Take Me Home

by Daniela Sacerdoti

  I hadn’t been rowing for long when the whispers started, and with them the usual signs that I was about to See. They started low and then grew in intensity quicker than I could bear. It was so painful. My limbs were tight; my ears hurt with the low vibration of a nearby spirit. I fell on my knees on the bottom of the boat, my hands holding my head.

  The whispers grew and grew, until the words were intelligible at last.

  Rose . . . Rose . . . Rose . . . was all I could hear. So that was her name! Rose Gibson . . .

  Rose. Tell me where you are, I begged. Come and tell me!

  A part of me registered a sudden swaying of the boat, and a splashing of water all around us. In spite of the pain in my ears and in my whole body, I lifted my head to see.

  She was there, floating in front of the boat, white and swollen, her eyes two pools of distress, what was left of her lips somewhere between blue and black. Her hair, which in the photograph had been lovingly braided, was lying wet and lank, and was woven with seaweed.

  Where are you, Rose? I called in my mind.

  I don’t know. In the loch. It’s dark.

  What do you see?

  Suddenly, she soared and threw herself on me, her arms outstretched. I closed my eyes tight. I didn’t want to see her face, I couldn’t bear to see her face . . . but before I could move, I felt her cold, wet hands on my cheeks and her icy breath on me.

  Nothing! I can see nothing! I’m in the loch! Take me home!

  I lay in a heap at the bottom of the boat, with Rose over me. I could feel her hair dripping on me, her hands searching for me . . . She’d take me down with her. She’d drown me . . .

  I had to focus. With a huge effort, I forced my thoughts into shape again.

  Where in the loch? Rose, please. It’s a big loch . . . where are you?

  She tugged me towards the edge of the boat, so suddenly that my breath was knocked out of my lungs. I held onto the edges of the boat as hard as I could.

  Take me home! Rose screamed, trying to pull me in. I had to think fast. I had to take control of my terror . . . My hands were hurting, and she was pulling, and pulling . . . Let me go. Let me go, I pleaded with her. She was so strong – the strength of desperation. Her eyes were enormous, black and irisless, her hair falling all the way to her waist, the remains of her dress ripped and rotten. She still frightened me – but I was so full of pity, so full of sadness for her fate. I managed to form a thought. Where were you when you fell?

  I fell off the boat. I was looking for nests. I want to go home now.

  If she was looking for nests maybe she was near Ailsa. Had she been looking on the shore, she wouldn’t have mentioned a boat.

  I think I know where you are. I’ll find you.

  All of a sudden, she stopped pulling.

  I’ll take you home, Rose.

  She surged in a burst of longing, and again her thoughts were so powerful that I felt myself losing balance, and I gripped the edge of the boat again. Once more I sensed her little hands on my arms, her cold breath on my face.

  Don’t leave me here . . .

  Rose. Listen. If you drag me down with you, I won’t be able to take you home.

  She froze for a minute, and then, she pulled away slightly, but her spirit was so entangled with mine that my body seemed to follow her, as if we’d been tied together. For a second I hovered over the edge of the boat.

  Rose, let me go . . .

  And she did. She threw herself into the water as swiftly as she had risen out of it, and disappeared.

  Take me home. Rose . . . Rose . . . Rose . . . Her thoughts kept echoing in my mind for a few minutes, while I panted hard and tried to calm my heart.

  I rowed back ashore, the boat creaking and undulating under me. Finally, I was on dry land. I struggled to stand. All of a sudden, the ground was coming up to meet me, and everything was spinning . . . I saw black, like night had fallen in a heartbeat, and red and yellow stars exploded in front of my eyes.

  “Inary!”

  I heard calling, and I felt somebody’s arms around me and the cold, hard pebbles under my knees and against my face.

  *

  I came to after some time – I’m not sure how long. I was sitting with my back to a tree. There was someone beside me. Logan.

  “How you feeling?”

  Okay, I mouthed, and lifted myself upwards, slowly. The world spun around me, but I stayed upright. What was Logan doing there?

