The Other People(25)

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WATER. RUNNING WATER. Fran blinked her eyes open. Shit. Where was she? The hotel room. So why could she still hear water? She sat up, glanced across automatically at Alice’s bed. Empty. Water. Running water. She looked back at the closed bathroom door, a dark stain just starting to spread below the chipped edge.

“No.”

She leaped out of her bed and ran over, yanking the door open. The bath was overflowing, a small sea of water flooding the linoleum and seeping out on to the carpet.

Alice lay in the bath, head just starting to slip below the surface of the water. Asleep.

“Fuck!”

Fran grabbed her beneath the arms. Jesus Christ, the water was freezing.

“Alice. Alice. Wake up!”

Her skin was almost blue, her lips a cracked line of purple.

No, no, no. How had she let this happen?

She grabbed towels, wrapped them around Alice and carried her, dripping, out of the bathroom. She laid her on the bed, rubbing her gently dry, whispering into her wet hair.

“Alice, Alice, wake up.”

“M—…Mummy.”

For once she didn’t correct her. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Alice’s limp arms encircled her. She felt her body start to shiver. A good thing, Fran thought.

“We need to get you warm.”

She wrapped the duvet tightly around her. She needed more towels. She walked back to the bathroom. The water was still running. Crap. She squelched over to the bath and turned off the tap. She reached for the plug and then paused. What the? The plug was still wrapped around the tap. So why wasn’t the water draining away?

She stuck her hand into the freezing water and felt around. Something was blocking the plughole, wedged tight. She fumbled around and managed to dislodge it. The water began to gurgle down the drain. Fran pulled her arm back out, peppered with goosebumps, and stared at the object in her hand.

A small, pinky-white conch shell.





She sleeps. A pale girl in a white room.

The nurses look after her well every day. But this morning there is more activity than usual. Today is a special day. Today is visiting day.

Miriam helps the juniors as they hoist the girl and change her bedding. She supervises the cleaners and ensures that every speck of dust has been removed from every room; from the machines, the piano keys and the shell.

She arranges fresh flowers in vases, washes and dries the girl’s hair and then brushes it until it shines. Later, she will make tea and cakes and sit with the girl to wait.

This is Miriam’s domain. Yes, there are nurses, and a doctor visits occasionally, but she is the one who spends the most time here and has done for over thirty years, since before that awful day. Since before the girl’s mother became a virtual recluse and the girl ended up like this.

Perhaps if it had never happened, Miriam wouldn’t have stayed. She would have moved on, made a life of her own. But they both depended on her so much. Mother and daughter. She couldn’t desert them. She always feared what might happen if she did. So, she had stayed and, in many ways, this was her family now, her life. She doesn’t begrudge it. In fact, often Miriam feels that she is here for a reason.

She reaches into her pocket and takes out a piece of paper. Soft and much folded. A child’s face stares out. Have you seen me? Miriam sighs and looks back at the girl. Then she leans forward and gently pats her still hand.

“Soon,” she whispers. “Soon.”





Gabe drove. It was all he could do. Maybe if he was a detective or a private investigator, someone with “a team” and experts to summon, he would be doing something more productive.

But Gabe was neither of those. He didn’t know what he was any more. No job, no home, no longer a father or a husband. A driver with no destination and empty passenger seats.

But now he had something. The photo. The scratch. As he drove, he went over and over it in his mind. Prodding and pulling at his memory, trying to pick holes in his recollection. Was it really that morning he had applied the plaster? Could he be getting confused with another morning? No. You did not forget something like that. You did not forget the last time you saw your wife and daughter alive.

And that Monday morning had not been like any other morning. It wasn’t normal for him to take Izzy to school. In fact, he remembered arguing with Jenny about it.

“It’s a bit short notice. Can’t you change your meeting?”

“No. It’s a big client.”

“But I’ll be late.”

“So? It’s just one morning. Maybe you could actually leave on time, too—push the boat out.”

“Jesus, Jenny.”

“I am serious, Gabe. You missed Izzy’s birthday party at the weekend.”

“One party. I had to catch up on work.”

“You almost missed her bloody birth.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Here we go. Always work, isn’t it? Yet whenever I call you, you’re never there. You’re always at a client’s, on the road, or your mobile is turned off. Where were you last Monday, Gabe? Work didn’t know.”

“Christ. I thought we’d been through this. All the accusations.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”