Chapter 34
It was a Thursday the day Nat disappeared. Bin day.
I’d forgotten to put the bin out the night before, so when I heard the familiar clanking and crashing sound of the lorry coming up the road, I leapt out of bed, bolted down the stairs and out of the front door to drag our overflowing bin out on to the street.
If it was missed again, I’d have to face the unsavoury task of loading all the stinking bags into the car and taking them to the tip.
In my haste, I didn’t take much notice of whether Nat was asleep in bed or not.
I guess I just presumed her small figure was curled up on the other side, like usual.
It was only when I came back inside – having narrowly caught the bin lorry – and deliberately opened the door loudly to wake her (having remembered it was her turn to put the bin out) that I realized the bed was empty.
I padded out on to the landing, quietly so as not to wake Sadie, and checked the bathroom.
Also empty. I made my way back downstairs and looked in the living room and kitchen.
No Nat. I frowned. Had she gone out? I ran back upstairs to check if she had taken her phone, but no.
Phone still on the bedside table, charging, clothes hanging on the wardrobe door.
I stood, feeling confused and worried. And then I heard a creak from next door.
Sadie. Shit. I crossed the hall and yanked open her bedroom door.
Zelda looked up at me from the bottom of Sadie’s bed.
The cat shouldn’t be in here. I always kept her out, which meant that Nat must have already been in Sadie’s room this morning.
I rushed over to Sadie’s bed and leaned over, listening for her breathing, looking for the soft rise and fall of her chest. She turned and yawned, blinking her eyes open.
‘Daddy!’
I smiled, dizzy with relief. ‘Hey, beautiful.’
She sat up. ‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘Sleeping.’
‘I thought I heard her come in.’
I tensed. ‘Maybe you were dreaming,’ I said.
She scrunched up her face. ‘Maybe.’
I crouched by the bed. ‘How about we take a little trip to Grandma’s this morning?’
I dropped Sadie at my mum’s an hour later, explaining that Nat was having a bad day. Mum didn’t ask too many questions, but I saw the familiar shadow of disapproval cross her face. I couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t the first time it had happened.
I called the school and said I had some childcare issues but would be in as soon as I could.
Then I drove towards the recreation grounds and the river.
I parked up in the small car park, climbed out and started down the path by the water.
Mid-morning, it was quiet. The weather was bad – drizzle and mist – and most people were at work.
I couldn’t even see any dog walkers traipsing eager mutts through the wet grass.
I’d gone about half a mile when I saw a lone figure in the distance, dressed in dark clothing, possibly a hoodie and joggers. The figure stood motionless, staring out at the fast-flowing water. Very fast today. It had rained a lot in the last week, and the river was high along the banks.
I couldn’t be sure it was Nat. That’s what I’ve told myself many times since.
The distance, the mist and rain, the nondescript clothing.
Nat had multiple pairs of joggers and hoodies.
I couldn’t have said if any were missing from her wardrobe that day.
Still, I was about to call out when something distracted me.
A car backfiring. I jumped and turned. When I looked back, the figure by the water had gone.
I told myself they’d probably just walked along the path and disappeared into the mist. There was no reason to believe they had gone in the water. But a better man would have run along the river path and checked. A good man.
Instead, I just stood there, rooted to the path.
Drizzle soaked through my too-light jacket and plastered my clothes to my skin.
My fingers and toes grew numb with cold.
Still, I didn’t move. I stared at the rushing river, and I thought about my wife; about the depression and the mood swings, about the night I hid Sadie in a cupboard with Zelda because Nat was brandishing a knife, or the time I walked into our daughter’s room to find Nat sitting by her bed, clutching a pillow.
I thought about the woman I loved, or had loved, and I realized she was gone. I lived with a stranger. One I was terrified would harm our daughter. One I sometimes wished would just disappear.
Eventually, a shivering, sodden mess, I turned and walked slowly back to my car.
‘Noah couldn’t stop the flood. But he could build an ark.’
I sit back in the garden chair and take a long drag on my cigarette. Spotlights illuminate the back yard, and the pool gleams a deep turquoise. In front of me, Harold Winsom is frozen on the laptop screen.
The footage didn’t take much searching up. I googled: ‘Harold Winsom, Noah and the Ark’ and it took me straight to an old YouTube clip. An interview from the seventies, not long before Serenity Falls was founded.
It’s odd, I think. For such a famous man, not a lot is known about Harold Winsom’s personal life, although after his death, some stories started to emerge.
The man was a workaholic and a control freak, obviously.
He was obsessed not just with making his theme park the most magical, the most impressive, in the world, but also in creating perfect American towns.
A bid to recapture a more innocent time.
A 1950s apple-pie ideal of the US that probably never existed.
He never married but was regarded as something of a womanizer.
And like many megalomaniac multimillionaires, he was also consumed by the idea of longevity.
There were rumours he had arranged to be cryogenically frozen after death.
Some even speculated that his body (or even just his head) was stored in a special chamber beneath Winsom Wonderland.
This was later dismissed as an urban myth.
Still, details about whether he was cremated or buried are scarce.
