by Anna Wilson
Summer scrambled to the rock’s edge. She wasn’t going to wait for Kenan, to check he was going to carry out his threat. Part of her felt this could all be a hoax and he was only going to stay on the beach and watch her swim until she couldn’t move any more. He was maybe banking on her being too tired, from being up all night. Or too weak.
So what.
Anything, even the knife-sharp thrill of the cold water against already shivering skin, was better than standing and listening to his taunting.
She plunged in.
‘Hey! Wait!’ Kenan shouted from the shore.
The cold water made her clench her muscles. She kicked and pushed with determined breaststroke strides until she was out of the Pool and into the bay. The tide was higher now, the water stone-black and forbidding.
A huge splash behind her let Summer know that Kenan had joined her in the water. She wasn’t going to waste time in turning to see how fast he was moving. Even if he couldn’t carry through his threat of making her go back, he might try to push her under.
That last thought made Summer gasp, inhaling water, the brine stinging her throat. The sea was choppier than it had been earlier. She had to concentrate if she was going to make it the half-mile to the Point.
Her arms were already beginning to feel heavy; the drag of the current made the going hard work. Her hands were losing all feeling in the cold as well, crabbing into claws, the water flowing through her open fingers, slowing her down.
A splashing and gasping behind told her that Kenan was getting closer. She spoke to herself in a stern manner.
Do not panic. You need to conserve energy.
She heard Zach telling her, ‘If you focus on your stroke and keep it steady, you’ll be there in no time.’
She had done it before. She would do it again.
He’s not gaining on me yet.
Knowing she still had the lead prompted a surge of adrenaline. She looked to her left. She was already halfway across the bay. There were the caves. Those cool dark caves where she’d thought of camping out and hiding when she had first arrived. Where she had lit fires with Zach . . .
A shout pulled her sharply back to the present.
He’s trying to distract me. Do not turn around. It’s a trick.
‘Summer! Stop! I need . . .’
She swam steadfastly on, but Kenan was still shouting. Something about his voice unsettled her.
The rain was heavy now, the noise of it slapping against the waves, the wind whipping the water up, making it harder to see.
Kenan yelled her name. His voice had taken on a different note. It was half swallowed by the sound of the rain falling on the churning water, but Summer knew Kenan was not taunting her any longer.
He was in trouble. He was calling out. For help.
Summer turned and trod water. She half closed her eyes against the sting and splash of the waves and peered back at Kenan. He was thrashing and flailing, barely visible through the grey.
Still, a prickle of unease crept over Summer.
Is he tricking me to go back? Could he really be in difficulty?
She sculled with her stiff hands.
Come on.
She urged her brain into gear.
Make up your mind, quick! If he’s really drowning, you can’t leave him.
What if this was a trap, though? He was devious enough. There was no doubt he’d get away with a story of her drowning through her own stupidity. He would only have to say she had got out of her depth.
‘Summeeeeeeeerrrr!’
His head bobbed above the white spray of a breaking wave for an instant before disappearing beneath the foamy surface. She moved towards him guardedly, to get a better look. Needles of grey bounced off the water, but she could make out the raw terror on Kenan’s face, his eyes wide.
‘I’m a coward, I suppose.’
Her mother’s words swam before her. Her mother had said she had sacrificed her happiness at Bosleven, sacrificed her relationship with her sister too, to keep her, Summer, and to allow Becca and Tristan to be together. She had done this so that they could make a life together, have Kenan. Her brother.
She kicked out and put her face down; threw herself into a powerful front crawl. She knew nothing about life-saving, but felt that if she could just get an arm under him, get his face out of the water, turn him on to his back and at least tell him to shut up and save some energy . . .
‘Stop thrashing around!’ she yelled, drawing up alongside him.
He wasn’t shouting any more. He was whimpering, swallowing water. Bobbing below the surface, hardly bothering to struggle. She had to save him. He could not save himself.
