Teeth chattering, I start swimming back. I force myself to go steadily, fighting the urge to rush. Then something – a trailing weed or twig – brushes against my ankle and my restraint shatters. I thrash towards the shore, splashing through the shallows until I’m back on the shingle. Shivering, I rub my arms and stare back at the lake. The ripples from my wake are already settling, leaving the water still and black once more. There’s nothing to suggest what’s hidden below its surface.
I begin dragging on my clothes. There’s no doubt in my mind who the truck belongs to. It was impossible to see its colour, but I’m guessing it’ll be dark green. The same as the one in the photograph Jean-Claude showed me. The last known sighting of Louis was in Lyon, so I’d assumed that whatever happened to him must have happened there. I was wrong.
He came back.
I struggle to pull my jeans over my wet skin. Try as I might, I can’t think of an innocent explanation for why his pick-up is in the lake. Jean-Claude tried to tell me that Arnaud was responsible for his brother’s disappearance and I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to. I can’t believe even now that Mathilde knows anything about this, but I’m not going to stay and find out. The farm’s been hiding at least one secret.
I don’t want to become another.
My boots won’t go on. The wood seems threatening and watchful as I struggle to force my feet into them. I keep looking around, half-expecting to see Arnaud materialize from the shadows with his rifle. But except for a lone statue in the trees, I’m alone. I’m reaching down to pull on my boot before I remember there aren’t any statues this close to the lake, and at that same moment it steps out of the woods.
Gretchen is alabaster pale in the moonlight, skin bleached white as stone. She stares at me without coming any closer.
‘I went to the loft. You weren’t there.’
I find my voice. ‘No, I, uh… I needed some air.’
‘I saw your rucksack. All your things are packed.’
I don’t know what to say to that. Gretchen looks out at the water. Her earlier anger has been replaced by an eerie calm that’s even more unsettling.
‘You’ve been in the lake.’
‘I was hot. I wanted to cool down.’
‘You were underwater for a long time. What were you doing?’
‘Just swimming.’
I’m trying to gauge how much she knows, if it’s possible she isn’t aware of what’s in there. But I’m shivering so much it’s hard to think straight.
‘I told you, Papa says you shouldn’t swim in there. It isn’t safe.’
‘Then don’t tell him.’
‘Why shouldn’t I? You’re leaving tomorrow anyway.’ Her gaze is cold and distant. ‘You don’t care about me or you wouldn’t be abandoning us.’
‘I’m not abandoning anybody.’
‘Yes, you are. I thought you were different but you’re not. We trusted you, and now you’ve betrayed us.’
She said the same about Louis. ‘Look, I’m sorry if—’
‘No, you’re not. You led me on.’
‘That’s not true—’
‘Then promise you’ll stay.’
‘Gretchen—’
‘You have to promise. Or I’ll tell Papa.’
Christ. I glance back at the water. Whether she knows about the truck or not, I don’t want her saying anything to Arnaud. Not until I’m well away from this place.
‘OK,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll stay.’
Gretchen stares at me. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand on end.
‘Liar.’
‘No, I—’
‘I don’t like you any more.’
‘Gretchen, wait—’ I shout, but she’s already running up the track. After a frozen second I set off after her. I’ve no idea what I’ll do, I only know that I can’t stay down here while she tells her father. But I’m out of shape, and with my boots unlaced and flapping it’s like running in a bad dream. Gretchen races through the wood ahead of me, flickering in and out of the moonlight like a wraith. My chest and legs are burning as I pass the statues, and then one of my boots slips off and I’m tumbling onto the track. The breath explodes from me. Winded, I push myself up in time to see Gretchen’s white figure running out of the wood and through the vines. A cloud obscures the moon, dimming her from sight, but it’s obvious I’m not going to catch her now. Not before she reaches the house.
I bend double, wheezing for air. Shit,
He isn’t going to let me leave the farm.
As if on cue, his raised voice carries distantly from the courtyard, bellowing incoherently. I think I can hear Mathilde as well, a pleading counterpoint, then a door slams and there’s silence.
He’s on his way.
