Isla heard him, feet heavy on the stairs, terrified he was going to tell Erin. She quickly gathered her things and let herself out of the house.
Chapter Thirty
ISLA
She should have known Erin would seek her out, but when the knock at the door finally came two days later, Isla assumed it was Penny and so she opened it, unthinking, with a smile. Her heart sank when she saw who it was. Erin with Frankie, their hair dishevelled by the wind. Frankie was clutching a slim metal contraption that hung around her neck from a ribbon.
‘Do you mind if we come in? Just for a minute?’ Erin’s smile was fixed. Isla wondered what on earth lay behind it. She didn’t want Erin in her house again, so she ushered them both onto the patio. ‘It’s a nice day,’ she commented, even though the wind had a bite to it and there were dark clouds rolling in from the west. ‘Let’s sit outside.’ Isla grabbed an old towel that hung on a rusty hook by the door and gave the chairs a wipe. There was a pause when she felt sure Erin was hoping to be offered a drink, but she resisted. She didn’t want them hanging around.
‘Frankie, why don’t you go and play on the sand?’ Erin nodded to the beach below. ‘While Isla and I have a chat?’
Frankie hesitated, looking at her mother for reassurance. Erin nodded briefly, and Frankie wordlessly took the patio steps to the beach. Erin turned to Isla. ‘I’m sorry about the other day. Mark had too much to drink and Frankie didn’t want me to leave her. I can’t believe you had to let yourself out. You must think I’m a terrible person. I’m so embarrassed.’
Mark hasn’t told her, Isla thought to herself. I can’t believe Mark didn’t tell her.
Erin continued, ‘I wanted it to be a nice afternoon and it just got ruined somehow.’
‘It was fine. You have a lot of stuff to deal with right now. I still got to meet Frankie and Mark. Objective achieved.’ So why have you come to my house? she wanted to say.
They both lapsed into silence and looked at Frankie, who was carving shapes in the sand with her fingertips. Her hair was tied up and exposed the gentle curve of her neck, the slim ribbon digging in. Even though she was being observed by two adults, she looked alone. For the second time, Isla felt a surprising jolt of tenderness towards her. She remembered doing the same thing at that age, in practically the same spot. She wondered what was going through her young mind.
‘It’s a Dictaphone,’ said Erin, nodding at her daughter.
‘What?’
‘The thing round her neck. It’s a recording device. I thought she could maybe . . . talk into it, if she didn’t want to talk to us.’
‘Huh. That’s a good idea.’
‘Borne of desperation,’ said Erin, mirthlessly. ‘You press a button and it records your voice. Even a whisper. I listen to it at the end of the day when she’s sleeping.’
Isla pressed her lips together. ‘Look, do you want a drink or something?’
Erin’s face broke into another wide smile, but this time it looked genuine, grateful. ‘That would be so nice. Frankie! Are you thirsty, darling?’
Frankie looked up, nodded.
‘Do you have any juice? Apple or orange? Something like that?’ Erin asked.
‘Er, yes, I think so.’
‘Perfect. Lovely.’
Isla moved into the kitchen and got the drinks. It wasn’t so bad, having company. She tipped the rest of the strawberries she’d bought from the greengrocer into a bowl and brought everything out onto the patio.
‘So, has the Dictaphone worked yet?’ Isla asked.
‘No. I’m trying to be patient. But it’s hard. Everybody keeps telling me these things take time, but I want my daughter back. I miss her. Honestly, Isla, you should have seen her before . . . She was so inquisitive and clever. Did I tell you she was premature? I was so frightened she was going to . . . anyway, she wasn’t, just the opposite in fact, after a few years. They had to move her up several classes at school because she was so ahead.’
Isla could hear the pride in her voice. It made the guilt cut more deeply.
‘We were more than just mother and daughter. We were really good friends, you know?’
Erin stopped talking when Frankie approached the patio to drink her juice. After several swift gulps she went back onto the beach, her hand full of strawberries, head low, looking for something on the sand.
‘If she doesn’t improve soon . . . I just . . .’
‘Nobody’s said she won’t ever talk again, have they?’
‘No, but.’
‘So you know it’s going to happen at some point. Maybe if you stop looking for it all the time. A watched pot never boils. Is that the saying?’
‘It’s not just that. Frankie’s the only good thing in my life. Since the accident, the atmosphere at home’s been . . . difficult.’
Isla didn’t know what to say.
‘Sorry,’ said Erin quickly, ‘I shouldn’t bother you with my problems. It’s just . . . We’ve never understood one another, Mark and I. Not really. Mark thought I wanted to run the hotel with him. I thought we were happy as we were. We seem to have lost the ability to talk to one another.’ She smiled sadly. ‘That’s not a good recipe for marital bliss.’