  “Careful . . .” he whispered, and sat beside me. He curled my fingers around a melamine cup. “Drink this.” I did. Hot tea. I felt a bit better. I felt my pockets – the notebook was still there. Thankfully I hadn’t ended up in the loch again. I took it out and wrote with trembling hands.

  What are you doing here? How did you know?

  “You’re a terrible liar, Inary. When you told me you were going to see Aunt Mhairi I knew something was up. I phoned her . . .”

  You checked on me!

  “Earlier you were talking about going to find ghosts in the loch, of course I kept an eye on you! What did you expect! For God’s sake, Inary, risking your life like this . . . I can’t believe it!”

  Sorry . . .

  “Yes, you should be! This is the last time, do you hear me? The last time you go on some mad ghost-hunting expedition. Never again, Inary!”

  I think I know where she is. Somewhere near Ailsa, I wrote.

  Logan took a deep breath. “So you found her?”

  I think so.

  “This is the end of it, Inary. Okay? Promise me.”

  I need to sort this . . .

  “Fine! Fine, but no more going on the loch alone!”

  I nodded and leaned my head against his shoulder. I could have just closed my eyes and fallen asleep there and then.

  I need to speak to Taylor. My hands were still shaking so much I struggled to write.

  “How are you going to explain . . .” Logan began.

  I’ll tell him the truth. I don’t care if he believes me or not. I just want Rose to go home.

  *

  I couldn’t take any more words, from the living or the dead. I closed my eyes and prayed for no more dreams of drowning . . . But my prayer was not answered, because again Rose tormented me all night with visions of water – waves whirling, immobile, algae-covered shores, falling into the sea, into the loch; water in my mouth, my lungs, blinding me, suffocating me. And the same scene, over and over again: I could see my childlike hands, the hem of my white dress, my little boots as I leaned towards the water, the boat going from under my feet . . . and then cold black water closing over my head and my lungs filling up until I couldn’t breathe. And then, silence. Stillness. Complete aloneness.

  *

  The next day I texted Taylor to meet up at La Piazza. I was going to ask him to retrieve Rose’s bones from the loch. Without being able to tell him how I knew she was there.

  It would be easy.

  I had considered making up some elaborate lie – having found the remains of a little shoe on Ailsa, or maybe a bone, but I decided there was no point in complicating things. I’d just tell him and see what he said.

  “Hi there, how’s it going?” he said cheerily. “Oh, peppermint tea! Awesome. Thanks.”

  You’re welcome. I need to ask you a favour. For a change, I thought, a bit embarrassed. Taylor was such an amazing friend, but I worried about taking advantage of him. I supposed sooner or later it’d be my turn to help him, I said to myself.

  “Sure. Fire away,” he said. “More research?”

  Sort of. I need you . . . or your team . . . to find Rose Gibson. Mary’s sister, remember?

  “The girl in the picture, yes. Poor thing. You think she drowned? Well, if she did, it’d be nearly impossible to find her down there. The loch is huge and there are only five of us. It’d take months. I mean, we’re supposed to get on with the excavation . . . I’m sorry.” He opened his arms.

  I know she drowned and I know where she is. Somewhere near Ailsa.
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  “Oh. Okay . . . Well, if she’s anywhere, the island would be a place to start, I suppose . . .”

  So do you think you can do it?

  “Sure. I’ll try. I’ll speak to the team . . .”

  A pause. I knew what was coming.

  “But how do you know she’s there?”

  I just know. What else could I say?

  “Right. Right,” he said, and took a sip of his peppermint tea. I sipped from my cappuccino and looked into the fire, hoping he’d drop it. “You just know.”

  I nodded. And how’s the excavation going? I wrote hastily, trying to change the subject. He wasn’t fooled.

  “I know something’s up, Inary. When we went out on the loch, something strange happened . . .”

  I looked down.

  “And remember when we went for a walk with Logan? You saw a heron . . .”

  Yes, it was beautiful, I wrote.

  “There was no heron, Inary. I’m not blind.”

  I felt the colour rising to my cheeks and my heart running away.

  “In Torcuil’s basement, remember? You screamed and jumped. This time it wasn’t a heron, obviously . . .”

