Chapter Fourteen #2
She’s back there, at that same loch in the Scottish Highlands. Like before, the edges of this memory are a little blurred, shifting in and out of focus. But she notices one key difference to last time. She is not by the loch – she is on it. In the boat. With him.
His sleeves are rolled up, showing tanned forearms. His pale green eyes watch her, reflecting the glistening surface of the water, the rolling heather-clad hills a brighter green in the background.
‘What?’ she asks. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
He shakes his head. ‘Sorry. I just … I know this isn’t an easy day for you. I suppose I’m just trying to work out if you’re all right.’
Her stomach squirms at the reminder of what happened all those years ago – of the fall that could so easily have been prevented.
But she doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to be sad.
Because yes, this date is always a reminder of something terrible, a reminder of who she and her parents lost. But they are not the only ones who have lost someone, are they?
She wishes she could change it, is sure she’ll never let go of the guilt she feels at what happened.
But today she wants to forget about that.
She wants instead to make the most of the fact that she is still here, the way she so often forgets to.
She wants to do things that make her feel alive.
Which is why she’s out here, on this boat. Because today felt like the day to say yes – to not let herself be controlled by fear, but to take chances instead.
‘I’m fine,’ she tells him firmly.
He nods slowly, contemplating her as though he’s not sure whether to believe her.
Then he lets go of the oars, allowing the boat to drift to a stop.
He reaches out, across the small distance between them.
The boat sways beneath her, but she’s not afraid – not today, not with him.
His fingertips brush lightly against her cheek, pushing aside a wisp of hair.
His eyes are locked on hers, and her breath hitches.
She knows that look. He’s going to kiss her.
Instead he eases back, and she fights to control the disappointment. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says slowly.
‘Oh?’
‘I know I have less reason to be here since my father died, but I do still have the estate.’
‘That’s true,’ she says slowly, wondering where he’s going with this, and trying not to get her hopes up.
‘So maybe I could stay, try my hand at running it.’
‘Maybe you could,’ she agrees.
‘And maybe …’ He reaches out, takes her hand in his. ‘Maybe you’d want to help me with that?’
There it is, that spike of excitement. She cocks her head. ‘Help you how?’
His thumb traces a circle on her wrist. ‘Marry me,’ he says – and she feels it, that tilting of an axis. This – this was the reason to come here today, this was the reason to say yes to going out on the boat. Her life has led her to exactly where she’s meant to be, she’s sure of it.
She meets his gaze, and knows from the way his smile grows that he can see her answer in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she says, leaning forward to kiss him. ‘Of course yes.’
She laughs, and he joins in. He is pulling her to him now, both of them needing to touch. ‘And maybe we could build a room where you could paint, if that’s what you—’
She kisses him again, tasting woodsmoke and salt.
‘I don’t care about any of that,’ she says as she breaks away.
‘I only want you.’ Because with him she’ll be complete, she knows it.
And what is today, the anniversary of her sister’s death, if not a reminder of the fragility of life, a reminder to grasp the things you want with both hands, because you don’t know how long you’ll be around to take them.
The boat wobbles again, and he eases back, pressing his forehead against hers. Need is coiling low in her stomach as she hooks her arms around his neck, and she sees from the way his eyes have darkened that it is a reflection of his.
‘Later,’ he murmurs against her lips. A promise.
But she can’t sit still, not now, not with this excitement coursing around her system, this hope for the future. She gets to her feet right there in the middle of the rowing boat and laughs as she lifts her arms to the sky.
He laughs too, though when he speaks, it’s with a note of caution. ‘Be careful. I thought you said you couldn’t swim?’
But she can’t be careful, not today. She grabs his hand, tries to pull him to his feet alongside her. He holds her wrist firmly, anchoring her in place. He murmurs a name – her name, but one she doesn’t recognise.
‘Come on,’ he says in that lilting Scottish accent. ‘I’ll row us back to shore.’
She’s still trying to pull him to her, to get him to join in her celebration – because that’s what this should be, a celebration.
His grip loosens slightly on her wrist as she pulls again, and she stumbles.
It’s barely anything, no more than half a step.
But the tiny boat rocks, and she knows, in the split second before it happens, that she will fall.
Icy water surrounds her as she plummets, and though she reaches for the edge of the boat, she can’t find it.
She tries to scream, but there is water flooding into her, choking her.
She kicks out, but there is something around her ankle, pulling her down, and the sunlight above the surface of the lake looks so very far away.
Her name again – he is screaming her name. She hears it distantly, the splash of water, feels the ripple around her, then an arm trying to tug her away from the weeds and to safety, even as her muscles seize with the cold.
It’s not just her who will drown now. She doesn’t know how she knows that, not with everything turning dark, not when the memory becomes even more out of focus. But she feels with a certainty like a lead weight in her stomach that neither of them will make it out of the lake today.
She’s coughing, spluttering, warm salty water coating her tongue.
‘Lissa!’ Someone is shouting her name – not a deep male voice but a high-pitched female one. ‘Lissa, stop it, you’re okay!’
She is thrashing, she realises. She is thrashing in the pool, kicking her legs, even as her feet make contact with the stone bottom. She is sobbing. There is the sound of someone nearby, slipping on wet tiles.
‘What’s happening?’ A young, petrified-sounding voice.
‘She’s scared of water.’ A voice she recognises this time.
‘What! Why is she in here then? I’m going to get my manager.’
‘She’s scared of water?’ A murmured question, accompanied by pressure on her arm.
‘Yes. Because of what happened to Chloe.’
‘Chloe? Who’s Chloe?’
‘Breathe, Lissa, you’re okay. Look, we’re nearly out now, okay?’
Lissa heaves in a breath, tries to calm down as she blinks her surroundings into focus.
The pool. Darcy and Mia looking at her, each holding one of her arms, like they’re trying to drag her from the water.
She is at the edge, a few feet away from the steps.
Everyone else is out of the pool, some hovering, staring at her.
‘It’s okay, Bissa,’ Mia says again, voice soft, soothing.
A wave of embarrassment floods her as she looks down at the pool steps, grasping the edge to ground herself.
‘I’m okay,’ she repeats back to them, and sees the worried look they give one another.
She doesn’t know why she keeps telling everyone this – clearly she is not okay. Clearly she is a fucking headcase.
But she wonders for the first time, as she leaves the pool on shaky legs, Darcy rushing to get her a towel, whether she’s had it right all these years.
If the reason she is scared of water, the reason for the drowning nightmares, is not because of what happened to Chloe, but because of what happened to her.