Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Melissa Bailey
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Copyright
About the Book
One summer’s day, Freya’s husband and son vanish at sea.
A year on, and struggling to cope, Freya returns to the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage on a remote Hebridean island, where she and her family spent so many happy times.
Haunted by visions of her old life, Freya’s dreams are dark and disturbed. And when a stranger, Daniel, is washed ashore during a storm, they turn even more menacing.
As dream and reality start to merge, Daniel seems to be following Freya’s every move. What does he want from her and is he everything he seems to be?
Is her mind playing tricks? Or is the danger that she senses very real?
About the Author
Melissa Bailey read English at Oxford, before studying law in London and then pursuing a career in media law. Beyond the Sea is her second novel.
Other books by Melissa Bailey
The Medici Mirror
Beyond the Sea
Melissa Bailey
To Parvais
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my agent, Luigi Bonomi of LBA, for all his assistance and for sharing stories of mermaids with me. From those exciting early discussions the landscape of a novel began to emerge. Thanks to everyone who read early drafts of it and for their valuable commentary and insights.
Huge appreciation to all the team at Penguin Random House and especially my editor, the exceptional Gillian Holmes, who seamlessly blended perceptiveness, honesty and sensitivity and helped transform this into the best book it could be.
I am especially grateful to Nicola Goldfinch-Palmer, who gave me help when I needed it, and Angela Woods – dear friend, wise counsel and all round superstar – for her boundless encouragement and advice.
A big thank you to my mum and dad for their unstinting support and, most of all, to Parvais, for everything.
Prologue
THE BOAT GLIDED effortlessly across the water. Not bad for an old wooden tub, Jack thought. Whatever Freya said about it, he loved this boat. No doubt it needed a new motor, but it would last another summer. Angus at the boatyard had assured him of that. He listened carefully but all he could hear was a contented purring. Perhaps it would last the winter season as well.
The sea was peculiarly peaceful for this time of year, as if it were a lake rather than the open Atlantic. One of those perfect days, with a deep blue, cloudless sky reflected in the calm water. He grabbed his binoculars and looked towards the horizon. But even further out, where the rise and fall of the waves should be more pronounced, there was little movement.
He turned around to Sam, seated at the back of the boat, nose down in a book about seabirds. ‘Do you want to come into the cabin to steer the boat for a while?’ Jack called.
‘No,’ his son replied without looking up.
‘Well, are you warm enough out there?’ Even though the sun was shining, it was still spring and there was a cold breeze on the water.
‘I’m fine.’ Sam looked up this time and grinned.
‘So what have you seen so far?’
‘Well, I think they were fulmars. Although they look quite like gulls or kittiwakes so it’s not easy to tell. Dad, do you know what fulmars do to protect themselves from predators?’
‘No,’ said Jack, increasing the motor’s speed. The thrum of the engine became more pronounced.
‘They squirt the contents of their stomachs out through their noses at them. It’s a gross, smelly liquid.’
‘Sounds like a pretty good way of keeping things at a distance.’
‘They learn to do it as chicks. Pretty cool, huh?’
Jack smiled. ‘Certainly is.’ He increased speed again and could hear the slight strain of the motor. But it was nothing it couldn’t handle and now they were really moving faster. He grabbed the binoculars again and surveyed the horizon. Clear. Nothing out of the ordinary. It would all be plain sailing.
A few minutes later Sam shouted, ‘Hey Dad, look at this.’
Jack turned to see his son, his own set of binoculars in hand, pointing skywards. But he couldn’t make out anything from inside the cabin.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘A big white bird. Very high up. On its own.’
Jack twisted around but again couldn’t see. ‘Any ideas?’ he said.
Sam was scrutinising his book of seabirds once again. ‘It’s got a big wingspan and black wing tips. I think it might be an albatross.’
‘An albatross? I don’t think so. They’re generally found in the south and the Pacific. In which case it’s a long way from home.’
‘But it says here that they range over huge stretches of ocean and regularly circle the globe. So it could be.’
‘Well maybe,’ Jack conceded. ‘But I think it’s more likely that it’s a gannet. They’re common around here.’
‘Yes, but they don’t really fly alone. Albatrosses do. It also says that gannets glide low over the ocean. And this one isn’t doing that.’
Jack smiled. This seabird book his father Alister had bought had fast become the ornithological bible. But he had to admit that it was very accurate. ‘Maybe it’s going to feed. Gannets fly high and circle before diving into the sea.’
Sam was silent for a while, and Jack hoped perhaps that was the end of it. But, knowing his son, he suspected not.
A few moments later, Sam spoke again. ‘Well, I don’t think this gannet is all that hungry. He’s still just hovering high up on the thermals. Come and have a look, Dad.’
