The Loch
By Heather Atkinson
Copyright Heather Atkinson December 2019
CHAPTER 1
Twenty eight hours.
Since she vanished.
All is cold.
Isolated.
Without her.
Dark disordered thoughts dance through my mind, taunting, teasing, taking me on winding paths of infinite possibilities leading to one single conclusion -
She is dead…
Mike gripped onto the edge of the sink and shook his head, trying to scatter the unwanted thoughts that refused to stop whirling through his brain.
“You look old,” he told his reflection in the mirror above the sink.
The face he’d known his entire life stared back at him - the same pronounced brow, stubbled cheeks, thick light brown hair swept back off his face and dark blue eyes. He still had a passing resemblance to a bear. That’s what Isla’s friend had called him when they’d first met. Back then he’d just been a visitor to Scotland, on holiday from the US.
“Go on Isla,” her friend had urged her when he’d asked if she would like to join him for a drink. “He looks like a great big bear.”
Although superficially his image hadn’t changed, it felt as though the last day had etched itself into his skin.
He splashed some tepid water on his face before dragging a towel across it then headed down the narrow staircase, having to duck as he crossed the small hall into the tiny sitting room.
When they’d first moved in Isla had joked that he was just too damn big for this cottage, which sat right on the banks of Loch Eck in the Cowal Peninsula. It hadn’t been designed with burly six foot four men in mind. After he’d almost knocked himself out walking into this room on the third day of living here he’d quickly learned his lesson and ducking had become second nature to him. All they could fit in this room was a two-seater couch, coffee table, two armchairs, a small bookcase and a television. He smiled at the window seat piled with cushions, Isla’s copy of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None upside down on it, the pages splayed open at the last point she’d read, exactly how she’d left it a couple of hours before she’d disappeared. He thought how horribly ironic it was that she’d been reading a book written by a woman who had herself disappeared.
He tried not to look out of the window but he couldn’t help tormenting himself. His gaze moved beyond the confines of the house and down the jetty that belonged solely to the cottage, running straight out from the front of the house and plunging into the centre of the loch, their small white cabin cruiser moored at the end.
The little white boat with the poky cabin bobbing about on the water had been the last place he’d seen her.
One day ago
“Mike, what you are doing?” called that sweet, bubbly voice from the deck above. “You’ve been ages.”
“Coming,” he replied, frantically shaking his jacket, doing a desperate jig in the cabin below. “Come on you bastard,” he whispered. “Thank God,” he breathed when a small black box fell out onto the floor. Relieved, he scooped it up and held it to his chest, taking a few deep breaths to try and slow his frantic heartbeat but it refused to obey his command to chill the fuck out.
Stuffing the box into his jeans pocket where it couldn’t hide, he picked up the two mugs of hot chocolate he’d made, walked up the steps to the deck and squinted into the gathering darkness. It was that awkward time when twilight was fading into night, everything slightly out of focus. The only illumination came from the light that marked the end of the jetty. The dark outline of the hills and mountains surrounding the loch curled protectively around them, like a sleeping dragon.
Isla was perched on one of the seats, wrapped in her thick dark blue coat, her long red hair tied back in a ponytail, bobble hat pulled down over the tops of her ears, chin buried in a thick wool scarf. It was a chilly autumn evening and the tip of her nose had gone adorably pink.
“About time,” she said in her usual good-natured way as she accepted her hot chocolate from him. Her hands were encased in fingerless blue mittens that matched her coat, exposing her painted plum-coloured nails. “I’m gagging for a brew.” She grinned when he blinked at her. “Don’t tell me my big Lafayette bear’s never heard me say that before?”
Mike was from West Lafayette, Indiana. He’d moved to Scotland eighteen months ago when he’d met Isla during a trip to Edinburgh to visit a friend.
“I thought I’d heard it all but you can still surprise me,” he replied in his deep, gentle voice. He sat beside her, cradling his mug, gazing out at the loch, which was deserted apart from the two of them and their little boat. It was so quiet it felt like they were the only two people in the world, which was just fine with him. Loch Eck was small, only seven miles long, nothing on the scale of Loch Ness or Loch Lomond, which were much more popular with the tourists but it was a stunning part of the world and very peaceful. There was only one other house on this side of the loch - a large farmhouse that had opened as an outdoor pursuits centre but that was half a mile south of them, well out of sight. Across the water was the main road, running north from the town of Dunoon. Beyond that road were a few scattered houses, their walls only just perceptible in the fading light.
Mike put his mug down on the deck between his feet and slid his hand into his pocket, heart starting up its frantic tattoo again. Glancing at Isla he saw she was gazing out at the water, lost in her own thoughts, as she so often was. She had a creative, dreamy soul.
“Are you going to spit it out or what?” she said, her eyes still on the water.
“What do you mean honey?” he replied.
She turned to regard him with her intense green gaze. “You’ve been wanting to say something all day but you keep chickening out. Are you finally going to put us both out of our misery?”
