Chapter 18
I collapse on the tiles at the edge of the pool. Jameson crouches at my side, his concerned face hovering over mine. I try to make sense of the words Alex – who just moments ago I was sure was drowning – is saying. ‘It was a joke, Eilish. She was just messing around.’
He’s dripping wet, laughing and very much alive.
I catch Becca’s eye over Jameson’s shoulder and she’s looking at me like I’m nuts. They all are.
And fair enough.
My adrenaline is running wild, making the blood pump and my thoughts run in tangled loops.
‘What the hell, Eilish …’ says Leo. ‘You really thought he was drowning?’
‘He was taking the piss out of me.’ Becca sounds a tad defensive. Her hair drapes one tanned shoulder, sleek as an otter’s pelt. ‘I was just trying to teach him a lesson.’
I take a shuddering breath, trying to get myself under control. ‘But he can’t swim. He could have died.’
Alex rolls on his back, his laughter ricocheting around the echoey space, bouncing off the rafters of the pool house. ‘I can swim, Eilish. I learned after that night. It bothered me that I couldn’t help, seemed ridiculous to be a grown-ass adult who couldn’t swim.’
‘Oh.’ I sit up and push sodden hair out of my eyes.
I can only imagine how I look – in my soaked hiking leggings, with my hair all over my face and my expression wild.
The panic I felt when I saw Becca push Alex in, when I was convinced he was going to die like my mother, like Gen, dissipates and I just feel stupid.
Of course, Becca wouldn’t have pushed Alex into the pool if he couldn’t swim.
Jameson rests a hand on my back, strokes circles between my shoulder blades.
‘Breathe, Eilish.’ I hadn’t realised I was still gasping for breath, almost hyperventilating.
Delayed shock probably. In ten years I haven’t so much as dipped a toe in the water, but I just jumped right in at the deep end. Panic claws at my throat.
‘It’s okay, Eilish.’ Jameson’s voice is soft, intimate. I focus on his face, try to slow my breathing.
The others are still peering down at me, but I can’t look at them – scared of seeing derision on their faces. I really overreacted …
Alex hauls himself up. ‘It seemed like a real handicap not being able to swim, you know? Like it’s a skill that might make the difference between life and death.’
Yes, it is. But being able to swim isn’t always enough.
My mother could swim, and so could Gen.
Alex laughs now, trying to lighten the mood, which I have so effectively killed. He sweeps his sopping hair off his forehead. ‘You thought she was trying to murder me in front of all these witnesses? Even for Bex that would be bold—’
‘Alex,’ Becca huffs.
Leo says, ‘Steady on, mate.’
Kimmy approaches us with a stack of towels, handing them round. Becca neatly wraps one over her swimsuit and Alex scrubs at his face, pulling his sodden T-shirt away from his skin. His usually coiffed hair is plastered to his skull.
I sit up. ‘I’m okay now,’ I tell Jameson, reaching for one of the towels. I just want out of here, to head upstairs and take a shower, nurse my embarrassment alone.
Becca retrieves her glass from a nearby pool lounger. ‘Pushing you in was maybe a bit of an overreaction,’ she concedes. ‘Sorry.’
Alex waves away her apology.
‘You’re very pale, Eilish,’ Becca says, peering at me. ‘Here, have a drink.’ She hands me the glass and I find myself taking it, downing half the contents in one mouthful. I have no idea what it is – something with vodka, I think; the alcohol burns its way down my throat.
I’m still trembling from the surge of residual trauma that lurks in every cell of me, waiting for an opportunity to be unleashed, but the alcohol helps.
Jumping into the water like that brought it all rushing back: the remote loch, my mother’s upturned boat and hours of futile diving until I could barely feel my limbs; and the dark estuary, Gen’s deadweight in my arms as I pushed through slippery water for the shore.
‘I shouldn’t have made that crack about you murdering me,’ Alex says, squinting up at Bex. ‘Bad taste. I’m sorry.’
She shrugs. I think again of Alex’s insinuations last night. There was somebody in the water with her.
And Becca’s intense gaze in the candlelit dining room as she gripped our hands and swore us to fealty over keeping a secret I couldn’t remember being part of.
Becca retrieves her glass from me and knocks back the rest of her drink. ‘You should get changed,’ she says. ‘You really don’t look so good.’
I stand, my limbs uncooperative. Jameson doesn’t stray far from my side. I squeeze water out of my hair. ‘I’ll head upstairs and shower.’
‘There are showers here,’ Becca says. ‘One of us can run up and get your clothes for you so you don’t have to go outside soaking wet. You too, Alex.’
