Set Me Free (20 page)

Lara

Dear Kitty,

I'm very worried. I haven't seen Mal in three days now. I've tried everywhere: the loch, the bridge, the tree house, but he's nowhere. I've spoken about him with Mum, even if I was determined to keep everything to myself (by the way – I didn't tell Mum we go to the tree house sometimes, in case she drops in on us while she's at Ramsay Hall . . . by
complete coincidence
of course). This worry is too heavy to bear on my own. She reassured me a little bit, but now she has wants to know more about Mal.

And I can't tell her more about him because I know very little too.

I know
nothing at all
about him, really. And still if feels like I've known him forever, if that makes sense.

I'm just back from another long, long walk, looking for him. I'm all kind of blue.

I miss him so much.

And there's something else. I don't want to go back to London.

The summer is drawing to an end. None of us is mentioning it aloud, but it hangs between us. Yesterday I heard Mum saying to Nonna that when we go back we'll have to go to John Lewis because my school blazer will probably be too small for me. I felt sick. Just thinking of going back to that school . . . Maybe I should speak to Mum? Maybe she'd like to stay?

But what about Dad?

Last night he actually phoned me, for the first time since we arrived. I asked him why he'd never phoned me before – I couldn't help it, I just had to. He said it was because I always called him first, so he never really had the chance. I'm not sure I believe him, but anyway he did call me in the end. He told me he can't wait to see me and Leo. It took him a month to realise that, which is a bit strange, but hey, I'll take it. He said it's been a long time and he misses us. I asked him why he never calls Mum. He said it's because Mum doesn't want to speak to him. If she did, she would have never left in the first place.

I'm pretty sure he's rewriting history here. They both agreed to take a break from each other. He forgets that I'm fourteen, not ten, and I see and understand a lot more than he gives me credit for.

I'm all confused now. I want to see Dad and I don't want him to be upset. But I'm so much happier here. I hate the thought of going back to my old school and facing
them
. I haven't checked social media all summer; maybe they put up more stupid cartoons of me. I'm dreading it.

And Mum seems so happy. Her face
shines
, if you know what I mean.

The way she was in London, always rushing and frowning and like there was a big weight of worry on her shoulders, it seems so far away now. She was like . . .
dimmed
. Yes, like a light that had been dimmed.

Here she is
bright
.

Having said that, in the last few days she's seemed a bit troubled. I think I know why: it's the end of the summer, and she's worried. I told her what Dad had said about missing us, about wanting us back. She didn't say anything. She just went very pale. I don't think she wants to go back either.

It's all messed up.

Kitty, the bottom line is: I want to see Mal again.

For now, that's the only thing that's clear in my mind.

Lara

Dear Kitty,

I'm in my bed, and I don't want to see anyone.

He's gone.

We went to the tree house, and it was just the two of us in the whole world. The wind was very strong and it was howling outside the little window. The tree house was creaking a bit, but I was too perfectly happy to care about that, or anything else. We sat really close to each other and he held my hands. He always did this thing, Mal – he held my hands. Like he was holding on to me, in case I disappeared.

“When I was wee, me and my brothers slept in this room with a big window,” he said. “When the wind was blowing strong it made a strange noise around the window, like something hissing. I was frightened, so my mother used to come and sing to me. She sang a song about a bird flying in the wind and then coming home safe.”

“When I was little my mum wasn't there. She died,” I blurted out. Just like that.

I don't even know how I came out with that. I never speak about my family. I mean, my birth family. It's too painful. But this time I did. I have no idea why. It's just that I trust him. I trust him with my secrets.

“But did you not say you came here with your mother?”

“She's my adoptive mother. She adopted me when I was six. My birth mother died when I was two. My dad looked after me for a while, but he didn't do a very good job.”

People I've discussed these things with:

 

1) My mum

2) My dad

3) Sheridan.

 

Nobody else in the world,
nobody
. I couldn't believe I was talking about it with Mal.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and I hate people pitying me, but with him it didn't feel that way. So it all came out.

