The Well (12 page)

The two women remained connected, though silent, for the best part of two minutes. “I’m OK now,” said Helen. “I’m coming back. I love you.”

“I know it,” said Abby.

1

The moment that the first glimmer of sunlight fell across Sarah’s face, she was awake. She glanced at her watch: 4:51am. She’d slept, which surprised her, but she felt completely unrefreshed.

She reached for her phone. No texts, no missed calls and no answer phone messages.
Shit.
She swung her feet out of bed, dialling her home number. It rang four times before she heard her own recorded voice, then hung up without leaving a message. She wanted to call Jan again, but it was far too early.

Enough
, she thought.

She shook Jim, probably harder than she needed to. “Jim: wake up. We’re going home.”

2

It was mid-morning before Becca woke, aching and tired. She’d slept only fitfully, spending the night drifting in and out of a half-sleep. She shivered; she had almost completely forgotten what it felt like to be warm.

She looked up at the sky. Clear blue: another warm day up there.

Sunday
, she thought, not completely certain.
Sunday. Mum’s coming home tonight. She’ll call the police. She’ll start looking.

Becca’s hope was half-hearted.
If she looked, it wouldn’t be here. No one would look here for days.

She stood up, stretching, her body sore, her legs tight and cramped. Water fell from her and she trembled all over, colder than ever. She rubbed her hands together but it was hard to feel them, they were so cold and numb.
And,
she thought,
swollen.
She looked at them in the dim light. They seemed puffy. She blew into them and rubbed them together, hard, until the feeling started to come back.

Hunger gnawed at her: far more than just pangs, this was a hunger which gripped her insides like a claw, twisting. Every so often, her stomach made obscene noises, like faulty plumbing. Her lips were as dry as ever.

She greedily ate the remainder of the apple, as she’d promised herself, washing it down with orange juice. Normally, she’d leave the core, but she ate it all without thinking, pips included. She drank more of the orange than she’d intended, but left perhaps a quarter of the can, replacing it on the shelf. When she’d finished, she felt no less hungry or thirsty.

She moved around as much as she could in the well, avoiding Matt’s body. Her feet sloshed about and it felt as if she had small stones in her shoes.
Grit from the bottom of the well,
she thought. She leaned against the side of the well, and lifted one leg up, slipping her shoe off with some effort. Her socks were totally drenched. She swished the shoe around in the water, then did the same with her foot, rubbing the pebbles off her sock. When she replaced her shoe, she noticed that it was much harder to put back on.
My feet are swollen too,
she thought as she did the same with her other foot.

Although it made her feel a little more comfortable, it also seemed pointless. Becca didn’t need a mirror to know how rough she looked. Apart from her shoulders and above, she was drenched, filthy and thoroughly cold. Her clothes clung uncomfortably to her skin. She rubbed her hands through her matted, straggly hair.

A distant, droning noise came from above. She looked up, squinting at the bright sky. A small plane came briefly into view, high in the sky. Within moments it was gone; the sound of its engines faded a minute or so later.

The world keeps going,
she thought.
Everything’s normal out there, carrying on, just a few feet away. No one knows I’m here.

The certainty that she would slowly die here enveloped her like a constricting snake that was now starting to tighten its death grip.

With some effort, she pushed the dark thoughts of her inevitable fate to one side.

She flipped the cigarette lighter on and examined the results of her efforts.
Not bad,
she thought. She looked for where she’d left off, grabbed the stone from where she’d left it and set to work again.

Above her, a huge black bird fluttered loudly, landing at the top of the well. It cawed, twice.

“Screw you,” she muttered underneath her breath, scraping hard.

3

Abby let Helen sleep late. She’d returned exhausted and frightened. Abby had cleaned and bandaged her arm; then they’d gone to bed and talked. It was light before Helen felt that she had unwound enough to relax and sleep. She dozed off in Abby’s arms and shortly after, Abby had fallen asleep too.

