Tideline (21 page)

‘You didn’t notice her drinking?’

I stare at her. I did notice Helen drank a lot but what is she getting at here? What am I stirring up by mentioning it?

‘She enjoys her wine,’ I say. ‘Always has done.’

‘So nothing exceptional. Nothing worrying?’

I shake my head.

‘What about the father?’ Greg says. ‘He’s off the scene, isn’t he, Sonia?’

I stare at Greg. How much does he think I know about someone else’s nephew, for God’s sake?

‘I’ve no idea,’ I say.

‘Yes, Mum, d’you remember Helen telling us? Jez’s dad left and went to live in Marseilles. About three years ago.’

‘Oh, maybe,’ I say.

‘We’ve been on to him,’ says the policeman. ‘And the boy’s mother’s staying with her sister. So we’ve talked to her, too. In this case, at the moment,
we’re thinking accident, possible drowning, though of course . . .’

‘Josh, that’s enough,’ interrupts Kirwin.

‘Have you any clues at all?’ asks Kit.

‘Not really. But unfortunately, a drowning is on our list of possibilities. Not a suicide, from the evidence, more likely a tragic accident. They’re more frequent than you’d
imagine. Especially when the victim likes climbing up walls and under bridges on the river.’

‘That’s really awful,’ says Kit.

‘Thanks for your help,’ says the spotty boy officer, standing up.

‘Oh please,’ says Greg. ‘If we can do anything else, anything at all. After all, God, he’s almost a friend of ours. It’s terrible. Will you let us know if you hear
anything?’

‘You’ll hear all about it, no doubt,’ says Kirwin. ‘The media love cases like this, I’m afraid. Though the publicity is a mixed blessing. It can help.’

We all stare at each other for a few seconds after they’ve gone.

‘It’s so scary,’ Kit says. ‘I get really freaked out by things like this. Poor Jez! It’s horrible!’

‘Let’s hope for a happy outcome,’ says Harry.

‘I’m like, you know, pretty resilient to most things I encounter in A and E. But when it’s something cruel or violent, especially when it’s someone I know, I can’t
get my head round it,’ Kit says. She’s on the verge of tears.

‘Hey.’ Harry puts his arm round her.

‘You two need to leave,’ says Greg, looking at his watch. ‘Try not to let this get you down. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Teenage boys, they go off for all kinds of
reasons. They’ll probably discover he’s been doing the hippy trail in Morocco or something, finding himself.’

‘Oh God, Dad,’ says Kit. ‘What century are you living in?’

‘Hop in the car,’ says Greg. ‘I’ll drive you to Euston.’

I glance up quickly. ‘Haven’t you got to get ready to go?’

‘Haha! I wondered when you’d ask. I’ve postponed my next trip. I’m staying at home a bit longer, darling, to be with you.’

He says it with a hopeful little gleam in his eye, as if now we’ve had sex he’s convinced I’ll be pleased to have him around.

I feel my jaw tighten. The fury I experienced at having to put Jez in the garage to begin with takes hold of me. It’s such an intense burning anger I begin to tremble. It’s all
wrong! That he had to go in there in the first place. That he had to suffer yesterday’s horrible indignities that took us both over an hour to sort out when I got back from the opera. I had
to clean him up and change him like a baby, keeping him restrained all the while so he couldn’t try anything in his distressed state. Then I had to insist he let me spoon-feed him. It was
humiliating for both of us.

I kiss Kit goodbye. As I feel her hair brush my cheek, I have a fleeting yearning for the days when she was little and would hold on to me at night. Sometimes she’d tug me down onto the
bed and I’d crawl in next to her and wait for her to fall asleep, her feather-light fingers finding some tense part of my face and stroking the stress away with a child’s instinct.
Watching her walk across the courtyard now with Greg, and with Harry’s arm through hers, it’s as though she’s got hold of a bit of me, a loose piece, and her walking away unravels
me. We never cuddle any more, we barely touch each other. She no longer needs me. Hasn’t really needed me for years. She disappears through the door in the wall, and I feel a chasm inside
that makes me ache.

Thank goodness, then, that now I have Jez.

Sonia

The minute they’ve disappeared, I go inside, drop some provisions into a bag and make for the garage. Infuriatingly, Betty is outside her house, on the steps polishing
her brass door knocker. I glance up at the CCTV camera. I have a compulsive need to check it each time I come to see Jez, though I know it points away from the garages, at the building site where
they’re erecting yet more riverside apartments and offices on the land which was once Lovell’s Wharf.

