In her nightmares she could never make out the face of the angel. The dream in the channel had been different. Vivid. His face... She would never forget it.
Then as if rising from the deep, eyes the colour of a storm filled her mind: seen before the collision.
She was utterly, coldly awake.
5. Encounter
How had Skye forgotten this? From the deck of the Pixie she had seen a boy in the water. He’d been beneath the surface, his grey eyes silver beneath the mist.
She knew what she’d thought at that moment. But that was crazy. She’d left those childhood fancies behind when she’d left Bannimor. She’d tried to tell herself that he was simply a trick of light combining with her imagination.
But the boy she’d seen from the Pixie was the same boy in her channel dream today, the one who had helped her find up. Her heart hammered. The bedroom felt close and oppressive.
Slipping quietly out of bed, she padded into the dark lounge, flicking on a lamp. The power of her imagination shrank in the room’s bland elegance. Perching tensely on the edge of the sofa she tried to be rational. Not a character in a dream, but actually a real person. She supposed it wasn’t surprising she’d been confused – shock, and circumstances mimicking her nightmares. But she’d been mistaken. He was real. And beneath the surface, out deep in the channel...
But so what? Morgan said the surf rescue team had been out training. He was most likely part of that. She began to feel foolish. This was exactly the sort of thing she rolled her eyes at her dad for researching. What was it about this place!
A framed print opposite her caught her attention. She hadn’t noticed it before, busy with food, the view, and…news. It didn’t fit the rest of the décor. One of the things she loved about old fairy tale books was the illustrations. Her favourite was Arthur Rackham, delicate and deliciously dark. She recognised his work now.
In this image, beautiful women rose from green water, reaching beseechingly. Their wet hair streamed over their shoulders. Their bare arms and breasts were pale, delicate; an invitation to whoever they enticed. The word at the bottom read ‘Rhinemaidens’.
She swallowed. People who lived in the water were a fiction. An impossibility. Beautiful stories, but still – just stories. The boy she’d seen... An ordinary boy out swimming. Absolutely. A surf rescuer. Most likely.
Below her in the water, he’d looked shocked, she thought now. He’d probably thought the Pixie was sinking. It had, after the collision. Her throat tightened. Had the sinking boat hurt him? Her memories of the event were elusive, although his face was etched sharply in her mind. She strained to recall. He’d got her to the surface, kept her afloat...after the collision. So that meant – he was okay. He was okay. She felt light with relief.
Now weariness closed in and sleep dragged at her. Returning to the dark bedroom, she crawled into bed. Worry for Harvey nudged at her again as she pulled the covers up, but she told herself tomorrow things would look different. She would probably hear he was fine.
Something else about tomorrow niggled but her brain was too fogged with tiredness. She fell asleep.
The next morning, Skye stood on the apartment balcony trying not to whoop aloud. She breathed in slowly, deeply, and in more until her lungs couldn’t hold another breath, coming alive again to the glistening sea stretching before her.
She closed her eyes. Sunlight struck through her eyelids, painting her world hot pink. Her hair whipped about in a gust that carried sounds and smells from the street far below and the fragrance of fresh coffee from the apartment behind her. And through it all, like a promise or a summons, the salty tang of the sea. But feeling the magnetic pull of the ocean, she tensed.
“Heads up.”
She turned as Morgan set a laden tray down on one of the loungers and sat next to it.
“Filtered coffee. Oh yay.” Morgan’s voice was thick with sarcasm. The little espresso machine that came with the apartment was broken, as Skye had learned practically the instant she’d woken up this morning. Yesterday’s events had melted away with the morning for them both. Concern for Harvey hovered in the background, but it was impossible to feel bad on a day like this.
Skye reached for a mug and one of Rowena’s oat-apricot-every-kind-of-seed cookies. “You’re such a coffee snob, Mags. Nothing wrong with filtered coffee, or even instant. It’s all coffee, right?” She knew this was the perfect way to get a rise.
