I’m released without charge, but it’s made clear to me that things aren’t completely over. Before I’m let out of the interview room, DI Cousins says she’ll be consulting with the CPS on whether they believe it to be within the public’s interest to take further action against me based on the interview she’s been given.
DC Malik volunteers to see me out, and once we’re by the doors of the police station he turns to me and says in a low voice, ‘Try not to worry. I know it’s hard, but, based on my experience, I seriously doubt this is going to get very far.’
I turn to look at him, aware my eyes are full of hope. His nod releases a wave of relief across me, so powerful I think I grow a little unsteady. I use the door to stabilise myself and ask, ‘I won’t be arrested?’
‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but our Super, he was one of the PCs involved in looking into Adah’s death and he always thought there was something more to it.’
I nodded, remembering Andrea’s threat about going to a certain police contact, but I don’t say anything.
‘He rather jumped at the idea of taking another look at the case,’ DC Malik continued. ‘And I suppose, in a way, he was right. I can’t say for certain; it depends how the conversation with him and the team goes, and even if they think it’s worth putting this to the CPS. But the way I see it, you were too young for any serious legal culpability to be laid at your door, and if there were any ramifications, it would be more along the lines of obstruction of justice. You and your family all getting together and lying to the police – that bit isn’t good, if I’m honest; though as a minor, it’s unlikely this will have any consequences for you. It’s likely we’ll be questioning your dad and Amanda. But again, I’d be very surprised if it ever reaches court.’
Words cannot express how grateful I am for him telling me all this. I shake his hand and thank him, and he tells me to take care. Then I walk away from the building in the direction of the train station, hoping I’ll never have to walk down its dark corridors again.
My sense of relief doesn’t last. I’m on the station platform when the aftershocks of the day start to hit me, like waves of electricity pulsing through my body. The things I’ve said; the experiences I’ve had to live through all over again; the constant nagging doubt about that day by the edge of the stream. Hands clutching, grabbing, pulling, hitting, shoving – then nothing. Just the sound of a young girl trying to cling to a life that is drifting away from her, carried off by the surrounding water.
My next moves come so naturally to me, it’s as if my brain’s on autopilot. I leave the train station, go back out onto the street and cross over to the car rental company I had passed on the way to the police station. I’m greeted by a young man at the desk inside and I tell him I need a car. It takes me mere minutes to show him my licence, get my details booked in and be handed the keys to a brand-new-looking Nissan Leaf. The man giving me the vehicle asks if I want some instructions on the ‘best practice usage’ of the car, but I say I’m fine. Then I drive off in the opposite direction of home.
I regret not getting advice on how to drive the car during the first half hour of my journey, as it takes me a while to get used to the automatic braking and intuitive driving settings. After a while, however, I grow to like the fact it’s taking a lot of the thinking out of driving so I can cruise along the motorway, allowing my consciousness to sink down within me, steadily growing numb to the world.
I have a bit of a wobble at the service station an hour into the drive. I haven’t got much further to go, but I haven’t eaten all day, so I get myself a slice of pizza and some chips from the canteen staffed by two bored-looking women. It’s seeing my book on the way out that does it, in the WH Smith near the exit, amidst a row of other new titles. I run to the car and unplug it in a hurry, leaving the charging lead swinging from the machine as I grab open the door, start the engine up and drive off into the dusk.
It’s at the point when I think I’m lost that a road sign tells me I’m on course. The trees grow dense around me, the motorway ends and the road becomes long and winding, snaking through woods on either side. Memories from over a decade ago come back. Memories from when I was a child, and from when I did this journey in my twenties in an attempt to seek closure. It took me a long time to track down the right area of the forest then: a lot of wrong turns; a lot of trial and error. I thought coming back would help me make sense of things. Now, I’ve given up trying to properly make sense of things. I just need everything to be over. Finality. Closure.
I turn the car down the country track. It ends in a gate, now, with a car park. The whole area is managed by a company under licence from the county council, although it appears it’s been shut up for the night. There’s no security though, and it doesn’t take much effort to uncoil the loosely wrapped chain and pull the gate open. I drive in and park my car in the deserted area, passing by the little bins and signs displaying maps of the woods and different paths visitors can take. The night is still around me, though the temperature has dropped again and the air tastes of snow.
I vaguely remember where to go from here, and I set off walking until I reach a dip in the ground that takes me down to a pathway. And there it is, the surface of it glittering in the moonlight, until a cloud moves over and turns the rippling silver into shimmering black. The Poison Stream. I’ve never looked up its proper name. If I was ever told it, I’ve forgotten it now. It’s only ever been called that for me.
I move slowly, step by step, towards the edge where it meets the ground, its natural shallow entry blurring the boundary between earth and water. Where a merging happens between safety and danger; life and death; reality and dreams.
‘Kitty … help me …’
I can hear her now. Slightly muffled, like her voice is going in and out of signal; like a radio that’s not tuned properly.
‘Help … please … please …’
I close my eyes, allowing the tears to roll down my face and drop into the water around me, becoming part of the body of the stream.
And then I keep on walking, past the water’s edge.
I allow myself to fall under the water, its icy hands gripping my body like an old friend welcoming me back, until my face is the only part of me above the surface. I lean back and allow myself to be taken into its arms, and as I look up, I see large white flakes drifting down from the gaps in the trees. It’s started to snow, and it’s beautiful. All of it is strangely beautiful. I’m grateful that the last thing I see of this place, before I let myself go, isn’t the horror I’ve held tight within me all this time. It’s something wondrous.
Then my vision blurs, and everything finishes.