But then the wail comes again, longer, louder, rising to a hysterical bubbling pitch, and I know that is not a gull, it can’t be.
I let go of Thea’s arm and I set off at a run into the darkness, ignoring Kate’s cry of ‘Isa, wait!’
But I can’t – I can’t wait. Freya’s cry is like a hook in my flesh, pulling me inexorably across the darkened marsh. And now I’m not thinking, my feet remember the paths almost automatically. I vault the muddy slough before I’ve even remembered it was there. I sprint along the raised bank with the mud-filled ditches either side. And all the time I hear Freya’s high, bubbling cry coming from somewhere up ahead – like something out of a fairy tale, the light that lures the children into the marsh, the sound of bells that tricks the unwary traveller.
She is close now – I can hear everything, the siren pitch as she reaches the furious peak of her scream, and then the choking snotty gasps in between as she revs up again for the next wail.
‘Freya!’ I shout. ‘Freya, I’m coming!’
‘Isa wait!’ I hear from behind me, and I hear Kate’s footsteps pounding after me.
But I’m almost there. I scramble over the final stile between the marsh and the Reach, hearing the rip of the borrowed dress without caring – and then everything seems to slow down to the pace of a nightmare – my breath roaring in my ears, my pulse pounding in my throat. For there, in front of me, is not Liz, the girl from the village, but a man. He is standing near the water’s edge, his silhouette a dark hulk against the moon-silvered waters – and he is holding a baby.
‘Hey!’ I shout, my voice a roar of primal fury. ‘Hey, you!’
The man turns, and the moonlight falls upon his face, and my heart seems to stutter in my chest. It’s him. It’s Luc Rochefort, holding a child – my child – like a human shield across him, the deep waters of the Reach shimmering behind him.
‘Give her to me,’ I manage, and the voice that comes out of my mouth is almost alien – a snarling roar that makes Luc take an involuntary step back, his fingers tightening on Freya. She has seen me, though, and she reaches out her little chubby arms, her scarlet face sparkling in the moonlight with tears, so furious that she can’t even muster a wail now, just a long, continuous series of gasps as she attempts to draw breath for a final, annihilating shriek.
‘Give her to me!’ I scream, and I bound forward and snatch her out of Luc’s grasp, feeling her cling to me like a little marsupial, her fingers digging into my neck, clutching at my hair. She smells of cigarette smoke and alcohol – bourbon maybe, I’m not sure. It’s him. It’s his smell, all over her skin. ‘How dare you touch my child!’
‘Isa,’ he says. He holds out his hands pleadingly, and I can smell the spirits on his breath. ‘It wasn’t like that –’
‘It wasn’t like what?’ I snarl. Freya’s small, hot body flails and arches against mine. ‘What’s going on?’ I hear from behind me, and Kate comes running up, panting and flushed. Then, incredulously, ‘Luc?’
‘He had Freya,’ I say. ‘He took her.’
‘I didn’t take her!’ Luc says. He takes a step forward, and I fight the urge to turn and run. I will not show this man I’m afraid of him.
‘Luc, what the hell were you thinking?’ Kate says.
‘It wasn’t like that!’ he says, louder, his voice almost a shout. And then again, more levelly, trying to calm himself, and us, ‘It wasn’t like that. I turned up at the Mill to talk to you, to apologise to Isa for being …’ He stops, takes a breath, turns to me, and his expression is almost pleading. ‘In the post office. I didn’t want you think – but I turned up and Freya, she was beside herself – she was screaming like this –’ He gestures to Freya, still red-faced and sobbing but calmer now she can smell me. She is very tired, I can feel her flopping against me between bursts of screeching. ‘What’s-her-name, Liz, she was panicking, she said she’d tried to call you but her phone was out of credit, and I said I’d take Freya outside for a walk, try to calm her down a bit.’
‘You took her!’ I manage. I am almost incoherent with rage. ‘How do I know you weren’t about to drag her off across the marsh?’
‘Why would I do that?’ His face is full of angry bewilderment. ‘I didn’t take her anywhere – the Mill’s right there, I was just trying to calm her down. I thought the stars and the night –’
‘Jesus Christ, Luc,’ Kate snaps. ‘That’s not the point. Isa entrusted her baby to Liz – you can’t just take matters into your own hands like that.’
‘Or what?’ he says sarcastically. ‘You’ll call the police? I don’t think so.’
‘Luc …’ Kate’s voice is wary.
‘God,’ he spits. ‘I came to apologise. I was trying to help. Just once – just once – you’d think I’d learn from my mistakes. But no – you haven’t changed, none of you. She whistles, and you come running, all of you, like dogs.’
‘What’s going on?’ It’s Fatima from behind us, with a staggering Thea on her shoulder. ‘Is that … Luc?’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ Luc says. He tries for a smile, but his mouth twists, and it comes out halfway between a sneer and the expression someone makes when they’re trying not to cry. ‘Remember me, Fatima?’
‘Of course I do,’ Fatima says in a low voice.
‘Thea?’
‘Luc, you’re drunk,’ Thea says bluntly. She steadies herself on the stile.
‘Takes one to know one,’ Luc says, taking in her muddied dress and smeared make-up.
But Thea simply nods, without rancour.
‘Yes. Maybe it does. I’ve been on the edge enough times to know you’re pretty fucking close right now.’
‘Go home, Luc,’ Kate says, ‘sober up, and if you’ve got something to say, say it in the morning.’
‘If I’ve got something to say?’ Luc gives a short hysterical laugh. His hands, as he runs them through his tangled dark hair, are shaking. ‘If? What a fucking joke! What would you like to talk about, Kate – maybe we could have a nice chat about Dad?’
‘Luc, shut up,’ Kate says urgently. She looks over her shoulder, and I realise, unsettlingly, that it’s not impossible that anyone will be out at this time of night. Dog walkers, people from the dinner, night fishermen … ‘Will you please be quiet? Look – come back to the Mill, we can talk about this properly.’
‘What, don’t you want the world to know?’ Luc says mockingly. He puts his hands to his mouth, making a trumpet, and shouts the words out to the night. ‘You want to know who’s responsible for the body in the Reach? Try right here!’
‘He knows?’ Fatima gasps. Her face has gone pale as clay. I feel my stomach dropping, and suddenly I feel as sick as Thea looks. Luc knows. He has always known. Now suddenly all his anger makes sense.
‘Luc!’ Kate’s voice is a sort of screaming whisper. She looks beside herself. ‘Will you please shut up for God’s sake? Think about what you’re doing! What if someone hears?’
‘I don’t give a fuck who hears,’ Luc snarls back.