Miller Dying To Dive

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-3-347-64089-4
Verlag: tredition
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 296 Seiten

A diving club holiday in idyllic Cornwall, but these people are not what they seem. Karen Winter, a nervous diver due to a previous accident unwittingly gradually discovers their secrets.

This is Erin Miller's second novel, and again she explores her character's mental and physical problems as they relate to each other and to the main plot. Erin has always enjoyed creative writing, having previous short stories published and judging writing competitions. She is a qualified Teacher of English, has three children, and lives in the Sussex countryside with her husband and many rescued animals.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Miller, Erin

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE: Friday Evening. Torrential, monsoon-like summer rain battered the windscreen of my aged Jeep, a ‘hand me up’ from my younger brother. A police siren screamed up behind me, then sped past. Worn wipers struggled to compete with the constant grey spray from passing lorries on the water strewn road. The A303 blurred into the distance - a slippery snake lost in a murky haze. Names, familiar from journeys to childhood holidays, floated by: Basingstoke, Andover, Yeovil … I rubbed my eyes with one hand, whilst holding the juddering steering wheel with the other. The vibration had started recently at speeds of over 40mph. I would have to take it to the garage when I got home and pay another fortune. I wondered how much longer I would be able to afford to keep yet another old wreck going. Straight from work, and a six hour drive to Cornwall. No wonder I was tired. Was I mad? But Luke had insisted we come tonight, so that we could make the most of diving tomorrow. Weather permitting, of course. My boyfriend snored loudly in the passenger seat. His clothes were their usual crumpled selves: he took no interest in his appearance. His thick, black rimmed glasses had slipped down his nose. His tee-shirt was faded and coffee stained. His jeans had real holes in them – not the designer type. When I had first met him, I had found this look somehow endearing, as if he wanted mothering. Now I just wished he would make some effort. To be fair, he had been working most of the night before, and all today, on a major I.T. blip at work. Luke the hero, the specialist, the number one go-to. His life revolved around computers. But he was amazingly talented at what he did, or so his employers seemed to think. The back seat of the car was stuffed full of scuba dive gear, with little room for our suitcase. Two large dive boxes sat, one on top of the other, blocking most of my view through the rain smeared rear window. A whole week away. It sounded great, in theory. A week away from our pressured jobs and from my pokey flat, made even pokier since Luke had moved in. I wondered again, why we couldn’t have lived in his flat. It’ll save money, he said. I can rent it out for more than we would get for your flat. We don’t need much space. I grimaced. Speak for yourself, I had argued. But, as usual, lately, we did things Luke’s way. A speeding van came past, showering my car with dirty rainwater. How could anyone see well enough in these conditions to drive so fast? The road had become a mirror and the distorted, reflected lights of cars swam in puddles. Concentration was hard. My train of thoughts returned to Luke. I hated thinking of myself as some kind of victim, or downtrodden female. I encouraged myself to believe that I was a strong, independent woman, in full control of her life. However, the truth was often rather different, I forced myself to admit. I was 38 years old. I had never had a relationship that had gone further than two years. You see, I have this empathetic side to me which always draws me towards men with problems. I feel sorry for them and fall for their hard luck stories. I want to fix them. And I never can. And then I feel let down. A psychiatrist might call it frustrated motherhood. And yes. I would have liked, would still like, a baby. I just couldn’t see it happening now, especially not with Luke. Not the way our relationship seemed to be going at the moment. I desperately needed a shot of caffeine. My eyes were straining on the river that the road had become, and a nagging, throbbing pain had begun over my left eye. I decided to stop at the next services. The last thing I needed was a migraine, or worse still, to fall asleep at the wheel! Luke stirred as I stopped the car, in the closest bay I could find to the services‘ entrance, which wasn’t at all close, of course. I struggled into my thin denim jacket, to protect me from the wet run across the car park to the shelter of the building. “Why have we stopped?” Luke lunged at his glasses as they fell off the end of his nose and dived towards the floor. “I need coffee. And a sugar hit.” I replied, feeling my anger creeping up. Did he think I was some kind of robot? “Do you want anything?” I