November 1990
A month had gone by, and it seemed Imogen’s miscarriage had brought the two women closer together. Or perhaps it was more that Laura wanted to keep an even closer watch over the children – over Imogen.
Today was a beautiful day, with clear blue skies, and a bright, watery sun. It wasn’t warm enough to swim in the lake, which would be freezing this time of year, but with thick cardigans, Laura had been determined to have a picnic by the water to cheer everyone up.
Laura and Imogen followed the excitable, high-pitched voices of the girls through the wood, as they headed for a clearing, Laura carrying a picnic basket. Dillon had declined the outing. ‘He’s sixteen,’ Imogen had said, when he glared at them and headed to his room. ‘Let him wallow in his teenage angst.’ She’d turned to Laura when he was out of sight. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ she’d said. ‘He’s so much like his father these days. In fact, I’ve suggested he join the army. It will make a man of him.’
Laura had noticed a change in Dillon since the day he’d confided his fears about Imogen. It was as though a deep sadness had crept in – along with a distrust of the woman he’d once spoken so highly of. ‘Does he want to join up?’ she’d asked, concerned. ‘He’s very young.’
‘It’s not what he wants, Laura. It’s what’s best for him. I’ve written him a permission letter. He’s to move out by the end of the year.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s family business, Laura,’ she’d concluded. And Laura took the subtext to mean ‘mind your own’.
There was something surreal about today – almost storybook-like. As though they were characters in an Enid Blyton tale. Maybe it was the tinkling sound of children’s laughter, the sun’s rays breaking through the trees, casting yellow brick roads in every direction. It felt like an adventure.
But the truth was, inside Laura’s book was the story of a useless mother, who still pined for Jude. A mother who’d wrecked her daughter’s early years. And what would be in Imogen’s novel? What kind of mother was she? Raped at seventeen, parents threw her onto the street, a woman who self-harmed? A killer? Truth was, beneath the covers of their books, maggots squirmed, burying themselves into the fleshy pages.
As they strolled, Laura asked, ‘Do you think Tierney will ever come back?’ She longed to tell her she’d seen them out in the boat that night, but if she had she would feel as though she was complicit. If she kept quiet she could pretend to herself that she hadn’t seen anything.
Imogen shrugged. ‘I can’t say I miss him. I never wanted him near me, Laura,’ she said. ‘Not even at the start.’
‘That’s not surprising,’ Laura said, ‘not after what you went through. Maybe you could see a counsellor.’
‘I don’t want some counsellor knowing my business,’ Imogen said, snatching a leaf from a twig. ‘Can we talk about something else?’ There was a painful pause, as she shredded the leaf, and discarded it. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t …’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Imogen cut in. ‘It’s fine. I just want to forget him.’
‘He was a cruel man.’
She nodded. ‘All men are cruel, Laura.’
Laura’s mind drifted to the men who’d featured in her own life: Jude and her father only thinking of themselves, Marcus with his inappropriate come-on. She looked at Imogen who was pushing ahead of her now through some brambles, and thought of the trail of destruction the woman had coped with. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she called after her. ‘You’ve had some dreadful experiences. But I still believe some men are different. That there are good ones out there somewhere.’
Imogen stopped and glanced over her shoulder. ‘I thought Tierney was one of the good guys,’ she said. ‘He was kind at first. But he was like all men, Laura.’ She kicked the undergrowth. ‘Evil to the core.’
‘Jump! Jump! Jump!’ Rachel was yelling in the near distance, her words cutting through the still air, like a guillotine.
‘What’s happening?’ Imogen cried, but Laura was pushing past her. Already running.
There was a splash, before Bridie yelled, ‘She can’t swim, you idiot. She’ll drown.’
Laura appeared in the clearing to see Bridie run at Rachel. At five, she was bigger and stronger than the three-and-half-year old, and with one push Rachel was in the lake.
Laura raced to the water’s edge to see Caitlin and Rachel thrashing their arms in the water, their eyes wide with fear. She kicked off her shoes.
‘Caitlin can’t swim,’ Bridie cried from behind her, as Caitlin stopped fighting the water. ‘She’s going to die.’ There was panic in Caitlin’s eyes, as she attempted to lift her chin. She was defeated. One gulp, and she disappeared under the water.
Laura had to make a judgement call.
She jumped into the icy water, the cold numbing her. ‘Rachel, keep paddling your legs and arms, like I taught you,’ she cried. ‘Try to get to the bank, darling. Can you do that for me?’
The child didn’t reply, her little arms splashing the water, droplets landing on Laura’s face. Laura took a deep breath and dived under to see Caitlin floating downwards. Without a second’s hesitation, she swam down fast and strong to grab her.
Moments later she broke through the water with Caitlin, who spluttered and coughed, her dark hair clinging to her skull. The child was pale, exhausted, her eyes bloodshot. Laura hugged her close as she waded towards the edge, and scanning the area for Rachel, she lifted Caitlin into Imogen’s waiting arms. ‘Where’s Rachel?’ she said, her eyes flicking over the bank for her daughter.
‘I couldn’t go in, Laura, I can’t swim,’ Imogen said in a rush. ‘And I couldn’t reach her. I’m so sorry.’
Laura turned. There was no sign of her daughter. ‘Rachel,’ she screamed, panicking as she spun round in the water. ‘Oh God, Rachel!’
She dived under once more, and opened her eyes, searching. She saw her child drifting downwards, arms splayed, her dress ballooned about her. For a split second the darkest thought oozed through her mind, like tar, thickening, swirling. Would life be easier if she let her float down to the bottom? She was clearly unconscious. She would feel no pain. She would be happy as an angel.
Coming to her senses, Laura kicked off a sunken tree trunk and dived down over ten metres after her daughter, deeper and deeper into the lake. Rachel could have hypothermia by now, Laura reasoned. She could lose her. Perhaps this is how it’s meant to be.
She reached the bottom, where Rachel lay motionless, and picked up her small body. She swam up, up, up; until she broke through the surface, out of breath, her hair slicked to head.
On the grass verge, Caitlin – wrapped in Imogen’s cardigan – was huddled in Bridie’s arms, her head on her sister’s chest, teeth chattering. Bridie stared at Laura and Rachel, her anger at almost losing her sister tangible.
‘Imogen,’ Laura cried, and she turned.
‘Oh God,’ Imogen yelled, racing to the edge. ‘Is she OK?’
‘I don’t know.’ Laura pushed the child’s soaking hair back from her face. As she reached the edge, she held her lifeless daughter up to Imogen. ‘I don’t know.’
Laura clambered onto the grass verge, trying to catch her breath, while Imogen laid Rachel down and attempted to revive her with anxious pushes on the child’s chest and an awkward attempt at the kiss of life. Rachel spluttered, and water splurged from her mouth. The girl opened her eyes and stared at Imogen for some time, her hair clinging to her skull, her face so pale.
‘Thank God you’re OK,’ Laura said, dropping to her knees and taking hold of her small hand.
But Rachel turned her head away, and closed her eyes.