She turned to face the darkness, breathing in the dank, lifeless smell, and heard the scrape of her foot echo around her.

  'I'm here, darling,' she said, and heard her voice fall flatly away into the dark. She switched on the torch, and saw the stone steps, a few feet in front of her. Exactly as she remembered.

  She went down them and felt the air getting damper, and colder. At the bottom was a massive watertight steel door, with a huge round wheel on the front of it, like a submarine.

  'If there is a leak and one of the sections has filled up, you'd be drowned if you opened the door.'

  She tested the handle and it rotated easily. She gave it six full turns before it stopped. She swallowed, then pushed the door. It swung open with no effort at all and just the merest groan from one of its hinges which echoed along the dark tunnel ahead like the cry of a wounded animal.

  She shone her torch at the concrete floor then up around the curved walls. To her right was a series of valves, dominated by another huge wheel on the wall. 'Never touch these,' the estate agent had warned; 'no one is sure what they do.' Dimly, at the end of the beam, she could see another door, like the one she had just opened. She shone the torch down at the floor again and a puddle glinted at her. Nervously she pointed the beam up at the ceiling. The plasterwork was mottled with fat brown blotches and flaking away.

  A tiny blob of water launched itself from the centre of the blotches with a faint plop. It smacked into the concrete floor. Plang. The sound echoed around her, and she shuddered, spun around, beamed her torch back where she had come from. She heard breathing, heavy breathing, and stiffened. She held her breath and the sound stopped. She breathed out again with relief, then stepped forward into the tunnel, deep under the silent black water of the lake, under the mist and the fish that jumped and the reeds like dead men's fingers.

  There was slime on the floor and patches of mould on the walls. The beam of the torch threw streaks of light and long shadows all around her and the dull echo of her footsteps followed her at first and then overtook her. The door was coming closer, the door to the ballroom. If the ballroom was flooded ... If.

  She stopped when she reached it and looked behind her, fearfully.

  Plop. Plang. The noise echoed around like the slamming of a door. Oh Christ, no. She shone the beam back where she had come from, saw the prick of light dance on the roof, then on the floor. The door was still open.

  Plop. Plang.

  She rotated the wheel, and it turned silently, well oiled, six turns, exactly as the previous one.

  Then her torch went out.

  No. She shook it. No. She shook it again. No. She switched it on, off. Nothing; she shook it. Nothing. Please, she whimpered. Please. She shook it again, and she heard the faint tinkling of glass inside the lens. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. There was no difference. She held her breath and listened to the silence. She had never before heard such silence.

  Plop. Plang.

  And then silence again.

  She pushed open the door. Light. There was light; so bright it startled her. She stared in wonder up at the domed roof, its thick panels of glass, coated in slime and limp strands of weed, exactly as she had remembered. The panels were so bright, almost as if they had lights behind them; it felt as if you could reach through them and touch the sky.

  For a moment she was dazzled by the brightness, too dazzled to see anything in the green light that filtered down and around the room.

  Then the stench hit her. A horrendous pungent stench, that flooded through her nostrils, down her throat, deep into her stomach, unlike anything she had ever smelt before.

  She pinched her nostrils together tightly with her fingers, felt her stomach heave, and then gagged. Something banged into her shoulder, and she shrieked, then felt stupid. It was the wall, which she had backed into.

  The stench hit her again; she cupped her hands over her nose and took a deep breath through her mouth.

  And then she saw the person on the floor on the far side of the room, watching her.

  She froze.

  Slowly, she felt her legs buckling. She tried to back out of the room, felt the jarring thump of the hard slimy wall. She pressed her hands against it, feeling her way, inching along. Where was the passage? Where was it? Where was it?

  Someone had closed the door.

  'No. No.' She spun around and saw the wall right behind her. The door was still open, through to the blackness of the passageway, just a couple of feet to her right.

  She looked over her shoulder. The person was laughing at her, laughing silently, motionless. The stench filled her nostrils again and she gagged.

