Escaping Life (7 page)

As the day
passed in a wonderful summer haze, Elizabeth didn’t think about Rebecca.  She
had relished the company of her friends, as they sat on the beach, bottles of
beer in the cooler and the fire burning slowly, decaying into hot coals before
they would load it with the fish which Charles had insisted they take for free. 
They sat in the stripy deckchairs, sipping on bubbling golden beer as they
looked out to sea.  Every so often Helen or David would interject the silence
to suggest how lucky they were to live in a place like this, quiet and
tranquil, a real comforter at the end of a busy day.  It was true, they had
created their dreams.  When Elizabeth found this cottage she had known it to be
exactly what they needed.  An escape close enough to hang on to their old lives
without letting go completely and yet far enough away not to feel its pulse in
everything that they did.  Here, she could forget about her awkward
conversations with her distant father, her dead sister, her murdered mother,
and now the cruel letters that somebody had placed in the paper.  She had
almost convinced herself.  As they ate the soft flesh of the fish with small
wooden forks that they had picked up from the fish and chip shop, they laughed
as they spoke about the happy memories from life in the city, when they would
spend most weekends together.  They laughed at how David and Helen had told
Graham he was crazy to get involved with a twenty-two year old girl.  ‘
She’s
just a kid’,
he had said to Graham.  Then, only eighteen months later, on a
humidity-soaked summer evening out on their rooftop terrace, he’d said how
crazy Graham was that he hadn’t already asked her to marry him.  They laughed
about nights out, about lunches, about long gone friends who had amused them
for all of the wrong reasons.  It felt like old times; the good old times.

 It was Graham who
had first noticed the grey clouds out to sea.  He had become adept at
predicting ocean-borne storm fronts.  He was convinced that it was coming their
way, but his companions hadn’t listened to him.  When the first heavy drops
fell, splashing into immediate evaporation on the bed of hot rocks, they’d
thought that they had enough time to gather their things and walk back to the
house, at little faster than a casual pace.  But the storm came with almost no
warning, soaking them before they had even left the beach.  As they ran back up
the hill, David slower than the rest, they arrived at the front door to the
cottage and huddled together laughing underneath the small porch as Graham
fiddled in his pockets for the keys.  They bustled through into the hallway, shaking
off the last grains of sand onto the wooden floorboards.  Elizabeth was first
in the shower.  She let the heat of the water wash over her, the contentment of
the day spent wrapped up in the comfort of friendship was exactly the tonic she
had needed.  After dressing in her leggings and woolly jumper, they all
filtered through the bathroom one by one.  Elizabeth dug out some other clothes
of hers and Graham’s for David and Helen and set about making some mugs of
tea.  The storm brought with it the chilliness of autumn, and when it got cold
up here on the hill that overlooked the village it was hard to bring the warmth
back in.  So Graham loaded the open fire with some coal and driftwood from the
big brass bucket that always sat full, heavy against the high stone wall in
front of the fireplace itself.  The fireplace was raised, about thigh high; it
was perfect as you sat in the chairs either side, or on the settee enface.  The
heat was always perfect, the atmosphere unbeatable as the raindrops crashed
into the window panes, the wind whipping them against the glass in heavy waves.

“Well, I’m glad
not to be driving back in this tonight,” announced Helen as she walked in
to
the room, looking slightly uncomfortable
in Elizabeth’s smaller clothes.  She looked at David, and everybody knew what
she meant.  It didn’t need to be said out aloud.

“We would have
been fine.  There is nothing wrong with my driving.”  Everybody knew that a
drive back in weather like this would have ended up with the pair arguing, as
David took the corners too fast and too wide.  Elizabeth didn’t like travelling
in his car at all.

“Here,” said
Elizabeth, as she handed Helen a cup of tea. 

