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

ring Adam again and I’m now desperately trying to make up for it by sending him a grovelling text. The letters on the keypad are quivering as if I’ve just stepped off a funfair ride. I’m certain I’ve written the words sorry or I am very sorry at least five times.

‘Give it here,’ says Grace, prying the phone from my hand and replacing it with a glass of wine. ‘You rang him before tea anyway. Is he keeping tabs on you or something?’ She sits down on the bed. ‘The trick is to keep it simple. The more you say, the more you give away.’ I watch my sister tap away. ‘How’s this? “Hi darling, sorry for not ringing. Grace was upset and wanted to stay at hospital until as late as possible. Had to get her settled in hotel first (she had a few drinks!) and just got back to Mum’s. Shattered and know you have a long shift tomorrow so will ring you first thing. Love you. K.” And … send.’

I regard my sister with appreciation.

‘Why did you say I was at Mum’s?’

‘Why not?’ Grace takes a sip of wine. ‘I mean we both know what Adam’s reaction would be if you told him where you really are tonight; pissed as shit in some sixty-quid-a-night Travelodge with your older sister, who is a notoriously bad influence.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ I say, taking the phone and re-reading the message. Even though I know she is right, I still resent her saying it. The truth is that if Adam decided to call me at this very moment, there is absolutely no way I would be able to answer; not just because I can barely string two words together, but more importantly because I would be caught in a lie. Adam doesn’t like lies. I need to clear my head, and right now Adam isn’t my main priority. I have something more important to deal with.

‘Grace,’ I say, draining my glass. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

At first Grace says nothing, just listens, as I drunkenly spill out my story, illustrating my suspicions with photographs from the pages of Michael’s diary taken on my mobile.

‘There’s even one entry, look!’– I point to a highlighted entry – ‘Where Michael says that this Diving Fish girl got nasty when he wanted to make their relationship public.’

‘He was fifteen,’ says Grace calmly. ‘How much trouble could two fifteen-year-olds get into for dating?’

‘It was a little more than dating.’

‘You were pregnant at fifteen!’

Seeing my hurt expression Grace takes my hands in hers. ‘I’m sorry, Kat. It’s, well, just – how dangerous can a fifteen-year-old girl really be?’

‘Maybe she wasn’t fifteen,’ I say. ‘Maybe she was older?’

‘Even so.’

‘And what about the mobile?’ I will not let her dismiss my suspicions. ‘Why would he need a pay-as-you-go burner?’

‘The phone thing is a bit weird,’ concedes Grace, ‘but if she was older and they were sleeping together,’ she takes a sip of wine, ‘I mean Michael was underage and legally she could have been done for it. We had a similar case in school a few years ago, but it was a sixth former sleeping with a year ten girl—’

‘It’s not about the sleeping together, Grace!’ I’m struggling with my growing impatience. ‘He arranged to meet with this Diving Fish person that night.’ I flip through the diary images on my phone until I find the one I’m looking for. ‘She was there, Grace, at the lake. Diving Fish was with Michael the night he drowned.’

My sister stares at me, her expression unreadable. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit of a leap? And don’t you think the diary entries, even the text,’ she speaks slowly, as if measuring every word, ‘are all a little … fanciful?’

‘Fanciful?’ Even drunk, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Are you suggesting he made it all up?’

‘Of course not.’ She pauses, as if carefully considering what to say next. ‘It’s just that he did tend to …’ I watch as she struggles for the appropriate word, ‘embellish things a bit.’

‘Embellish things!’

‘Oh, come on, Kat.’ We’re sitting only inches apart, but it feels like miles. ‘Let’s be honest. Michael could be slightly over-dramatic. Remember that thing with his Art teacher? You went storming into school only to find out that he’d copied the image from the internet.’

‘That was different.’

‘Was it?’ Grace looks troubled, then sad. ‘Michael drowned, Kat. He had a few too many beers, accidentally mixed it with some medication, went swimming and then drowned.’

‘Michael wasn’t on any medication.’

I can feel her tense. ‘We’ve talked about this before. The pathology report said there were traces of cyclizine in his blood.’

‘Not enough to indicate abuse!’

Grace drops the phone on the bed next to me. ‘You’re the nurse,’ she says, now clearly annoyed. ‘You’re the one who told me that cyclizine causes drowsiness. What the hell else am I supposed to think?’

I close my eyes, praying for calm. ‘Michael didn’t suffer from travel sickness,’ I whisper. ‘There’s absolutely no reason he should have been taking that sort of medication.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Kat. Are you seriously telling me that there’s no buzz when it’s mixed with alcohol?’

I stand up quickly, the contents of my wine glass sloshing over my hand. ‘Michael may have liked a beer or two,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘What teenager doesn’t? But he wasn’t into drugs.’ Before my sister can reply, I add, ‘And even if he was, why would he take travel sickness medication?’

Grace shakes her head. ‘He was an athlete, Kate, competing against a lot of other top-notch athletes. Maybe it wasn’t for the buzz, maybe it was—’

‘Don’t you dare!’ I cry. ‘Michael was not doping. How can you possibly even say that?

Grace’s blue eyes flash. ‘There was that GHB scandal at the nationals.’

‘Michael tested negative, as did all his classmates.’ I stare at my sister, bewildered. ‘Why would you bring this up?’

‘It’s no more bizarre than suggesting he was drugged by some psycho classmate.’

‘What exactly are you saying?’

Grace