‘I don’t know why they have to keep changing things,’ Betty says, following my gaze. ‘It was fine as it was. And how they’re going to fill all those office spaces
when there’s a recession I’ve no idea.’

Betty’s a woman I could be friends with, if I had time. I have respect for her and her opinions.

‘I know. It’s a waste of time and money.’ It pains me to see these new builds going up, stripping the riverside walk of its history, tearing its heart out. The constructions
could be anywhere, they have no link with the river and its business.

‘It creates so much noise,’ says Betty. ‘It’s constant. I sometimes think I’ll go mad if they don’t stop their hammering. And that crane’s been there
for months now, that blue thing. Hanging over us like a gallows.’

The building site is, in fact, quiet today, but the whine of the drills has been replaced by shrieks of children, the cries of seagulls and a harsh
chip chip chip
of a blackbird in a small tree
that overhangs the water. A plaintive warning call. And amongst all this I’m certain I can detect a
thump, thump thump,
coming from the direction of the garages. I’m afraid
it’s Jez, trying to attract attention. My heart starts to race, the bang of blood in my ears drowning out all other noise. I’ll have to use the duct tape to tie and gag him more
tightly. I hate using the tape. Finding him there yesterday was hell. It was torture for me as much as for him. But I can’t have him making that kind of racket. Anger sweeps over me again. If
only Greg had left! And now I must get rid of Betty so that I can go and tend to Jez without arousing her suspicions.

‘Your doorknob and letterbox look beautiful,’ I tell her, hugging my carrier bag of food and drink close to me. ‘Shinier than all the others on the terrace.’

‘Well I like to take pride in the front of my house, especially now all these tourists have started using our alley as a short cut,’ she says. ‘They look at everything, you
know, they would notice if things weren’t spic and span.
You
haven’t been to see my snowdrops yet this year. You must come now, before they finish.’

I daren’t decline. It’s a tradition that I view Betty’s garden each season and to refuse now might raise questions. The tiny grassed area lies over the road from Betty’s
house. On the far side is the long drop down to the river. Only a short distance along from there Jez’s window looks out over the same view. We walk slowly amongst the shrubs, and under the
little bare trees, her arm in mine.

‘The cold has delayed the aconites,’ Betty says. ‘But the snowdrops are everywhere. They lift my spirits more with each passing year. I do believe they get whiter!’

There’s always that clanking from Colliers Wharf, even in a light breeze. And now there’s the whoop of a jet launch on the water and the whine of an aeroplane heading for City
Airport. It’s difficult to pick out separate sounds but there’s a thump that is loud and distinct. Just as I decide with another lurch of the heart that it comes from my garage, Betty
squeezes my arm and leans close to my ear.

‘You’re a naughty girl. You weren’t clearing the garage to put the car in, after all, were you?’

‘And what’s it to you?’ I ask, unlinking my arm.

She totters a little and looks taken aback. ‘You told me you were going to put your car in there. Like your mother did. But it’s still on the street!’

‘What I do with my car is my business, thank you, Betty.’

‘I’ve told you, it isn’t safe. You’d be much better off parking it in your garage. There are vandals, Sonia. I’m only thinking of you.’

‘Thank you.’ I relax a little. ‘But it’s actually rather hard to get it into that little space.’

‘Well, what else are you going to use it for?’ she asks turning away from me.

I see that I’ve offended her, by overreacting to her comments, and that I had no reason to be alarmed. She’s making for the gate, so I call out to thank her for the tour of her
beautiful garden and say how I wish there was a garden at the River House, but she disappears into her house without looking at me again. I feel sorry that I’ve upset her and angry with
myself for my abrupt reaction, when all she had in mind was the safety of my old Saab.

My hands are shaking as I fumble with the two padlocks on the garage door and finally manage to unhook them. I turn the Chubb in the metal inner door, and slip inside, shutting the door behind
me and drawing the bolt across.

The garage smells. I feel irritation sear through me again. This place with its bucket and its lack of running water or electricity is demeaning. There were none of these difficulties in the
music room.

Jez’s face is turned away from me, though I know he’s heard me come in. I can see the contour of his cheekbone which has lost its smooth curve. His body under the duvets seems almost
flat. His arms and legs are still securely fastened to the bedposts so he must have been making the noise, as I feared, by banging the back of his head against the headboard.

