Of A Wild Lake

Of A Wild Lake

It was the sailing club on the far shore that confused me; it wasn’t there then. At the time, the lake had very few visitors as the paths were merely scratchy animal runs, lined with briar, thistle and nettles. There had been an unpleasant smell coming from the murky waters, and algae covered much of the surface closer to the banks. I recall Tony was very disappointed, grumbling, ‘Don’t remember it being this bad when I came here with Dad, as a kid.'

Now, so Amy tells me, the route we’d used to reach the shore was part of a system of nature walks that had been introduced after a major regeneration project, which included the sailing club.

Back then the lake had glittered momentarily as the sun sneaked out from behind the low grey clouds that had appeared as soon as we’d arrived.

’Looks like rain,’ I said.

‘Well, it is the Lake District,’ he said, with a sneer.

I didn’t really care. What I needed was a drink, I was still trembling after the previous evening. My stomach in knots.

‘Might as well enjoy ourselves, now we’re here,’ Tony said, removing a can of lager from the rucksack. There was a waft of sulphur from the egg and cress sandwiches that we’d brought along. I hoped it hadn’t contaminated the Battenberg cake; I couldn’t stomach the thought of eating the sandwiches. I turned towards the lake to try to quell the bile rising in my throat.

‘Got Ribena for you. Can’t have you drinking in your condition,' Tony said, but made no move to pass it me.

‘I’ll get it then,’ I said. He shrugged and took a swig of his drink.

‘Don’t go thinking things’ll change just cos you’re up the duff. I’m the one that fucking works around here.’

My hand reached for the scarf around my neck, and I considered taking it off, as there was no-one around to see.

‘You, OK, Mum?’

‘What?’

‘You’ve been staring at the lake for ages. I just asked if you’d like a tea.’

‘Oh, thanks, Amy love. I was miles away. Yes, please.’

‘What were you thinking about?’

‘I was remembering the last time I was here.’

‘You’ve been here before? You should have said.’

‘I didn’t remember at first, it’s all changed. I came here with your father, not long before …’ I trail off and Amy gives me one of her looks.

‘Oh, Mum, if I’d known I’d never have suggested it.’

‘Don’t be silly love, you weren’t to know. Anyway, it’s a long time ago now.’

‘Even so —,’

‘Shush now. What about that tea?’

I brush the last of the fruit cake crumbs from my trousers, and pass my empty mug to her. She unscrews the cap on the Thermos flask and refills it. It has that odd warmed milk taste.

‘You’re away again, Mum’

‘Sorry, love. It’s the tea.’

‘The tea?’

‘Well, not the tea. It just reminded me of some cake.’

Amy laughs, ‘Would you like to elucidate?’

‘It was that same visit, with your father …’

‘Oh, if you don’t want to talk about it …’

‘No, it’s fine. I know I haven’t told you much about that time. I’ve often thought about it, but never felt I could.’

How can I tell her the truth? She’d be devastated.

‘That’s OK.’

‘No it’s not. I should have. I know you never knew him, but it's still wrong of me.’

Amy reaches out and places her hand on mine. ‘Really, Mum, you’ve been the best. With me and Jason, with the kids. I’ve never wanted you to have to relive a time that you said was so traumatic.’

‘I know, love.’ I smile over to her and she squeezes my hand.

For a few minutes we sit in silence sipping our tea, watching the small dinghies circling each other in the distance.

‘So, what were you and Dad doing here then?’ She ventures taking care to gauge my reaction. I feel a momentary flush heat my neck and pause before answering.

‘He thought it was a good idea that I got some fresh air. He’d been told it was good for pregnant women to get some. So, really, you’ve been here before, too.’

‘Wow. That’s weird. Did you go on trips a lot?’

‘No. He worked long hours and expected the flat to be cleaned, and his tea made for when he got home.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘It was different times then.’

‘It wasn’t that long ago!’

‘Maybe not, but that's how it was.’

And woe betide if I failed in any way. I still have scars that Amy has never seen. Nobody has ever seen, except him.

I absentmindedly run a hand across my arm.

‘Your arm playing up?’

‘Just a twinge.’

‘I reckon you should have sued the hospital for the crap job they did fixing it.’

‘I’m sure they did their best, love. It doesn’t give me much trouble.’