“You cannot be for real…oh...” Morgan trailed off sheepishly, seeing Skye’s cheeky smile. “You wouldn’t say that, even joking, if you’d had our coffee at Jump.” She half-closed her eyes in remembered bliss, “I wish you could have tried it.” She sounded wistful. “And, you know, coffee’s kind of…important.” She poked her tongue out as Skye grinned again. “Fine, I’m a coffee freak. But you wait. If I can get to a decent espresso machine, brew you the perfect flat white...”
“I’m off, girls.” Rowena appeared in chef’s whites. “Make sure you stay together,” she said for at least the third time. “There’ve been some...odd things happening around the Bay.”
“We will, don’t worry. And don’t lose any fingers at work, okay?”
Rowena smiled at the bossy tones of her only child and leaned over to plant a kiss on the top of her head, blowing another to where Skye leaned against the balcony rail.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to have you back, Skye,” she beamed.
Skye’s ‘it’s good to be back’ got stuck on the way out and she coughed wildly. She managed to put her mug down as Morgan leapt up to thump her back.
Rowena pulled a sympathetic face, laughing, and raised her voice, “Leave you to it, girls. See you tonight. Be good.”
Crimson faced and gasping, Skye waved at Rowena’s retreating back, and they heard the door close behind her. “See? Filtered coffee,” Morgan said. “You would never have choked on one of my cups of perfection.”
Skye didn’t correct her assumption that the coffee had been to blame. She couldn’t explain the mix of feelings that had tumbled through her, choking her. But – it was good to be back. She just hoped it stayed that way. Her thoughts touched on her father’s Elise document.
When they’d finished Morgan re-stacked the tray. “So, obvious plan: beach!” She carried the tray inside. “This is so great!” she called over her shoulder, “like old times.”
The thing lurking at the back of Skye’s mind as she’d fallen asleep last night stepped into the light. The old times were all about swimming. She hadn’t really been exaggerating when she told her father how she felt imagining water closing over her. It wasn’t a total given that she would flip out in the sea, but enough of a possibility that she hadn’t packed a swimsuit.
She had never told Morgan about her nightmares. They were best left in the dark. But surely Morgan hadn’t forgotten her usual lame holiday routine? The one where Skye watched her swim from the safety of dry sand? This could be a disaster.
“Suit up girl!” Morgan called, “Let’s go.” Skye heard drawers and doors from inside the apartment. She followed the sound to the bedroom.
“Umm... Morgan, I just realised… I kind of forgot to bring a swimsuit.”
“Really? How’d you manage that?” There was an awkward silence while Skye tried to work out a reply, but Morgan turned away, pulling a sleeveless hoodie over her head. “Bottom drawer, help yourself,” came the muffled offer.
Skye inwardly groaned. It looked like Morgan was going for ‘oblivious’. If only it were that easy. But then again, maybe it was? Hadn’t she saved Emma from drowning only yesterday? Things had kind of gone downhill after that but...maybe she’d beaten this?
In her mind, the face of her own channel rescuer rose through clear water. She opened the drawer and began rummaging.
Morgan’s spare bikinis all seemed on the micro side of small. Skye held wispy handfuls up in horror. “Kidding, right?” she squeaked.
“Deal, my friend,” Morgan ordered.
Half
an hour later, they were ready to leave when the apartment phone trilled. Skye, nearest, picked up the receiver. “Lauder residence.”
“Oh, Skye love, is Maggie there?” Rowena sounded tense.
“Yep, she’s right here. Everything okay?”
“Not really. I hate doing this, but... Could you put her on?”
Skye handed the phone to Morgan and moved to the ranch slider to give her privacy. The Bay was hazy in the morning heat, a delicious, inviting world, just waiting to be re-claimed. It felt that way from the safety of ten stories up anyway.
“Unbelievable!” Morgan hung up. “That bloody Annie! I have to work.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, now. This whole apartment deal sucks,” Morgan vented, her usually serene face dark. “Although it looks like I live here, I’m really just waiting to be called in to work.”
“Well...why don’t I help too? Extra pair of hands...” she trailed off at Morgan’s raised eyebrows and tolerant snigger.
