The Retreat(61)

Sweetmeat, come to me, my sweetmeat . . .

—had hold of my ankles. I screamed an inaudible scream, kicked and pulled, fought to escape this liquid grave. Give in, said a voice inside me. Let go, accept it. Sink into nothingness. No more pain. No more suffering—

Let me make you better, my sweeeeetmeat . . .

No. I refused to let go. I refused to die.

With the last of my strength, I pushed upwards, towards the stars that shone high above the surface and called to me, told me to keep going, to not give up.

I burst through.

Snapped at the air.

Fought the desperate screaming pain in my skull and kicked towards the bank. I grabbed at weeds that tore away in my hands. To the left, I saw the flat stones on which Julia had stood, unable to save her husband. I dragged myself towards them, finally crawling from the water. Gasping and shivering, I lay on my back on the stones, eyes shut, blackness rushing over me again. I surrendered to it.



‘Lucas? Lucas!’

I didn’t wake suddenly this time. Darkness slowly retreated. Someone was saying my name.

A warm hand touched my face and something was laid over me.

‘Lucas, it’s me, Julia.’

My eyes opened and I saw her looking down at me. I tried to speak but my teeth were chattering too much. She held my hand, squeezed it. Above her head, the stars that had saved me.

I realised she had covered my soaking wet body with her coat. I tried to push myself up but a lightning bolt of pain flashed through my skull. I gasped and a look of concern flitted across Julia’s face.

‘I came looking for you,’ she said, ‘when you didn’t come back from the cottage. What happened? Why were you in the water?’

I tried to speak again, but coughed instead, river water running from my mouth. Julia knelt beside me, gently turning me onto my side so I didn’t choke. She repositioned the coat.

‘I’ve called an ambulance,’ she said.

I coughed and spluttered again, more water spilling from my lungs. I was trembling all over and didn’t think I would ever feel warm again. But I needed to speak, to ask her something.

‘Max,’ I managed to say. ‘Where is he?’

Once again, before she could answer, I blacked out.



I woke up in hospital. The pain in my head had subsided – they must have pumped me full of painkillers. I tested my arms and legs, fingers and toes. Everything seemed to work. I was still nauseous, shaky, cold. But I pushed myself into a sitting position, careful not to disturb the tube that ran from a drip into my arm. I gingerly felt the back of my head, which was covered with a bandage. Morning light streamed through the window.

A nurse spotted me and headed over.

‘Mr Radcliffe. You need to take it easy.’ She had an Eastern European accent and kind eyes.

‘Is Julia here?’ I asked.

‘Is that the woman who found you? She’s nearby, don’t worry. The doctor’s going to want to take a look at you. I’ll let him know you’re awake.’

She was about to go when I said, ‘Wait. Max Lake? Is he here?’ I strained to look around the ward but couldn’t see him.

She attempted a reassuring smile which didn’t quite come off. ‘I think the police want to talk to you as soon as the doctor says it’s okay.’ She hurried away.

The doctor came, gave me the once-over, and told me I was fine but they were going to keep me in for a little while for observation. They were mostly concerned about my head injury.

‘It’s not as bad as it must have felt,’ the doctor said. ‘Your skull isn’t fractured. We’ve already carried out an X-ray and scan and there doesn’t appear to be any internal damage. You have a tough head, Mr Radcliffe. But we want to monitor you for concussion and so on. There’s a risk of a subdural haematoma developing, but I think you’re going to be okay.’

‘What was I hit with?’ I asked.

‘Hmm.’ He consulted his notes. ‘A rock, I think. But the police will be able to tell you more.’

‘What about Max Lake? Is he here?’

The doctor frowned. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

Half an hour later I was lying with my eyes closed, replaying what had happened, when I heard someone say my name. I opened my eyes to see a woman with short, dark hair standing over me. She introduced herself as Detective Constable Carla Hawkins.

‘Are you feeling up to answering some questions?’ she asked, pulling up a plastic chair.

‘Of course. But can you answer one of mine first? Max Lake? Where is he? Is he okay?’

She formed a fist with her hand and put it to her lips, clearing her throat. ‘I’m afraid Mr Lake’s body was recovered from the River Dee early this morning.’

‘Oh Jesus.’

I wasn’t shocked. Since waking up I had been steeling myself for this news. The same thing that happened to me had clearly happened to Max, except he hadn’t managed to get out of the river. Had he even woken up and struggled? I hoped not. Better to be oblivious than to struggle against drowning and fail.

‘Were you close?’ DC Hawkins asked, studying me, obviously trying to read my face and body language.

‘No. I’ve only known him a couple of weeks. But . . .’ Guilt squeezed my insides. ‘It’s my fault. I brought this upon us, and I’m alive and he’s . . . dead.’