The Woman Next Door(80)

Amber has become lodged on one of the twisted thickets, her hands bunched into the thorny mass. A thin line of blood runs down her wrist and she is making a terrible moaning sound, guttural and raw.

Hester screams; immobilized, it seems. She has been reduced to something useless.

‘Oh fuck!’

Melissa knows that if she puts too much weight onto the area above Amber, she could cause more sand to fall and it might frighten her enough to let go. She carefully pulls her body through the gap, thorns tearing at her hands, until she is belly down on the ground, feet higher than her head. If she reaches out a hand she can just touch Amber, but the little girl has gone to a place of terror and won’t be able to follow instructions; she knows this.

‘Amber, sweetie,’ she says, and the effort of trying to sound gentle is immense. ‘You’re going to be okay, but I need you to reach back and take my hand, okay?’

There is no response at first and then Amber murmurs a small sound. Melissa realizes she is saying, ‘Help Bertie.’

‘Bertie is going to be fine!’ She sounds hysterical and can’t do anything about it. ‘But there isn’t room for everyone here so we must get you first, okay? Okay, Amber? Shit!’

Tears break through and she lets them run down her cheeks and into her mouth. She is scared to move her hand but knows she must.

Hester is still wailing, saying something over and over again that Melissa can’t make out. Melissa wants to hit her. Make her shut up.

‘Amber, sweetheart, your mummy really needs you right now. We have to make sure you get back home to Mummy today. Do you understand?’

The little girl doesn’t respond but there is a stillness as though she is finally listening.

‘Come on,’ says Melissa, encouraged enough to inject some fake control into her trembling voice. ‘Just reach out and take my hand and then we can worry about getting Bertie out. Come on … Amber? Please sweetie?’

The little girl moves with agonizing slowness and, at last, turns a little, holding out her small pale hand. Melissa grabs it, but in her relief she snatches too hard and frightens her. Amber wails and tries to pull back. Sand and stones dislodge beneath her as they engage in a tug of war. And then Melissa has her in both hands and is pulling her back through the hole.

It’s only then that she notices the ledge holding the dog has entirely disappeared.





HESTER


When Melissa comes back through the hole with Amber, I experience a moment of pure, sweet relief. Then I see her face and understand what has happened.

I can’t control my weeping as I try to claw through the hole after him, but strong hands pull me back and then a male voice says, ‘Come on, love, it’s all right, it’s all right!’

Through the mist of my tears I see a tall blond-haired man, a policeman, is holding me and there are other people standing around. A couple of gawkers watch from up the path, and another policeman is approaching us at speed. Through the trees above I can just see the yellow and blue squares of a panda car parked on the road.

‘It’s my dog!’ I cry. ‘Please help him!’

Melissa grips Amber, whose face is turned towards her. Melissa’s eyes are cold and I can’t bear to look at them.

It all comes rushing in. That Jamie man. Taking Amber. And poor Bertie …

Am I being paid back? I sink to the grass verge, not caring how damp and scratchy it is through my skirt, and I cry and cry, wishing I could turn the clock back and make it all right. My poor little Bertie is to pay the price for the acts I have committed.

And just as I feel that my chest is breaking in pieces with grief, the blond policeman is suddenly in my line of vision and he’s holding …

‘Oh thank God!’

I grasp Bertie to me and he wriggles, claws scratching my chest but I don’t care. He’s shaking violently, covered in sandy mud. But he’s alive.

‘He’d just fallen down to the next outcrop below,’ says the policeman and he looks pleased, but I suddenly wonder why he appeared so conveniently. And then I remember the family who passed us and heard us fighting. Who heard Melissa say I had snatched Amber.

My joy at having Bertie back turns into a cold realization. And a weary acceptance. Terry was right. I do bring things on myself. I nearly caused Amber to be hurt and Bertie too.

I’m not a good woman. I’ve messed it all up. I’ve done some terrible things and the time has come to let it all go.

‘So would you like to tell me exactly what has been going on here?’ says the policeman now, getting out a notebook from his pocket.

Despite my tear-streaked face and sandy, filthy clothes, I have a moment where the chaos inside has truly calmed. I feel strong and full of acceptance.

‘Officer,’ I say, in a clear, confident voice, ‘I would like to report a murder.’





PART FOUR





MELISSA


Melissa gazes from the back of the police car at the neon slashes of motorway flashing by outside. She is numb with exhaustion and the hangover of shock. The two policewomen in the front talk in low murmurs.

Amber lies with her head on Melissa’s lap, the seat belt awkwardly around her soft middle. Melissa wants to stroke her hair, as much for her own comfort as anything else. But she doesn’t want to wake the little girl. Not after such a traumatic day.