added, rather huffily. “Nah.” He yawned. “Don’t be too long. It’ll take forever in this shitty weather. I need a good sleep before tomorrow.” And I don’t? Not for the first time, I regretted agreeing to this trip. What I would give, right now, for a week on a beach in Greece or Spain, or indeed, anywhere hot, with nothing to do but relax. My tentative suggestion at this idea had been shot down in flames. We need to do something, Luke had insisted, I would be bored just lying on a beach. Maybe he would, but I certainly wouldn’t! Luke had been scuba diving since he was in his mid-twenties – he was now 35. He was, in fact, a qualified diving instructor, but preferred to go on dives that others had arranged. Less hassle, he said. More time to do what I want, instead of having to look after other people. Yes, selfishness was one of his major failings. I, on the other hand, had only started scuba diving when I met Luke. I had been very reluctant. Memories of a free-diving accident still lingered in my mind. Over the years, I had tried to suppress my fear of being under water, but it had never quite left me. I blinked away the horrible picture my brain had just produced. My lungs at bursting point, whilst my foot was trapped in a rock. Luke had been quite encouraging at first, wanting me to share in his passion, until he realised that I was a very nervous diver. He booked me in for lessons at the nearest Dive Centre, and then let me get on with it. I was a slow learner, as it took me a while to trust the breathing apparatus, but eventually I passed the first qualification. Other than the training dives, this would be my first experience of proper diving. I was somewhat anxious. Not only of the diving, which would be deeper and more challenging than I had done in the training, but also of having to spend a whole week in close quarters with people I did not know very well, some I hadn’t even met, and most of whom were experienced divers. I am not the most social or confident of beings. I worried endlessly about having a panic attack under water and spoiling everyone’s dive. And that everyone would resent having such a klutz on their holiday. Shuffling forward in the queue for coffee, I eyed up the pastries on display. I needed a sugar boost to get me through the rest of the drive. As I wandered back through the services, clutching my coffee, cake and packet of painkillers, I decided to treat myself to a book. I had stupidly managed to run over my e-reader last week – it had dropped out of my bag, as I got into the car, and I hadn’t noticed. Another thing I couldn’t afford to replace. A crime thriller by one of my favourite authors came into view. It was my favourite genre. I was determined to make time for some relaxation, I decided, whatever Luke said. We weren’t joined at the hip and it was my holiday as well as his. Edging the car up a winding, one track lane towards, what the Sat Nav suggested, was the holiday destination, I peered through heavy aching eyes. It was dark now, and the parking area at the front of the cottage held only one other car. A small porch light twinkled in the drizzle, the heavy rain having finally subsided a little. “Are you sure this is it?” I questioned Luke, who had reluctantly had to remain awake for the last few miles to help me navigate through small Cornish lanes in the poor visibility. “Jake beat us to it!” exclaimed Luke, rapidly becoming animated, now that his week of diving was in sight. Evidently the Mazda MX5 belonged to my diving instructor. I cringed a little, remembering what a timid learner Jake had thought me, before tiredness started to overwhelm me and my silly worries. I just wanted a shower and bed. Something to eat would be great, but I didn’t have the energy to cook. I couldn’t remember what the cooking arrangements were, but if I had to make do with a slice of toast it was fine. Staggering in with my dive box, I found Luke, who had rushed into the cottage empty handed, in the kitchen. He had already been handed a scotch by Jake, who looked relaxed in cream chinos and a white shirt, undone enough to reveal some chest hair. His petite Romanian girlfriend, Natalie, whom I had met briefly once, was busy laying out a feast of food on the table. The smell was divine. It was just what I needed. My spirits began to restore themselves. She smiled at me. “Hi. How was your drive? Such awful weather! Jake and I came down this morning, so we have been here a few hours. Thought it would be nice to get everyone round the table for a meal tonight and dive planning for tomorrow!” I smiled and gratefully accepted the wine glass which Natalie was proffering, gulping half of it down too quickly, before setting it on a bookcase and returning to the car, which was obviously not going to unpack itself. I was still unloading the car 15 minutes later – yes, just me – Luke was deep in dive chat with Jake – when an estate car crunched into the drive. A man in his 50s emerged, scruffily dressed, long grey hair in a ponytail, looking tired and annoyed. It was John Cummings, the other dive...