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

the diary, the mobile phone. We talk about Michael’s poetry, the beauty of it. We talk about Diving Fish, about his experience of love. It feels good, healthy. Claire, as always, senses something deeper.

‘And Adam,’ she asks. ‘What does he think about it?’

‘He wants to put it somewhere safe.’

‘He wants to take it from you?’

‘Yes, but I won’t let him.’ I pause to let that last statement lie. ‘Michael wrote something about him in his diary.’

‘About Adam?’

‘Referred to him as threats-behind-closed-doors Adam.’ Claire raises an eyebrow, but remains silent. ‘If he did something to hurt him …’

‘Do you think he did?’

‘He was strict with Michael; controlling. But I never witnessed any actual physical violence.’

‘But?’

I reach over for my water, take a sip. ‘I never told you this before.’

Claire responds with her usual kindness and composure. ‘You know you’re safe with me.’

I take a deep breath. ‘When Michael was thirteen, Adam prescribed Ritalin for him.’

My therapist suddenly looks interested. ‘Ritalin? Was Michael having difficulties?’

I think back to his mood swings and manic behaviour. ‘Not more than any teenager. In my opinion, at least.’

‘Can he do that?’ Claire asks. ‘Prescribe for a family member?’

‘Whether he could or not, he did.’

‘And how did Michael respond?’

‘How do you think?’

‘And you? How did you feel about it?’

Claire is one of the few people in my life who still asks how I feel about things. ‘I was furious. Even threatened to leave him. Well I did leave, actually.’

Claire nods. ‘We spoke about that period, didn’t we? You went to stay with your mother for a bit.’

‘It didn’t work out.’

‘So you went back home.’

‘Adam apologised, claimed it was a misjudgement, said he was only trying to help, couldn’t live without us.’ I’m shivering and pull the throw over my shoulders. ‘The following year, Michael started his GCSEs at Edgecombe.’

‘And how was that for you?’

‘Unbearable.’

‘But Michael was happy?’

‘Yes, so I coped.’

‘And now? How do you feel now, particularly with this new information?’

I take a moment to frame my response. ‘What I’d like to do is find out who this Diving Fish is. If she knows anything about the night Michael drowned.’

‘Would that be helpful to you?’

‘Very helpful.’ Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. ‘I understand that Adam is concerned for my well-being, but finding this diary has finally offered me an opportunity to get answers to the questions I’ve been asking for six years. I can’t understand why he thinks this is unhealthy.’

Claire does the usual therapist thing. ‘Why do you think that is?’

I remember him on Thursday night, towering over me, shaking me by the shoulders, but I don’t tell her that. ‘I’m not sure.’

Claire’s expression is neutral, but there’s something in the tone of her voice that catches my attention. ‘Putting your mental health aside – and let’s be clear, this is an important issue and must be addressed if you intend to pursue this course of action, but putting it aside for the moment – have you really considered why Adam is so adamant about the diary?’

‘He just goes on and on about our need to move forward.’

‘Yet from what you’ve told me there are still plenty of questions – about the investigation into Michael’s death, the ambiguity about the inquest findings.’ I get the feeling Claire is moving beyond professional boundaries. ‘Why would someone want to stop you from finding the answers to questions that are so essential to your being able to move on?’

I leave Claire’s office invigorated. After the scene with Adam and my conversation with Grace I had, briefly, considered putting the diary aside for a bit – maybe just to get my grounding back – but my conversation with Claire has made me realise my need for answers, for closure, is not mad, unreasonable, or unhealthy. It’s perfectly normal. I am perfectly normal. It’s just everyone else around me that’s not on point.

The main thing now is to keep up my relationship with Adam. What to do about the diary is another matter. I’m going to have to try and find some way to keep the diary and keep Adam satisfied at the same time. I text Adam saying I’m going to spend a few hours doing a bit of shopping, but instead I sit by the cathedral green with a latte and a notebook, planning my strategy.

I arrive home to the smell of lamb roasting and a cold glass of Chablis. I help Adam in the garden; the gladioli bulbs I planted after Easter are starting to sprout, and, with each gust of wind, freshly washed sheets flap and flutter on the line. As conflicted as I am it’s nice to be home, in my own space, with all my things around me. Later, when Adam is watching the telly, I’ll sneak into my office to continue my research.

We eat outside, a delicious meal of lamb tagine and couscous. It’s been a good day. My conversation with Claire, the pleasant atmosphere at home. Maybe things will be all right after all. I’m just finishing my last morsel when Adam pushes back his plate and clears his throat.

‘So,’ he says. ‘Did you bring the diary with you?’

I’ve been expecting this, but not quite so soon. ‘No.’ My heart is thumping but I hold my nerve. ‘The diary is safely locked away at my mother’s house.’ In fact I have given it to Doris for safekeeping. ‘It won’t be a problem; I promise you that.’ Well not for you, anyway. He looks at me with a mixture of frustration and what might just be admiration. Hopefully this will be the end of it.

Sunday afternoon, just before leaving to head back to Cornwall, I sneak into my tiny office – just a box room really – with a desk, filing cabinet and a few diplomas on the wall. I reach into the very back of the filing cabinet, where hidden behind some old warranties and instruction manuals is a green file folder. I wait until Adam is outside checking