For some reason I don’t like the idea of any of them in my room, going through my things.
And I want to be alone for a while. ‘Thanks, but that’s okay.
’ I give Jameson what I hope is a reassuring smile, trying to look capable and in control.
‘Remind me of the plan for the afternoon.’ I aim to distract Becca, and it works.
She visibly brightens. ‘Oh, right. Yeah. Lunch and then a tour of Tarnmore. Then I thought I could show you the horses. I need to check on them anyway.’
She’s trying to rescue the situation, claw back the sense of ease and revelry that was surely swirling around the pool house before I made my dramatic entrance and drained all the joy from the day with my stupid overreaction.
‘Give me twenty minutes,’ I say and start to gather up my discarded outerwear.
As I leave the pool house alone – Alex has opted to shower in one of the poolside cubicles – I hear a roar of laughter erupt from Leo and the sound of Jameson sharply rebuking him.
Great, I’m a laughingstock now.
Or worse, a liability. The unstable one, likely to leap to conclusions and act like a crazy person at the least provocation.
*
The soup is hearty and thick, the chatter companionable as we gather around the refectory table in the kitchen.
They’re all diplomatic enough not to mention the scene in the pool house – they’ve probably had their laugh at my expense, got it out of their systems. I dunk a piece of soda bread in my soup and take a bite, closing my eyes and sighing with pleasure at how good it is.
On top of making lunch, Euan has already started prepping the meal for tonight, and the kitchen smells of garlic, herbs and the salty tang of seafood.
I think he makes a good chef, and apparently he’s a magician with the horses too.
Once we’ve eaten, Becca takes us on a tour of Tarnmore.
She’s in her element as she parades us around the vast mansion, spouting its history and mentioning interior design brands and antique pottery I’ve never heard of.
There are so many rooms I lose track. We visit the long gallery, the library, the games room, a multitude of bedrooms all with Scottish names I immediately forget.
We detour through her father’s study where the Wi-Fi router is – I make a mental note to ask Becca for the code since she’s in full flow and I don’t want to interrupt – and even visit the creepy cellars where there are rows of dusty wine bottles and some exclusive whisky that Alex goes into raptures over.
He shouldn’t be thinking about whisky. Not with rehab in his recent past and his unhealthy relationship with alcohol.
Lord Morrow’s gun cabinet is in the cellar too and I’m pleased to see the weapons safely locked away as per licensing regulations.
‘You’ll have to come back in the autumn and join us for a shooting party,’ Becca says, and Kimmy and Leo make enthusiastic noises.
Jameson and I exchange glances with matching expressions of horror.
It’s clear neither of us will be accepting that invitation.
With the tour complete, we get ready to cross the courtyard again, which is enveloped in yet another blizzard.
Jameson hangs back, watching me pull on my boots.
For a mad moment I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he only touches my arm, and says, ‘Don’t give yourself a hard time.
It was an easy mistake to make – in the pool. ’
‘It was stupid.’
Jameson’s eyes hold mine. There’s no trace of amusement in his. ‘Your instinct was to save him … even though you’re scared of the water. It was … impressive. Heroic even.’
‘Oh please …’
His lips twitch and he flashes perfect, white teeth at me. ‘Seriously. Very gallant.’ He’s teasing me a bit now, but I like that he’s trying to make me feel better about the whole thing.
I nudge him with my elbow, smile back. ‘I’m available for lifeguarding duties all week,’ I say, deciding it’s easier to joke about it.
The other options are crushing embarrassment, or to admit the debilitating trauma I don’t really want to contemplate.
For a moment back there, I was convinced I was going to watch another of my friends drown …
We head out the door and step into the spinning blizzard.
Jameson pauses with a hand on my arm. ‘I suppose we have to go to the stables? I’d rather play hooky and hang out in the library with you, have that beer …
’ He turns and walks backwards in front of me, his stride loose, his grin stretching ear to ear. God, I love his smile.
An image of crackling flames, the stiff spine and crinkling pages of a book in my hands, Jameson’s woodsy scent and that calm energy he radiates wrapping around me … An answering smile tugs at my lips.
I wish the others would disappear for a few hours, give us time to ourselves. The attraction between us definitely hasn’t faded, but attraction isn’t enough. I have no idea if we’d even work after all this time.
And I don’t know if I’d have the courage to try.
After Tarnmore, after we leave this strange bubble and head back to our normal lives, what then? Surely it can’t be so easy as to pick up where we left off?