Summer grabbed his arm. ‘Listen,’ she said sharply. ‘Lie on your back and rest your head on my arm.’
He did as she said. She turned on to her back, cupped his chin in her hand to keep his mouth free from the waves and paddled with her free hand so that they were pointing back towards the Pool. They would stand a better chance of getting out there than if they went on to the Point, and they would be closer to home.
Summer knew from her practice swims that distances in the water were deceiving and that the tide could play games with you, tugging you in directions you did not want to go.
‘I – I can’t go on,’ Kenan spluttered.
‘Good job I’m here,’ she said through gritted teeth.
Kenan surrendered then to Summer’s grip.
She made herself picture warm, dry towels and clothes and imagined what it would feel like walking back up to the house – a hike that always warmed her after a bracing, cold swim.
Best not to think about what will happen when we get back.
Kenan had become alarmingly limp: a stuffed toy in her arms. She strained to hear his breathing: it was shallow and rasping.
Summer kicked on, occasionally turning her head a fraction to try and keep on track. She needed to steer as close inland as possible so the tide didn’t drag them out. She tried to remember where all the rocks were under the surface so they didn’t bash their legs or get caught between any of them.
Something slimy brushed her foot; she shuddered.
Kenan squealed and jerked suddenly.
She grasped him more tightly and snapped, ‘Seaweed!’
He fell quiet again, and Summer swam on, his weakness feeding her own strength.
The wind whipped up the surface of the water, working it into rolling breakers which buffeted and tossed the pair of them around.
It was one thing to sit in safety on the rocks and gaze dreamily at a raging sea and marvel at its power. Swimming in it while holding on to someone else was altogether different. Summer pushed away the creeping sensation of fear and focused instead on digging deep whenever a wave rolled towards them.
Just think about reaching land. Land. Land. Land . . .
The waves swept over their heads and they surfaced, spluttering and coughing; Kenan had grabbed Summer’s arm and his fingernails sank into her skin. It was a strange kind of comfort to feel the sharp bite against her flesh.
They weren’t going to make it with her dragging him along like a lump of useless ballast. She needed to turn on to her front so that she could keep the Pool in sight and judge the waves better. A false move or a sudden push from a breaker, and they would end up being thrown on to the rocks. Summer kept repeating Zach’s words to herself: ‘. . . focus on your stroke and keep it steady . . .’
‘Do you think you can turn and put your hands on my shoulders?’ she shouted. ‘Keep your head up and kick if you can.’
‘I . . . I don’t know,’ Kenan’s voice was small and distant, but he managed to turn so that they were both facing their destination.
He gripped Summer’s shoulders as she doggy-paddled, jutting her chin high to stop herself from swallowing more water.
If we can get to the Pool we’ll be OK.
All at once there were voices and a noisy splashing ahead, as someone jumped into the water; a shout of ‘I’m
coming, don’t worry!’, and another voice: ‘Keep going! You’re nearly in the Pool – just a couple more strokes. We’re coming.’
Zach? Tristan too and – someone with them . . .
Summer tried to lift an arm to signal that she had seen them. But her limbs would not respond. A dark blanket of exhaustion drew itself over her; her bones ached with the weight of it.
If I could just sleep, for a little while . . . if I could rest for a couple of minutes . . . I’ll just sleep, get my strength back and then . . .
Kenan dropped away from her shoulders as a delicious, warm weight took hold of her.
The sky went black.
Summer’s eyelids were so heavy. She felt a hand enclose her own. It was warm, soft. She moved her tongue over her teeth. Her mouth was dry, furry, her tongue swollen.
‘She’s waking up.’
A woman’s voice.
Mum?
She strained to force her eyes open, curious to see who was sitting beside her.
A dark, cloudy image swam in front of her, but the light was too bright. She had to close her eyes again.
Am I—? Did I drown?
She struggled to open her eyes again and this time saw long, wavy dark hair framing a face that peered anxiously into hers.