“They put me in foster care. I wasn't adopted for ages because they hoped my dad would sort himself out, but he never did. He tried, but not hard enough. Living with him was horrible. I had to be very quiet because if I made any noise – even just walking around with my shoes was too noisy for him – he got mad at me and shouted at me and he hit me in a way that left no marks, so that nobody knew. He told me never to tell anyone otherwise they were going to send me to a really mean foster family because that's where you go if you're noisy and naughty. I had to fend for myself. I only ate biscuits because there wasn't anything else in the house or I had to walk to the shops alone and I was scared. Then one day my dad fell asleep smoking and set the house on fire, so they took me away again . . .”

My voice went funny at this point. Mal slipped his arms around me and squeezed me. We were close, like two puppies in a box. I was safe in his arms, so I continued.

“It's over now anyway, and I'll never see him again. They found him dead in his bathtub. I know because I overheard Mum telling Nonna on the phone. That's when they gave me the picture of my mum – my birth mum, I mean – and I went a bit wonky for a while because I couldn't remember her and I thought all the pictures of her were gone . . .”

At that point I felt something wet on my face and I thought the rain had got into the tree house, so I looked up to see if there was a leak in the roof, but there wasn't, it was me crying. I was sobbing all of a sudden and I was so embarrassed. But Mal didn't seem to mind and he just held me very tight. I looked up and into his face and I saw he was crying too.

“My Lara,” he said. He kissed my forehead and my cheeks and my nose and my lips. “You are so brave. You survived. Not everyone does, my darling Lara.
Not everyone survives.
But you did.”

And then he freed me gently from his embrace. He stood up and said, “I'm sorry, I have to go.”

There was something in his eyes that terrified me. Something
final
.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

He shook his head slowly. Tears kept falling from his eyes and it was terrible! I've never seen a boy crying before.

“I'm not sure I can come back,” he said, and his voice was like an echo, the wind was so strong. I jumped onto my feet and I felt like I couldn't stand up straight, I was so shocked.

“But why? Is it because of what I said? Is it because now you think I'm weird?”

“No. No. It's because I don't think I can hold on.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I'm sorry, Lara,” he said. And then, “My Lara.”

He turned away and climbed out of the tree house. Maybe it was because of the wind, but I didn't hear him go down the rope ladder. Maybe it was because of my tears, but I didn't see him walking across the grass.

He was gone, like he'd never been there.

It seems impossible it happened just yesterday. I couldn't sleep all night, and then at breakfast I just couldn't take all the questions, with my mum and Nonna fussing over me like I was ill. I wasn't ill, I was just sad. And angry.

Because Mal is nowhere.

I can't believe he's gone like this, without a word. He kissed me and then he went away.

Like everybody does, in my life. Like my real mum.

Everybody goes away.

Mum was going on and on and on about me not eating enough and if I wanted a muffin instead or some cereal or French toast or whatever else, and I snapped. I said something I'd never said to her before, never.

I told her she would be better off without me, and that she wasn't my real mother anyway.

I walked out at once, because I couldn't bear to look into her face after what I'd said. I heard Leo calling for me and I felt like I'd failed everyone. No wonder Mal has gone from me too.

I ran out and walked
everywhere
. I walked round and round the village many times, hoping to spot him, and then to the loch, and up St Colman's Way and to Ramsay Hall, all around the grounds and in the tree house. But no sign of Mal.

This time, I can't just let it happen. I can't let life punch me in the face once again. I have to find him.

I remember every single conversation we had, every word – I'm sure somewhere in my memories of him there is a clue as to what's happened, to where he's gone. He never mentioned any other places but here. He never mentioned anywhere but Glen Avich . . . and then I remembered.

I go on Ailsa with my boat. I bring some food and a book and spend hours there, reading. Just me, alone with the loch.

Now I know what to do.

Margherita

I was sitting on the floor, polishing the intricate wooden lace of an armoire, when Torcuil barged into the room, shouting my name. I couldn't believe it when he grabbed my arm and pulled me back onto my feet, and I was ready to protest – but then I saw his face. “What—”

“We need to go. Now. It's Lara,” he said, and he just strode off, taking my hand and dragging me along.

“Lara? What's going on?”

“She's on the loch. She's in danger,” he simply said as he made his way out of the library and down the hall, into the kitchen and into the garden, with me on his heels.

