The Lake Louise Sharland (each kindness read aloud txt) 📖

the tyre pressure on my car, before slipping it into my overnight bag.

15

I arrive back in Calstock just after five. I’m feeding the cat when I hear a soft tapping at the front door. I smile and pop on the kettle.

Doris and I sit shoulder to shoulder on the settee looking through Michael’s diary. I’ve been careful not to share some of the more explicit entries.

‘So many hidden talents,’ she whispers, gently running her fingertips across one of the pages.

‘Do you see why it’s so important to me? Why I couldn’t let Adam have it?’

‘Of course.’ She straightens her shoulders as if about to say something difficult. ‘Do you really think this person will be able to provide you with some answers?’

‘I don’t know,’ I reply. I decide to admit my greatest fear. ‘The idea that Michael’s death may have been a stupid, pointless accident is something I just can’t accept; something that has haunted me for all these years. I’m scared someone did something terrible to him.’ I tell her more about Diving Fish, the threatening email from Lisa, and the information I have acquired from Siobhan.

Doris’s deep brown eyes seek out mine. ‘Hardly enough there to prove any actual wrongdoing,’ she says, referring to Lisa’s message. ‘But all this talk about secret relationships, fights in their lodgings …’ She shakes her head. ‘What kind of person brandishes a knife?’

I stare at her in disbelief. Does someone actually believe me? I’m so used to being doubted, first by the police and coroner, then by Adam, and even Grace.

Doris pours herself another cup of tea from the teapot and I can see that she is deep in thought. ‘The danger, of course,’ she says, adding a teaspoon of sugar and stirring it fiercely, ‘is that this is all very much second-hand information. A few notes in a diary, a text to an unconfirmed number, an email that could be threatening, depending on the context.’ Doris takes a sip and puts her cup down with a clatter. ‘What you’re going to need, Katie, is good, solid evidence.’

It’s Monday morning; nine-thirty a.m. I’m sitting anxiously pulling the threads from the old throw on my mother’s settee, listening as the telephone, clasped to my ear, rings for a fourth time. Doris’s idea has been bubbling around in my head since yesterday; I’ve had a restless night waiting for the working week to begin. I’m just about to hang up when I hear a voice at the other end of the line.

‘Human Resources, Siobhan Norris speaking.’

‘Siobhan.’ I know it’s risky ringing her at work, but I have no choice. I need information. ‘It’s Kate Hardy.’ There’s a pause and I can imagine her glancing around the office, hoping no one will hear.

‘I can’t really talk,’ she whispers, sounding nervous. ‘I—’

‘You don’t have to,’ I interrupt. ‘Can you look through the student records for me to see if you can find a contact number for Lisa Edwards?’

‘What? I don’t really think—’

‘I just want to talk to her, Siobhan.’

‘It’s against GDPR. I’ve just had my training. I could lose my job.’

‘I need to find out more about what happened to Michael, and you’re the only one who can help me.’

I hear voices in the background.

‘My manager is coming; I’ve got to go.’

‘Siobhan, please, I only want—’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hardy, I really am.’

There is a loud click as the line goes dead. I throw my mobile down in frustration. For the first time in years, I seem to be getting somewhere; but every tiny step forward seems impeded by obstacles and setbacks. I’m just about to try another online search when the phone rings.

‘Mrs Hardy?’

‘Siobhan, is that you?’

‘I’ve got something for you. It’s not a lot, but it may help.’

‘Did you find Lisa’s phone number?’

‘Even if I had it, I couldn’t give it to you, Mrs Hardy, but there is something I can send to you. I just need your email address.’

I run upstairs, take the laptop from where I’ve hidden it under the bed, just in case Adam drops by again, and turn it on. Wildly impatient, I have to hit the refresh button several times before the email finally arrives.

Re: photograph of student fundraising event

admin@Edgecombehall.co.uk

To: Kate Hardy

_________________________________________

Dear Mrs Hardy,

Thank you for your enquiry regarding Edgecombe Hall’s photographs of your son Michael during his time as a student with us. I have searched through our newsletters archive and came across one of him at a school fundraising event in 2015. As a Scholarship Committee member, Michael was highly active in raising funds for the school.

In the attached photograph you will see Michael seated with Junior Swimming Coach and Scholarship Committee staff member Susan O’Neill, and Sixth Form Student Committee member and scholarship recipient Lisa Edwards.

I hope this photograph will be a useful addition to your memory book.

Kind wishes

Siobhan Norris

Administrative Assistant

‘Clever old Siobhan,’ I whisper, clicking on the attachment. In the photograph, three people are sitting at a table in the student common room at Edgecombe Hall. In the centre sits Michael. He’s smiling at the camera, his brown eyes sparkling. On his right sits a girl about his age. She is pale skinned with narrow eyes that give her a guarded look. Her mousy hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and she isn’t smiling. ‘Lisa Edwards,’ I mutter. Was my son really in love with this apparently unremarkable young woman? My attention shifts to the woman on Michael’s left, the swimming coach and the scholarship committee’s staff supervisor Susan O’Neill. Small and fine boned, her hair is styled in a fashionable asymmetrical cut. It is clear she hasn’t wanted to be photographed and has turned away so that her face is in profile. She should be pretty, but something about the set of her jaw and her fierce expression makes her look more like a sulky teenager than an academic.

My mobile suddenly goes off and I jump. I glance down to see that it’s Adam. Checking up on me no doubt. I force