Sammy had slept through the night – no surprise, since Abby had laced her bedtime drink with a mild sedative. If she could protect Sammy from the nightmares she would – but her daughter had not slept peacefully. Each time Abby had checked on Sammy, she was hot, sweating and restless, sometimes murmuring to herself.

Abby slept for just a few hours and awoke glad that it was Sunday, so she wouldn’t have to open the shop. She lay next to Helen for several minutes, holding her, before quietly getting up and putting on her robe. She crept past Sammy’s room; she was now soundly asleep.

She made herself some coffee and sat in the kitchen of the upstairs flat. She’d long known that something like this could happen, and knew her expected part in it. Not exactly these events, of course. Now that it was here, she felt as though she’d climbed on a roller coaster – there was no going back, no time for bad decisions. Everything from here on in counted. But what was the right thing to do? How would she know? What should Sammy be told, if anything?

I’ll have to follow my heart,
she decided.
I’ll know at the time. And if I don’t know what to do, please let me know what
NOT
to do.
Like now: she didn’t know what to do, but she did know
what not to
: she shouldn’t tell anyone about the girl or in any way help her. That was certainly right.

It had all seemed so easy
, she thought,
when it wasn’t real. Yet all I have to do is – well, nothing. Just wait. Let someone die. Someone I don’t even know. Shit, can I really, really do that?

For a fleeting moment, she thought that she could perhaps bring the end faster for the girl, as you would for a sick animal, but Abby truly didn’t know if that could be the way of it.
No
, she thought.
I have to let things play out. People will start looking soon. And let’s face it
, she thought,
you don’t really have the stomach for that, do you?
Abby shuddered at the thought. It wouldn’t be hard and no one would know: just drop a few large stones into the well, onto her, and it would be over. She shuddered again.

I can’t believe I’m even considering that
, she thought, disgusted with herself.
In any event, it’s not my right to do it
.
Not unless there’s absolutely no other choice.

Outside, a car drove past.
People going about their business
, reflected Abby.
We all have our business. Sometimes we choose it and sometimes it chooses you. You just have to get on with it.
Although she had Helen and Sammy, the chances were that this business would be hers to face alone.

She let another hour pass until, feeling isolated and in need of comfort, she finished her now cold coffee and made two more mug-fulls. She took them to her bedroom, passing the still-sleeping Sammy. She put the mugs down, removed her robe and slipped in next to Helen, immediately feeling better. Helen stirred and Abby woke her with a long slow kiss.

“Hey you,” Abby said, brushing Helen’s hair back. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. More human. That coffee?” They sat up and Helen took the mug from Abby. She drank almost half of it in one go. “Oh, I needed that.”

Helen regarded Abby and realised that something was amiss. “You OK?”

Abby shook her head. “Not really. I’m scared.”

“You’ll cope, I promise,” said Helen. She held her hand. “I’m here for you.” For a moment, Helen considered keeping her reservations to herself and then decided against it. It wasn’t how their relationship worked. “I’m struggling with this, Abs,” she said.

Abby looked at Helen, who lowered her eyes. “Me too, Helen. Do I look like I’m finding it easy?”

There was a pause. “I guess, yes. Easier than – well, than I would like of you. This is serious stuff, Abby.”

“Don’t I know it. Well, I’m not finding it easy, trust me. If it looks like I am, well, it’s just because I’ve lived it for longer.”

Helen squeezed Abby’s hand.

The bedroom door opened and a sleepy Sammy half-stumbled in.

“Hey, Sams,” said Abby. “Come on in.”

“Hi Mummy. Hi Helen,” she said.

“I had another bad dream,” said Sammy, slipping between the sheets. “And you were in it, Helen. You hurt your arm. A bad bird hurt your arm.” She pointed to Helen’s bandage, not in the least surprised to see it covering her arm.

“See,” said Sammy, “just there.”

4

By the time it was nine o’clock, Sarah and Jim were over halfway home. It had taken them longer to get ready and leave than she had expected, which Sarah had found frustrating. (In truth, they were in the car and moving in under half an hour, but it seemed almost twice that to her.)