“Yeah, no offence Skye, but...”
Skye shrugged sheepishly.
“Mum’s really sorry, by the way, but we’re kind of over a barrel. Annie was a barista at Jump, and she was great there. But here... I wish I didn’t, but I’ve really got to fly. Try not to have too much fun without me, okay”
“So not a problem.”
Morgan quickly changed out of her beach things, but hesitated at the apartment door. “Will you be okay on your own?”
“Um...sure.”
“That was convincing. Hey, why don’t you have lunch in the restaurant? That way we get to almost hang out. Meet you down there later?”
“Okay. Sounds good.” As the door closed behind Morgan, Skye walked to the window and gazed out across the shimmering water, feeling its pull. She’d narrowly missed her pathetic weakness being exposed by the call from Rowena. She couldn’t count on that again. And she shouldn’t have to. Ten stories up from reality couldn’t be the closest she got to feeling good about swimming in the sea. She was stronger than this. She was saner than this. She knew what she had to do.
Ten minutes later, Skye crossed the beach to the waterline. The heat felt surprising, as did the crowds. She knew they shouldn’t – there was nothing new about either. But whenever she pictured it here, she saw lonely beaches and silvery green waves under moody skies. Yes, every summer there had been blue skies and crowds. But in her heart, her Bay was those off-season months. Grey skies, choppy teal waters, empty beaches. And Mum.
Reaching the water, she turned along the beach, following the gleaming arcs soaking into the sand. The wash of low breakers was like a promise, and the fresh sea air seemed to soak into her pores, transforming her into something free.
Rounding the rocks at the end of the beach, she took the winding path through the saddle, the narrow valley leading to the open coast. The saddle was a capsule of summer: sunshine, singing cicadas, the murmur of the sea and the distant cries of sea birds. The long grass was bleached to a honeyed blond, and the narrow dirt track so deeply worn that its lip was above Skye’s ankles. A shallow creek accompanied the path to its end at Ocean Beach, a rugged wilderness of cliffs and rolling breakers
But before then, veering off through the long grass, Skye took a barely discernable track to what appeared to be a dead-end jumble of boulders. For a moment she wondered if the entrance had tumbled in. But edging past the boulders, she passed into a dark rock passage, wet from the previous tide, and in minutes she stepped down into Ciarlan Cove, blinking against the light.
Before her was her lost world, moody and achingly familiar. The curve of shingled sand was backed by sheer rock crowned with tumbling bush. Pillar-like rocks jutted from the water, and long rock outcrops tumbled unevenly into the sea at each end of the cove. Compared to the deep channel waters, this was nothing. She could do this.
Striding towards the nearest outcrop, the lower of the two, Skye clambered over jumbled boulders. Water swelled like liquid breath in rhythm with her own, in, out, to break against the rocks. Cool air filled her lungs, rich with the smell of kelp and barnacles. She felt so right here. If only this feeling would last instead of crumbling and twisting into knots.
This place was the perfect setting for fairy tale creatures. She’d used to imagine them here, shadowy shapes flitting out of sight in the rollers on wild days. ‘Mermaid weather’ she’d called it.
Whenever she told Mum, her mother’s cheeks would flush, a hungry sparkle lighting her eyes. She’d swing Skye up onto her hip and in they’d go, both breathless with delight. Shadowy figures seemed to dance around them, just out of reach in the surging water and spume-misted air.
If Dad joined them, the sea seemed somehow tamed by his presence, the shadowy figures absent. But he preferred to wait on the beach. As if he was anchoring them to the shore. When they emerged dripping from the surf he’d wrap a towel around them, holding tight until they reached the archway. Then he’d carry Skye, following Ellie back through the archway and the saddle, across Bascath Bay to their little cottage.
At the end of the outcrop, Skye settled as close to the edge as she dared, pulling her mother’s old fairy tale book from her bag. Soon she was lost in familiar words, her fingers unconsciously tracing her recent repair on the book’s spine, until a drenching splash made her sharply present.