  A spider, I wrote, and my hands were trembling.

  “Right. A spider.”

  There was a moment of silence, and I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell him about the Sight. In a short space of time, Taylor had become a good friend to me. I cared for him, and he cared for me, and in a way, I trusted him. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. It wasn’t so much because I was scared of the consequences, of him thinking I was mad – though that was a distinct possibility – it was more because it was such a precious, secret part of me . . . I just couldn’t.

  “Look, Inary. I’m not sure what’s going on. But we’ll look for Rose. I’ll find an excuse . . . Maybe tell them I found some arrowheads on the island a while back and it’s time to start working around it, or something.”

  Thank you.

  “I’ll let you know, then,” he said, standing up.

  I nodded. Then, on impulse, I got up and threw my arms around him. “You owe me a pint . . .” he said, laughing.

  I owe you an explanation, I suppose, I thought. But you’re not going to get it.

  45

  You only love once

  Inary

  It was a grey, rainy spring morning, and I was overflowing with thoughts and emotions and fear and hope and worry. I didn’t know what to do with my jumbled-up mind. I slipped my glasses off my nose, switched the computer off and I went for a long walk, letting the wind and rain take the edge off my feelings. I was . . . pining. Yes, pining. For I didn’t know what.

  I had to be honest with myself, I thought as I walked. I did know what I was pining for. Alex.

  Missing him was as ever present as breathing. I missed him with every minute that went by. Even if we were back in touch, I could still feel his absence, ever present, like white noise in my ears.

  Alex and Sharon. Sharon and Alex.

  It didn’t sound right, did it? And even though they weren’t together, he still hadn’t said anything about what that meant for us, if anything.

  Love didn’t do Mary much good either. Her story didn’t have a happy ending. Love doesn’t conquer all, does it? It doesn’t always find a way. Sometimes it loses its way and drags us astray with it.

  Thank goodness it was Wednesday, the day of my weekly catch-up with Eilidh at La Piazza. Sometimes, when you’re really stressed out, only a chat among women will do, especially if accompanied by coffee and cake. I couldn’t chat the traditional way – actually speaking – but nothing would come between me and a girly blether.

  I let myself fall on a squashy sofa beside the fire, my favourite spot. The rain was tapping on the windows and both the land and the sky looked grey, melting in a sea of fog. Eilidh wasn’t there yet, so I took the chance to text Taylor.

  Any news?

  Nothing yet. We’re diving again tomorrow.

  I sighed. What if they kept finding nothing? What if Rose was nowhere to be found, her bones scattered and hidden and impossible to retrieve? What if she was lost forever?

  But I couldn’t think like that. I had to keep hoping.

  “Hello! Sorry we’re late!” said Eilidh with a smile, sitting beside me. Sorley was asleep in his pram. Debora came over to take our orders.

  “A scone with cream and jam and a cup of tea,” said Eilidh. “Inary?”

  Same, I mouthed.

  “Sorry, no scones left. It’s retirement-flat day. They’re like locusts with their scones.”

  I laughed. I’d heard that before.

  “What’s the chef’s special, then?” asked Eilidh.

  “I made an almond and cherry tart to wake the dead.”

  Please no, I thought.

  “Lovely.” Eilidh looked at me, and I nodded. “Two please. Cheers.” Debora went away and Eilidh and I resumed our conversation. “Anyway . . . Inary, don’t take this the wrong way, you know I don’t want to meddle but . . . It’s been what? Four months now? No sign of your voice coming back. Maybe you need to go back to the doctor . . .”

  Last thing I want.

  “I know. Listen, I’m not sure I ever told you this, but two years ago I was in a very bad place. Before I came back to Glen Avich. My doctor gave me antidepressants and the likes . . . they made me feel like a zombie. On the day I drove back here, I put it all in the bin. It just wasn’t right for me. But it’s right for some people. Or even necessary. You might be one of them . . .”

  I hope not.

  Eilidh sighed. “I suppose. You know what’s right for you. I’m sure time will do its job. That’s all you need. Time to heal after your loss. And then your voice will return.”