“Thanks
darling, you’re an angel.”  Helen was always over-exaggerating.  She was so
different from Elizabeth, but they had formed a bond.  Helen had really tried
hard after Rebecca’s accident to be there for Elizabeth.  She had called her
every day the first week, and spent countless hours with her.  After the
funeral, she went into very practical mode, taking Elizabeth out:  shopping,
the salon, the cinema, or for coffee.  Even if Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to go,
she dragged her out.  Some of their outings had not gone well, and several
times Elizabeth had returned to the apartment, angry after an argument had
caused her to leave Helen at whatever place it was that she had dragged her to. 
She had taken her to get a manicure on one of the first outings.  Elizabeth had
not been slightly interested to go with her as she stood in the apartment
alongside Graham pressuring her to go.  She had relented, but Helen’s incessant
chatter had driven her crazy, and she had stormed out of the salon screaming at
her what a stupid idea it had been to take her there in the first place.  But
Helen hadn’t been the least bit fazed.  She just smiled at her as she left, and
had turned up the next day to take her out for coffee.  Elizabeth had asked
Graham that night if Helen was stupid. 

“Why does she
keep turning up like this?” she had asked.  “I’m not interested in her stupid
trips out.”  Graham had sat next to her for a while, obviously contemplating
how to answer.

“Because she
knows what you need, Elizabeth.”  He had gone on to tell Elizabeth that Helen’s
own mother had committed suicide only a few months before Elizabeth had met
them.  “She knows that you don’t want to go out.  She knows you think she’s
crazy, but .....” he paused, as he held her hands tightly in his, “she knows that
you need friends, because she needed them too.”  Elizabeth had looked at Helen
differently after this revelation.  Helen never mentioned it, and Elizabeth
never asked to talk about it with her.  It was just enough to know.   

They sat around
the fire, their cheeks tinged pink from the heat as they talked about the
weekend.  It was David, of all people that raised the topic.

“So, I have
just got to ask you Lizzy,” he began.  “Did you check the paper today for any
more letters?”  They were all surprised that he had raised it, and sat there
silently for a few moments.  Even the rain held back, waiting for an answer. 
He felt the silence, and wanted to clarify his question.  “Because if you did,
we could do something about it, if you wanted to.  Get an injunction for the
paper to stop printing them.  Maybe even find out who is posting them.” 

Elizabeth
remained silent, but not from anger at the subject matter.  She realised that she
hadn’t actually given it any thought since her first defiant steps past the
front door that morning.  She hadn’t even collected the paper from outside. 
She hadn’t even noticed it as they huddled up underneath the porch roof waiting
for Graham to find the key and let them in out of the rain.

“It’s outside,”
she said, slightly appalled that only now she had realised.  She looked to
Graham, who was already on his feet.  He disappeared into the dark hallway,
leaving the others behind him in silence.  They all heard the click of the
latch and after a few moments where the tormenting sound of the wind whistled
past the isolated cottage, the thud of the door closing.  Returning back with
the soaking paper, he held it out for them to see.

“We’ll put it
by the fire to dry out a bit.  If you open it now it will be ruined,” he said
as he laid the paper out as flat as possible on the warm stone mantle. 

“I didn’t even
think about it,” her words guilty as if asking for forgiveness, and Helen
placed her arm over her shoulder.  “I have to check if there is another
letter.  I didn’t want to,” she pleaded at them all, “but I should.  I have
to.”

They sat there
waiting for the paper to dry, staring almost in silence at the flames dancing before
them.  The wood crackled and spat in the intensity of the heat as pockets of trapped
water sizzled out.  It seemed to take a lifetime, as they turned the newspaper
back and forth, gently peeling back the top pages to reveal the wettest towards
the centre and then returning it to the bricks.  It was a painfully slow
method, but it appeared to be working.

“I’ll make us
some more tea whilst we wait.”  Helen went in to the kitchen.  She couldn’t
just sit there waiting.  She made the tea, found some biscuits, and took it
back into the lounge.   By the time she came back, she could see them all
standing above Graham as he leafed through the paper.

“Careful!  Don’t
rip it!” Elizabeth ordered, as Graham carefully turned to the central pages,
still slightly wet, and the ink running.  Some of the words were unreadable. 
Elizabeth and David waited, joined by Helen as she placed the tray of tea and
biscuits down onto the table beside the wet paper.  They waited as Graham drew
his finger along the page, scouring the advertisements as he looked for any
familiar names.  When he saw the name ‘Betty’, his immediate prayer was for it
to be another Betty. 
There has to be another Betty in the village
somewhere,
he thought.  But it took only seconds to realise that it was
another note meant for Elizabeth.  As he read the words to himself, his
stationary finger drew their attention.

