The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller Read online

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  But her words disturb me. She’s smirking now like she’s in on some private joke. Well, chances are, she probably is. Everyone else knows more about my life than I do, and it’s driving me nuts.

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Suki. Just fuck off.’ Childish, I know, but it makes me feel a bit better. Not much, though.

  ‘With pleasure,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to talk to you in the first place.’

  This time, she does manage to skirt around me, heading off along the river. I could run after her and try and force her to explain what she meant, but I don’t trust her. She could be stirring things up for her own amusement. She’s definitely got a screw loose. The best thing for it is to find Jack and ask him.

  Maybe – I think hopefully – maybe, Suki was lying about Jack being her brother. But why would she do that? And, thinking about it, I realise there are quite a few similarities in their looks. The same dark hair, the same blue-green eyes. I don’t know why I never noticed before.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I’m sitting in the rowing club bar, strategically placed by the window so I have a clear view of both the river and the clubhouse door, my attention flickering erratically from one to the other. Every time a boat comes into view, my heart jumps. Every time the bar door opens, my stomach lurches. But it’s all in vain because none of the people are Jack. I’ve already left a voice message and a text for him, but he hasn’t got back to me yet. I didn’t hint at what I wanted. Just said I needed to speak with him urgently. Maybe it’s simply because he hasn’t seen my messages yet – maybe he misplaced his phone, or it’s run out of battery. I hope it’s not because he’s avoiding me after the other night. That he’s had enough of me already.

  I wait for over two hours in the bar, nursing various hot beverages, and feeling self-conscious as groups of friends come in, chatting and laughing, comfortable in their skin. A few people nod and smile at me, but I don’t go out of my way to encourage conversation. I can’t allow myself to become distracted.

  My earlier run in with Suki has unnerved me, finding out Jack is her brother. It makes me look at him in a different light. I pity him, having someone like that as a sister. Maybe she’s just being over-protective – worrying about his marriage break-up. Blaming me for something that wasn’t my fault. I guess it would explain her dislike for me.

  It’s lunchtime now, and the bar is really filling up. I feel conspicuous sitting here on my own, taking up a whole table, when it’s clear others want to sit and eat. So I decide to leave, disappointed but also a little relieved that I won’t have to face Jack just yet. I’m not sure how to broach the subject of his sister’s hostility. I abandon my cappuccino. If I drink any more of the stuff I’ll get the jitters even worse than I have them already.

  I leave the bar, edging my way around the growing queue of people, and slip out through the door, down the stairs, and into the blustery day, my hair whipping around my face as the autumnal wind catches it. I give a last glance around the car park and boatshed, but Jack’s not here. If I knew where he lived, I could go round and knock on his door. Jack told me his place was the opposite end of town to mine, but that’s all I know. Disheartened, I turn away from the club and head for home along the river path.

  I suppose I could ask Suki for Jack’s address, but I’m sure she’d take great delight in refusing to tell me, laughing in my face, no doubt. Maybe Matt would tell me, but I’d still run the risk of her answering the door. No. I’ll simply have to be patient. Either Jack will call me back, or I’ll see him at the club sometime this week.

  But there’s no way I’ll be able to wait that long. I need to talk to him . . . now.

  This afternoon was spent in an agony of waiting. I tried calling Jack again, but he didn’t pick up. I also tried calling from my landline in case he’s ignoring my mobile number, but there was still no reply. Now, I’m on the quay again, heading back to the rowing club. It’s probably a waste of time. It’s Sunday night – I’m sure Jack won’t be there. But I have to try. I have to do something. Being in the house all afternoon was driving me nuts.

  I reach the club, disappointed to see it’s all locked up. The boatshed, the clubhouse, all of it. Even the car park is empty. As I sit on one of the oversized rocks, a dark melancholy grips me. What am I doing walking around trying to find a man I hardly know, who’s obviously off doing other things that don’t include me? I realise what a desperate, sad, pathetic, needy loser I am. I have no friends, no supportive family. Someone apparently tried to kill me. In fact, they may still be out there and want me dead. At this precise moment in time, I don’t even have the energy to feel scared. In fact, if the murderer walked up to me now, I’d probably tell them to finish the job. My stomach squirms.

