‘I don’t know,’ I say. But I know now that I will never leave Shadow and Freya alone together. Kate’s jacket is crumpled on the floor by the sink, and I am seized with a need to do something, help in some way, however insignificant. ‘Does Kate have a washing machine?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Fatima looks around. ‘She always used to put her clothes through the school laundry. Do you remember Ambrose used to hand-wash all his painting clothes in the sink? Why?’
‘I was going to put the jacket in, but I guess I’ll just put it in to soak?’
‘Cold water’s better for blood anyway.’
I can’t see where a washing machine could be, so I put in the plug, and run cold water into the sink, and then pick up Kate’s jacket from the floor. Before I put it in the sink, I feel in each pocket, to make sure I’m not about to submerge anything valuable. It’s only when my fingers close on something soft, and unpleasantly squishy, that I remember Kate picking something up from the jetty, and shoving it surreptitiously into her pocket.
When it comes out, it’s unrecognisable, whatever it is – a matted lump of white and red in my fingers – and I make an involuntary sound of disgust as I swish my fingers in the cold sink water. The thing unfurls like a petal and floats gently to the bottom of the sink, and I fish it out.
I don’t know what I thought it would be, but whatever it was, I was not expecting this.
It is a note, the paper soaked crimson with blood and fraying at the edges, the biro letters blurred, but still readable.
Why don’t you throw this one in the Reach too? it reads.
The feeling that washes over me is like nothing I’ve felt before. It is pure, distilled panic.
For a minute I don’t move, don’t say anything, don’t even breathe. I just stand there, the bloody water running from between my fingers, my heart skittering erratically in my breast, my cheeks hot and flushed with a scarlet wave of guilt and fear.
They know. Someone knows.
I look up at Fatima, who isn’t watching, who has no idea what has just happened. Her head is bowed over her phone, texting Ali, or something. For a second I open my mouth – and then a kind of instinct takes over, and I shut it again.
I feel my fingers close over the ball of mushy paper, grinding it, grinding it into pulp, feeling my nails in my palm as I rip and shred and mash the paper into flecks of white and crimson until it’s gone, quite gone, and not a single word remains.
With my free hand, I pull the plug, letting the bloodstained water drain away, out of the jacket, and I dip my fingers in as it disappears down the plughole, letting the shredded mush float free into the spiralling water. Then I turn on the cold tap and I sluice away every trace of the note, every fibre, every fleck of accusation until it’s as if it never existed.
I HAVE TO get out.
It’s ten o’clock, and Kate is in the bath, Thea has gone back to sleep, and Fatima is working, her laptop open on the table in front of the window, her head bent as she ploughs intently through her emails.
Freya is sitting plump-bottomed on the floor, and I am trying to play with her, quietly so as not to disturb Fatima. I am reading to her from the flap book that she loves, with the little babies playing peekaboo, but I keep forgetting to turn the page, and she bangs the book with her hand and chirrups at me as if to tell me, come on! Turn faster!
‘Where’s the baby?’ I say quietly, but I’m distracted, not properly entering into the game. Shadow is still lying unhappily in the corner, still licking at his muzzle, and all I want to do is snatch Freya up and hug her against me and get her out of here.
Outside I can hear the whine of insects, and I think again of the spilled guts of the sheep, spattered across the walkway. I am just opening the flap to show the baby’s surprised face peeking out, when I see, right by Freya’s chubby, perfect leg, a jagged splinter of wood sticking up out of the floorboard.
This place, where I have spent so many happy hours, is suddenly full of threat.
I stand, picking up Freya who gives a hiccup of surprise and drops the book.
‘I might go for a walk,’ I say aloud. Fatima barely looks up from the screen.
‘Good plan. Where will you go?’
‘I don’t know. Salten village, probably.’
‘You sure? It’s a good three or four miles.’
I suppress a spurt of irritation. I know the distance as well as she does. I walked it often enough.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I say evenly. ‘I’ll be fine – I’ve got good shoes, and Freya’s buggy’s quite sturdy. We can always get a taxi back if we’re tired.’
‘OK, well, have fun.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, letting my annoyance break through, and she looks up and grins.
‘Oops, was I doing that thing? Sorry, I promise I won’t tell you to wear a coat and make sure you’ve done a wee.’
I crack a smile as I strap Freya into her buggy. Fatima could always make me laugh, and it’s hard to be pissed off while you’re grinning.
‘The wee might not be bad advice,’ I say, pulling on my walking sandals. ‘Pelvic floor ain’t what it used to be.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Fatima says absently, tapping out a reply. ‘Remember those Kegels. And squeeze!’
I laugh again, and glance out of the window. The sun is beating down on the glassy, glinting waters of the Reach, and the dunes shimmer with heat. I must remember Freya’s sunscreen. Where did I pack it?
‘I saw it in your washbag,’ Fatima says, speaking around the pencil gripped between her teeth. My head jerks up.
‘What did you say?’
‘Sunscreen, you just muttered it as you were looking through Freya’s nappy bag. But I saw it upstairs in the bathroom.’
God, did I really say it aloud? I must be going mad. Perhaps I’ve got so used to being alone with Freya on maternity leave, I’ve started talking to myself, voicing my thoughts aloud to her at home in the silent flat?
The thought is a creepy one. What else might I have said?
‘Thanks,’ I say briefly to Fatima. ‘Keep an eye on Freya for a sec?’
She nods, and I run upstairs to the bathroom, my walking shoes clomping on the wooden stairs.
When I try the door, it’s locked, and I can hear sloshing from within, and belatedly I remember that Kate is in there.
‘Who is it?’ Her voice is muffled by the door, and echoey.
‘Sorry,’ I call back. ‘I forgot you were in here. I’ve left Freya’s suncream inside – can you pass it out?’
‘Hang on.’ I hear a rush of water, and then the lock clicks, and a slosh as Kate gets back into the tub. ‘Come in.’
I open the door cautiously, but she’s fully submerged beneath icebergs of foam, her hair drawn up into a straggly topknot showing her long slim neck.
‘Sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’ll be quick.’
‘No worries.’ Kate sticks a leg out of the tub and begins to shave it. ‘I don’t know why I locked it anyway. It’s not like it’s anything you lot haven’t seen before. Are you going out?’
‘Yes, I’m going for a walk. Maybe to Salten, I’m not sure.’
‘Oh, listen, if I give you my card, could you get out two hundred pounds so I can pay you and Fatima back?’
I have found the suncream now, and I stand, twisting the cap in my hands.