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

curtain on the back door and see her. Grace is wearing a black miniskirt and lace vest, her neon-pink bra straps just visible on her narrow shoulders.

‘Grace?’ My eyes widen as I open the door. ‘Where have you been? Mum’s been going mental.’

‘Let me in.’ My sister’s voice is tight. ‘There isn’t much time.’

‘You are going to be in so much trouble,’ I whisper, sneaking two biscuits from my mother’s hiding place in the pantry.

‘Does it look like I give a shit?’ Grace reaches past me and grabs a handful of custard creams. ‘Donna-Marie and me have got ourselves jobs at a hotel in St Ives. Live in.’

‘But what about—’

‘There’s no bloody way I’m going to work for one of Mum’s nutty church friends. I’m sick to death of Brethren rules! No telly, no music, no books, no friends except Brethren, no college.’ Grace ticks off the indignities one by one. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking suffocating.’ Opening the utility drawer, she reaches in, tears two large bin bags from the roll and hands them to me. ‘Now be a good little sister – go upstairs and fill these with my things.’

The faint chiming of the mantel clock reminds me of just how late it is. If I’m going to make it back to the hospital for the consultant’s rounds at eleven, I’d better get some sleep. But first, I must ring Adam.

‘How is she?’

‘Intubated, but with good stats.’

There’s a long pause before he speaks again. ‘The longer she’s on life support—’

‘I know, honey. I know.’

‘Raj has agreed to swap shifts with me tomorrow so I should be able to get to the hospital by eleven.’

‘That would be great; really great.’

‘If you speak to the consultant before I get there you need to ask about scans. Have they decided on CT or MRI? Will they be doing an echo and a CA? Don’t let them fob you off.’

‘Yes, Adam. I will ask all those things.’

‘I know how much you don’t like to cause a fuss, Kate, but this is important.’ He sounds slightly irritated that I’m not embracing his proactive approach, but I’m tired. Every thought, every word seems to take enormous effort. It’s as if my brain is slowly and methodically shutting down. I need to sleep.

‘Have you rung Grace yet?’

‘It’s late. I’ll ring her first thing in the morning.’

‘Kate.’

‘There’s nothing she’ll be able to do tonight anyway.’

‘Promise you’ll ring her first thing?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Adam clears his throat as if preparing to say something difficult. ‘Have you taken your medication?’

‘What?’

‘Your meds. Have you taken them?’

I try not to let the irritation creep into my voice. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Just make sure you do.’

Once again, I am the naughty child. ‘I’m going to get some sleep, Adam. You should as well.’ My mobile feels as if it’s stinging my cheek. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven. Love you.’ I put the phone down before he can question me any further. I realise he’s only looking out for me, but sometimes I just want to be left alone.

I make my way upstairs, passing my mother’s bedroom and not even daring to glance into the gloomy space beyond the door. I go into the second bedroom. Once it had been painted bright pink, an indulgence my father had agreed to shortly before he left us. Twin beds had sat at either end of the small room, both dotted with stuffed animals that Grace and I had squirrelled away from church jumble sales. After Grace left for St Ives, it changed to a single, and when I was fifteen, there came the sudden addition of a second-hand cot for Michael. Now, however, there is just a single guest bed stacked high with old clothes and half-filled charity shop donation bags. Books dot the floor and, abandoned in the corner next to the wardrobe, there is a small mountain of battered suitcases. I catch sight of something on the bed and float, ghost-like, towards it. I feel my stomach lurch and then, almost collapsing onto the mattress, pull the bundle of soft fabric towards me. It’s a grey hoodie with the words Edgecombe Hall Swim Team emblazoned across the front in white lettering. Michael often stayed with his grandmother on weekend breaks from boarding school. ‘Too far to travel’ was his excuse for not coming home, though I sometimes wondered if it was because he didn’t want to be around his stepfather. Lifting the hoodie to my face, I breathe in deeply, desperate for a whiff of Cool Water – or even Lynx – body spray.

‘He wasn’t happy at that school, you know,’ my mother had declared on the afternoon of Michael’s wake. ‘He would have come back home but for Adam.’ She had refused a glass of sherry, but was somehow managing to slide a third slice of chocolate gateau through her rigid lips.

‘Do we have to talk about this now?’

‘You spoiled him,’ my mother muttered, before turning to make her way back to the buffet table.

‘What did you say?’

‘Every whim, every impulse,’ she turned, her voice cutting through the low-level hum of conversation, ‘you pandered to. If you hadn’t allowed him to go to that school, he wouldn’t have gone swimming that night and wouldn’t have—’

‘How can you say that?’ I remember feeling furious beyond belief. ‘He wanted to go! He won that scholarship.’ I felt an overpowering need to justify myself. ‘All I ever tried to do was the right thing by him.’

‘The right thing!’ My mother’s eyes were two dark pits. ‘How would you know what the right thing is? You’ve never repented for your sins.’

‘MICHAEL WAS NOT A SIN!’

I felt heads turning, an awkward hush descending. Before she could speak again, Adam was beside me.

‘Grace is going to drive you home, Rebecca.’ His voice rang with the authority of his years as an A&E consultant. ‘Perhaps it might be best if you don’t get in touch for a few days.’

Those few days lasted for nearly a year.