“What?  What? 
Is it there?  Show me!”  She knew he had found something.  She read the words
out aloud, aware of the other two people in the room.  It said:

Betty, I’m
sorry for the awful week you must have had.  I had to get away.  I had to save
you.  I’m sorry that I couldn’t just walk up and tell you.  I was scared for
you.  You will find the answers.  I have left you the clues.  You have to learn
it for yourself to believe.  Look for me on our beach.  Remember. Love you
always.  Goodbye, Becca x.

As they stood
there for a moment, digesting the words, it didn’t really make sense.

“What the hell
does that mean?” Elizabeth said finally.  “I told you this wasn’t a hoax!”  She
looked at David who appeared unable to believe what he had seen and heard.  She
could tell that he wanted still to claim it to be a horrible trick, but he knew
that he was less convinced than he had been yesterday, and before they had
dried out the paper. 

“To think I
nearly didn’t look!”  Elizabeth wasn’t really talking to anybody in
particular.  Graham was stood at her side now, desperate to comfort her and
take away her mistake.  She paced around the lounge, rubbing her hands across
her hollow and shock stained cheeks.  “What does it mean, ‘
save me’ -
from
what?”

Graham was
reading the words out aloud to the rest of the group, but Elizabeth wasn’t
listening.  They were already indelibly imprinted on her mind.

“Elizabeth, she
says she has left you the clues that you should look for her on your beach.  
Does she mean here in Haven?  Do you think she is here?”  Graham couldn’t
believe what he was saying.  He couldn’t believe that he was suggesting that Rebecca
was in Haven.

“Here in
Haven?”  She thought about it.  She pointed to the far windows, down to the bay
that you could hardly see through the rain, only the foam of the crashing waves
visible against the black sky as they were illuminated by the
low hanging
moon.  “We never came
here.  I had never even heard of Haven before …..” she paused, “…… before I
thought she had died.  I told you that she would never have left without saying
goodbye.  Not me.  Not her sister.”

“OK, so
think.”  David was in gear now.  He had heard enough evidence.  It was time to
put the case together.  “She has left you the clues.  So far, this is the only
one.  The evidence is here in ‘
look for me on our beach’. 
Where did you
grow up?”

“We didn’t live
near the sea.  We played in fields and streams and gardens.  We didn’t have a
beach.”

“But you must
have been to one.”  Graham was right.  She couldn’t have passed her childhood
without a trip to a beach. 

“Yeah, loads of
times on holidays.  We must have been to thirty beaches along the south coast. 
She wouldn’t expect me to search all the beaches.”  Elizabeth looked back at
the note and then back to Graham.  “She said ‘R
emember I love you
’.  I
knew she wouldn’t leave me.”

 “No she
didn’t.”  Helen was reading the note again.   “She didn’t say, ‘R
emember I
love you’,”
underlining the words with her finger.  “She said ‘
look for
me on our beach.  Remember’. 
She needs you to remember something from the
past, not for the future.”

Elizabeth sat
down, her head held firmly by her inky fingertips. 
Think of the beaches. 
Where did we go? 
She sat in silence, and the memories came flooding back. 
She thought of the different holidays, the sandcastles, the waves.  She was
digging around in almost thirty years of memories.  Memories she had tried to
box up.  She thought of the fortresses they used to build, great towering walls
of sand and water mixed together to keep out the world.  And there it was.  It
was the memory that Rebecca had been sure that Elizabeth would recall.  They
had sat behind their sand walls, the impromptu pit stop at the side of the
road.  They had been driving back from a day visiting family when they saw the
secluded beach at the end of the road.  When the car rolled slowly to a stop at
a dead end fortified by sand dunes, Rebecca and Elizabeth had been out of the
car too quickly for their parents to stop them.  They had charged over the sand
dunes and quickly realised that they were, in fact, the only ones there.  It
had taken half an hour to build the walls, the soft fine sand mixed with water
in the bucket that had stayed in the boot from the previous holiday.  Their
parents had sat in the foldout chairs at the side of the road with their
thermos of coffee.  The girls never knew that the dead end had been less
mistake, more careful surprise planning by their parents.  They knew this
beach.  They knew their girls would love it here. 
This is our beach now. 
This is our fortress. 
She could hear Rebecca’s words as loud as the day
she had spoken them, proudly standing behind the walls of their castle,
decorated with small paper flags from different countries.