My legs felt like they were about to give way any moment and I was shaking all over, but I kept going. I had no idea what was going on – all that my mind could make sense of was that Lara was in trouble and I had to go to her. I ran with Torcuil as fast as I could. While I ran, I slipped my phone out of my jeans pocket and called Lara – but it rang out.

“Look,” Torcuil whispered. I followed his gaze and saw a flash of sky blue dancing on the steely waters – an abandoned boat. My knees nearly gave way and I felt nausea rising in my throat.

“Did Lara take that boat?” I asked. But how, how could he know the answer? How did Torcuil know what was happening, why had he dragged me over there? He didn't reply and I looked at him – his eyes were closed and it looked like he was listening intently. Listening to something I couldn't hear.

“Ailsa,” he said suddenly. “We need to get to Ailsa. Come, I have a boat,” he said, and grabbed me by the arm. He led me a few yards down the shore where a little green boat was tied to a pole.

“Maybe you should wait here,” he said suddenly, taking me by the shoulders.

“Look. I don't know what's going on, but if my daughter is out there, I'm going,” I said, freeing myself from his grasp and stepping into the cold water. He followed me and held my hand; the boat swayed heavily as we climbed on it, and Torcuil freed the paddles at once.

“Lara!” I started calling at the top of my voice, kneeling on the wood and holding onto the boat's sides. “Lara!”

“Lara!” Torcuil echoed me and we called her, over and over again.

“What's going on? Please tell me. Please, Torcuil, tell me!”

“It's hard to explain. Someone told me. Someone told me
Lara is in danger
. He said she'd be on Ailsa.”

“Who told you?” I cried, tears streaming down my face.

“It's too complicated to explain now. Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.”

I kept calling Lara's name in between my tears. The loch was wide and dark in front of me. I recalled Lara's silences, the shadows on her face, and trembled inside. And those terrible words she'd said to me! I fished in my jeans pocket looking for my phone, thinking I was going to call my mum and she'd tell me that Lara was with her, safe. But there was no trace of my phone. I couldn't focus on finding it.

“Look, I know you must think that I'm crazy . . . But please, just trust me,” he begged. “Please. Just trust me this once, and I'll explain . . .”

And then my eye caught something blue and crumpled floating beside the boat. I couldn't scream, I couldn't even gasp. I was too horrified. It was Lara's blue hoodie, the one we'd bought when we'd arrived.

“Oh my God, Torcuil! Look!”

I covered my face with my hands for a moment, overwhelmed. Torcuil began calling her name again.

What if I saw her? What if I saw my Lara floating in the water?

It couldn't be.

This couldn't be happening.

When I found the courage to take my hands off my face and look again, the boat had met a little field of reeds. Ailsa was shrouded in mist, the contours of its black trees barely visible.

“Lara!” I called with all my might, over and over again. My throat was sore and my voice was breaking, but I kept calling.

And then a little voice came from the mist.

“Mum! I'm here!”

My daughter was calling me.

My daughter was
alive
.

I had to stop myself from jumping into the water and swimming all the way to Ailsa. Torcuil was rowing as fast as he could, sweat now pouring down his face.

“We're coming! Darling, we're here!”

Finally, Torcuil jumped out of the boat and onto the shore, extending his hand to me in one quick movement. I took Torcuil's hand, but I jumped out so fast I nearly tripped and hit my face on the ground. Torcuil steadied me and held me up – and before I knew it, Lara was in my arms, drenched and shaking and sort of dazed. I held her close, a million questions crowding my mind but no sound coming out of my mouth except a soft cry of relief.

“Lara. Oh, thank God,” Torcuil said, embracing us both.

When Lara raised her face to me, I was shocked at what I saw.

She was pale and looked frightened, but she was
smiling
.

For a moment, a terrible moment, I thought she'd lost her mind.

I took her face in my hands and locked my eyes on hers. “Lara?”

“Mal is really gone, now,” she whispered. “But it's okay.”

Mal? He was there with her? A lump of terror formed in my mind. “What happened?” I managed to utter, though the words were struggling to come out of my tight throat.

“I wanted to find him. I thought he might be here. I fell into the water and he heard me calling. He saved me.”

