Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(67)

“How did they know about the note?” asked Tristan.

“There’s always a leak in every police station,” said Kate. She was more concerned that the journalist had named Jake.

“That’s not going to look good if they got it on camera,” said Tristan. “It was only local news, though.”

“It doesn’t matter. They all share the footage,” said Kate. “And now I’ve invited them back into my life, and they have what they wanted. Crazy Kate Marshall. Shit.”

She slammed her hand on the steering wheel. She felt paranoid and scared. She had been in control of her life, and over the past few years, she had found normality again, but now this person was taking it away from her.





35

The next day was a Saturday. Kate woke at seven after an erratic few hours of sleep and pulled on her bathing costume.

She had missed her morning swim over the past few days. It was windy on the beach, with huge waves, and she had to fight her way past the breakers. The water temperature had dropped, making the scar on her belly sting. She swam out, losing herself in the roar of the surf and the cawing of seagulls. After a few minutes, she stopped and floated on her back. The water fizzed and bubbled, and the calm rhythms of the rolling water soothed her.

She’d spoken to Glenda again last night and reluctantly told her about the note. Her mother had been concerned and had already cast doubt on Jake coming to stay for half term. The thought of Jake’s next visit always kept Kate going, something positive to focus on, and to think she might not see him until Christmas hurt. Kate floated on her back for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and dove under the water.

Strands of seaweed hung suspended like ribbons in the water, rippling lazily with the surf. She swam down deeper, feeling the pressure on her ears and her goggles pressing against her face. The way the light was hitting the water gave the seabed a green gloaming. Kate kicked hard, her lungs bursting as she went deeper, deeper. The currents in the water were now still. The sand undisturbed. She exhaled air and felt her body drop through the water.

As she sank down the water pressure was hard against her face. Her toes hit the seabed with a soft bump. It was so cold, and she felt a current of water move around her body. She looked up at the ribbons of seaweed rippling and dancing above. Her lungs were starting to ache, and there were stars moving into her vision. Her head started to feel light, and she thought of how long it had been since she’d been drunk. If only she could “drink responsibly”—whatever that meant. Kate wished she could enjoy the floating light-headedness a glass of whiskey used to give her. The first drink after a long day was always the best, where she felt her problems recede. She longed for that feeling.

Any day now, she was going to fall down and take a drink. She’d come so close yesterday, at the train station, and been stopped only by accident.

Things were starting to spin out of control. There was now a police car stationed outside her house. There was a malevolent threat toward her and Jake that would keep them apart until . . . Until when? What if this man kept doing it or, worse, just vanished?

A cold current moved past, shifting the cold sand around her toes, and it cut across her skin and the scar on her belly. Stars had almost filled her vision, and she couldn’t blink them away. The pulse in her neck and arms sped up, beating against her skin.

What about Jake? Think about him. Your mother won’t live forever. There will be a time in the future when you are all he’s got, and in the eyes of the law, he’ll be an adult in less than two years. You’re just going to give up? Don’t be so fucking weak! Life is worth fighting for!

A jolt of sanity woke Kate up. With her feet flat on the sand, she pushed upward, kicking hard, moving up away from the sandy bottom to where the warm water moved and churned, through the ribbons of rippling seaweed, and then she broke the surface, taking a huge breath. The life flooded back into her, with the loud roar of the waves and the wind, and a wave hit her in the side of the head with a stinging slap.

She took deep breaths, flexing her numb fingers and toes. She felt the current pulling her back to shore.

Never give up. Never. Life is worth fighting for. Never drink again.

She kicked out with the tide at her back and swam toward the shore.

Kate took a long hot shower and ate breakfast, and then she drove with Myra to the Saturday AA meeting at the church hall in Ashdean. She sat with Myra and listened to the people sharing. Myra got up first to speak, telling the room that she had twenty-nine years of sobriety but every day was still a fight. She ended by saying, “My recovery must come first, so that everything I love in life doesn’t have to come last.”

When it was Kate’s turn to share, she didn’t hold back, telling the room how she had almost drunk and how much she yearned to take a drink and numb everything. She knew some of the faces who stared back at her, and some were new, and she drew strength from the fact they all wanted one thing. Sobriety.

When Myra and Kate arrived back at Kate’s house, they saw the police car sitting outside, and the officer inside put his hand up to wave.

“Fancy a cuppa?” asked Myra.

“Thanks, but I’ve got work to do.”

“Just concentrate on today,” said Myra. “You know how it works, one day at a time. All you need to concentrate on is not drinking today. Tomorrow is a way away.”