He picked up on the anxiety in her voice and eyes. “You think it’s going to be bad?”
“I know the cottage is small and isolated but we’re happy, aren’t we? At least, I thought we were.”
“You think I’m not happy?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve been building up to tell me?”
“Christ no.” He took her free hand and raised it to his lips to kiss her fingers. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been, which is why I want to ask you to marry me. Oh God, are you okay?” he said when she began to gasp and shake.
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” she said, blinking back tears.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Because you’ve been so distant and quiet all day. I thought you were leading up to something bad.”
The left side of his mouth crooked into a lazy grin and he took her face in his hands. “Nothing’s bad with you. Everything’s just so peaceful, for the first time in my life. You’ve given me the greatest gift possible. So Isla Helena Campbell, will you marry me?”
“Course I bloody will,” she beamed.
He crushed her to him and kissed her, pressing her damp face to his. She put her mug down on the deck and yanked off her left mitten so he could slide the ring onto her finger - a platinum band cradling a knife-edged solitaire diamond. He still wasn’t sure what a knife-edged diamond was but the assistant who’d sold it to him had said they were the best.
“It’s lovely,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. A deep, heavy sigh left his body as the tension of his proposal drained out of him. He’d done it and she’d said yes. All was right with the world.
“I love our little cottage,” he said into the wool of her blue hat. “I love the isolation and the quiet. I love curling up with you on our couch in front of the fire in the evening and I n
ever want it to change. But most of all, I love you.”
“It won’t change.” She smiled up at him. “And I love you too.”
They kissed and pressed their foreheads together.
“I got some champagne,” he said. “Your favourite.”
“Ooh fab.”
“I hid it in the basement so you wouldn’t find it.”
“Don’t you mean the cellar?” she grinned, eyes dancing.
He gazed down at her, his fiancée. She’d never looked more beautiful, even with her little pink nose. He didn’t want to leave her side for a second.
“Are you going then or what?” she said. “I’m looking forward to my champagne.”
“If that’s what the lady wants. Back soon honey.”
He kissed her one last time before climbing off the boat and rushing down the jetty into the whitewashed cottage sixty yards away. Isla had inherited this house from her grandmother on her death a year ago and, as it had been both their dream to live somewhere quiet and remote, they’d decided to occupy it. Most people would have hated the isolation but they loved it. It was tiny with a poky sitting room, an equally small kitchen, a utility room that was perpetually cold, even in summer and two small bedrooms on the first floor. Thankfully her grandmother had modernised the house twenty years ago, so it had all the mod cons. Up until then the toilet had been in a little hut in the back garden.
Mike rushed back to the house, or to be more accurate, floated. She’d said yes, goddammit she’d said yes. He couldn’t quite believe that amazing celtic dream of a woman was going to be his wife. He glanced over his shoulder at her sat on the boat. She appeared to be admiring her ring. Realising he was looking back at her she gave him a cheery wave and he waved back.
In his excitement he rushed into the house and banged the door closed behind him a little too hard. The colour red flashed before his eyes, so bright it filled his vision. He paused until it cleared and hurried into the utility room. Eagerly he lifted the hatch to reveal the steps leading down into the cellar. He’d known Isla wouldn’t find the bottle of Veuve Clicquot down here because she was terrified of the cellar and he couldn’t blame her. It was a dark, unpleasant space with an earth floor and countless spiders. The cellar was perpetually cold, so the champagne was nice and chilled, although he had placed it in a plastic box to protect it from any creepy crawlies.
He climbed out of the cellar, closed the hatch and headed into the compact kitchen, the room lined with units on one side. There was only just enough space for a small table and four chairs. He took two champagne glasses out of the cupboard. Blues, pinks, yellows and a particularly lurid orange flashed before his eyes at the clatter he made. It became so distracting he had to stop and take a few deep breaths to calm down.
He’d been diagnosed with chromesthesia twenty years ago when he was nineteen. All through his childhood he’d assumed everyone saw sounds as colours. It had been a shock to discover he had a neurological condition where the senses blend, sounds involuntarily provoking an experience of colour. At first he’d only seen the colours when he heard music but it had worsened in his teens. Most people with this condition were limited to music but his was a particularly severe case that extended to all loud noises. There was no treatment available, it was just something he had to put up with. He’d no idea where it came from either. One school of thought said it was genetic but no one else in his family suffered from it. It was one reason why living in this quiet, secluded place with his softly-spoken Isla was such paradise for him. Now the only thing that sparked it off was himself when he did something clumsy. His voice was naturally deep but he’d trained himself as a child to speak softly so as not to agitate his condition. It was very rare for him to raise his voice.
“Mike,” he heard Isla yell.
He went rigid as scarlet spiked across his vision. That hadn’t been the friendly, curious yell she’d given him earlier. There was panic in her tone, that was why the colour was red.