‘Get her some water.’
A glass was held to her lips, someone took a firm hold of the back of her head and raised her slowly. She drank. A damp cloth was pressed on her forehead.
‘I’m sorry.’
Whispered voices.
‘I know. Nothing seems . . .’ A heavy sigh. ‘Nothing’s so important now.’
‘I . . . I don’t know about that.’
Tears, words distorted, voices shaky.
‘Kenan . . . I couldn’t stop him. I shouldn’t have told him.’
‘You had to.’
‘He said he wanted to kill her.’
‘He didn’t mean it.’
‘I think he did.’
Summer looked into the bright, white light, recognized the features on the face this time.
Mum, but not Mum. Mum as she might be if . . .
Her throat was dry, so dry.
‘Can I—?’ Her voice was hoarse, not her own.
‘Triss! Quick—’
Hands rushed to help her up to sitting. Tristan held her, his arm strong and safe around her back.
Memories. Photos. A letter.
‘Dad’. How am I ever going to get used to that?
Pictures of thrashing limbs swam in and out of her mind.
‘Kenan!’ she cried out.
‘It’s OK. You’re in hospital. Kenan’s here too,’ Tristan said. ‘He’s fine.’
‘Thanks to you.’
The other voice. Her.
She was helped to more water while pillows were plumped up behind her.
‘There you are, sweetheart.’
Summer took a sip, then handed the woman the water glass and sank back.
‘That better?’ Becca took her hand as she had before and stroked it. A bleak smile flickered on her lips.
‘Huh?’ Summer croaked. She blinked.
I’m seeing things again. Not real.
Becca’s red-rimmed eyes filled with fresh tears. ‘Cat’s little girl,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God. Triss and I . . . We thought—’
‘You?’ Summer whispered. She fought against the woolliness in her head, tried to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing. ‘You’re . . . All those times . . . I thought it was . . . thought I was seeing things, making it up . . .’
Becca looked puzzled.
Summer licked her dry lips. Trying to explain. ‘I kept seeing Mum. I saw her when I was in the garden. I thought I did . . . ?’
Tristan patted her hand. ‘Don’t try to talk too much too soon.’
Summer had had enough of not talking. She pushed on the pillows, struggled for a more upright position. ‘No – listen! I was out in the garden and I saw Mum.’ Her voice gathered momentum, in a rush now to get it all out, to be heard. Finally to get the answers she so badly wanted. ‘And there was a day I was out – at the Merry Maidens. And another time, I heard the piano – I recognized the piece, one of Mum’s favourites. And I saw her – you. Oh! I don’t know. The piece it was—’
‘Debussy,’ said Becca. ‘“Clair de Lune”. My favourite too. I was playing . . .’
‘You?’
‘I came in from the Wing. I wanted to see if I could get a glimpse of you. I’d tried once before when you were in the garden. Then I thought the house was empty and I missed playing, so . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ Becca faltered.
Summer shook her head. ‘You were spying on me? All that time I thought I was going crazy, seeing ghosts—!’ Her voice rose another notch.
Becca grabbed her wrist with both hands, her face drawn, pleading. ‘I’m sorry. I know I was wrong. I was just so angry. At Cat, at the way she had lied. And Triss . . .’ Her voice broke. She dropped Summer’s hand.
Tristan tried to pull his wife to him, but she shrugged him off. She swallowed. ‘I decided to wait, to try and talk to you alone,’ she went on. ‘So when I saw you that day, going in through the gate to the Merry Maidens, I thought I would grab my chance. I was coming back from Newlyn. I saw you on that bike. You looked like her. Cat. Then I saw you were with that boy, and when you came running, you looked so upset. I couldn’t face it. Especially not in front of someone else.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Summer said. ‘I thought you had gone away. How . . . where have you been staying?’
Tristan coughed. He was looking down at his hands, twisting them over and over.
