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

myself from bed, I sit in the cold glow of dawn, desperately trying to think of what to do. My plan had always been so clear: use Desra McKinley to find out more information about that night. Now, however, as I find myself virtually face-to-face with Diving Fish – with the person who groomed, seduced, and corrupted my teenage son – I feel rudderless. I return to the action plan I scribbled in my notebook earlier in the week. Point six is blank. I add a sentence, short and to the point.

6. Get the truth and make her pay!

There’s work to be done on the last one, but I’ve still got three days of summer school left to prove my suspicions. If Desra really was making the moves on me tonight, as Julia suggested, then maybe I can use that to get close to her. I have to try to find out more about her and Michael and if she was on the lakeside with him that night. Whatever happens, by the end of the week I will go to the Headmaster and Board of Governors with a copy of Michael’s diary, details of Lisa’s story, and a clear accusation that Desra McKinley has a history of becoming sexually involved with her students; and she may in fact be grooming one of them right now. Until then, I’m going to have to play it very carefully.

I take a moment to lie back on the bed, close my eyes and breathe. Maintaining this pretence requires a level of energy and diligence that is difficult and draining.

Revenge is a lonely thing.

The morning’s session begins with one of Desra’s typical self-promoting declarations.

‘I want to make a really good impression on Professor Cardew,’ she says, sipping from a Thermos mug that reads POETRY ROCKS. ‘So, to help prepare for your reading on Friday, I’ve planned a truly inspirational morning of exercises.’ She removes a small pouch from her rucksack and hands it to Sally. ‘Take a marble from the pouch and pass it on,’ she instructs. ‘Then I’ll ask you to find the person with the same coloured marble as yourself. That’s who you will be working with this morning.’

I pick a red marble and gaze around the group to see who might have collected its twin. Piercing green eyes meet mine, and I smile awkwardly as Caleb holds up his matching stone. Next to me I hear Julia’s intake of breath as she realises that she is paired with Marvin, and Marie-Claire’s sigh of relief when she learns her partner is Dave.

‘Today we’re going to be working on haikus,’ Desra announces. ‘Is everyone familiar with haikus?’ The other students nod, and I find myself wracking my brain trying to remember anything from GCSE English. ‘Just to refresh your memory, a haiku is a Japanese verse form that uses just a few words to capture a moment and create a picture in the readers’ minds. It is like a tiny window into a scene much larger than itself.’ She takes another sip of coffee. ‘Due to its brevity, and yet the skill involved, I thought this would be the perfect format for your readings at the masterclass on Friday morning. Your piece doesn’t have to be a haiku in itself, but it needs to take on board that level of brevity and meaning.’ The mention of the masterclass sends murmurs of excitement throughout the room. ‘Keeping in mind the theme of my soon-to-be-published anthology, I have decided that our explorations this morning will focus on nature, the natural world and your physical and emotional responses to it.’ She places a pile of white envelopes on the floor in front of us. ‘In each envelope you’ll find a series of questions I want you to ask each other about your impressions and experiences. I don’t want you to settle for stock responses. I want you to challenge each other to go beyond the commonplace.’ She checks her watch. ‘I want you to wander around the campus, seeing, smelling, touching, experiencing nature in all its incarnations. It’s nine fifteen now. I’d like us to meet back at the theatre for eleven. I’ll be wandering around checking in on you, so feel free to ask me any questions.’ She picks up her Thermos and leaves the theatre.

‘It would be nice if there was some actual teaching going on,’ Julia mutters, before reluctantly joining Marvin.

Caleb and I decide to spend some time in a maple grove, examining the intricate tributaries in each leaf, rubbing earth through our fingertips. Caleb reads from the instructions in the envelope, challenging me to push myself further.

‘It smells like earth,’ I say.

‘What does earth smell like, Kate?’

‘Wet; damp. Earthy.’

Caleb smiles. ‘What else?’

I shake my head.

Caleb takes a handful of earth and lets it trickle into my open palm before taking my hand in his and holding it to my face.

‘Close your eyes, Kate. Relax.’ I can feel the warmth of his body against mine. ‘Now tell me: what does it smell like?’

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. There is a musty smell, dank but fresh, like the garden after a rain shower.

‘It smells like vegetation, rotting for centuries in cool obscurity. It smells like the beginning and the end. It smells like life.’

I open my eyes to see Caleb smiling at me.

We carry along the forest path until we come to a small beach surrounded by silver poplars. Caleb takes off his shoes and socks, rolls up his jeans, and walks ankle deep into the water.

‘It’s cold!’

‘How cold?’

‘Freezing cold.’

‘And?’

‘So cold the blood flow is halted.’

‘Like?’

‘Like an image frozen in time … no! Like a statue after a heavy snowfall. The features are blanketed, undefinable, forgotten.’

I find myself clapping in appreciation.

‘Come in,’ calls Caleb. ‘You don’t feel the cold after a while.’

I step forward onto the sand, but no further.

‘You don’t like the water?’

I shake my head.

‘But you went canoeing?’

‘Never again,’ I reply, remembering the feeling of wet, slimy leaves on my