His park and towns remain his real monument.
I skip back in the video:
‘The fact is we cannot make the world a better place, much as we might wish to. It’s too big a task. We must start smaller. Building better families, better neighbourhoods, better towns.’
But only for the chosen few, I think. Only the good people. And, of course, we all like to believe we’re the good people. Even me.
I’m about to play the footage again when the patio doors slide open.
‘Dad?’ Sadie walks out into the yard.
Hastily, I stub out the cigarette in the teacup I’m using as a makeshift ashtray.
‘Hi.’ I try to smile.
She frowns. ‘What are you doing, sitting out here on your own? Where’s your date?’
‘At home, I presume.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘You’ve been smoking.’
‘Yeah. Sorry.’
She shakes her head. ‘You are a weak, weak man.’
Weaker than she can ever know.
‘Guilty as charged. Anyway, how was your evening?’
Maybe my imagination, but she seems to stiffen a little. ‘Oh, okay, good.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Just the usual fairground stuff. Went on some rides, ate junk, just hung out, really.’
‘Great. I’m glad. I mean, glad it was fun.’
‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘No more freaky recordings on the security camera?’
I shake my head. ‘Nope. Not so far.’
She squints at the laptop. ‘What are you watching? Is that Harold Winsom?’
‘Yeah.’ I debate with myself, wondering whether to be truthful, and then think, why lie? ‘You know the number on those messages?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s also engraved under Harold Winsom’s statue in the town square. Apparently, it’s a biblical reference. Genesis 6: 13–22. Noah’s Ark.’
‘What the hell?’
I press play on the laptop and gesture for her to watch. Harold Winsom smiles charmingly into the camera again. Sadie leans over my shoulder, intent on the screen. At the end she lets out a breath. ‘That is weird, especially the flood stuff.’
‘I guess it’s metaphorical. He wanted to build a haven in a troubled world. This would have been in the seventies, so the shadow of war and all those horrors was still hanging heavy.’
Sadie considers. ‘Not like the world is much better now.’
‘Yeah, well, humans never seem to learn. They just fight different wars and hate each other for different reasons.’
‘I guess.’ She looks thoughtful. ‘I found something else out tonight.’
‘What?’
‘Just before Frankie died, he was looking up stuff about Serenity Falls.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
‘He had a list of dates, and he was researching old newspaper stories in the library. Apparently, whatever he found, it scared him.’ She pauses. ‘Maybe it even got him killed?’
I try to rein in my irritation and, yes, my own uneasiness. ‘Is this something your new friends told you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look, I’m not saying there isn’t some troubling stuff going on, but sometimes people exaggerate.’
I see her bristle. ‘They weren’t exaggerating, Dad.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t sound so convinced.’
‘I am. It’s just—’ I sigh. ‘You don’t know these kids that well, and we don’t know who’s behind any of this stuff.’
I see her face snap shut. ‘You think they’re the ones sending weird messages?’
‘No. I’m just saying … be careful.’
‘They’re not the ones trying to freak us out. Jesus.’
‘Okay.’ I hold my hands up. ‘Forget I said anything.’
‘Fine. I’m going up to bed.’
‘Okay.’ I glance at the time: 10.47 p.m. I fight back a yawn.
She stares at me for a moment like she wants to say something else.
‘What?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing.’
I sigh. ‘I’m sorry for what I said about your friends. I’m happy you had fun tonight. Really.’
‘Yeah. You too.’ A pause. ‘Are you going to see this teacher woman again?’
‘Well, I’ll see her at school.’
‘Not what I meant, Dad.’
‘I don’t know.’ I swallow. ‘Sadie, I need to tell you something.’
‘What?’
I stare at her. She looks so beautiful. The sun has brought out flecks of gold in her hair and freckles on her nose. Just like her mum.
I clear my throat. ‘My date tonight. Well, one of the reasons I asked her out is she reminds me of your mum.’
I watch this sink in. Sadie nods. ‘I guess we all have a type.’
‘No, I mean, she looks a lot like your mum.’
‘And what, you’re asking me if I approve, if that’s healthy?’
‘I suppose, yes. I like her, but it’s bringing back memories.’
She sighs. ‘Dad, if you’re seeing this woman just because she looks like Mum, then no, it’s not healthy, but if you like her for her, then you should go for it.’
I nod. ‘I feel guilty.’
‘Mum was the one who left us.’ She pauses. ‘You deserve a life.’
I feel tears well in my eyes. ‘You’re an amazing daughter, you know.’
She takes a small bow. ‘I am very wise. Night.’
‘Night.’
I watch her go. And then I glance back at Harold. Noah couldn’t stop the flood. But he could build an ark.
I reach forward to close the laptop.
That’s when I see it.
I guess the wooden panelling and wing-backed leather chair should have been a giveaway. Harold is conducting this interview in some kind of private members’ club.
There’s an ashtray on the table beside him, a cigar propped in it. Next to this, a drinks menu. The menu is a deep midnight-blue, and etched on the front there’s what looks like a picture of a skull. I zoom in.
In lavish silver writing, I can just make out the name of the club: Closing Time.