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Ten Years Before
As I look up, I notice just one or two tiny stars. They’re shining at me like diamonds, poking through a grey and overcast sky. One where clouds float erratically across the moon, giving the sky an eeriness all of its own.
Staring intently, I realise that the sporadic sound of music can still be heard from within the grand hall of Kirkwood Manor and that the double doors have been flung wide open to allow the air to circulate around large, stuffy rooms.
Spotting the vocalist, I watch the way he walks to the doors and pokes his head through them in a meagre attempt to gauge how many are actually listening. Turning to the other two musicians, a keyboard player, and a guitarist, he seems to begin a debate. One about whether they should continue or whether they should pack up their instruments and call it a night. … after a few whispered words, the odd nod, and a smile, they continue to play, even though the house has now emptied of over a hundred or so inebriated people. Most of whom had recently graduated and in a last flourish, had spilled out and into the grounds or dissipated into the night with only the left-over litter, the empty bottles of both wine and champagne that had been left scattered all over the grounds, the last reminder that they’d been there at all. Whereas, my few remaining friends had begun a number of sordid, hedonistic parties. None of which looked as though they’d be ending any time soon.
Smiling, and imperiously, I swim though putrid smelling water, until I’m central to the lake. The chill of it has seeped deep into my naked body and through dazed, intoxicated eyes I try to focus on the fire baskets that are scattered around the gardens. I watch the sparks that shoot wildly upwards in colours of bright orange and red and I
ining their music bouncing across the water towards me like huge, animated characters, and in my mind’s eye they’ve taken on the form of quavers and crochets. Inflated like the biggest of helium balloons. All different in size. And while laughing at how ridiculous it all seems, I take wide eyed pleasure in the eerie reflections of an overhanging willow tree which reaches out and over the lake. It has long, spindly branches that droop downward, until they dip themselves into the water, in a place where the leaves keep falling, to create a dangerous and boggy edge to the lake.
‘Thomas… where are you?’ I shout as loud as I can. I can’t understand where he’s gone, why he doesn’t answer, or why I’m alone. But quickly, I disregard the thought, throw my head backwards euphorically and immediately I feel the coldness of the water against my scalp, only to feel something flutter past me. It makes me jump nervously and with my mind in overdrive, I desperately try to imagine what it might have been. I try to remember what fish I’ve seen in the past, as opposed to the more dangerous ones I’ve heard the boys constantly joke about.
‘Watch out for the bottom-biting pike.’ Henry had once joked, ‘You don’t want him grabbing your arse, now do you?’
The thoughts flash repeatedly through my mind, as the bright, well-strung tree lights that were scattered around the garden’s perimeter suddenly begin to dim. It’s as though they’re being switched off in a strict rotational order and as I watch it happen, a deep sadness overtakes my thoughts. The lights had been pretty, and although it was still the middle of summer, it was now past midnight and since darkness fell, they’d been blinking repeatedly, giving the whole garden a look of Christmas and now I can’t do anything but watch despairingly while all the time using my arms and legs against the water to spin myself around, as one string after the other goes dim and then dark.
Sighing, I battle with the pond weed that’s begun to tangle itself around my ankle. Deciding that it’s time I got out of the water, I kick it away and move tentatively towards the embankment, all the time using the house as a bearing I slide my feet against the thick silt that covers the bottom of the lake. It’s a feeling I don’t like, and
I worry about what I’ll stand on. What lies deep beneath the surface? I think back, remember all the things that had been carelessly tossed into the water over the summer. All the things we purposely wanted to lose.
Holding out cautious fingers, I reach for the old wooden diving platform, but quickly turn away as I spot partially naked bodies lying between the reeds. They’re illuminated by the fire baskets, prone, all curled up together in a tangled mass of arms and legs and I try to decipher who is who. Certain parts of the lake are gloomier than others, and most of the couples have moved into the well-known shadows. Their bodies are masked by overgrown plants and weeds and the only other real movement I can make out is that of another couple, scrambling around on hands and knees, and I surmise they’re looking for their clothes, the ones they’d recklessly abandoned earlier.