  I wasn’t so sure, but I drank Eilidh’s words up like fresh water on a hot day. I needed them. I thought it was a good chance to ask her something I’d been wondering about for a while.

  What made you stay in Glen Avich? Jamie?

  “No. Most people think that, but I made the decision to stay before things with Jamie got serious. What made me stay was Glen Avich, simple as that. Mmmm, thank you, Debora, this looks amazing!”

  “Enjoy! By the way, I meant to tell you for ages, Inary, your hair is gorgeous!” said Debora, running a hand through my hair. “I’ve always wanted red hair. You look so Scottish.”

  I blushed. That, I did. My hair had grown again, and it was now just below my ears, all curled up. Thank you, I mouthed, and attacked the cherry and almond tart. Blissful.

  “So yes, I belong here. For all that it’s tiny and everyone knows everything about everyone . . . It’s my home.”

  I nodded. I understood.

  There was someone, in London. I messed up with him. And now it’s too late, I wrote, and suddenly Debora’s tart tasted like cardboard.

  “My gran used to say what’s for you won’t go past you. Bit of a cliché, but I found it’s so true.”

  I’ve been an idiot. I was so scared, after what happened with Lewis. I let him go.

  “I know exactly what you mean! When I met Jamie, I couldn’t . . .” A shadow of sadness passed over her face, and her voice trailed away. “I nearly lost him too. And look at us now!” she said, gesturing to Sorley asleep in his pram. As if on cue, Sorley’s big blue eyes opened.

  “Da!” he said, which I guess meant I’m hungry, because Eilidh took out a bear-shaped biscuit from her bag and lay it on the plate beside her cake.

  “Here you are!” she cooed, lifting him up. “Hello!” She gave him a kiss, then handed him the biscuit. Sorley curled up against her, the biscuit in his hand. He needed a minute to wake up. Something in me melted in seeing the way they looked at each other. I took another sip of my cappuccino, and then I grabbed my pen again.

  Do you think we only love once?

  “Oooh, big question. Yes. I do.”

  Then I’m done. I’ve had my once.

  Eilidh looked at me thoughtf
ully. “It’s not as straightforward as that. True love is not that easy to recognise. You might think you had your once, but maybe it wasn’t the real once. I had no idea what true love was. Only when Jamie and I moved in together . . . It’s not fireworks and fanfares, really. It’s loving every minute together. Looking forward to him coming home. Listening to him speak in company and feeling proud because it’s you at his side . . .”

  I had all this with Lewis, I wrote bitterly.

  “Pa?” said Sorley.

  “Do you still feel that way for him?” she asked, taking a battered plush penguin out of her bag and giving it to Sorley. Oh, so pa meant penguin.

  No, I wrote, and I meant it.

  “There you are. True love is forever. Everything else is a crush, or friendship, or lust, or whatever . . . but true love doesn’t end.”

  “Dada,” Sorley concluded, and offered me his penguin. I decided that dada meant give me a cuddle. He squealed with delight as I took him on my knee and squeezed him and tickled him and covered him with kisses.

  Right at that moment, my phone started ringing. It was Taylor. As Eilidh took Sorley back, I pressed the green button and put the phone to my ear – he knew I couldn’t speak, so I waited.

  “Inary, I didn’t want to just text, in case you didn’t see it. I’ll come and get you in a moment. We found Rose.”

  *

  I watched from the shore as they lifted her out, a parcel of bones, the diver holding them to her heart. The last embrace Rose would ever get, after all those years alone in the loch.

  I wasn’t surprised when that night I woke up to whispered words in my ear, a voice that had become familiar to me like that of a sister: Mary’s. “Thank you,” she said, and I half-smiled in the darkness.

  46

  Sisters

  Inary

  Word spread that a girl drowned many years ago had been found in the loch. St Colman was full to the brim, and many more gathered at the graveyard. The local press was taking pictures of Rose’s coffin and of her remaining family. It was a beautiful day – fresh and full of light. I was so happy for her that it should be spring when she too was finally put into the ground. Torcuil, Logan and Taylor stood all around her white coffin, covered with lilies.