Chapter 62
Now
amy
‘Where is he?’ I demand.
‘I don’t know,’ Iris says.
I grab her shoulders. ‘Where’s my son?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Leave her alone!’ Jesse shouts. ‘She’s telling the truth!’
‘She doesn’t know what the truth is!’
‘I swear,’ Iris gasps. ‘I haven’t seen Nicky since I left him on the beach!’
I shove her away from me, torn between elation and fury. For the first time in more than fifteen months, I know my son didn’t die out there on the lake that night. He’s alive. I may not know where he is, but he’s alive!
And Iris deliberately kept that knowledge from me.
‘Did you know?’ I demand of Jesse.
He exchanges a glance with Iris. This is why he’s here, I realise. Iris is making him own his shit, for once.
‘I saw him after he left the beach,’ he mumbles. ‘Nicky was coming up through the back woods behind the marina. He said he was going to find his dad—’
‘I went to get Mac,’ Iris interrupts. ‘But he’d gone back out to search for survivors by the time I got back, and I didn’t see him again until we all went to the headland with Rose, and they were bringing the . . . they were bringing them ashore. And then . . . I couldn’t . . .’
She doesn’t have to elaborate.
I’m standing on the shoreline of that cove again, one desperate parent among many, watching as the emergency rescue workers brought us one cold, dead child after another.
‘You helped me search for him, Iris,’ I say incredulously, still struggling to process the enormity of my sister’s betrayal. ‘We walked that beach for hours together when you already knew where he was.’
Iris sinks onto the stained pull-out couch in the middle of my grimy apartment, covering her face with her hands.
‘I was so angry,’ she says, her voice little more than a whisper.
‘Your son was safe, and mine was still missing. All those people waiting at the marina – Bella and Cassie’s parents, Raylan’s brother – all those people whose children we let die.
’ She drops her hands and finally looks me in the eye.
‘I thought you deserved to know what they felt like, just for a little while.’
My mother snorts with amusement. ‘She’s got you there,’ she says.
I’d forgotten Helen was still in the room. I grab my sister’s hand and yank her outside. Jesse tries to follow us, and I slam the front door in his face.
This is between me and my sister.
We stand opposite each other on the rain-slicked street like gunslingers, illuminated by the flare of car headlights as they speed past.
‘All this time,’ I say, my confusion giving way to rage. ‘How could you not tell me he was alive?’
‘I thought he’d come back when he was ready—’
‘If the police had known, they’d have kept looking!’ I shout. ‘They were searching for a body in the lake, not a missing person! They gave up on him because they thought he was dead!’
‘He didn’t want to be found!’
‘You’re my sister, Iris! How could you not tell me? Do you have any idea what it’s like not to know if your child is dead or alive?’
‘It’s worse to know,’ Iris says.
‘It isn’t,’ I say. ‘It’s a living death.’
‘You didn’t have to bury your boy,’ she says bleakly. ‘You didn’t have to pick out something to wear to his funeral. You’ve never had to bring flowers to his grave. Don’t you dare tell me it’s worse to have hope when I have none!’
We stare at each other, corrupted by the selfishness of our individual grief.
‘He’s still out there, Iris,’ I say. ‘Anything could have happened to him. My son could be sleeping in a ditch, or rotting in jail. What d’you think he’s had to do to survive all this time on his own? What might have been done to him?’
‘At least you still have a son.’
‘Jesus Christ, Iris! If I could have saved Finn, don’t you think I would?’
‘But you didn’t, did you?’ Iris says. ‘You let him die.’
And there it is.
The narrative that’s destroyed our relationship.
Ever since the accident, I’ve carried the blame so Iris didn’t have to. I took sole responsibility for a decision we made together, a terrible decision no one should ever have to make. I spared her. And in return she’s put me through a hell I wouldn’t have inflicted on my worst enemy.
‘You were there that night, too,’ I say, bitterly. ‘You could have opened that door, but you knew I was right. I’m tired of being your whipping boy, Iris. You made that decision with me.’
‘You think I’d ever have agreed if we’d known for one second Finn was with those kids?’ Iris cries. ‘You told me he’d already got out of that boat! You said he was safe!’
‘So you thought you’d even things up by not telling me my child was alive?’
‘He couldn’t bear to be near you!’ Iris exclaims. ‘He ran away because you refused to open that door! And God forgive me, I let you persuade me we didn’t have a choice. You talked me into letting my own son die!’
‘I went back for Finn! I did everything I could—’
The words are out before I can stop them.
‘What are you talking about?’ Iris says.
The rain is coming down harder now, and I push my wet hair out of my eyes, wishing I could just go back inside and climb into my cheap bottle of whisky.
‘After you and Nicky swam out,’ I say tiredly, ‘I went back and opened the door.’
‘You can’t have done. You said we’d drown.’
‘By the time I went back, the water pressure had equalised. It’s the only reason I survived, Iris. You don’t think I’d have saved them all if I could?’
Iris wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to keep warm. She’s always been thin, but these days she looks skeletal, as if her body’s eating itself.
There’s a sudden noise behind us, a strangled sob, and we both turn.
Jesse is standing in the open doorway of my apartment, rain blowing past him and puddling on the sitting room floor. I have no idea how long he’s been there, how much he’s heard.
But his face looks as if it’s been hewn from granite.
His eyes burn like coals.
‘You just said you went back for Finn,’ Jesse says.
Too late I realise my mistake.
‘How did you know,’ he asks, ‘that he was there?’