“Dammit!” She didn’t know why getting half soaked by a wave should come as a surprise. Any closer and she’d be in the water. Shivering, she inched back, and inspected the book. The sopping wrinkles and ridges of its pages sent a wave of grief through her, ridiculously out of proportion.
But here alone on the rocks, her mother’s book ruined in her hand, she got the message loud and clear. She was still Skye Sebastian, and one summer holiday wouldn’t make for a happy ever after. Nothing had changed.
After a minute she lifted her head, putting the book aside. Maybe it was for the best, old ties to the past being cut? Her plan in being here today was simple. Terrifying but simple: to face down her fears in private. But so far so lame.
She stood and nudged her sandals off. She’d stayed dressed to reassure her subconscious she’d also be staying dry, despite the bikini underneath. Time to get real. She slipped off her cut-offs and T-shirt.
Moving to the edge again she leaned forward as if about to dive, and looked down at the water, sucking and surging just feet away. At the thought of being submerged, the fresh memory of the channel water pulling her down hit her. Her heartbeat rose until it thudded in her ears.
Dropping to a crouch, she twisted onto her stomach and lay still, focusing on the sun on her back, the hot rock against her front until the waves sounded soothing again. The sinking in the channel had clearly kicked her freakish brain into crazy-overdrive.
But now at last she admitted to herself that wrangling her fear into submission was only part of the reason she’d come here today. She drew a shaky breath. “Mum? It’s me.” Her soft words were barely audible.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. So much for moving on. She felt foolish. And so alone it hurt. She pressed her head against her forearm. But almost at once she raised her head, rubbing her eyes. Her mother hadn’t been here any other visit. But that hadn’t stopped her from feeling better, imagining Mum could hear her.
Each trip back, she’d come here. And somehow, she’d gone away feeling she’d been in the presence of loving safety. At least until the last few times. Maybe that was why she’d stopped coming back? Because that feeling had left her.
She wriggled gingerly forward until her head hung over the edge, above the swelling water. She cleared her throat. “So, Mum. I guess…it’s been a while.” She closed her eyes, another tear welling, and listened to the sigh and crash of waves, the only answer she’d ever had.
And then, once again, she felt a presence. She opened her eyes.
A movement in the water, a shape, no more than a shadow really, flickered through the curling arc of a wave that broke seconds later against the rocks. A
soft prickling ran down her back, like an eerie but familiar cloak. The thought came, straight from her childhood, “but it’s not mermaid weather.”
Gripping the edge of the rock, she stared. Just waves, lifting, rolling and breaking. Of course just waves. She looked down. A shadow in the water below took substance, grew closer, clearer. Her heart stuttered. Seaweed brushed a figure rising through clear water. Dark hair washed about his face. She looked into silvery grey eyes. The boy from the channel.
6. Freefall
Goosebumps raced across Skye’s skin. She couldn’t breathe. As the boy’s head broke the surface, she felt a kind of scared elation. His hands grasped the rock either side of hers. Silvery trails of water traced his face. He was so close. She couldn’t look away from his gaze, charcoal grey with a sea coloured glimmer around the black pupils. Although somewhere in the back of her head she thought she should put some space between them, she didn’t want to move.
“You’re here...” he murmured, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, as if he’d been waiting for her and was glad she’d arrived. She smiled with delight, noticing how his eyes crinkled a little when his smile deepened in response.
“Shall I look for somewhere else to climb up?” he asked teasingly.
Skye flushed, scrambling to her feet. What was wrong with her, grinning at him like she’d just won him as a prize? She backed away, half turning to leave.
“Wait.” His husky voice was alluring, and something in her wanted to wait. She hesitated, turning back to him.
He stood near the edge of the rocks, water pooling at his feet. Her glance took in his swimmer’s shape: broad shoulders, a narrow waist and long limbs. His faded swimming shorts were old-fashioned, like surfer shorts from the seventies. They looked like the real thing, not modern retro. But her eyes were drawn to his fascinating face, with its high cheekbones and straight fine nose. His smoky eyes were framed with long dark lashes beneath dark slanting eyebrows.
Find Me (Immersed Book 1) Page 4