The Lake by Louise Sharland (best ereader for pc txt) 📕

I nod and follow her to the tiny kitchen at the back of the shop. I’m burning with impatience, but I can’t be rude – not to Helen. She flips on the kettle, tosses teabags into mugs, then begins trawling through the shoe box. I can’t seem to keep myself still, even though I have a thumping headache. I just want to find the right charger and get out of here, but Helen seems eager to alleviate my obvious unease.

‘Did you know that Michael used to come to the shop sometimes when he was staying at his nan’s?’

This is surprising news. ‘Did he?’ I ask. ‘To say hello?’

‘Well, yes and no.’

‘Yes and no?’

‘He was so sweet,’ she smiles with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. ‘He’d come in on the premise of a visit, you know. But really he was looking.’

‘Looking?’

‘For jewellery mostly; necklaces, bracelets, that sort of thing. It all had to be gold though – none of that cheap stuff – which is a bit of a challenge in a charity shop to say the least.’

I am now on automatic. ‘I can imagine.’

She sighs heavily. ‘I used to try and put the good stuff aside, but he was always so particular.’

‘Particular?’

She shakes her head and stares out of the window. ‘Fish.’

‘What?’

‘It always had to be fish. The jewellery, I mean. It had to be a fish. I remember I found this one piece – sterling silver, not gold, mind – with this lovely little fish charm made of sea glass.’

I need to take a moment before speaking. Don’t go in too eager, Kate. ‘Did he, um, ever say why? Who the jewellery was for, I mean?’

Maybe it’s something in my voice, but Helen looks uneasy.

‘No. I mean, I thought it was maybe for a … for a …’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Yes, a girlfriend.’

I force a smile and decide to offer up the happy narrative she so clearly desires. ‘I wondered that myself.’

‘It’s a nice thought, though, isn’t it?’

I nod in agreement, but in truth I’m not really sure.

‘Is this it?’ An excited Helen pulls a bit of black wire from the box. ‘I think it is!’ She reaches for Michael’s phone.

Before she can reach it, I grab the phone from the counter then carefully slide the plug into the connector. It fits perfectly.

I stumble my way home and, handling the mobile as if it were a priceless object, I plug it into the mains. At first there is nothing, but after a few seconds an icon of a battery appears on the screen. I’m about to pour myself a glass of wine when a reminder goes off. It’s my mobile. Ring Adam.

‘Were you at the hospital all day?’ he asks.

‘Yes, darling,’ I lie.

‘And?’

‘She slept most of the afternoon, so I just sat by her bedside.’

‘You sound odd.’

‘I’m just tired.’

‘Would you like me to drive back down?’

‘You’ve had a long day.’ As much as I’d like Adam here to support me, I also want to keep him away from my recent findings – at least until I can find out more. ‘I’m going to have an early night anyway.’

‘What about tomorrow?’

‘Grace is here tomorrow.’ Adam and Grace don’t get along. She feels that I married him as an escape. He says she’s a bad influence. Neither seems to care much about what I think. ‘Maybe not such a good idea.’

‘Maybe not. But you’ll be home on Thursday, right?’

‘Yes, darling, for tea, just like I promised. Maybe we can order a Chinese and finish it this time.’ In the corner of my eye, a light catches my attention and, turning, I see the mobile is charged up enough to display the passcode screen. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes. The cat’s just been sick.’

‘That bloody cat.’

‘I’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ He puts on his consultant’s voice: deep, serious, undisputable. ‘Now you’re not to over-burden yourself, and don’t forget to take your medication. It’s important. And, for God’s sake, don’t mix it with alcohol.’

I glance at the near-empty glass of red on the bedside table. ‘Of course not. I’d never be that foolish.’ When did I start lying so proficiently? Is it a newly acquired trait, or one that has been lying dormant for all these years? ‘Sleep well, darling. I’ll call you in the morning.’ I hang up, toss my mobile on the bed and take another sip of wine.

Unplugging Michael’s phone from the charger lead, I enter the digits of my mother’s birthdate, then pull up the contacts list. Only that one contact. Why a burner phone and why only one contact? What was he trying to keep a secret? I press that mysterious ‘D’ and wait. Hope. There is no dial tone: just a long, slow hum. The number is dead.

I check incoming and outgoing messages. There is only one, sent by Michael on the day he died.

My silent Diving Fish, please no more waiting. It’s time for us to speak. Meet me by the water’s edge tonight.

I place the phone on the bed and begin to cry.

8

I have a restless night, finally resorting to medication at three a.m. in a desperate attempt to gain a few hours’ sleep. I’m meeting my sister at eleven and I have to be at my best – top form and inscrutable. I really can’t handle any more of these ‘are you sure you’re all right, Kate’ conversations.

I get up early and make a special effort, washing, blow drying and straightening my hair. I also spend an inordinate amount of time on my makeup, concealing, contouring, and powdering away any indication of my true state. When I meet Grace I want her to be presented with a composed and capable individual, not the woman on a verge of a nervous breakdown everyone seems to expect.

I complete the now-familiar journey to the hospital and find myself at the same table in the canteen that Adam and I had sat at only a few