One summer's day, Freya's husband and son vanish at sea.
A year on, and struggling to cope, Freya returns to the lighthouse-keeper's cottage on a remote Hebridean island, where she and her family spent so many happy times.
Haunted by visions of her old life, Freya's dreams are dark and disturbed. And when a stranger, Daniel, is washed ashore during a storm, they turn even more menacing.
As dream and reality start to merge, Daniel seems to be following Freya's every move. What does he want from her and is he everything he seems to be?
Is her mind playing tricks? Or is the danger that she senses very real?
My Thoughts
Initially I would just like to say that it took me a few chapters to settle into this book, that happens sometimes doesn't it. A book sometimes isn't a perfect fit straightaway. Maybe that happens only to me?
I am so glad that I continued though because I was richly rewarded with a strong and accomplished story of myths, folklore, legends, families and a unique take on grief. There is also a historical element with the addition of a series of old letters that were found. I was expecting a dramatic tale of woe, where the tears didn't stop flowing. This book isn't that, it is in the subtleties that the beauty lies.
Firstly the setting for this story is wonderful, the Hebrides sound like a beautiful place. The sense of scenery in this story is my favourite part. It is descriptive, flowing and evocative.
I took meaning from this book in that Freya's emotions are much like the landscape that surrounds her. She feels like one of the islands, isolated and largely alone in her grief. I found the evening when she went up to the lighthouse tower so emotive. As the waves crashed against the tower you could almost feel the connection to the waves of grief beating in her heart.
I found this to be an enjoyable and unique story and I wish the Author every success.
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Melissa has very kindly allowed us to post the prologue for the book today, I hope it gives you a real sense of the story.
Prologue
The boat glided effortlessly
across the water. Not bad for an old wooden tub, Jack thought. Whatever Freya
said about it, he loved this boat. No doubt it needed a new motor, but it would
last another summer. Angus at the boatyard had assured him of that. He listened
carefully but all he could hear was a contented purring. Perhaps it would last
the winter season as well.
The
sea was peculiarly peaceful for this time of year, as if it were a lake rather
than the open Atlantic. One of those perfect days, with a deep blue, cloudless
sky reflected in the calm water. He grabbed his binoculars and looked towards
the horizon. But even further out, where the rise and fall of the waves would
be more pronounced, there was little movement.
He
turned around to Sam, seated at the back of the boat, nose down in a book of
seabirds. ‘Do you want to come into the cabin to steer the boat for a while?’
Jack called.
‘No,’
his son replied without looking up.
‘Well,
are you warm enough out there?’ Even though the sun was shining, it was still
spring and there was a cold breeze on the water.
‘I’m
fine.’ Sam looked up this time and grinned.
‘So
what have you seen so far?’
‘Well,
I think they were fulmars. Although they look quite like gulls or kittiwakes so
it’s not easy to tell. Dad, do you know what fulmars do to protect themselves
from predators?’
‘No,’
said Jack, increasing the motor’s speed. The thrum of the engine became more
pronounced.
‘They
squirt the contents of their stomachs out through their noses at them. It’s a
gross, smelly liquid.’
‘Sounds
like a pretty good way of keeping things at a distance.’
‘They
learn to do it as chicks. Pretty cool, huh?’
Jack
smiled. ‘Certainly is.’ He increased speed again and could hear the slight
strain of the motor. But it was nothing it couldn’t handle and now they were
really covering ground. He grabbed the binoculars again and surveyed the
horizon. Clear. Nothing out of the ordinary. It would all be plain sailing.
A
few minutes later Sam shouted, ‘Hey Dad, look at this.’
Jack
turned to see his son, his own set of binoculars in hand, pointing skywards.
But he couldn’t make out anything from inside the cabin.
‘What
is it?’ he said.
‘A
big white bird. Very high up. On its own.’
Jack
twisted around but again couldn’t see. ‘Any ideas?’ he said.
Sam
was scrutinising his book of seabirds once again. ‘It’s got a big wingspan and
black wing tips. I think it might be an albatross.’
‘An
albatross? I don’t think so. They’re generally found in the south and the
Pacific. In which case it’s a long way from home.’
‘But
it says here that they range over huge stretches of ocean and regularly circle
the globe. So it could be.’
‘Well
maybe,’ Jack conceded. ‘But I think it’s more likely that it’s a gannet.
They’re common around here.’
‘Yes,
but they don’t really fly alone. Albatrosses do. It also says that gannets
glide low over the ocean. And this one isn’t doing that.’
Jack
smiled. This seabird book his father Alister had bought had fast become the
ornithological bible. But he had to admit that it was very accurate. ‘Maybe
it’s going to feed. Gannets fly high and circle before diving into the sea.’
Sam
was silent for a while, and Jack hoped perhaps that was the end of it. But,
knowing his son, he suspected not.
A
few moments later, Sam spoke again. ‘Well, I don’t think this gannet is all
that hungry. He’s still just hovering high up on the thermals. Come and have a
look, Dad.’
Jack
still couldn’t see the bird from inside the cabin and he knew that his son
wouldn’t be satisfied or move on unless he had seen it properly.