‘Thomas, where the hell are you?’ I shout his name and once again, I listen for a response that doesn’t come. ‘Thomas, this isn’t funny any more. You’re scaring me.’ My voice doesn’t sound like my own and the overwhelming internal glow that had been radiating within me has begun to diminish. And like Thomas, the feeling of being free and unrestrained has disappeared.
Grabbing at the rushes and sedges that grow around the lake, I use them to pull myself towards the deep furrows we’d carved into the embankment. It had been a teenage attempt to create a set of steps. A transitory foothold. One we knew wouldn’t last, but for as long as they did, they’d become a simple way of climbing in and out of the water during one or more of our many follies.
Standing close to the edge, I turn in circles, and squint in a frugal attempt to focus on the darkness. Slowly, as I hear familiar voices, I begin to search one side of the lake at a time. I’m fully expecting Thomas to leap out from behind one of the overgrown bushes or to be wandering down from the house, his arms full of champagne and a wicker basket full to the brim of warm, floury bread or left-over buffet.
While listening and searching, I spot the familiar shape of Lucy. She’s a young, naked woman who’s creeping around on her tiptoes along the embankment, her arm held protectively across her breasts. Until she notices me watching and with a look of mischief, she sweeps a hand through her hair, which she tosses seductively over her shoulder before standing upright, with a hand on each hip.
‘Lucy,’ I shout, ‘have you seen Thomas? I… well, I seem to have lost him.’ I try to ignore her nudity and allow my lip to protrude like that of a petulant child and in my temper, I fall forward and into the water. I kick my feet out behind me, float towards her, and watch the puzzlement on her face as Lucy scans the lake behind me.
‘Darling, isn’t he with you?’ Her upper-class voice carries across the water, and nonchalantly, she shrugs her shoulders, ‘He’s always with you. Isn’t he?’ She pauses, laughs. ‘What’s more darling, with the noise you two were making earlier, I’d have thought he’d be permanently attached to you for the next two weeks.’ Lucy’s voice quivers as she shouts. She’s obviously cold. Shivering. Which isn’t surprising after a whole group of us had spontaneously jumped into the water right after midnight in another rapacious, and uninhibited s
ex session. That along with the added influence of drink and drugs had caused us all to have a feeling of licentiousness and a wild abandonment that had lasted for hours.
‘My clothes have gone… vamoose… disappeared.’ Lucy begins to crawl on her hands and knees until she reaches the edge of the water, where what looks like a giant rhubarb plant blocks her way. Reaching underneath, she pulls out an old, damp shirt, gives it a suspicious sniff and annoyed she points a finger, wand-like at the floor. ‘My dress, the red one. I left it here and it should still be here.’ Pulling the damp shirt over her shoulders, she turns back to the lake.
‘Where’s Jessica?’ I shout. I look for her partner and wonder if like Thomas, she’s disappeared too and what the chances are of them being together.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Her pointed finger aims at the house. ‘I think she went to get food, oh… and champagne. We’d run out of champagne. All this sex, it makes you hungry darling, doesn’t it?’ Spinning on the spot, she lifts her face to the moonlight and for a moment, I appreciate the shape of her perfect body, and the way the shirt now drapes over her pert, naked breasts. ‘And when you find
Thomas, ask him what he did with our clothes. It'd be just like him to be buggering about, hiding them from us.’ She laughs and seductively runs her tongue over her lips, ‘He probably thinks we’ll end up walking back to the house, naked. Give old man Kirkwood an eye full. But personally, I doubt his ticker would take it.’ Her words were swallowed in a gasp, as flood lights suddenly illuminate her pale, ivory skin tone against the darkness of the embankment. It’s as though the house has come back to life, and quickly, she buttons the wet, clinging shirt before continuing her search for the lost and discarded dress.
Laying back, I scull at the water. Disappointment sweeps over me, and I wonder if Thomas has gone back to the house, whether he’s trying to surprise me and collecting the bags ready for our escape. It’s a thought that makes my mind dance in time with the music. I’m swaying dreamily at the thought of our being together and that at this time tomorrow, it’ll be just the two of us.