  No. I haven’t quite reached that point. Not yet.

  A woman on the opposite bank throws a ball into the river for her dog, a golden retriever. He looks like he’s enjoying the game. The woman laughs and puts her arm up to shield herself as he shakes his coat vigorously, droplets of bright water spraying upwards, caught by the dying rays of the evening sun. Maybe I should get myself a dog – it could be a companion and a guardian. I think I’d like that. Perhaps it would put a stop to these feelings of loneliness which randomly seize me, leaving me breathless and afraid.

  I let my mind rest a while, staring at the woman and the dog, at the river, its rippling surface disturbed every now and then by passing boats. Will I ever feel settled, calm, normal? Will I ever stop being surprised by the constant revelations about my life?

  I realise it’s been two weeks since I was found on the beach. Two weeks of amnesia, and I feel further away than ever from the truth of who I am. Perhaps it would have been better if Piers had left me in the hospital. If I’d been forced to start from scratch with a new identity. But he didn’t. I’m here, and I have to deal with it. I open my handbag and angrily root around for my phone. There’s hardly any battery left. I stab at the screen, hitting the redial button. Surprise, surprise, it goes straight to voicemail.

  ‘Jack, I’ve left you a couple of messages. I really need to speak to you. I bumped into my neighbour, Suki, today, and . . . she told me you’re her brother . . . she doesn’t like me for some reason.’ I give a nervous laugh. ‘Please call me back. And, Jack, there’s something else – the police pulled a body out of the river. They don’t think what happened to me was an accident. I really need to talk to you.’ I end the call.

  Paranoia is setting in. It really does feel like Jack is deliberately avoiding me. Dodging my calls and staying away from the club. But something dawns on me – maybe this is all Suki’s doing. Maybe she spoke to him, warned him off me. Persuaded him that he shouldn’t see me anymore. But surely he wouldn’t just cut me off like that, without at least coming to explain. I try calling him once more, but it goes straight to voicemail again, so I hang up.

  As the sun vanishes behind the trees, the wind suddenly drops. The woman and her dog have gone. Everything is still, the light dimming, the air cooling. I should rouse myself. Get up and go home. No one is coming here on this quiet Sunday evening.

  I tear my eyes away from the eddying water and walk up the gravel slope, back onto the path, towards home. There’s no one around and dusk is falling, the Victorian street lamps lighting up along the river’s edge.

  I pass the children’s playground – deserted and forlorn. I pass the temporary wooden café – its shutters pulled down tight. Along the winding pathway, under full-leafed trees, past sleeping ducks and swans, past empty wooden benches. Past the bandstand, its eerie shape looming out of the twilight. I carry my disappointment with me, heavy in my chest and throat.

  Finally, I come to the end of the river path, and cross the narrow road, pass the empty mill house and find myself at the stone bridge. Almost home. A car approaches from behind. I get to the end of the bridge and stand back, waiting for it to pass. Then I continue on. Only a few more yards to go. Th
e car disappears around the bend, out of view, and the whole world appears deserted once more. I delve into my bag and rummage for my house keys.

  As I look up, I see a figure leaning against my wall, illuminated by the porch light, dressed in jeans and a navy hoody.

  It’s Jack.

  My mood lifts. He must have got my messages. All my worries evaporate as I wave at him. He raises his hand and smiles.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Been waiting long?’

  ‘No, I’ve been next door at Matt and Suki’s. Saw you coming, so I thought I’d pop down and say hi.’

  ‘Did you get my messages?’ I say. We kiss on the cheek before I slot my key into the lock.

  ‘Messages?’ he says. ‘No . . . God, my phone provider is so useless.’

  At least that explains why he never replied.

  ‘Coming in?’ I ask, a sudden feeling of happiness enveloping me. ‘I could make us something to eat if you’re hungry.’

  ‘Sure. Sounds good.’ He follows me inside.