I remember the X-Ray, those jagged ends! Tony had come with me to make sure I kept to the bicycle fall story. I’m not sure the fracture nurse believed us. He was more careful after that. Apart from that last time.

‘As I said, we didn’t get out much. The only day your dad had off was Sunday, and he liked his sport, so …’

I have a sudden vision of the cricket bat he kept in the corner of the bedroom.

‘We got together when we were in the fifth form at school,’ I say, looking back at the lake. ‘He was one of the handsome lads that hung around the bike sheds at break, sneaking crafty cigarettes. All the girls fancied them, but he picked me.’

‘Lucky you,’ Amy says, although she’s heard this before.

‘We did the usual dating stuff, went to the pictures, went into town, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘What was he like?’ She’d often asked this, particularly after she started school and all the other children talked of their daddies.

‘As I say, good looking and very attentive. Would buy me little gifts, and leave notes in my school-bag.’

‘Sounds very romantic.’

‘Yes, I suppose it was. We were just kids, really.’

It’s difficult to believe that it was so good in those early days.

‘He got an apprenticeship at the car factory after he left school, and started earning some decent money - the unions had things wrapped up in those days. I went to secretarial college for a year, and managed to get a job at a solicitors in Manchester. We would go out on a Friday night and meet up with friends at some pub or club, and not get in until the early hours. Your nan and granddad weren’t happy, but Tony was such a charmer; they trusted him to look after me.’

Amy leans forward, she’s eager to hear about those terrible months, but doesn’t want to upset me.

‘On my 18th birthday, he took me out for a meal at the local steak restaurant. A real treat. While we ate I could tell he was eager to get something off his chest. For a moment I thought he might propose, and found myself both excited and daunted at the same time. Anyway, as we finished our Black Forest Gateau, he reached into his jacket pocket and slid his hand across the table and lifted it with a theatrical flourish. It wasn’t a ring, it was a key. He then told me he’d put down a holding deposit on a rented flat, he wanted us to move into together. It was all a bit sudden, he hadn’t mentioned anything.’

‘What did you say?’ Amy asks, mild concern clouding her features.

‘I said I needed time to think about it. He wasn’t happy, and moaned about spending all the money on the meal and everything. He thought it'd be a great surprise. I told him it was, and quickly thanked him. He sulked for a bit but agreed to wait until I’d talked to your nan and grandad.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Well, I couldn’t pluck up the courage straight away. Then the next day Tony came to the house and told them anyway. I felt they were unsure about the situation, but, like I say, your dad was a charmer. Dad took me aside after Tony had gone and asked me if I was sure. He knew he couldn’t force me to stay at home, but I could see the worry in his face. I assured him everything would be fine.’

How wrong I was?

‘And …?’

‘We moved in. The flat was a bit shabby, but we spruced it up with a coat of paint, bought some secondhand furniture and made it quite cosy in no time.’

It was. Really! It’s just I can’t think of it now without having to quell the sick feeling that grips my gut.

‘Shall we have our sandwiches?’

‘Oh. OK, sorry, if you don’t want to go on …’

‘No. Being here after so long has sort of released me in some odd way.’

‘A good way?’

‘I think so.’

We eat our cheese and tomato sandwiches, sitting on the picnic blanket, having moved several rocks and large stones to make it comfortable. Their weight feeling familiar in my hand.

I gaze across the lake, pale and gently undulating, unlike the last time when that wild wind had picked up. We should have guessed that it presaged the storm that followed.

Amy screws up the tin foil and crisp packets and stows them in her rucksack, along with the rolled up picnic blanket. She returns to her camping chair, lifting her face to the weak summer sunshine.

‘This is a beautiful spot. I’m so glad Sally told me about it. Apparently her, Tom and the kids come here quite often.’

She appears relaxed, but I know she wants me to caontinue. It won’t be easy to tell her, but I know I can relate it perfectly, as I had countless times to the police, his parents, Mum and Dad. I almost believe it myself.

I settle in my chair.

‘I couldn’t eat the sandwiches; I’d had morning sickness for weeks. It was another of the reasons for going out, he said. He was already fed-up with my pregnancy; the change in our routine had unsettled him.’

In some ways it was a blessing. The beatings stopped for a while, but the control and bullying never ceased. There were times he reached for the cricket bat, but managed to stop himself, or slam it onto the bed inches from me.

‘Your dad had another lager. I warned him about driving home and we got into an stupid argument. I could have driven, but he didn’t like me driving. Then the rain started and we got soaked running back to the car.’

