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

to take me upriver from Cotehele to Calstock on his homemade dinghy. We had sat next to each other in Geography for the entire year, me discreetly holding my notebook open to share my answers, while he kept the bullies at bay. He was kind. Not like the other boys, who called me loser and freak because of my hand-me-downs and headscarves. We would walk together from the bus stop until we were forced to go our separate ways to avoid being spotted. In those magical ten minutes he would fill me in about the latest episodes of The Simpsons and Stargate and let me listen to The Verve on his iPod. The afternoon of the boat trip, my mother was working late then going on to a Bible reading. It was a sunny Friday, only weeks before school breaking up, and I was haunted by the knowledge that I would be spending the entire summer either babysitting for one of the Brethren families, or, even worse, having to sit through endless prayer meetings and Bible classes in the hot, stuffy church hall. It was windy and for some reason the breeze made me feel rebellious. When Ryan asked if I would like to go for a sail in his dinghy, I thought of Grace’s daring: Donna-Marie and me have got ourselves jobs at a hotel in St Ives. I raced home, changed into one of Grace’s abandoned t-shirts and a pair of cut-off jeans she had kept hidden under the floorboards in our bedroom, and went to the river.

Then I waited. It seemed like ages. Just as I was convinced he had abandoned me I saw a small flash of white as the sail floated downriver towards me. After tacking, Ryan eased the boat towards the jetty.

‘I’m going to pull up as close as possible and then I want you to jump.’

‘Jump?’

‘Don’t be scared, Kit Kat. Just one big jump and you’re on!’

I watched him approach with a mixture of excitement and terror, holding my breath as I launched myself from the jetty, across the swirling water, and into the tiny boat. That airborne second had seemed like an eternity – an infinitesimal moment of possibility. When I landed safely in the boat next to Ryan, he smiled proudly and kissed me.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the Tamar Valley, we made love in the boat shed. My first time. Nine months later, Michael was born.

No matter how fierce the intimidation, how frightening the threats, I never told the elders who the father was. Even then, I knew the value of keeping secrets. We spoke once or twice afterwards, but a few months after that dinghy trip, Ryan left Cornwall for good. Maybe being fearless and headstrong wasn’t such a good thing after all.

When Michael was three and I was just about to start university, I contacted Ryan. He didn’t seem surprised to discover Michael was his son – how could he be? – but he didn’t seem bothered either. That’s when I understood it would always just be Michael and me. Everyone else existed on the periphery.

Ryan’s divorced now, with two teenage daughters and an ex-wife called Jackie, and living in Bromsgrove. Not quite the father I’d hoped he would be.

‘Kate!’

Adam is standing in front of me, hands on hips.

‘It’s just a notebook,’ I say, hoping with all my might that’s all Grace has told him. ‘Nothing special, just a few scribbles.’

‘Where is it?’

‘What?’

‘The notebook, where is it?’

‘Why?’

Adam gives a little cough. ‘Well, the thing is, I can understand how finding a notebook, or diary, whatever, must have been upsetting for you. No wonder you’re all over the place. After all, we’ve really been moving on, haven’t we?’

I open my mouth to protest. I’m not about to let him think that finding Michael’s diary has made me unstable or unwell. That would just be too easy. It did, of course, but only for a little while. I’m now feeling the most focused and clear-headed I have been in months.

Adam speaks first. ‘I thought we agreed that we’d work hard to try to put some of those painful memories behind us.’ Why does he keep saying we?

‘Michael is not a painful memory.’ How many times do I have to repeat this? Adam and Michael had never been particularly close, but after he left for Edgecombe their relationship deteriorated to the point where any communication between the two of them, on the few occasions Michael did come home, either consisted of yelling or sullen silence. They had clashed over everything: schoolwork, Michael’s social life, and especially his training routines. Adam, a former university rugby fly half, favoured a regime based around weight training, while the more adventurous Michael was exploring innovations such as plasma volume and decreased body temperature as a means of enhancing athletic performance. I smile as I recall producing endless jugs of homemade beetroot juice to help him reduce his oxygen uptake. My hands seemed to be constantly stained red.

‘This is not something to smile about, Kate.’

‘Will you just leave it, Adam? Please?’

‘But we agreed.’

We didn’t agree.

‘It’s nothing.’ I sound guilty, defensive, as if I am a naughty pupil being chastised. ‘A bit of life history, a few poems; that’s all.’ I think of the diary, nestled under my pillow where I sleep with it each night. ‘It’s just a sweet reminder – something that gives me a little bit of my son back.’

‘So, where is it?’ Adam stands up and scans the room. ‘Is it upstairs?’

Now I’m terrified. I’m certain Michael’s laptop is still on the bed. If Adam knew that I snuck into the house to get it without telling him he would be furious.

‘I’d like to see it,’ he adds.

The tension in the room becomes solid. A wall of ice. Normally in these situations I acquiesce, roll over like an obedient dog to keep the peace and avoid confrontation. For weeks afterwards, I berate myself for being weak, giving in. Today, however, it’s