Paula Hawkins - Into the Water

I realized when her expression didn’t change, when I held out my hand to her and she shrank away still further, that something was wrong. She saw me just fine – she wasn’t in shock, she knew who I was. She knew who I was and she was afraid of me.

It brought something back to me sharply, a look I’d seen on her mother’s face once, and on the face of the policewoman, Jeannie, when she took me home. Not just fear, but something else. Fear and incomprehension, fear and horror. It reminded me of the look I gave myself sometimes, if I ever made the mistake of catching my eye in the mirror.

Jules

AFTER NICKIE LEFT, I went upstairs to your bedroom. Your bed was stripped bare, so I went to your wardrobe and pulled out one of your coats, caramel cashmere, softer and more luxurious than anything I could dream about owning. I wrapped myself in it and still I felt colder than I had in the water. I lay on your bed for a long time, too stiff and too tired to move, I felt as though I were waiting for my bones to warm up, for my blood to circulate once more, to restart my heart. I was waiting to hear you in my head, but you were silent.

Please, Nel , I thought, please talk to me . I said I was sorry.

I imagined your icy riposte: All this time, Julia. All I wanted to do was talk to you . And: How could you think that of me? How could you think that I would have just dismissed a rape, that I would have taunted you with it?

I don’t know, Nel. I’m sorry.

When still I couldn’t hear your voice, I changed tack. Tell me about Lauren, then. Tell me about those troublesome women. Tell me about Patrick Townsend. Tell me whatever it was you were trying to tell me before. But you wouldn’t say a word. I could almost feel you sulking.

My phone rang and on its bright-blue screen I saw DS Morgan’s name. For a second I didn’t dare pick it up. What would I do if something had happened to Lena? How could I ever atone for all the mistakes I’d made if she, too, was gone? My hand trembling, I answered. And there! My heart pumped again, pushing warm blood to my extremities. She was safe! Lena was safe. They had her. They were bringing her home.

It seemed an age, hours and hours, before I heard a car door slam outside and I was able to rouse myself, to jump up and throw off your coat and run down the stairs. Erin was already there, standing at the foot of the steps, watching while Sean helped Lena out of his car.

She was wearing a man’s jacket over her shoulders and her face was pale and dirty. But she was whole. She was safe. She was fine. Only when she looked up and her eyes met mine, I saw that was a lie.

She walked gingerly, placing her feet down carefully, and I knew how that felt. Her arms were wrapped protectively around herself; when Sean reached out an arm to guide her into the house, she flinched. I thought about the man who had taken her, about his proclivities. My stomach turned and I tasted the sweetness of vodka with orange, felt hot breath on my face, the pressure of insistent fingers on soft flesh.

‘Lena,’ I said, and she nodded at me. I saw that what I’d taken to be dirt on her face was blood, flaking from her mouth and chin. I reached for her hand, but she only held herself tighter, so I followed her up the steps. In the hallway, we stood facing each other. She shrugged off the jacket and let it fall to the floor. I bent to reach it, but Erin got there first. She picked it up and handed it to Sean, and something passed between them – a look I couldn’t read, almost like anger.

‘Where is he?’ I hissed at Sean. Lena was bent over at the sink, drinking water straight from the tap. ‘Where is Henderson?’ I had a simple, savage urge to inflict pain on him, this man who had taken on a position of trust and then abused it. I wanted to grab at him, to twist and rip clean off, to do to him what men like that deserve.

‘We’re looking for him,’ he said. ‘We have people looking for him.’

‘What do you mean, looking for him? Wasn’t she with him?’

‘She was, but …’

Lena was still bent over the sink, gulping water.

‘Did you take her to the hospital?’ I asked Sean.

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Lena was very clear that she didn’t want to go.’

There was something in his face I didn’t like, something hidden.

‘But—’

‘I don’t need to go to the hospital,’ Lena said, straightening up and wiping her mouth. ‘I’m not hurt. I’m fine.’

She was lying. I knew exactly what kind of lie she was telling because I’d told those lies myself. For the first time, I saw myself in her, not you. Her expression was one of fear and defiance; I could see that she was clutching her secret to herself like a shield. You think that the hurt will be less, the humiliation slighter, if no one else can see it.

Sean took my arm and guided me out of the room. Very quietly, he said, ‘She was adamant that she come home first. We can’t force her to submit to an examination if she’s unwilling. But you need to take her. As soon as possible.’

‘Yes, of course I will. But I still don’t understand why you don’t have him. Where is he? Where is Henderson?’

‘He’s gone,’ Lena said, suddenly at my side. Her fingers brushed against mine; they felt as cold as her mother’s had the last time I touched them.

‘Gone where?’ I asked. ‘What do you mean, gone ?’

She wouldn’t look at me. ‘Just gone.’

Townsend raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ve got uniforms out looking. His car is still there, so he can’t have got far.’

‘Where do you think he’s gone, Lena?’ I asked, trying to meet her eye, but she kept turning away.

Sean shook his head, his expression rueful. ‘I’ve tried,’ he said softly. ‘She doesn’t want to talk. I think she’s just exhausted.’

Lena’s fingers closed around mine, her breath escaping in a deep sigh. ‘I am. I just want to sleep. Can we do this tomorrow, Sean? I’m desperate to sleep.’

The detectives left us with reassurances they would be back; Lena would need to give a formal statement. I watched them walk out to Sean’s car. When Erin got into the passenger seat, she slammed the door so hard I was surprised the window didn’t shatter.

Lena called to me from the kitchen.

‘I’m starving,’ she said. ‘Could you make spaghetti Bolognese again, like you did before?’ The tone of her voice, the softness in it, was new; it was as surprising as the touch of her hand.

‘Of course I can,’ I said. ‘I’ll do that now.’

‘Thank you. I’m just going to go upstairs for a bit, I need to have a shower.’

I put my hand on her arm. ‘Lena, no. You can’t. You need to go to the hospital first.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I really don’t, I’m not hurt.’

‘Lena.’ I couldn’t meet her eye as I said it. ‘You need to be examined before you can shower.’

She looked momentarily confused, then she dropped her shoulders, shook her head and stepped towards me. Despite myself, I started to cry. She wrapped her arms around me. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK.’ Just like you had, that night after the water. ‘He didn’t do anything like that. It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand, he wasn’t some, like, evil sexual predator. He was just a sad old man.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ I said. ‘Thank God, Lena!’ We stood like that, hugging each other, for a little while until I stopped crying and she started. She sobbed like a child, her skinny body crumpling, slipping through my arms to the floor. I crouched down next to her and tried to take her hand, but it was curled tightly into a fist.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ I told her. ‘Somehow it will be. I’ll take care of you.’