Paula Hawkins - Into the Water

HELEN SAT AT the kitchen table and cried noiselessly, her shoulders jerking, hands clasped in her lap. Sean misread the situation completely.

‘You don’t have to go,’ he said, placing a hand gingerly on her shoulder. ‘There’s no reason for you to go.’

‘She does have to go,’ Patrick said. ‘Helen does, and you do – we all do. We are part of this community.’

Helen nodded, wiping away tears with the heels of her hands. ‘Of course I’ll come,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘Of course I will.’

She wasn’t upset about the funeral. She was upset because Patrick had drowned the tabby in the river that morning. It was pregnant, he told her, and they couldn’t afford to let the place get overrun with cats. They’d become a nuisance. He was right, of course, but that didn’t help. The tabby, wild as she was, had begun to feel like a pet to Helen. She liked watching her pad across the courtyard every morning, sniffing around the front door for a treat, lazily swatting at the bees buzzing around the rosemary. The thought of it made her well up again.

After Sean went upstairs, she said, ‘You didn’t have to drown her. I could have taken her to the vet, they could have put her to sleep.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘No need,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s the best way. It was over very quickly.’

But Helen had seen the deep scratches on his forearms attesting to how strongly the cat had fought. Good , she thought. I hope she bloody hurt you . Then she felt bad, because of course he hadn’t done it to be cruel. ‘I’ll need to do something about those,’ she said, indicating the marks on his arms.

He shook his head. ‘It’s all right.’

‘It’s not all right, you could get an infection. And you’re going to get blood on your shirt.’

She sat him down at the kitchen table, cleaned his scratches and rubbed antiseptic into the wounds, then taped up the worst cuts with Elastoplast. He watched her face all the while, and she imagined he must have felt a bit remorseful because when she was finished he kissed her hand and said, ‘Good girl. You’re a good girl.’

She got to her feet and moved away from him, stood at the kitchen sink with her hands on the counter and looked at the sun-drenched cobbles. She bit her lip.

Patrick sighed, lowering his voice to a murmur. ‘Look, love, I know this is difficult for you. I know that. But we need to go as a family, don’t we? We need to support Sean. This is not about grieving for her. This is about us putting all that business behind us.’

Helen couldn’t tell whether it was the words he spoke or his breath on the back of her neck, but her hair stood up on end. ‘Patrick,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘ Dad . I need to talk to you about the car, about …’

Sean was coming down the stairs loudly, two at a time.

‘About what?’

‘Never mind,’ she said, and he frowned. She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

She went upstairs and washed her face and put on the dark-grey trouser suit usually reserved for attending the school board. She ran a comb through her hair, trying not to meet her own eye in the mirror. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that she was afraid; she didn’t want to face what she was afraid of. She’d found some things in the glove box of her car, things she couldn’t explain, and she wasn’t sure she wanted the explanation. She’d taken everything and hidden it – stupidly, childishly – under her bed.

‘Are you ready?’ Sean was calling to her from downstairs. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at her own reflection, at her pale, clean face, her eyes clear as grey glass.

‘I’m ready,’ she said, to herself.

Helen sat in the back seat of Sean’s car, Patrick riding up front next to his son. Nobody spoke, but she could tell by the way her husband kept touching his palm to his wrist that he was anxious. He would be hurting, of course. All this – these deaths in the river – raised painful memories for him and his father.

As they crossed the first bridge, Helen glanced down at the greenish water and tried not to think of her, held down, fighting for her life. The cat. She was thinking of the cat.

Josh

I HAD A fight with Mum before we left for the funeral. I came downstairs and she was there in the hallway, putting on lipstick in the mirror. She was wearing a red top. I said, You can’t wear that to a funeral, it’s disrespectful. She just kind of gave a funny laugh and went into the kitchen and carried on as though I hadn’t said anything at all. I wasn’t about to give up on it though, because we don’t need any more attention drawn to us. The police are bound to be there – the police always show up at the funerals of people who die in suspicious ways. It’s bad enough that I’ve already lied to them, and that Mum did too – what are they going to think when they see her turning up dressed like she’s going to a party?

I followed her into the kitchen. She asked me if I wanted some tea, and I said no. I said I didn’t think she should be going to the funeral at all, and she said, why on earth not? You didn’t even like her, I said. Everyone knows you didn’t like her. She gave me this annoying smile and said, oh they do, do they? I said, I’m going because I’m Lena’s friend, and she said, no you’re not. Dad came downstairs and said, don’t say that, Lou. Of course he is. He said something to her, really quietly so I couldn’t hear, and she nodded and went upstairs.

Dad made me some tea, which I didn’t want, but I drank it anyway.

‘Will the police be there, do you think?’ I asked him, even though I knew the answer.

‘I expect so. Mr Townsend knew Nel, didn’t he? And, well – I imagine a number of people from the village will want to pay their respects, whether they knew her or not. I know … I know it’s complicated with us, but I think it’s right that we try to pull together, don’t you?’ I didn’t say anything. ‘And you’ll want to see Lena, won’t you, to tell her how sorry you are. Imagine how poor Lena must be feeling.’ I still didn’t say anything. He reached out to ruffle my hair but I ducked away from him.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘you know how the police asked about Sunday night, about where we were and all that?’

He nodded, but as he did I saw him look over my head to check Mum wasn’t listening. ‘You said you didn’t hear anything unusual, didn’t you?’ he asked. I nodded. ‘You told the truth.’

I wasn’t sure whether he said, You told the truth? like a question, or You told the truth , like it was an instruction.

I wanted to say something, I wanted to say it out loud. I wanted to say, What if? What if she did something bad? , just so Dad could tell me how ridiculous I was being, so he could shout at me and say, How could you even think that ?

I said, ‘Mum went to the shops.’

He looked at me like I was thick. ‘Yes, I know. She went to the shops that morning to get milk. Josh … Oh! There you go,’ he said, looking over my shoulder. ‘There she is now. That’s better, isn’t it?’

She’d changed her red shirt to a black one.

It was better, but I was still scared of what was going to happen. I was scared that she’d say something, or that she’d laugh in the middle of the ceremony or something. She had a look at that moment that was really bugging me, not like she was happy or anything, it was more like … like the look she gives Dad when she wins an argument, like when she says, I told you it would have been quicker to take the A68 . It was like she’d been proved right about something and she couldn’t get that winning look off her face.