  'They let me out today.'

  'Don't let him, Mrs Hightower.'

  'Don't listen to the little bastard.'

  I want to get out. Please, God, I want to get out. She turned and looked down the tunnel, then back over her shoulder. Who are you? What do you want?

  Plop. Plang.

  Are you going to come for me here? Or in the dark of the tunnel? She gripped the torch, tightly. But she knew who it was. And she knew that she wouldn't be after her; not after her, nor anyone.

  She heard a cry; a single tiny whimper. Her own. It echoed around the room, came back at her.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm so sorry.'

  She left the safety of the wall and began to walk across the room. A shadow flitted past her and she spun around. Nothing. The shadow flitted again; she looked up, and saw the dark silhouette of a fish nibbling at the weed on the outside of the glass.

  She took another step forward, then another.

  Move. Please move. Please say something.

  The stench was getting worse.

  There was a sharp crack, right underneath her. She screamed, wildly, then again, and again. Then her scream subsided into a whimper, as she looked down and saw a plate, split in half by her foot.

  She took another step forward and then she was close enough. She stared, shivering in horror, at the girl's face, shrivelled, like dried leather, at the eyes, staring hopelessly ahead at the door she had opened far too late and the twist of her mouth, like a hideous laugh.

  'No,' Alex whimpered. 'No,' as she stared at the chain around the girl's neck that trailed off to an anchorage somewhere beyond in the gloom. 'No.'

  'He'd been coming down a lot, just lately.' David's voice echoed through her head. 'Since around about Christmas. Really seemed to be taking an interest in the place. I used to watch him, sitting out there on the island, fishing, for hours on end. I used to wonder what he was thinking.'

  'No.'

  She backed away, slowly, desperately slowly, inching her way as if she was pushing against a huge force. She tried to look away, at the walls, at the ceiling, but she was drawn back, like a magnet, to the face: 'Hi Mum. This is a really friendly place, lots of things happening, met some great people. Will write again soon.'

  I'm sorry. She mouthed the words, but nothing came out. I'm sorry; I'm so desperately .. .

  There was a noise right behind her.

  She froze, felt the terror surging. She looked down at the ground, unable to turn around, then back again at the face like leather.

  A shadow moved, the shadow of the person who was standing behind her.

  She shook her head. Please no.

  The scrape of a foot.

  Please no.

  The rustle of a coat.

  No.

  She spun round.

  Nothing.

  Nothing, but the black entrance of the tunnel.

  Then she heard a noise behind her, from the girl.

  Oh no. Oh Christ, no.

  She turned around, slowly, fearfully.

  The girl was grinning. Grinning at her, grinning at her fear.

  No. Please don't do that. Please don't.

  'Admiring your son's handiwork, Mrs Hightower?'

  The voice ripped through her like an electric shock; she lost her balance, and nearly fell on to the girl. She blinked, felt a surge of nausea, lost focus for a moment. Otto. She mouthed the word but nothing came out. Otto.

  He was standing in the doorway, coat slung over his shoulders.

  She began to shiver violently. Something in his expression; something terrible. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. She put her hand in front of her mouth, staring at the eyes, the two different mocking eyes. And then she realized. The eyes; the same expression in the eyes. Fabian on his tricycle. The portrait on the wall. Bosley. Otto.

  She stepped back, trod on something which crunched under her foot, and jumped in fear. She spun around, saw the girl staring at her, stepped back, stared up at the ceiling, around at the walls and then back at Otto in the only doorway.

  She tried to speak but still nothing would come out. She spun around again, stared at the girl, the girl seemed to move. She tried to scream. Nothing. Oh God help me. She turned back. Move, oh Christ, move! Say something. She was shivering wildly; it was freezing in here now; as she breathed, her lungs hurt, and her breath hung in front of her, like a cloud.

  'What do you want?' she mouthed the words, her voice tight, cracking, faint, as if it were a long way away.

  He smiled.

  Say something; for God's sake, say something.