Jack still couldn’t see the bird from inside the cabin and he knew that his son wouldn’t be satisfied or move on unless he had seen it properly.
He powered the engine down, but as he slipped it into neutral it stalled. ‘Shit,’ he said. It had a nasty habit of doing that. But it wasn’t usually a problem, so perhaps rather than fiddle with it now, he’d leave it until they were ready to go again.
‘Ooh. You’re going to be in trouble with Mum. She’d kill you if she knew the engine was off way out here.’ Sam was smiling and laughing as Jack stepped out of the cabin.
‘Well, no one has to tell Mum,’ said Jack, looking upwards. For a moment he couldn’t see anything, the glint of sunlight catching in his eyes. But finally he made it out. A solitary white bird, high up in the sky.
‘Let me take a
look with your binoculars.’
Sam passed them to his father and then moved impatiently from foot to foot while he waited.
‘Hmm. I know what you mean. The colour of the wing tips means it could be either. It’s big for a gannet, but it’s pretty difficult to see the beak and tail feathers clearly.’ Jack lowered the binoculars, blinked hard and then tried again. But the bird was partly obscured by the glare of the sun. ‘I still think it’s unlikely to be an albatross, Sam.’
‘Aww.’ His tone was one of disappointed sulkiness. ‘It would have been really cool to have seen one. Mum would think so. She read me “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”.’
‘Did she now?’ Jack frowned. For God’s sake, he was only ten. But Freya had always done that. Read him stuff that was way beyond him. ‘And can you remember any of it?’
‘Hmm. Not really.’ Sam laughed.
Jack pulled his son to him and ruffled his hair. ‘Well, while we’ve stopped shall we have our lunch? It’s about time.’
For half an hour Jack and Sam talked, ate and drank on the deck at the back of the boat. When they were finished and ready to carry on, Jack grabbed Sam’s binoculars again. The bird, whatever it was, was still hovering above them.
‘Strange,’ Jack muttered, and continued to scout the sky. It was only then that he noticed a black cloud growing on the horizon west of them. ‘Where did that come from?’ He watched it for a little while longer and then scanned around them three hundred and sixty degrees. Every horizon showed nothing but sky and sea. He handed the binoculars back to Sam and looked over the ocean. It was building swell, the once-still blue water now rippling and murky. Then he caught sight of shadowy trails of movement, swift blurs of grey here and there.
A moment later, Sam’s voice rang out excitedly. ‘Dolphins.’
Jack nodded as he looked. It was quite a big pod if he wasn’t mistaken. ‘Are they feeding? Looks like they might be.’
‘I think so,’ said Sam, hanging over the side and trying to touch them.
‘Be careful,’ shouted Jack.
‘I will, Dad,’ said Sam, rolling his eyes.
They watched the dolphins jumping and playing, criss-crossing beneath the boat from one side to the other. Sam shouted and pointed as he caught sight of them dancing beneath the surface, leaping momentarily into the air and then disappearing once more into the darkness. Eventually the pod overtook them and vanished.
‘That was sooo cool,’ said Sam, still dangling over the edge of the boat.
‘Yes it was,’ said Jack. But he had already turned his gaze back to the horizon. The cloud was growing and he didn’t like the look of it. He dropped his eyes back to the ocean. Could he still see traces of grey flashing beneath the surface? Perhaps, he wasn’t sure. But surely the pod had moved on by now? He scrutinised the surface of the ocean, tried to see beneath it, but he couldn’t tell. As he looked he felt a strange dizzying sensation, suddenly conscious of the miles of water beneath them. His skin prickled. Ridiculous, he said to himself.
Moving into the cabin, he turned on the radio and listened. Cloud was building, the weather turning and heading their way. ‘Sam,’ he shouted, ‘I’m afraid we’re going home. There’s a storm coming.’
‘Aww,’ he heard his son cry again from the back of the boat. The sound gave him comfort. It was fearless and indifferent.
He wrapped his fingers around the ignition key and faltered for a moment as he felt an odd sensation of giddiness and nerves. What had got into him? They had plenty of time. With a bit of luck they would be home in an hour. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. But the vertiginous feeling was still there, lurking in his stomach.
From the back of the boat he could hear Sam chatting away to himself. ‘Well, I think it has webbed feet, which gannets don’t have. So I’m still not one hundred per cent convinced.’
Jack looked out of the cabin window and caught sight of the bird. It was still hovering above them but it was lower now. It seemed larger, darker. He frowned. And he was not one for omens. But as he turned the ignition key, the words of the poem he had been trying not to think about jumped into his head.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
1
THE FERRY PLOUGHED across the Firth of Lorn, churning the still, grey waters beneath it. Waves crashed against the broad hull of the boat before sliding down, mingling with the foam and once more disappearing into the depths. Freya, standing upon the deck, head bent in concentration, had been watching this violent collision, this unceasing ebb and flow, for some time. The movement of the water was compelling, the hard smack then the retreat was like a lithe, endless dance. And the sound of the waves, harsh yet hypnotic, was so familiar to her despite her absence. She breathed in deeply and, sensing a shift in the air, looked up.