  ‘You didn’t tell me Suki was your sister,’ I say as I walk into the hall and punch in the code for the alarm. ‘I saw her earlier today. I don’t think she likes me very much.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ he says, ‘and neither do I.’

  Before I can register my shock at his words, a thunder crack of pain explodes in my skull and I crumple to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  The splash of water. The cold night air. A tang of iron. The scent of water – loamy and thick. A pain in my head so deep it feels as though my brain has been dipped in acid. I hear my heart beating, wondering if that’s a good thing, or whether silent oblivion would be preferable. Through heavy lids, I peer out, squeezing them shut once more when I see him.

  Jack is here with me. Him, sitting in the boat, intent on rowing us somewhere. Me, curled up on the wet floor before him, my ankles tied with duct tape, my wrists bound behind my back, even my mouth is taped shut. I locate the source of the metallic smell – coiled around my body are thick, oily chains.

  My throat is thick with fear. I try to halt the shaking which now grips my body. I don’t want Jack to know I’m awake. Did he really say he didn’t like me? Did he knock me out and bring me here? How long have I been unconscious? I peer up at him again. Give a muffled whimper when he catches my eye.

  ‘So, they found Lucy,’ he says, making me jump. ‘I got your message. Looks like our time together is up.’ His voice sounds the same as ever. How can he be so calm while he has me tied up like this? What the hell does he mean: they found Lucy?

  My body twitches. I try to shift myself into a more comfortable position, but it’s hopeless. My legs are numb. My head feels as though it’s being stabbed by a thousand daggers. My right hip throbs, my arms are screaming in pain where he’s bound them at an awkward angle. I try to speak . . . to yell at him, but all I can do is make strangled noises through the tape across my mouth. I want to ask him what he hopes to achieve by taking me captive. To know what he means by they found Lucy. To know if he’s planning to kill me. To scream at him, call him a bastard and a wanker. But I can’t.

  ‘I honestly didn’t think you’d wake up again tonight,’ he says. ‘I hit you pretty hard with that rock. It’s a shame for you that you’re not still unconscious. It would be better that way. Better for you. Less scary.’

  My shaking increases. My legs are trembling so much, they’re rattling the chains. My mouth is dry and my hands are so cold I can no longer feel them.

  ‘I knew it would only be a matter of time before they found her,’ he says, his voice rising and falling over the splash of the oars, his gaze fixed ahead. ‘But you . . . You were a disappointment, turning up on the beach like that. God only knows how you survived, Mia.’ He flashes me a look of hatred that makes me recoil. ‘Your amnesia was a stroke of luck,’ he says. ‘But those flashbacks . . . they really had me worried. I had to keep you close, in case you remembered.’ He glances down at me again, his expression softer this time. ‘I know you’re scared, but I can’t let you go, Mia. You belong at the bottom of the ocean. It’s where you should’ve been all along. Saved us all this hassle.’

  His vile words stick to the inside of my head, fixed there like leeches to bare flesh as my heart ricochets off my ribcage. He killed his wife. He lied to me. He said they’d split up, but it’s not true. I don’t want to believe he did it. If Jack killed his wife, then what happened to me that night? Did I catch him in the act? Startle him. Did he turn on me, next? Did he throw me in the water along with his wife, thinking me dead, too? Was that his face I saw staring down at me in the water from the boat? How did I manage to survive?

  He was playing me this whole time. Pretending to be concerned. Pretending to be my friend, when really . . . really, what? I edge backwards, knowing it’s useless, knowing there’s nowhere for me to go. But I have to at least try and get away from him. If I don’t try . . .

  ‘I still can’t believe you made it out of the water alive,’ he says. ‘What are the odds? How the hell did you survive it, Mia?’ He shakes his head. ‘At first, I thought you were faking the amnesia. I couldn’t believe you’d actually forgotten everything that happened. It was too convenient – for both of us. Too . . . preposterous. But the more time I spent with you, the more I realised your memories really had gone. You were following me round like a love-sick puppy. Gazing up at me with your big brown eyes. Trusting me. Thinking I was your knight in shining armour. Asking my opinion. Calling me and texting me all the fucking time. Thinking you might actually get me to fall in love with you. It would be hilarious . . . if it weren’t so sick.’