What had Mal done to her? I searched her face again. “Did he harm you, Lara?”

“No! No way!” she protested. “He saved me! If it wasn't for him I'd be dead now.”

“Then where is he?” I said slowly. I could hear my voice trembling. “If he saved you from drowning, where is he now?”

“I told you, he's gone. He had to.”

“Gone where?”

“Margherita, enough now. She's freezing,” Torcuil interrupted, a protective arm around my shoulders. “Let's get her in the warm. You can ask questions later.”

We all piled into the boat and made our way through the silent loch, a million doubts, questions and fears whirling in my mind. Lara was curled up into me, exhausted. I let her be.

An hour later she was sitting at the fire in Torcuil's study wearing an oversized sweatshirt of his and a blanket around her shoulders. We'd decided not to go home at once but to stop at Ramsay Hall first, so as not to alarm Leo, my mum and Michael.

“Lara, your story makes no sense. How did Mal hear you calling? Was he on the island? And then he just left you there soaking and took off?”

“Margherita—” Torcuil began.

“No. Torcuil, no. I need to understand!”

“
I
can help you understand . . .”

“I want Lara to tell me, okay? We can discuss your side of things later,” I snapped, thinking of what he'd said to me about someone telling him Lara was in peril. And then a wave of guilt overcame me. He'd led me to my daughter. Without him, I would have had no idea that Lara was there. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm just really confused . . .”

“I understand. Believe me, I understand.”

“Mum. It's OK. I'll explain.”

“Yes. Yes, Lara, tell me. Tell me what happened,” I nearly begged.

“Mal had disappeared for days; I told you, remember?” I nodded. “I wanted to see him. I remembered he told me he loves going to Ailsa, so I thought I'd take the little boat . . . you know, the one that's always tied beside the cottages and nobody uses . . . and I went there.” She looked at her hands for a second – her palms were a bit red where she'd held the paddles. “I was about to step onto the island when the boat slipped from under me, and I fell. I thought I was going to die . . .” I shuddered. Oh, how close we'd been to the abyss. “The water was so cold and I was so scared . . . and then somebody pulled me up on the shore. It was Mal. He said he'd heard me calling, that he'd come back for me, but now he had to go. He said not to be sad. That nobody lives forever.”

I was horrified. “Oh my God. Do you think he threw himself in the lake? And that's why he wasn't there? We need to call the police—”

“No, Mum. He didn't throw himself in the loch. He disappeared. In front of my eyes. One second he was there, the next he wasn't any more.”

“But this is not possible!”

“Margherita—”

“Torcuil, let me speak—”

“Margherita! Let Lara rest and recover herself. Enough questions, for now.”

I glared at him. There was something in his eyes, something I couldn't read. Something that silenced me.

“I need to go to the remembrance service now. Well, get changed first, I suppose,” he said, looking down at his soaking jeans. “I won't be long, just a couple of hours. Will you be okay?”

“Yes. Honestly,” I said, looking at Lara. She smiled a serene smile – it was so strange, that she should be serene, even smiling, with all that had happened. Her hair was soft and feathery on her shoulders, her cheeks red from the warmth of the fire.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course,” I repeated. “You worked hard for this moment, it's important.”

“What remembrance service?” Lara asked.

“A soldier from Glen Avich who died in the First World War. He was finally returned home three days ago. Look, I'll show you.” Torcuil rummaged among a pile of papers on the coffee table until he fished out a copy of the
Glen Avich News
. He opened it at the second page and Lara and I leaned in to see.

There was a black and white picture of a man with black hair and light eyes, sitting solemn in his uniform. He looked so young.

“His family home isn't far from your mum's, Margherita. He didn't die in combat. It was pneumonia. He was eighteen. Malcolm Farquhar . . .” Torcuil continued, but a little, nearly inaudible draw of breath drew my attention.

It was Lara, pale once more, her eyes huge, her hands to her lips. I'll never forget what she said after.

“Mum . . . That's Mal.”

I argued with her, of course. I told her it was family resem­blance, that her Mal was probably somehow related to the Farquhar family and maybe that was why they even shared the same first name.

But Torcuil was quiet. He just kept looking at Lara like he'd seen her for the first time.