The Cry of the Lake

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The Cry of the Lake Page 25

by Charlie Tyler


  “Who is it? One of my clients?”

  “I don’t think so. They said they met you at the opening of the clinic – said you found them hiding and gave them a card.”

  I could hear breathing.

  “Oh yeah, sure – it’s coming back to me. Some sad-looking, overweight teenager. I imagine he’s probably being bullied at school. But, it’s really not an emergency – he just needs a shoulder to cry on. Get his number and I’ll call him back later today. Oh! And can you dig me out some of those diet sheets – the one’s aimed at couch potatoes.”

  “Sure, sorry Tom. I’m so sorry I disturbed you, it’s just he sounded distressed.”

  “Hey, Jean,” said Tom. “You did the right thing. I’ll sort it.”

  “And you know what Tom, how about, in the future, you don’t give your card out to everyone who sells you a sob story.”

  He laughed.

  I hung up.

  ***

  I have given up my voice. The night they took me, as I lay there on the jetty, I realised it was the only course of action left for me to do. After all, he returned Cassie’s speech to her and I was sure if I waited long enough, he would do the same for me. Maybe, this time he would take me with him.

  The wind rustled the barren branches and the tops of my ears prickled.

  My Lady of the Lake, forgive me.

  And here I will sit, day after day, for as long as it takes, scouring the horizon for a glimpse of my beloved’s golden shadow.

  Lily

  After it ended Tom said he could help me unlock the rest of my hidden memories. I had found the trigger – the key with which I had chosen to lock Myrtle’s casket all those years ago. But, with the emergence of Gil’s body, all that really mattered seemed to float to the surface by itself. In time, the police and lawyers uncovered the horrid charade Uncle Frank had inflicted upon my poor Dad and sister and, regardless of my forgotten memories, all his deceit and cruelty came bubbling to the top. I figured it would be crazy to dig deeper and uncover more of the same.

  I jostled amongst the swimmers, yellow cap and goggles fixed firmly to my crown. The wall of shiny black wetsuits which surrounded me smelt like damp plimsolls in an airing cupboard. I was hemmed in by bodies and they radiated warmth although the tip of my nose tingled in the cold breeze. I looked to where Annie, Flo and Tom were standing on the bank – smiling and laughing. Annie’s bobble hat jiggled as she handed around cups of coffee poured from Tom’s thermos. Flo and her Dad held a banner between them that said Go Lily in bubble writing which spiralled out of an angry dolphin’s blowhole. Flo’s voice soared over the rest of the crowd. “Goooooo Lillllllllly!”

  The klaxon sounded and I was almost lifted and carried into the water by the advancing crowd. My feet prickled as the freezing water seeped into my jelly shoes, but the adrenalin pumping around my body kept me charging forwards. Soon I was knee deep in the wake churned up by the professionals, my body flecked by their foam. I strode forwards then plunged my face into the water, my heart was pumping, its movement tickling the bottom of my throat. It took a few seconds and then I was in my stride. One-two-three breathe. One-two-three breathe. The sounds around me were as though someone was flipping a switch on and off; a burst of cheering broken by the muffled rumble of legs kicking underwater.

  Coach Flo thought I was a wonderful swimmer and that, with a bit of hard work, I would soon be standing on the podium receiving a gold medal. She was, of course, deluded. I was terrible.

  Everyone assumed I learnt to swim to prove a point, but they were wrong.

  I kicked and splashed, trailing my clumsy limbs through the water and veering from left to right, but it was my way of saying thank you; thank you to Gil and my new friend, the lake, for giving me back my voice.

  THE END

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