I sit down on the bed.

‘Jez, you’ve been banging your head. I could hear you outside. You must stop it,’ I say, as I take off the gag.

‘Why should I?’ Now his mouth is free I see he’s been working himself up into a fury. ‘What do you expect? When you’ve done this to me!’

‘I don’t want you to hurt yourself,’ I say. ‘Banging your head is dangerous.’

‘But my arms and feet are tied,’ he says. ‘My head is all I’ve got.’

‘I don’t like tying you up either,’ I say gently. ‘But I need some cooperation from you if we’re to get you out of here later. If you arouse suspicion who knows
what might happen to us?’

‘I’m locked up in this hole! No one’s come so far. So what’s the point in all this? You could untie me. The window’s too small to climb out of.’

‘I know. And you wouldn’t survive the drop to the river. If the tide was out, you’d break something, your neck or back, and if it were in, the currents would sweep you under in
no time.’ I don’t like scaring him but I don’t want him to get ideas.

He stares at me dumbstruck.

‘Though Seb would probably have found a way,’ I mutter. ‘He’d have made a rope ladder, and used something to break the window. Nothing stopped him once he had an idea in
his head.’

‘Who? Who are you talking about?’

I glance into Jez’s face. ‘No one,’ I say.

‘It’s freezing in here,’ Jez says. ‘And it smells and it’s disgusting. You’ve got to let me out.’

‘I’m sorry. Really I am. I thought everyone was leaving today. Now I hear Greg wants to stay longer. I’m fed up. It means you have to stay here for at least another
night.’

‘What?’

‘If there’s anything you need that would make this better for you, I’ll get it.’

‘But you won’t let me go.’

I look at him sadly, shake my head. ‘Not yet.’

He’s silent for a while and I’m afraid he’s started to cry. But then he speaks. ‘If it’s sex you want I’ll do it. Then you can let me go. Please. I
won’t tell anyone, I promise. Come on.’

‘Don’t Jez,’ I say.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t do this. Don’t belittle it.’

‘But I don’t get it. If it’s not sex, why have you done this to me?’ He shakes his hands in their duct-tape bangles.

‘It’s enough having you here, near me,’ I say. But I can see he doesn’t understand. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. Not in the mood he’s in. The fact is, I want
to explain, I’m overwhelmed by the compulsion to hold onto you. It wells up in me, threatens to overflow. It’s exhausting and demanding but I cannot give up.

Then he tries another tactic. He tries to harden his voice, to sound more street than he is.

‘I’m not
nice
, you know. I take drugs. I spend too much time alone with my guitar. I can’t read or write properly. You don’t know me. If you did, you wouldn’t be
interested in me.’

I laugh. ‘You think people only like each other if they’re nice? The more I hear about the other side of you, the more I want you here. You could hardly have described Seb as nice.
It didn’t stop me loving him.’

‘Seb again!’

‘What?’

‘You keep mentioning this Seb person. Who is he?’

‘Never mind.’ I shiver. I must stop invoking Seb’s name, it feels like tempting fate.

Jez continues. ‘You just don’t get it. My dad gave up on me years ago. I’ve disappointed my mum by turning out to be dyslexic. The only person who puts up with me is
Helen.’

‘Helen! Your aunt? What’s so great about Helen? You talk as if she’s some kind of saint.’

‘What?’

He’s startled by the vitriol in my words, as am I. Why can’t I bear to hear Jez sing Helen’s praises, or mention any other woman with affection?

‘You seem to put her on a pedestal.’

‘Hardly,’ he says. ‘She’s usually too pissed to notice what we’re doing, that’s all.’

I soften a little. Even if he isn’t being entirely honest, he knows what I want to hear. He doesn’t want to hurt me. I appreciate that.

‘Helen doesn’t give a toss what we’re up to, me, Barney and Theo.’ His tone’s changed again, as if for the moment he’s forgotten he’s tied to the bed,
and is simply sulking about his lot in life. ‘Whereas my mum’s at me all the time. Do this. Practise that. Take another exam. Prove I’m “intelligent” even if I
can’t string a sentence together.’

He pauses, sighs, looks up at me. ‘I could do with a smoke,’ he says, quite sweetly now. ‘And something to drink.’