“Isla,” he called back, cursing himself for a fool when the scarlet spikes returned. He ran for the front door and yanked it open. In the short time he’d been inside the twilight had almost morphed into darkness, making it impossible to see down to the jetty.
A scream rent the air, her scream.
Shaking his head to clear away the red spikes, he charged down the jetty towards the boat, the thud of his boots on the wood bringing up hard fast dots, pixelating his vision, lending the scene a nightmarish quality. His condition always worsened when he was stressed or upset.
He couldn’t see her on the deck of the boat. All he found when he leapt onto it was her mug of hot chocolate, which had tipped over, the dark liquid staining the wood. He ran down the steps into the little cabin but she wasn’t there either. His breathing became frantic with panic as he tore back up the steps, spinning in wild circles on the deck bellowing her name, groaning with frustration when the jagged red spikes obscured his vision.
She wasn’t onboard or on land, so there was only one place she could be.
Tearing off his jacket and boots he dived into the water, the cold knocking the air from his lungs. For a moment he couldn’t move then sensation returned to his limbs and he managed to tread water before his head went under the surface, desperately swimming around the boat, yelling her name. He dived under the water several times but could see nothing in the darkness.
He dragged himself back onto the jetty, shaking with cold and took his phone out of his coat pocket.
Mike snapped back into the present as he watched the three police divers who’d been searching the loch haul themselves onto the jetty just as he’d done on that terrible night, although they weren’t shaking with panic and cold. The iciness of the loch had never left him since he’d dived into its waters, it felt to have sunk into the very marrow of his bones. Idly he wondered if it would ever leave him.
He flung open the door and hurried outside, wishing he’d paused to grab his coat as it was a chilly, blustery day although the sun was shining, the trees surrounding the loch a stunning display of reds, golds and oranges. Sergeant Neil Hawkins of the Argyll and West Dumbartonshire police and a personal friend was there to greet him.
“What have they found?” Mike demanded of him, half-afraid to ask.
“Nothing Mike, I’m sorry. It’s difficult, there isn’t much visibility down there.”
Mike wasn’t sure whether this was good news or not. But as long as there was no body there was hope. “And your search?” he asked his friend.
Neil’s sad grey eyes said it all. “There’s no sign of her in the immediate vicinity. A lot of the locals have come out to help. We’ve extended the search up to Strachur. You should know, two detectives from Dunoon are taking over the search for Isla.”
“I don’t want a couple of strangers looking for her. It should be you, you know her.”
“I’m sorry but it’s out of my hands. I’m just a humble sergeant.”
“Well, I suppose that’s more people looking for her, which can only be a good thing.”
“Did you manage to contact her brother?” said Neil.
“No, he’s still out in the Namibian desert. I’ve left a message for him with a colleague.” Isla’s older brother and only living relative was an archaeologist and was very rarely in the country. Their parents and grandparents were all dead.
“What about your own family? You need someone supporting you.”
“My mom’s terrified of flying and she has a heart condition, so my dad won’t leave her on her own.”
“Your sisters?”
“Both heavily pregnant, again. They can’t fly.”
“Do they even know what’s happened?”
“No. I keep putting off telling them. They’ll only worry.”
“You need someone here, someone…”
“My own type?” he growled.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t,” sighed Mike, raking a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”<
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“It’s alright but you should be warned Mike, you’re Isla’s boyfriend.”
“Fiancé. She said yes.”
“Fiancé. And you were the last person to see her.”
“What are you saying?”
“That when those detectives get here you are going to be the first person they’ll want to talk to.”
Neil finally had his full attention and Mike looked at him rather than the divers. “They think I’m something to do with her disappearance?”
“You will be high on their list for questioning.”
“I didn’t do anything to her, I could never hurt her.”
“I didn’t say you did but it could have crossed their minds. They wouldn’t be doing their job if they didn’t consider you, so you have to be prepared.” Neil’s lips pursed when he was thrown a ferocious scowl, which was even more intimidating as Mike stood a full five inches taller than him. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m warning you as a friend.”
“Is that what you think, that I hurt her? Is that what everyone thinks?” he demanded.
“Of course not.”
“I asked her to marry me, she said yes and I threw her into the water? Is that what I did Neil?” He kept his deep voice soft and low but it turned into a threatening growl when he was angry.
“Will you catch a grip of yourself? Raving like a madman isn’t going to help.”
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I just…I can’t stand it. Where the hell is she?”
“We’ll find her. You need to keep it together for Isla’s sake as well as your own. And don’t go telling those detectives about the colours. They’ll think you’re on drugs.”
“If they’ve got a problem with it they can talk to my doctor.”
A diver surfaced, calling to his colleagues and waving something in the air. Mike charged down the jetty, Neil following. Mike was running so fast he would have fallen off the end into the water had one of the divers not grabbed his arm.
They watched as the diver in the water dumped a blue woollen hat onto the jetty.
The Loch Page 1