Well, one of us did. I was scared for you, Amy, my beautiful unborn child. I would have done anything to keep him away from you.

‘We didn’t speak on the way home. I remember the windows kept steaming up, which annoyed him even more.’

I paused, making sure the familiar story was still straight in my mind.

‘I took a sleeping pill when we got home. Yes, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so wound up, I needed something to calm me down.’

Abandoning the car, the long walk home in the pouring rain, my muscles aching.

‘When I woke in the morning, he’d already gone to work, or so I thought. It wasn’t until I saw drawers open and the wardrobe empty of his clothes, that I realised something was wrong. The two big suitcases that your nan had given us were missing, and all his toiletries were gone from the bathroom.’

‘He’d walked out?’

‘I didn’t know that at the the time, but when he didn’t come home that night, I called his parents. They hadn’t seen him. Then one of the guys from the factory phoned and asked if he was OK as he’d been missed at work. I phoned Dad, and he suggested calling the police and he and Mum would come round. The police didn’t do anything as there was nothing to suggest he was a missing person. They'd probably encountered similar scenarios countless times.

‘Next day I started a stinking head cold and had to ring in sick. Mum came and stayed with me. Then, later that evening there was a knock on the door; it was the police. A detective sergeant and a WPC. Tony’s parents had phoned them. They had lots of questions about our the trip out, and when I mentioned the argument, the detective got very interested. After what seemed like ages they decided to leave, but I was asked to attend the station in the morning.’

'They suspected you of something?’ Amy says, eyes widening.

‘Yes, I think so. During that interview they told me they’d found the car, abandoned on wasteland about four miles from home. From then on, it was awful. Months of questioning, including a visit to the lake, where police divers did several searches, hounding from the media, hate mail, suspicious neighbours, more questioning. Your grandad became very ill with it and spent some time in hospital. Tony’s parents wouldn’t speak to me. The only ray of light was when you arrived all screaming and perfect …’

Amy is beside me wrapping her arms around me, tears running down her face. And then my tears come, thirty-five years of shame leaking from my face, my soul. The recollections haven’t upset me, it's lying to her that hurts the most, and always will.

I sniff and carry on, my voice cracking.

‘They never found any evidence of foul play and, eventually, they stopped their investigation. It had gone on for over a year. Even the press got bored of the story, and thankfully they too left me alone. But I needed to move away. I didn’t want you to grow up with suspicion surrounding you. Mum and Dad had an investment mature, which they gave me to put down a deposit for a mortgage on a small house just outside Birmingham. I managed to get a PA position in the town, at another solicitors, and applied for an Open University course in law. It was tough, but your nan was a tremendous help looking after you when I had to study. And the rest you already know.’

‘Shit, Mum. I don't know what to say.’

I briefly turn away, wiping tears from my face. Hiding my expression.

‘It still hurts, but today has helped. Thanks, love.’

She gives me another hug, and kisses my cheek.

If there is anything that can help me justify my actions, my lies, it is embodied in that kiss. He never got to hurt you, my beautiful child.

I can’t explain why the divers never found his body. When I dropped the rock in awe at what I’d done, all I could think of was to pull him into the lake. It was freezing, but I somehow managed to drag him out until the water reached my neck, the cold biting into the livid bruises where he’d almost strangled me the night before.

Back on the shore, I turned to see the wind take his body further out into the gloom, twisting it round and round in a grotesque dance. Then, just as the rain threatened to veil the scene, I saw him roll and disappear under the surface.

In a daze of fear and relief, I ran back to the car, and drove it to a patch of scrubland, near the ruins of a Victorian factory, then walked home in the pouring rain. It was pitch black, and I lost my way several times, but thankfully it was so late, and the weather so awful, there were very few cars that passed me on the way. And, in those days, no cameras recording my every move.

Leaving the sodden rucksack in the hall, I went to the bathroom and dried myself as best I could, before stuffing his clothes and toiletries into the suitcases. Hauling them to the charity shop, I left them with all the other bags under the shelter at the rear of the building, for the volunteers to sort in the morning.

Back at the flat, I stripped off my soaking clothes and collapsed onto the bed. The last thing I remember, before falling soundly asleep, was the sight of the cricket bat leaning up against the donated cases, innocently reflecting the street light’s orange glow.