  He must know how much his words are wounding me. How humiliated I feel, how terrified. But he doesn’t care. He isn’t the person I thought he was. Maybe I dreamed him up. Maybe I invented a handsome saviour for myself, because the alternative was too sad and depressing. But I could never have guessed how wrong I’d got it. How could I have known what a monster he’d turn out to be?

  ‘You can cry all you like, Mia,’ he says. ‘But it won’t change my mind. You’re too much of a risk. What would I do if all your memories came rushing back? If you remember everything I’ll be screwed. You’ll see to that.

  ‘My sister agrees with me. Suki’s not one to keep her feelings bottled up. But don’t judge her too badly. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her support. She’s the only person who knows about all this. The only person I trusted enough to confide in. I knew she wouldn’t judge me, so I told her everything, the pure, unvarnished truth. She was shocked – course she was – but she’s been my rock. My shoulder to cry on. The only thing she can’t understand, is why I’ve let you live this long. She always thought it was far too risky. So I’m taking her advice.’

  His words hit me like more blows to the head. Hearing how much he hates me, how he and his sister were in on it together.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘I’m sick of pretending. Of having to keep on seeing you. Faking concern, when all I really want to do is . . . is . . .

  ‘So, that’s why we’re here,’ he says, pulling harder on the blades. ‘We’ll finish this where it all started. We’ll do it properly this time. I’m going to take you far, far out to sea. Further than last time. I’m well prepared. You might have already noticed the heavy-duty chains,’ he says inclining his head. ‘And there’s a bag of cement blocks. Those are for you. I’m afraid there won’t be any chance of swimming to shore tonight. Not this time, Mia.’

  Despite the cold, I break out into a sweat at his words. I wish I could speak, so I could reassure him that I won’t tell anyone what he’s done – I would swear an oath of silence. But he wouldn’t believe me. He doesn’t care. Poor Lucy. She was married to this man. He needs to be locked up . . . for a long time.

  I can’t believe I fantasised about this man. That I wanted us to be together. His face is set, concentrating on getting us where he wants us to be. His muscled arms pull at the blades with hardly any effort. Hi
s powerful legs slide back and forth. This isn’t one of the river boats we normally use. It’s wider, more spacious. I guess that’s because we’re going out to sea. It needs to be more stable, because of the waves. Oh my God, I’m going to die.

  No one knows I’m out here. No one knows I’m in danger. The police don’t even know whose body it was they found in the river. Even if, by some miracle, they have already found out and they go to Jack’s house, it will be too late for me. They won’t have any idea that I’m tied up on an ocean-going boat with a murdering psychopath. By the time they work out that Jack is responsible for his wife’s death, I’ll be dead.

  And I don’t want to die.

  I test my bonds. There’s no chance I’m getting out of these on my own. I cast my eyes about wildly, wondering if there’s anything sharp nearby that I could use to cut myself free. Maybe a rough edge on one of the chain links. But I can’t move, and, anyway, I’m in Jack’s direct line of sight. He’ll see me if I try anything. A tear escapes down my face. Salt water. The thought makes me shudder. I can’t panic, I have to keep calm. Think. Think. Think.

  I realise with horror that my bladder is full. Please don’t let me humiliate myself in front of him. Now I’ve thought about needing the bathroom, I can’t seem to focus on anything else. Another tear, and another. A stream of them merging, falling.

  If I come out of this alive, I promise I won’t waste another second feeling sorry for myself. I may be alone in the world, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. I really don’t want to die. I want to live a good, long life with someone to love, maybe start a business, or a family. Do something worthwhile. I have money. It gives me options. But why am I thinking all these things now? Why now do I appreciate my life? Now, when I don’t have a cat’s chance in hell of living it.

  I close my eyes and try to focus again. Try to think of a plan. Maybe, when the time comes for him to . . . do it, maybe I could swing my legs out and kick him in the balls. But what then? Unless I can free myself, hurting him will only make him madder, more dangerous.