He
powered the engine down, but as he slipped it into neutral it stalled. ‘Shit,’
he said. It had a nasty habit of doing that. But it wasn’t usually a problem,
so perhaps rather than fiddle with it now, he’d leave it until they were ready
to go again.
‘Ooh.
You’re going to be in trouble with Mum. She’d kill you if she knew the engine
was off way out here.’ Sam was smiling and laughing as Jack stepped out of the
cabin.
‘Well,
no one has to tell Mum,’ said Jack, looking upwards. For a moment he couldn’t
see anything, the glint of sunlight catching in his eyes. But finally he made
it out. A solitary white bird, high up in the sky.
‘Let
me take a look with your binoculars.’
Sam
passed them to his father and then moved impatiently from foot to foot while he
waited.
‘Hmm.
I know what you mean. The colour of the wing tips means it could be either.
It’s big for a gannet, but it’s pretty difficult to see the beak and tail
feathers clearly.’ Jack lowered the binoculars, blinked hard and then tried
again. But the bird was partly obscured by the glare of the sun. ‘I still think
it’s unlikely to be an albatross, Sam.’
‘Aww.’
His tone was one of disappointed sulkiness. ‘It would have been really cool to
have seen one. Mum would think so. She read me “The Rime of the Ancient
Mariner”.’
‘Did
she now?’ Jack frowned. For God’s sake, he was only ten. But Freya had always
done that. Read him stuff that was way beyond him. ‘And can you remember any of
it?’
‘Hmm.
Not really.’ Sam laughed.
Jack
pulled his son to him and ruffled his hair. ‘Well, while we’ve stopped shall we
have our lunch? It’s about time.’
For
half an hour Jack and Sam talked, ate and drank on the deck at the back of the
boat. When they were finished and ready to carry on, Jack grabbed Sam’s
binoculars again. The bird, whatever it was, was still hovering above them.
‘Strange,’
Jack muttered, and continued to scout the sky. It was only then that he noticed
a black cloud growing on the horizon west of them. ‘Where did that come from?’
He watched it for a little while longer and then scanned around them three
hundred and sixty degrees. Every horizon showed nothing but sky and sea. He
handed the binoculars back to Sam and looked over the ocean. It was building
swell, the once-still blue water now rippling and murky. Then he caught sight
of shadowy trails of movement, swift blurs of grey here and there.
A
moment later, Sam’s voice rang out excitedly. ‘Dolphins.’
Jack
nodded as he looked. It was quite a big pod if he wasn’t mistaken. ‘Are they
feeding? Looks like they might be.’
‘I
think so,’ said Sam, hanging over the side and trying to touch them.
‘Be
careful,’ shouted Jack.
‘I
will, Dad,’ said Sam, rolling his eyes.
They
watched the dolphins jumping and playing, criss-crossing beneath the boat from
one side to the other. Sam shouted and pointed as he caught sight of them
dancing beneath the surface, leaping momentarily into the air and then
disappearing once more into the darkness. Eventually the pod overtook them and
vanished.
‘That
was sooo cool,’ said Sam, still dangling over the edge of the boat.
‘Yes
it was,’ said Jack. But he had already turned his gaze back to the horizon. The
cloud was growing and he didn’t like the look of it. He dropped his eyes back
to the ocean. Could he still see traces of grey flashing beneath the surface?
Perhaps, he wasn’t sure. But surely the pod had moved on by now? He scrutinised
the surface of the ocean, tried to see beneath it, but he couldn’t tell. As he
looked he felt a strange dizzying sensation, suddenly conscious of the miles of
water beneath them. His skin prickled. Ridiculous, he said to himself.
Moving
into the cabin, he turned on the radio and listened. Cloud was building, the
weather turning and heading their way. ‘Sam,’ he shouted, ‘I’m afraid we’re
going home. There’s a storm coming.’
‘Aww,’
he heard his son cry again from the back of the boat. The sound gave him
comfort. It was fearless and indifferent.
He
wrapped his fingers around the ignition key and faltered for a moment as he
felt an odd sensation of giddiness and nerves. What had got into him? They had
plenty of time. With a bit of luck they would be home in an hour. He breathed
in deeply and exhaled slowly. But the vertiginous feeling was still there,
lurking in his stomach.
From
the back of the boat he could hear Sam chatting away to himself. ‘Well, I think
it has webbed feet, which gannets don’t have. So I’m still not one hundred per
cent convinced.’
Jack
looked out of the cabin window and caught sight of the bird. It was still
hovering above them but it was lower now. It seemed larger, darker. He frowned.
And he was not one for omens. But as he turned the ignition key, the words of
the poem he had been trying not to think about jumped into his head.
‘Day
after day, day after day,
We
stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As
idle as a painted ship
Upon
a painted ocean.
Water,
water, everywhere,
And
all the boards did shrink;
Water,
water, everywhere,
Nor
any drop to drink.’
http://www.melissabailey.info/
Above is the list of the other stops on the blog tour, I would be thrilled if you checked in with the other bloggers.
Sounds like a good read, maybe keep a wee eye out for it.
ReplyDeleteLainy http://www.alwaysreading.net