  Otto continued to smile.

  The air was going, it was getting harder to breathe; she started gulping, looking around wildly; panic seized her.

  'I � want � to � go - now .. .' she said, and began walking towards Otto, walking against a huge force that was pushing her back.

  'He'll be here in a minute, Mrs Hightower, aren't you going to wait for him?'

  'Will you let me by, please Otto.' Her voice was calm, suddenly, firm, normal.

  Still smiling, Otto stepped out of the way. It took her what seemed like an eternity to reach the doorway. She stood there, staring fearfully at him, waiting for his move, waiting for him to grab her, but he just smiled, his expression unchanging.

  'He'll be so disappointed to have missed you.' She turned away and ran, stumbling, down the tunnel. Plang. The droplet of water hit her like a fist, knocked her sideways. 'No!'

  She stumbled forward.

  Another drop hit her on the forehead, like a hammer. She reeled, crashed into the wall, fell on her face into the slime. Another drop hit her on the back of her neck, like a kick. She picked herself up, stumbled forward. Which way was she going? The wrong way. No. She could see the light. The ballroom. 'Oh God help me.'

  Another droplet smashed on to the bridge of her nose; her eyes watered. The ballroom disappeared, she stumbled forward into the wall. A droplet smacked her scalp and stung like acid. She turned and staggered towards the dark; the dark that seemed to go on for ever. 'Help me, God, please help me.'

  A beam of light shone in her face, dazzling her. Her scream echoed down the tunnel and came back at her from every direction at once.

  Then she stood for a moment, frozen like an animal.

  Two arms closed around her.

  She felt the rough denim of David's jacket, hugged it tight.

  'Oh God.' The emotion welled up inside her and burst over and she began to sob. She ran her hands up and down the jacket, up into the soft curly hair at the back of his neck.

  Thank God, thank God.' She felt his neck and the thick tangle of beard and sobbed uncontrollably. Then she heard his voice.

  'It's all right, Mother, it's all right.'

  The shiver ran through her.

  'It's going to be all right.'

  'No.'

  She felt the grip on her arm like a pincer of iron.

  Chained her up in a cellar.

  'David?'

  And left her? 'David, please let me go.'

  The voice was gentle, soothing. 'Don't worry. Mother.'

  She screamed, pulled herself away, tripped, fell over into the slime, rolled hysterically.

  She stood up, saw the light at the end of the tunnel, saw a dark shape block it out suddenly. She turned again, ran, slipped and fell. She flailed around with her arms, slithering, scrambled back on to her feet and ran as fast as she could. Then she tripped and fell again hard, winded. Door. Close door. She climbed back on to her knees, trying not to pant, and cracked her head. She cried out in pain and put her hands up. Something round, cold. The door handle.

  She stood up, seized the huge wheel with both hands. But it would not move. Come on; come on. She turned the wheel, sharply, rotated it completely and pulled again. Oh, come on, please; she rotated it again; stiff, creaking, grating. They'll hear; they'll hear. Christ, it wasn't stiff before.

  A fine spray of water hit her in the face.

  She rotated it again and pulled. A jet of water hit her in the chest and flung her against something. The wall. She heard the hissing of the water, venomous, getting louder.

  'Mother!' She heard Fabian's piercing scream.

  Never touch these; no one is sure what they do.

  The wrong wheel; that's why it would not move. No, oh Christ, no.

  The water stung her eyes, like acid. She opened them, blinking against the pain. Where was the light? Which way? Water was spraying at her from every direction.

  There was a creaking sound; faint at first, then a louder cracking, like the splintering of wood. It sounded as if someone was opening a gigantic packing case. The noise spread, surrounding her, deafening her. Then suddenly it stopped and for a moment there was no sound at all.

  She stared wildly around in the dark, trying to orientate herself, trying to find the way. But there was nothing but the black.

  She heard a rumble, faint at first, like distant thunder. It turned into a raging bellow, right behind her. She spun around, and for an instant she saw it; the light; the ballroom. Then the wall of water.

