But in that second, with my back to Bridget, there was a push and I pitched forward and was in the water, the cold a bolt to my heart. I reached up for the boat to cling to but only for a moment was I on the surface. Mary’s scream tore at the air and then I was dragged under, sinking through the blackness, my body weighted like stone.

42

Time slowed and I was bound by the water – a blind creature in an icy womb. And the world paused. The drag from the bottom pulled at me and I imagined the dolls in their coffins, imagined Hettie – her hair waving in the water. I had been wrong; Hettie had never been bad, and in that moment with my life shrinking I understood. Hettie had not taken Mary to the Fiaclach to harm her but led me there to save her. In everything, she sought only to protect. And I had sent her away.

The silence was as deep and still as distant galaxies. Every piece of my life came polished to diamond sharpness, fragments hurled at me with the speed of comets: the coiling smoke of Swan House, my mother’s face with death upon it, the warmth of Clara’s hand – no regret: my heart was as flat as paper.

And then, through the darkness, through the myriad of images, I heard her. ‘Elspeth,’ she said, and the letters were not jumbled as they had been in life. Her voice was as clear as birdsong. For an instant, she was there – her beautiful, imperfect face – Clara. I not only heard and saw her but I felt her, once again, like a piece of my soul and I came awake and began to struggle – a slow, weightless dance that dragged me from death, while above, the moon pierced the dark like a silver shilling. I fought until I came gasping and coughing to the surface. The beach was too far but there was Greer, on a lip of rock that jutted into the sea.

‘This way,’ she screamed.

I whipped my head round and saw in alarm that the boat was turning behind the cliffs, Mary’s ashen face frozen in horror. I pushed through the waves, my arms aching, to where Greer lay on her belly with her hands outstretched. The tide pushed me closer and finally, I felt the grip of her palm. For a moment, our eyes met, then she dragged me from the water, ripping my stockings and skirts.

I had hardly stood when Greer was running ahead along the narrow ledge that abutted the cliffs and I followed, pulling off my sodden boots and skirts as I went.

And then we were high up, above a sheer drop where the boat below was as insubstantial as a toy. The mist was taking hold, thickening like a web around them. Wind tore at my hair and whipped through the crags.