With a delighted squeal, I look up, hold my breath, feel myself squinting at stars that seem much brighter. They’ve now fought their way through the clouds and are so intense, I can barely look at them. Then unexpectedly, a rush of colour begins to speed its way towards me and while changing both colour and shape, I watch the auras as they explode dramatically before my eyes. It’s my very own firework display, one that makes me giggle relentlessly. It’s one hallucination too many and even though I’m having a ball, I know it's time I got out of the water. Sighing, I move slowly to the side, excitedly decide that I want to dance and for a moment, I imagine myself doing pirouettes all the way around the lake, like the ballerina I could have been.
I close my eyes, allow my hands to sensuously travel across my body, across my stomach where they hover hopefully. I can still feel Thomas’s touch. His passion. And I lean my head against the slope of the embankment, lift my feet and allow myself to drift aimlessly into the darkness for far too long.
Suddenly, the silence is too much, and panic overtakes my mind as a strange yowling noise cuts through the air. It’s coming from the other side of the lake. And quickly, I spin in the water, until I’m sitting on the embankment where I wait and stare at the low hanging willow tree. I’m sure I can see shadows beneath it. And with my
mind spinning, I try to work out if the sound I heard was a fox screaming into the night. But something tells me it wasn’t, and I try to work out what else would make such a loud, guttural, and unfamiliar noise. Holding my breath, my heart begins to pound wildly. A million scenarios flick through my mind, and I watch each of them fly off, and like a flickering cinematic movie, each picture begins to race around the water’s edge, and I feel as though I’m sitting central to a fairground ride, watching the pictures rotate around me.
Glancing back, I look for Lucy. I hope she’s followed me. That Jessica has returned, or that one of the others heard the noise too. But when no one seems to move, I slide my feet back through the silt, edge myself closer and closer to the willow. I feel my heart skip a beat and I jump backwards as a movement catches my eye. I hear a bang. I hold my breath and watch a sporadic flurry of sparks that erupt dramatically from a nearby fire basket.
‘Who’s there?’ Nervously, I tip my head to one side, wishing for the garden lights to come back on, for Lucy to return. For Thomas to be with me.
With the sparks from the basket still blurring my sight, I feel a violent shivering overtake me. Covering my face, I begin to rub at my eyes, in the hope that my vision clears and unwittingly, I begin to swim, slowly towards the noise.
‘Lucy… did you see that?’ Again, I search the embankment as I wait for a response. I soon realise that Lucy has gone. And even though one or two of the others are still entwined on the edge of the lake, there’s no noise coming from them. It’s more than probable they’ve slipped into a drug-induced sleep and the silence that surrounds me is now more than deafening. It’s only now that I realise that the band has stopped playing, that the only sound that now penetrates my mind is that of the water perpetually moving around me.
‘Thomas, is that you?’ I know I should climb out of the water, go back to the house. But instead, I robotically move toward the willow tree. It arcs towards me, like a tumbling, oversized umbrella that I can barely see through. Reaching up. I pull on its branches. Use them to elevate my head out of the water and as I do, I think I hear the sound of footsteps. And once again, I look over my shoulder, hoping that at least one of my friends is looking out for me. But as normal, I’m alone.
‘Thomas. Stop it. You’re frightening me.’ I put a hand to my bare chest. I feel how heavily my heart is pounding and purposely, I take in a deep breath in an attempt to slow it down. ‘Thomas…’ Reaching forward, I try to climb out of the water, feeling nothing but slime and blanket weed as it slips through my fingers, making me fall backwards, where I slip beneath the surface and aimlessly, I hover in a hypnotic state. And only when I feel the need to breathe, do I push myself upwards, and grasp frantically at the air. But in doing so, I swallow the water. The taste of algae hits the back of my throat, making me gag and spit, while all the time thrusting my arm in an outward direction. It’s all I can do to sweep the pondweed away from my face and with a newfound effort, I make a grab for the branches of the willow, once again use them to pull myself up and free myself of the water… and immediately find myself staring into a pair of cold, transparent, and lifeless eyes.
‘Thomas…?’ Disbelieving, I launch myself towards him. Grab hold of his shoulders. Shake him violently, and then scream as his battered, blood covered face disappears beneath the quagmire of leaves, until eventually I can’t see him at all.