Sarah was conflicted: her thoughts flipping between her deep-rooted instinct that something was seriously wrong and the very real probability that their fears would turn out to be ungrounded. The most likely scenario was that the day would end in a series of flaming rows, between them and the kids and probably between her and Jim.
Damned if I’m right, and damned if I’m wrong
, she thought.

Jim hadn’t protested about going home early and she was grateful for that. She knew he was worried too, but in her current state of mind she was finding it hard to talk to him. They’d exchanged only a few words and the atmosphere in the car was pensive, to say the least. That alone upset Sarah, because she knew it was her doing. There was no reason for this to cause antagonism between them, but Sarah couldn’t help it. She was scared and annoyed and found it hard to have a conversation without snapping.

Their relationship might be relatively new, but Jim understood Sarah pretty well, and he knew that right now his best strategy was to keep quiet and stay calm. Inside, he was now almost as worried as Sarah. Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with any sensible explanation of the children’s silence. Possibly they’d stayed over at a friend’s and both of their phone batteries had died – he mulled that one over, but couldn’t make it stick. But part of him suspected (and hoped) that they’d be at home, or turn up later (after all, he and Sarah were not expected home until the evening) unaware of their parents’ panic. Jim drove as quickly as he could, but – being Jim – not irresponsibly. Even on a Sunday morning, that could turn the day into a genuine disaster.

“How long before we get home?” Sarah asked, trying her best not to be curt and not entirely succeeding.

“Less than a couple of hours now, if we don’t stop,” replied Jim, evenly. He felt sure that neither of them had any intention of stopping.

Sarah glanced at her watch. “Do you think it’s too early to call Jan?”

Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. It is a Sunday. But she probably won’t mind.” He wanted to add that it would be a touch more sociable to leave it until after ten, but thought better of it. He knew that Sarah would be thinking the same thing.
There’s no point in waking Jan
, he thought.
We can’t get home any faster, whatever she says
. He decided to keep this opinion to himself.

As she had done several times already during the journey, Sarah dialled the house and then both of the mobiles. Still no reply. She huffed, loudly; Jim let it pass.
This isn’t another “I’m sure it will be all right” moment
, he thought. Any reply he could think of would almost certainly spark an argument, except the one he decided to give, “Ring Jan.”

Sarah looked at him and then at her watch. “It’s still too early,” she said, wanting to call Jan but not wanting to take all of the responsibility.

“She’ll get over it. It’s important. And how many times do you look after her cat when she’s away?”

That was all the confirmation Sarah needed. She dialled and waited.

Sarah needn’t have worried: Janet was already awake and up. She’d not slept well, worrying about Becca and Matt. Once in the night, and once early in the morning, she’d walked around to the house but it was still empty. Janet was expecting Sarah’s call and had been dreading telling her about the milk. At the time, she had thought that she was protecting Sarah – but now it seemed a stupid omission.

“I’ve been around twice,” said Jan, aware that Sarah would be just a step or two away from total panic. “No signs of the children either time.”

Jan could hear Sarah catch her breath. “Do you want me to go around again?” she asked.

“Please,” replied Sarah, numbly.

“I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes,” said Jan. She rang off and walked around to the house, her heart heavy.

As before, the house was silent. Indeed, the whole street was quiet. She did see one person, carrying a camera. He seemed to be hanging around at the bottom of Lincoln Street. When she saw him, he smiled and adjusted his glasses, walking away in the direction of the fields behind the houses.
Probably out to photograph the birds or something
, she thought. Not having children of her own, Janet didn’t recognise Tom Randle – although he did briefly strike her as being a little odd, for no reason she could quite put her finger on.

Despondent, she returned home and called Sarah. “Still nobody there,” she said.

“OK, thanks for looking,” said Sarah, “and sorry for calling so early on a Sunday.”

“It’s no problem.” Janet paused. “Sarah –”

“Yes?”

“When I went around last night, I noticed that the milk was still on the doorstep.”
It was only a small lie
, she decided.
No harm, no foul
.