I slip my hand from his grasp. ‘I should go,’ I say softly. Even as I say this I’m fighting against what my heart is telling me. But he knows it too. He bows his head, a slow, sad nod of acceptance.
With one last glance at the campfire, my hands deep in my pockets and my eyes trained downwards, I make my way back to the house. The moon rises above the treetops, casting a pale light over the meadow. The grass shimmers with dewdrops that glisten like diamonds in the moonlight. The air is alive with the sweet fragrances of wildflowers, and I take a deep breath, letting them fill my nostrils. I close my eyes and listen to the music; crickets chirping and frogs croaking, the campfire sing-song and the easy laughter of my Innisfree family wrapping around me like a blanket, wishing to carve this perfect stolen moment into my memory forever.
CHAPTER 34
THE SWIM
As I stand here, thinking about all that Innisfree has given me, all that I’ll have to leave behind, the brilliant stars above remind me that there’s one thing I haven’t yet done – a midnight swim in the lake. I quickly pack my rucksack, knowing this is my final chance before Friday, before my time here is up.
I feel the cold sand under my feet as I walk barefoot along the shoreline, which leads me towards the still waters of the lake. Lost in thought, I almost don’t take notice of what’s ahead: a small stone cross on the beach. I stop short in my tracks. This must be where Mick perished – and where my future was forever altered.
I’m haunted by the idea that he could have come to such a tragic end when he’d been so full of life. For the past few weeks, all I’ve heard about Mick are tales of his life, joy and excitement. I wish I could have met him. I also wish my mother had spoken of him, told me what had connected them and what had ended their relationship… but that’s lost forever now. Kneeling on the damp sand, I find it hard to reconcile what I see with what happened here. No matter how much I stare at this small memorial, it still feels impossible to grasp. I think of the days when Mick and my mother were still alive. Did they throw stonesinto the lake and watch the ripples travel to the other side? Did their eyes light up when huddled around the campfire, telling stories and singing songs?
I smile when I remember Marianne’s story of stumbling across Mick bathing in the lake completely nude, and I know this is the place where I need to take a leap of faith. It’s a wild thought, one that excites and scares me all at once. I want to rid myself of the heartache, the pressure on my chest and the burden that has been pushing me down. With no further hesitation, I begin to take off my clothes. As each item falls away, I feel as if it signifies something I’m leaving in the past. Standing there without a stitch of clothing on, I decide this must be what rebirth feels like – laying your soul bare and being open to all the choices the universe gives.
The lake is chilled, as is the night air that surrounds me. I take one step in and taste fear in my mouth like a tepid tide, but little whispers flutter in my chest, telling me that I can do this. I take another step, and another.
The cold water reaches my waist, forcing me to take a deep breath and let the chill completely consume me. The sudden sensation makes my body tremble, but I push forward into the lake’s depths.
As soon as I submerge myself underwater, the sound around me fades away, plunging me into a deep silence. I’m immersed in liquid darkness, all alone in the stillness of the night, held securely by the cool, dark water.
But I don’t feel scared. If anything, swimming out further, deeper, seems to be an act of liberation. I love the sensation of my arms and legs slicing through the silken water without any effort at all.
With each stroke forward, I’ve let go of something until it doesn’t matter anymore; until there’s nothing left for me to cling on to except this moment right here. In this silence, my fears arewashed away with the water, and in their place is a renewed trust in myself that fills me up with gentle warmth and peace.
I slowly swim back towards shore and breathe in everything around me. As my feet touch the sandy bottom again, I feel connected with something much bigger than myself – a force that’s been guiding me here all along.
I make my way out of the lake, dripping with water and draped in nothing but moonlight.
‘Hey! Are you trying to catch your death?’
I’m startled by the voice, and I look up to see a woman with long dark hair running towards me, her face flushed with panic.
‘Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to swim at night by yourself?’ she warns, shaking a wooden stick in my direction.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, quickly grabbing my clothes and hugging them to my body. ‘I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.’
Moya steps closer to me, and her beauty becomes more apparent as she does so. In the moonlight, she seems like some sort of mythical creature.
‘There’s a storm warning,’ she says, pointing towards the increasingly ominous sky. ‘It’s time to finish here and move on.’
She’s right, I think, looking up. Come Friday, I’ll be finished here and back in the real world, ready to move on. The clouds have deepened in colour, and a gentle breeze has started up; just like when we first arrived in Innisfree. I gather my belongings and place them in my rucksack.
‘I’m sorry for coming to disturb you, Moya. I’ll leave now so you can get some peace – no need to worry about seeing me again.’
Moya’s dark eyes lock on to mine. ‘Come on,’ she says, motioning for me to follow her. ‘I’ll take you back to mine.’
CHAPTER 35
THE PUZZLE
I find myself sitting at the tiny table in Moya’s caravan. The inside is lit by a string of pink lights, and the air is laden with the lingering scent of jasmine incense, the atmosphere a unique blend of serenity and mystical charm. The caravan is a tapestry of colours and patterns. The corners are filled with stacks of books, worn and well-loved, like the pouches of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
Across from me, Moya’s wise, dark eyes seem to hold the answers I seek. With careful hesitation, I venture to introduce myself and the matter of my quest.
‘Moya, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Daisy Clarke, and I’ve come to Innisfree seeking information about my mum, Rose. She passed away many years ago, and I inherited this house that I knew nothing about.’ I delve into my rucksack and pull out Mick’s postcard in the wooden frame. ‘The only thing linking my mum to Mick and The Lake House is this postcard,’ I say, handing her the worn piece of history. ‘My mum had the same one in London that she cherished.’
Moya, her eyes full of curiosity, reaches out to examine the box frame more closely. She runs her fingers over the carved exterior of the object but doesn’t speak.