A storm was on its way. The signs of its approach were in the increasingly darkening sky, a flinty hardness massing around its edges and the hint of electricity in the air. But it was still some way off. Freya looked at her watch. It was only three o’clock but it looked much later. It also felt much more like winter than spring. But that was just it. The weather could change in these parts in an instant. Rain could be followed immediately by sunshine, sunshine by snow. You never knew what was coming.
Freya blinked hard and, to distract herself, surveyed the land. To her left, she could make out Duart Point, and before long she would be able to see the castle. Perched on a rocky outcrop, it guarded the entrance to the Sound of Mull. Behind it the hills rose steeply. Now they were green and brown, the result of a long, cold winter, but by the autumn they would be burnished rust, red and rose with the setting sun upon them. Dazzling in their beauty. She remembered the last time she had visited there. It had been with her son, Sam, just over a year and a half ago. She couldn’t take her eyes off the colours of the hills, but she knew without turning that he was staring out over the Firth, a dreamy look in his eye, far more interested in the sea and the wreck off the coast.
‘What was the name of that ship?’ she asked.
‘The Swan, Mum,’ he said, the slightest hint of impatience in his tone.
She smiled. ‘And when did it sink?’
‘During a storm. On the thirteenth of September, 1653.’ He was now, she knew, doing calculations in his head. Her heart constricted slightly. ‘Three hundred and sixty years ago.’
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Almost to the day. And when was it built?’
‘In 1641. It was a small warship, remember?’
She nodded, still looking northwards. ‘And who had sent it?’
‘Oliver Cromwell. To crush Royalist sympathies in the Highlands.’
Now she laughed. He sounded as if he were reciting from a history textbook. Who knew whether he really understood what it meant.
‘What’s funny, Freya?’ He only ever called her Freya when he thought he was being patronised, mocked or derided in some slight, sly way he couldn’t quite understand.
‘Nothing, darling. That’s very good.’ But still she hadn’t turned to face him. Why hadn’t she? ‘And what did they find when they excavated the wreck?’
‘Silver coins, an anchor, flagons, seven iron cannons, a pocket watch, clay pipes, a sword hilt, leather shoes and human remains.’
She smiled at the way he pronounced ‘human remains’. With the unique combination of diffidence and fear that perhaps only a nine-year-old could muster.
‘They only found the bones of one man, though.’
‘And what did they name him?’
‘Seaman Swan. He was only five feet tall but he had a really big chest like King Kong. His legs were bendy. From rickets.’
‘That’s right,’ said Freya, nodding. She had heard all
of this before. But Sam found it endlessly fascinating.
‘I wonder what happened to all the other men,’ he said pensively. ‘And the cannons. Granddad said that the Swan had twelve to start off with.’ Her father-in-law, another shipwreck enthusiast, had taken Sam to the National Museum in Edinburgh to see the excavation finds.
‘Well, perhaps it did.’
‘But if it did, then what happened to the others?’
‘Maybe people took them.’
Sam contemplated this for a moment, as he always did, before dismissing it.
‘Or they disintegrated in the water.’
This met with a more favourable response, she could tell. Even though it still wasn’t quite right.
‘What do you think happened?’
‘The sea took them.’
Freya nodded. It was the most likely. That the sea had claimed them, as it seemed to claim most things in its path; taken them away to the Land under Waves.
The sound of metal grinding against metal then, as the anchor dropped, a whirring free fall before a hard smack against the surface of the water. Freya sat inside her car, waiting to leave, the clangour of iron ringing in her ears, imagining the anchor sinking into the silent, cold darkness. She had put on a hat and dark glasses, as she did not want to be recognised. She did not want to see it just yet, in the eyes of anyone she knew, how much she had changed, how very different she now looked. She did not want the sympathy or the attention of people just yet, did not want to hear their condolences for the loss of her husband and child. The horn sounded and the large iron doors began to slide apart. She turned on the ignition and waited, impatient, to exit.
2
FREYA HAD ALREADY passed the low hills to the north of Loch Spelve when the thunder sounded. Like a whip crack, sharp and swift. Before too long the lightning would break. If the storm was still in full spate when she reached the western side of Mull it would be reckless to take the boat. Her father had warned her to leave in good time, to use the daylight to make the journey and not to finish it if the weather was bad. She had given the impression of listening but, in truth, like so often now, the words fell around her unheeded. She didn’t really care. Besides, with any luck, the storm would have passed by the time she got to Fionnphort.
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