His mother’s voice.
‘Damien? Damien! OhGod.’
He was kicking as hard as he could.
‘Damien!’
His hands clawing at the water, his chest squeezing, throat tight.
‘I’m with you, Damien.’ He felt Ava’s hand upon his – but it felt distant, unreachable – as unreachable as the shadow of the boat above him, for the waterwouldn’t release him, no matter how hard he kicked, and kicked, and—
He broke the surface, a stream of water pouring from his mouth, his nose. He coughed, his lungs burning, his throat stripped and raw, and drew in one shaky breath, and then another – feeling his chest gurgle with it. The boat was close, and he used the last of the strength in his arms to try and drag himself into it – though now they shook with the effort, and he had to kick the water’s surface to try and swing his body over the edge.
He lay down in the boat, sucking greedy gulps of air, his vision dancing. And then he remembered the voice, and he peered out from the edge of the boat.
The lake was empty – though now the ducks had gone – no doubt scared away by his thrashing around.
And then his gaze tracked back to the house.
And saw the door swinging on its hinges, beneath the wisteria.
Open.
‘Mother?’ he called out, eyes scanning the water. But she wouldn’t have gone in the water. She was scared of it – more scared than Nanny – who didn’t like lakes, or grass that was too long, or tea that was too hot.
The thudding sound of the axes was getting slower now – and he knew that the gardeners would be walking back soon. He didn’t want to try with the oars again, and so he used his hand over the boat’s edge to try and coax it back to the dock – though it took an age, and he had to keep switching sides so as not to float into the tall reeds at the water’s edge.
When he’d tied it back up again, and put his dry clothes over his wet skin, he walked back to where he’d been standing before, throwing stones – and that was when he saw it. And he felt his breath catch his throat.
‘I cannot do this,’ Damien said, his voice low, trembling. ‘I cannot.’
‘I am with you,’ whispered Ava. ‘I am with you.’ And he felt her hand against his, felt her weave her fingers through his and hold them, squeezing.
One shoe, lying on its side.
Frowning, he plucked it up. ‘Mother?’ he called, turning back to the house. ‘Mother, you’ve lost your shoe.’
He ran for the door – up the stairs – and into her room, but it was empty. She wasn’t in the drawing room, nor the parlour, nor the kitchen – his wet feet squelching in his leather shoes now – and he ran back upstairs, throwing open every door, every room, until Nanny grunted awake, and the book slithered from her lap.
‘Damien!’ she said with a start. ‘What time is it?’
‘Mother lost her shoe,’ he said, handing it out to her.
‘You’re soaked!’ she exclaimed – fingers grasping at his hair. ‘What’ve you been doing?’
‘Nothing,’ he said – though he knew it was a feeble lie.
The image shifted a little then – until it was dark. Until he was dry, and tucked beneath the covers of his bed, and he could hear Nanny’s voice outside his door, talking to his father.
‘And where did he find it?’
‘Down by the lake. You don’t think—’
‘I’m with you,’ Ava whispered, as the door opened, sunlight streaming through it. It was morning now, and Nanny stepped back into the room, her eyes wet, her chin wobbling. And then all she was saying was ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
And Damien didn’twanther to be sorry. Hewantedher to fix it – to turn the clock backwards to when the two of them were sitting in this room, she reading, him sitting upon the floor – and none of this had ever happened.
And then he heard his father’s voice. ‘What have youdone?’