  No.

  The wall of water that was hurtling at her.

  The light went first. Then the sound. It was silent as the water scooped her up, enveloped her, swept her down.

  Completely silent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Everything was very white, soft, diffused, milky. White fingers glided noiselessly around her leaving silent ripples in their wake. Consciousness was still only dimly registering. Pills, she thought; pills that made her feel good, dream good dreams; they were hard to wake up from.

  The stern gaze; fronds of moustache; steely blue eyes. How long had he been there?

  'All right, girl?'

  She smiled weakly.

  'It's jolly stuffy � shall I open a window?'

  She nodded. There was a sharp clack as the blind shot up and the room suddenly filled with bright light. The illusion was gone and reality had intruded again. Another day. Another day that would not matter.

  'What's the date, Philip?'

  'May 18th.'

  Christ. She tried to sit up suddenly, but the pain in her shoulder prevented her.

  'No change?'

  'I think it's a little better.'

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. She watched Philip smoking, saw the flickering of his eyelashes, then tried to think again, fighting against the drugs that were meant to stop her from thinking.

  'I killed them,' she said, suddenly.

  'It was unsafe. Could have gone at any time. Should have been sealed off.'

  'I thought that David had become Fabian, that he - that they were going to chain me � I opened the valve. I thought it was the door.'

  She stored at the blue of his eyes. Light danced on them, like ponds. Medieval ponds. The shudder ran through her. 'I killed them.'

  'No, gosh, good Lord no.'

  'I did.'

  'An accident, girl. An accident.'

  'I didn't even go to his funeral. I didn't go to my own husband's funeral.' She watched as Philip stood up and walked over to the window. He leaned on the sill and looked out. 'I should have gone to Otto's too. He came to Fabian's.'

  'Germany,' Philip said gently. 'I gather they took him back to Germany.'

  'So many funerals,' she said.

  There was another long silence. She shivered. 'I didn't even send any flowers to Otto - or to the girl.'

  'The girl?'

  'Carrie.'

  'Carrie?'

  'The girl who,' she paused, and stared at him. 'You know. Who was there.'

  'Who was where?'

  'Under the lake.'

  'What girl under the lake?'

  'The one that Fabian-' She paused. Why wouldn't he talk about it? Why did he keep denying it?

  He walked back over and sat down beside the bed. 'The lake was drained.' He pulled out another cigarette. �There was just Otto and David. No one else.'

  'But-I-I saw-Philip?'

  He shook his head, firmly.

  'In the ballroom,' she said, lowering her voice.

  'Rubble,' he said. 'All rubble. Whole thing imploded. Extraordinary piece of engineering.' He stood up again and walked back towards the window.

  'She's under there,' Alex said, softly.

  He stared out of the window again. 'It's what saved you,' he said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'The engineering. Stressed in sections. You must have been pushed out like toothpaste.'

  'Why didn't it save them?'

  He stared out of the window in silence.

  'Philip � she was there.'

  He continued to store out of the window again, for a long time. 'There's a balance,' he said softly, without turning around. 'Always a balance. Two bits of dust; positive and negative; meeting in a void; bang. One without the other would have been useless - no life; nothing.' He turned and stored at her. �The sun's out there.' He nodded towards the window. 'Can you imagine going there? Hell. The inferno. Hell, girl. But we need it; we need it to exist. Do you understand?'

  The door opened and a nurse walked in dressed in white. She lifted her arm and looked at her watch. 'I'm afraid it's time for your -' She looked at Philip.

  He stood up awkwardly and blushed. 'Righty-ho - I'll er - tomorrow?'

  Alex listened for the click of the door closing. The new routine of life. Easy; so easy; sometimes she wished she could stay here for ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The removal van arrived at nine. She could see it without looking up; a great blue shadow across the window. She heard the rattle of the engine, the slamming of doors, voices.

  'They 'ere, Missy Eyetoya, they 'ere.'