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

could find peace. From the moment I could sit up, I would go out with my father in his rowing boat. Later, there were canoeing trips along the Tamar with Brethren friends, and in my early teens, clandestine wild swimming with Ryan on moonlit nights. I would sneak back into the house soaking wet, teeth chattering, pulling at the thin tendrils of wet hair curled around the nape of my neck. The next morning my mother would sniff loudly and claim the house had damp.

I slip off my trainers and dig my toes deep into the freezing sand. The scent of pine drifts on the cool night air. I find myself walking towards the water. I shed my jeans, my t-shirt, and lay them on a mossy boulder. I stare out at the loch; feel the night’s cool breath on my skin. Water calls to me: hypnotic; deceitful.

Dressed only in a bra and pants I take a few tentative steps and splash water on my knees, thighs, stomach. It’s like ice crystals on my skin. I’m up to my waist now and moving deeper. It’s so very, very cold. I feel my nipples tighten and a pleasant numbness in my feet. Stretching forward, I reach out my arms and begin to swim. On and on I go, farther and farther from the shore. Some unseen force is driving me onwards. I think of Michael and our practice sessions in the river, of our unspoken understanding of the power and serenity of deep water. I haven’t felt so peaceful in months. Maybe I’m asleep.

I feel a searing pain: shards penetrating my skin. As if lifted from a trance, I find myself awake to the world around me. What I see fills me with horror. I am at least a hundred metres from the shore. A breeze has picked up, forcing the inky waves against my numb body, and pushing me even deeper into the loch. I struggle forwards, but my arms ache and my legs are like lead. Beneath me, a swirling current drags me on. I kick, fighting against my enemies, wind and tide. I make it a few metres closer to shore before my muscles seize.

I should scream for help; wave my arms like that hapless hero in that GCSE poem, but why bother? No one is around: no one will care. I attempt one final push, but I’m tired, defeated. Was this how Michael felt? I imagine myself sinking; my pale, bloated body settling amongst the silt, my flesh food for zebra mussels. I hear a sound – splashing – and then, astoundingly, I feel an arm slip beneath mine.

‘Kate!’ It’s a male voice: deep; resonant.

‘Caleb?’

‘Hang on to me, Kate – don’t let go.’

I hook my arm around Caleb’s neck. He swims with one arm, the other supporting my back. I can feel the power of him as he kicks, and hear his laboured breathing as he pounds his way towards the shore. With one final, agonising effort he lifts me onto the sand. We both lie exhausted, coughing and panting. He covers my shoulders with his dry shirt.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, rubbing my hands between his. ‘You’re freezing.’

‘I didn’t mean to go out so far,’ I whisper through chattering teeth.

‘Water at night is always deceptive.’

‘If you hadn’t been here …’

‘I was,’ he says; and he puts his arm around me to warm me further. In the moonlight, his face is marble.

‘I thought I could do it,’ I say, biting back a sob.

‘You did.’ There’s something like admiration in his voice. ‘You were.’

‘Hardly,’ I reply. Then, in confusion, I ask, ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I’m not a great sleeper,’ he replies. ‘I often go out at night. I was walking past the outdoor adventure centre when I saw you race past. You seemed upset. Disorientated.’

‘It’s all such a mess,’ I say, no longer bothering to hide my tears. Caleb says nothing, just holds me tighter. ‘I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it; that I could conquer the water, for Michael.’

He pulls back and studies my face, trying to put two and two together; making assumptions.

‘Well, the first thing I would say to you is that water is generally unconquerable.’ His voice is kind. ‘And the second is that you certainly gave it your best go. You were swimming so quickly that by the time I reached the shore you had nearly disappeared.’ He gets up and collects my clothes from the rock where I left them. My fingers are so cold and stiff he has to help me to get dressed.

‘I’m such an idiot!’

‘You’re in pain.’ Caleb leans forward and takes my face in his hands. ‘There’s nothing wrong with admitting that.’ He is so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. He kisses me. I feel the strength in his body; the question in his lips. I respond with an intensity that surprises me. His hand slides under my shirt and circles my waist, pulling me in. My body is molten. Taking me by the hand, Caleb leads me back to the dorms.

37

I wake to the beginnings of sunlight and the murmurs of a collared dove. Next to me, Caleb dozes contentedly. I kiss his neck and delight in the simple pleasure of watching him sleep. In a few hours, the bustle of our fellow students will force us into wakefulness and secrecy, but for now, there is just his warm body against mine.

I drift in and out of consciousness, waking finally to an empty space in the bed beside me. There is a knock on my door and seconds later I feel someone tickling my toes.

‘Wake up, chérie,’ murmurs Marie-Claire. ‘You don’t want to miss the opportunity to read your poem to Professor Cardew, do you?’

I turn over and look into her smiling face.

‘Where’s Julia?’

Marie-Claire’s expression hardens. ‘Hungover,’ she sighs. ‘I’m not sure this summer school was such a great idea.’

‘I