Becca chewed her lip. ‘I was staying out of the way, in one of the rooms in the Wing – the unused wing of the house. Pathetic, I know. I needed a bit of space so that I could work things out.’ She paused, her expression pained. ‘I told them to keep you out of my way until I was ready. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave exactly. I didn’t want to leave Kenan anyway . . .’ Her words fell from her in a rush, as though in relief at finally being able to explain.
‘So you were in the house all the time?’ Summer asked.
Becca shook her head. ‘Not all the time. I went out a lot. Did a lot of walking. Thinking. I slept in one of the Wing bedrooms. Until our fight.’ She looked at Tristan, who was still staring at his hands.
Summer frowned. ‘How come I never saw you walking through the house?’
Tristan spoke at last. ‘She made us keep the other entrance closed. The door at the end of the kitchen passage downstairs. And the bookcase next to your room – there’s a door behind there too. They both go through to the Wing.’
‘The books!’ Summer gasped.
Tristan looked puzzled. ‘What about them?’
Summer felt a hot rush of embarrassment as she pieced things together. ‘I saw them move, saw some on the floor once, then someone had put them back – I heard noises, laughter too. I thought . . . I thought it was ghosts again.’ It all sounded so ridiculous and garbled now.
‘No ghosts – it was me,’ said Becca awkwardly. ‘I – I know it was wrong, but I went into your room. Then I heard you coming, so I left and—’
‘My photo! Of mum!’ Summer said. ‘So it was you – not Kenan.’
Becca looked so miserable.
‘This is my fault,’ Tristan put in. ‘I told Kenan we didn’t want you to know where Becca was,’ said Tristan.
Becca reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘No, it was me. I told Kenan not to show Summer the Wing. Like I say, I was angry.’ She looked at Summer. ‘We were both angry, Kenan and me. The Wing was our secret. Our safe place. It was selfish. I’m so sorry.’ Her face crumpled as she began to cry softly.
Summer’s head was swimming. ‘I heard you argue. About me.’
‘I know. I should never have said those things,’ Becca sobbed. ‘It’s not as though any of it is your fault.’
Tristan took Summer’s hand in his free one.
I have to make him tell me everything.
‘But – in that letter – Mum said you didn’t know. That she had left before . . .’ she stumbled, uncomfortable.
‘I . . . I think I did know,’ Tristan said quietly. ‘I was foolish. Young. Selfish too.’
‘It’s all over,’ Becca said. She wiped at her tears. ‘It was so long ago. Cat was the one who paid the price, cutting herself off from me, leaving Triss, Bosleven, changing her name –’ she looked at Summer – ‘bringing you up, alone. I couldn’t have done that, brought Kenan up on my own.’
Summer felt a rush of pity for the boy. ‘Kenan is all right, isn’t he? You did say he was?’ she asked.
‘He’s fine. And it really is thanks to you,’ Tristan said. ‘He’s in the next room. You’ll both be coming home – I mean—’
Summer interrupted him. ‘There is one thing I don’t have an answer for.’
The two adults looked at her anxiously.
May as well. Now or never.
She told them, warily, about the phone call the night her mother had died.
Becca’s eyes grew large as she listened. ‘What time did you say?’
Summer repeated. ‘One minute before midnight – the time they say she died.’
Becca drew a sharp breath. ‘Exactly the same – the same thing happened at Bosleven. Don’t you remember, Triss?’
Tristan nodded. ‘It was . . . we couldn’t believe it, really.’
Summer waited.
‘It woke us,’ Becca said. ‘You were deeply asleep, Triss. I answered the phone and . . . heard her. I told him about it,’ she said to Summer, ‘but he wasn’t properly awake. When I told him again in the morning, he convinced me I must have been dreaming. Of course I didn’t know anything about the accident. I just knew it was Cat. I hadn’t spoken to her for fourteen years! And when I tried to say something to her, the line went dead.’
‘So when did you find out? That she had died?’ Summer asked.
