Sara MacDonald - Come Away With Me

In memory ofNikki, my cousin, who lit up a room.

For Jackie and Pete at Redcoats.

For Toby, Nicola and Phoebe(Sweet Pea).

With love.

Writing on Water

Single white goose quill

what are you writing

drifting gently on

water’s silk surface

making your mark

between liquid and air

leaving behind you an

imprint of movement

the hint of a message?

There’s more to writing

than words.

Jenny Balfour-Paul, 2006

Cover Page

Title Page SARA MACDONALD Come Away With Me

Dedication In memory ofNikki, my cousin, who lit up a room. For Jackie and Pete at Redcoats. For Toby, Nicola and Phoebe(Sweet Pea). With love.

Epigraph Writing on Water Single white goose quill what are you writing drifting gently on water’s silk surface making your mark between liquid and air leaving behind you an imprint of movement the hint of a message? There’s more to writing than words. Jenny Balfour-Paul, 2006

PART ONE PART ONE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

PART TWO

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

FIFTY-SIX

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-EIGHT

FIFTY-NINE

SIXTY

SIXTY-ONE

SIXTY-TWO

SIXTY-THREE

SIXTY-FOUR

SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-SIX

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY-EIGHT

SIXTY-NINE

SEVENTY

SEVENTY-ONE

SEVENTY-TWO

SEVENTY-THREE

SEVENTY-FOUR

SEVENTY-FIVE

SEVENTY-SIX

SEVENTY-SEVEN

SEVENTY-EIGHT

SEVENTY-NINE

EIGHTY

EIGHTY-ONE

EIGHTY-TWO

EIGHTY-THREE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

About the Author

Other Books By

Copyright

About the Publisher

February 2006

Adam felt the hairs crawling on the back of his neck. The familiar nightmarish fear was back. He gripped his fishing rod tightly. The woods rose up from the creek behind him dark and dense. He knew it was up there, watching him, he could feel it.

A moment ago, as he turned and reached for his jacket and glanced up at the trees, he had seen that the shadows had changed, knew the dark shape where light had been was someone, something, up there watching him. Waiting. Waiting until he had to pass it on the path before it jumped out at him.

He started to reel in his line, his ears alert for someone passing, then he could rush to the path and walk behind them back to the cottage. There was no sign of anyone else out on the creek path now. The curve of foreshore was deserted, only the sounds of curlews with their thin, quavering cries and a heron standing on one leg and the mist rolling towards him obscuring the sun as the tide slid inexorably in.

When he had secured his line, Adam closed his tin boxes, gathered his binoculars and made a little pile of his belongings. Now, he must turn slowly behind him to reach for his knapsack. He made himself look upwards into the wood. The shadow had gone. His path was clear. He threw his things into the bag, grabbed his rod and straightened up as the sun broke out again from behind a curtain of mist.

He took a step towards the old barn on the wharf to reach the path beyond it. He jumped violently, as half blinded by the sun he saw something lying against the wall of the building. He stared down at it. It was a woman, curled up on a coat, knees to her chin, wild hair hiding her face. She looked tiny, like a child, her thin arms folded round herself and she was very still. Jenny.

Adam stood frozen. He stared down at her and pity welled up in him, startling him with the power of it. His heart constricted, his eyes pricked at the sight of an adult stricken. His fear evaporated. It all began to make a weird kind of sense. Jenny had lost it. People sometimes went crazy when bad things happened.

He should run back to the cottage. He should fetch his mother, but somehow, he could not leave her lying vulnerable on her own on an old coat like a tramp. He just couldn’t. She lay oddly still. He put down his fishing rod, placed his knapsack on the ground and inched nearer to touch her.

She was not dead. Her flesh was warm to his fingers. At his touch she moved and opened her eyes. Adam backed away slightly. He did not know what to say.

Jenny, seeing him, struggled to a sitting position. He saw that her hands shook.

‘It’s all right,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s OK.’

She stared at him as if coming from some faraway place.

‘Adam.’ Her voice was husky, as if she had not spoken for some time. She held out a hand towards him. Adam could not quite bring himself to take it. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to run for Ruth. He was out of his depth.

Jenny’s hand fell to her side. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry for frightening you.’ Her voice was dull, her face bleak.

Adam crouched in front of her. ‘Why…why were you following me and hiding in the woods? I don’t understand.’

Jenny didn’t reply and Adam said, ‘I’m going to get Mum. It’ll be OK. We’ll be back in five minutes.’

‘I wanted to talk to you, be with you, on your own…’ Jenny’s voice trailed off.

‘Why?’ Adam was uneasy.

‘You are so like Tom. So like him. I somehow thought you were my son; that I was your mother.’

Jenny’s eyes looked bruised and her face seemed to have shrunk under her mass of curly hair.

‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I must be going mad. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I would never hurt you. Please believe that.’

He nodded. ‘You’re not very well. It’s going to be OK. I’m going to get Ruth now.’ He hesitated. ‘Could you get to the cottage if I help you?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘Adam, I’m so very tired.’

Adam leant forward and touched her hand. ‘You stay there, Jenny. I won’t be long.’

He turned and started to sprint along the path that curled round towards the cottage and his mother. At the bend he slowed to catch his breath. Behind him, he heard the sound of disturbed birds rising noisily from the water, breaking the silence. He turned. Jenny had got up and put on her heavy coat. She was wading purposefully into the water, flowing in fast and black on the incoming tide.

‘No!’ Adam screamed, as he started to run back, his legs pumping, his breath catching painfully in his chest. ‘No, Jenny, no, no, no.’