Paula Hawkins - Into the Water

Into the Water

Paula Hawkins

For all the troublemakers

I was very young when I was cracked open.

Some things you should let go of

Others you shouldnt

Views differ as to which

The Numbers Game, Emily Berry

We now know that memories are not fixed or

frozen, like Prousts jars of preserves in a

larder, but are transformed, disassembled,

reassembled, and recategorized with every act

of recollection.

Hallucinations, Oliver Sacks

The Drowning Pool

Libby

Again! Again!

The men bind her again. Different this time: left thumb to right toe, right thumb to left. The rope around her waist. This time, they carry her into the water.

Please, she starts to beg, because shes not sure that she can face it, the blackness and the cold. She wants to go back to a home that no longer exists, to a time when she and her aunt sat in front of the fire and told stories to one another. She wants to be in her bed in their cottage, she wants to be little again, to breathe in woodsmoke and rose and the sweet warmth of her aunts skin.

Please.

She sinks. By the time they drag her out the second time, her lips are the blue of a bruise, and her breath is gone for good.

PART ONE

2015

Jules

THERE WAS SOMETHING you wanted to tell me, wasnt there? What was it you were trying to say? I feel like I drifted out of this conversation a long time ago. I stopped concentrating, I was thinking about something else, getting on with things, I wasnt listening, and I lost the thread of it. Well, youve got my attention now. Only I cant help thinking Ive missed out on some of the more salient points.

When they came to tell me, I was angry. Relieved first, because when two police officers turn up on your doorstep just as youre looking for your train ticket, about to run out of the door to work, you fear the worst. I feared for the people I care about my friends, my ex, the people I work with. But it wasnt about them, they said, it was about you. So I was relieved, just for a moment, and then they told me what had happened, what youd done, they told me that youd been in the water and then I was furious. Furious and afraid.

I was thinking about what I was going to say to you when I got there, how I knew youd done this to spite me, to upset me, to frighten me, to disrupt my life. To get my attention, to drag me back to where you wanted me. And there you go, Nel, youve succeeded: here I am in the place I never wanted to come back to, to look after your daughter, to sort out your bloody mess.

MONDAY, 10 AUGUST

Josh

SOMETHING WOKE ME up. I got out of bed to go to the toilet and I noticed Mum and Dads door was open, and when I looked I could see that Mum wasnt in bed. Dad was snoring as usual. The clock radio said it was 4:08. I thought she must be downstairs. She has trouble sleeping. They both do now, but he takes pills which are so strong you could stand right by the bed and yell into his ear and he wouldnt wake up.

I went downstairs really quietly because usually what happens is she turns on the TV and watches those really boring adverts about machines that help you lose weight or clean the floor or chop vegetables in lots of different ways and then she falls asleep. But the TV wasnt on and she wasnt on the sofa, so I knew she must have gone out.

Shes done it a few times that I know of, at least. I cant keep track of where everyone is all the time. The first time, she told me shed just gone out for a walk to clear her head, but there was another morning when I woke up and she was gone and when I looked out of the window I could see that her car wasnt parked out front where it usually is.

I think she probably goes to walk by the river or to visit Katies grave. I do that sometimes, though not in the middle of the night. Id be scared to go in the dark, plus it would make me feel weird because its what Katie did herself: she got up in the middle of the night and went to the river and didnt come back. I understand why Mum does it though: its the closest she can get to Katie now, other than maybe sitting in her room, which is something else I know she does sometimes. Katies room is next to mine and I can hear Mum crying.

I sat down on the sofa to wait for her, but I must have fallen asleep, because when I heard the door go it was light outside and when I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece it was quarter past seven. I heard Mum closing the door behind her and then run straight up the stairs.

I followed her up. I stood outside the bedroom and watched through the crack in the door. She was on her knees next to the bed, over on Dads side, and she was red in the face, like shed been running. She was breathing hard and saying, Alec, wake up. Wake up, and she was shaking him. Nel Abbott is dead, she said. They found her in the water. She jumped.

I dont remember saying anything but I must have made a noise because she looked up at me and scrambled to her feet.

Oh, Josh, she said, coming towards me, oh, Josh. There were tears running down her face and she hugged me hard. When I pulled away from her she was still crying, but she was smiling, too. Oh, darling, she said.

Dad sat up in bed. He was rubbing his eyes. It takes him ages to wake up properly.

I dont understand. When do you mean last night? How do you know?

I went out to get milk, she said. Everyone was talking about it in the shop. They found her this morning. She sat down on the bed and started crying again. Dad gave her a hug but he was watching me and he had an odd look on his face.

Where did you go? I asked her. Where have you been?

To the shops, Josh. I just said.

Youre lying, I wanted to say. Youve been gone hours, you didnt just go to get milk. I wanted to say that, but I couldnt, because my parents were sitting on the bed looking at each other, and they looked happy.

TUESDAY, 11 AUGUST

Jules

I REMEMBER. ON the back seat of the camper van, pillows piled up in the centre to mark the border between your territory and mine, driving to Beckford for the summer, you fidgety and excited you couldnt wait to get there me green with carsickness, trying not to throw up.

It wasnt just that I remembered, I felt it. I felt that same sickness this afternoon, hunched up over the steering wheel like an old woman, driving fast and badly, swinging into the middle of the road on the corners, hitting the brake too sharply, over-correcting at the sight of oncoming cars. I had that thing, that feeling I get when I see a white van barrelling towards me along one of those narrow lanes and I think, Im going to swerve, Im going to do it, Im going to swing right into its path, not because I want to but because I have to. As though at the last moment Ill lose all free will. Its like the feeling you get when you stand on the edge of a cliff, or on the edge of the train platform, and you feel yourself impelled by some invisible hand. And what if? What if I just took a step forward? What if I just turned the wheel?

(You and me not so different, after all.)

What struck me is how well I remembered. Too well. Why is it that I can recall so perfectly the things that happened to me when I was eight years old, and yet trying to remember whether or not I spoke to my colleagues about rescheduling a client assessment for next week is impossible? The things I want to remember I cant, and the things I try so hard to forget just keep coming. The nearer I got to Beckford, the more undeniable it became, the past shooting out at me like sparrows from the hedgerow, startling and inescapable.

All that lushness, that unbelievable green, the bright, acid yellow of the gorse on the hill, it burned into my brain and brought with it a newsreel of memories: Dad carrying me, squealing and squirming with delight, into the water when I was four or five years old; you jumping from the rocks into the river, climbing higher and higher each time. Picnics on the sandy bank by the pool, the taste of sunscreen on my tongue; catching fat brown fish in the sluggish, muddy water downstream from the Mill. You coming home with blood streaming down your leg after you misjudged one of those jumps, biting down on a tea towel while Dad cleaned the cut because you werent going to cry. Not in front of me. Mum, wearing a light-blue sundress, barefoot in the kitchen making porridge for breakfast, the soles of her feet a dark, rusty brown. Dad sitting on the river bank, sketching. Later, when we were older, you in denim shorts with a bikini top under your T-shirt, sneaking out late to meet a boy. Not just any boy,