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

Spinnaker Room where Adam devours a fillet steak and I pick at a vegetable risotto.

‘How would you feel about moving to Bristol?’ he says.

‘Bristol?’

‘I’ve been offered a job as a senior A&E consultant at the BRI.’ He holds my gaze. ‘The money’s good and it’s a fantastic opportunity.’

So that’s the reason for the surprise weekend away.

‘When did this happen?’

Adam sucks a piece of meat from between his teeth. ‘I’ve been keeping my eyes open for opportunities; you know, fresh start and all.’

By fresh start I expect he means getting me away from any memories of Michael.

‘When do you have to let them know?’

‘I already have. I’ve accepted.’

I drop my fork and feel all eyes on me as it clatters noisily against my plate. ‘Without asking me?’

‘Oh, come on, Kate. For the last month I’ve had to make every decision for you. What food to eat, what clothes to wear, what pills to take.’

‘I’m not sure I—’

‘Look.’ He’s chewing quickly, and a tiny splash of gravy has settled on his chin. ‘I’m sorry if I didn’t consult you about this but considering your physical and mental state, I thought it best not to burden you.’

‘Burden me?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he hisses, and then in a sudden shift his face softens. ‘I was just thinking of you. I mean if we’re serious about making a go of it, why not wipe the slate clean and start somewhere new?’

Wipe the slate clean of Michael, he means.

The risotto feels like pebbles in my throat. ‘I need to think about this. I mean I’m due to start back at the surgery next month.’

Adam gives a little snort. ‘With this new job, I’ll be paying more in tax every month than you’ll be earning.’

He might as well have plunged his knife straight into my heart.

‘I’m just not sure.’

Adam takes a sip of wine. ‘I’ve accepted the job, Kate. I start next month.’

And that is that.

‘It’s a lovely evening.’ Adam’s tone suggests the discussion is over. He takes his last bite of steak and then lays his knife and fork on the plate. I’ve barely touched my food, but he doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Shall we have our coffee on the terrace?’

I stare at him in wonder. It’s as if recent events have stripped back his skin. I’m now starting to see the real man I married.

‘I’m doing this for both of us,’ says Adam, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Rising from the table, he takes my hand and leads me outside.

It takes some effort to tire out an enthusiastic Adam, but when he is finally asleep I slip out onto the balcony with my mobile and begin searching the internet for more information, armed with a new name: Desra McKinley. The first hit is linked to the wedding report I have already seen in the Echo, but the second is much more interesting. It’s a newsletter from last year from a private boarding school in Scotland. Apparently Lennoxton Academy is amongst the most progressive and exclusive private boarding schools in Great Britain. Alongside a list of recent achievements in sport and the arts is a brief notice welcoming the new Head of Sports Performance. That’s not the most interesting bit, however. As I read on, it feels as if some of my questions are finally starting to be answered.

Lennoxton Academy extends a warm welcome to Dr Desra McKinley, formerly of Lakeview College in Ontario, Canada. Not only is she a highly regarded sports performance expert, who has coached young swimmers moving on to the Canadian Olympic team, but Dr McKinley also recently completed her PhD in Contemporary British Poetry, and was shortlisted for Canada’s most preeminent poetry prize, the Governor General’s Award. We look forward to her contributions to the vibrant sports and creative programmes at Lennoxton.

There are several other postings listing her steady rise from teacher and coach at Edgecombe Hall to Sports Performance Coach and Creative Writing Tutor at the famous Canadian private school. A bit more Googling informs me that she was married to Lakeview’s headmaster Elias McKinley, albeit briefly, and during that time also published two anthologies of poetry. There are plenty of articles and reviews of her poetry, including a short YouTube video of her reading at the Canadian Festival of the Spoken Word. After that, however, there is a surprisingly limited online presence.

‘Canada,’ I mutter. ‘That explains my not being able to find her.’ I stare at the moonlit horizon, realising that for the first time in weeks I feel vibrant, alive again. My brain is buzzing with possibilities. Gone is the doddering shut-in who couldn’t remember if she liked vinegar on her chips, replaced now with a newly confident and determined woman. Had I ever really been that helpless, or had I simply let everyone else take control and make me feel that way?

None of that matters any more. My mind is crystal clear and focused. I know what I must do.

We arrive back home in Exmouth on Sunday just after lunch. Eager to get on with preparing for his new job at the Bristol Royal Infirmary, Adam retreats to his study. I’m grateful for a few uninterrupted hours alone with the internet.

I find out everything I can about Lennoxton Academy. Founded in 1842 by the social and educational reformer Sir Richard Woodley Johnston, it offers a ‘new and compassionate approach to higher education’. Located less than an hour from Edinburgh, it consists of over fifty acres of woodlands, orchards and playing fields. There is even a golf course. Nurturing a philosophy of ‘individuality, initiative and an enquiring mind’, it has a long history of prestigious alumni including a Prime Minister and numerous members of European and Middle Eastern royalty. From the blog and other online posts, it now appears to be the private school of choice for the children of the super-rich. Actors, oligarchs, footballers: you’d better have connections to get into Lennoxton. I search the website pages for any other news about Desra McKinley. It isn’t