Dead Jealous Read Free Page B

over the place, she reminded herself, just hidden by canvas. And this was the middle of the Lake District, not the middle of a city. What was there to be frightened of? Rampant foxes?
    Maybe it was all that stuff Beth had been going on about that had unnerved her. Was there really something bad happening at the festival?
    The thing about shit is, eventually some of it floats.
    Poppy would be the first to admit that a fair few of the festival-goers were running some kind of scam. Cross my palm with thirty quid and I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to hear about your past lives! But she figured that in the long run, it all worked out. They all scammed each other and eventually everyone got their money back. Everyone except people like Bob – her might-as-well-be-granddad – who seemed to have endless funds to give to ‘folks who were having a hard time’.
    Poppy massaged her tense shoulders and picked her way through the sagging tents, passing a yurt with a door that looked like the entrance to a hobbit house. The dewy grass was slippery beneath her Converse, but was soon replaced by hard pebbles as she reached the water’s edge.
    Scariswater. The lake stretched out before her like a swathe of shot silk. The ripples reflected all the colours of the morning; inky blacks and burnt oranges. A ghostly full moon graced the sky, even as the sun was stretching its rays from the east. The scene was so beautiful, so otherworldly, that she almost got it – the need to thank someone or something. She let her eyes fall closed and breathed in the fresh damp smells of the lake and hills. But in a flash, gratitude was replaced with terror. She was back there, in that other lake. The freezing water blinding her. Burning in her lungs. Drowning her.
    She forced open her eyes and gasped in air.
    Air, not water.
    Breathe – breathe!
    The lap of water against the pebbles made a hypnotic swishing sound, the lightest of breezes lifted the hair from the back of her neck, blowing away the memory but not the fear.
    She’d grown up in Cumbria. Lakes water pulsed through her veins and she couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere else and yet that day, nearly a year ago, a lake just like this one had nearly killed her.
    It had been an accident. A freak fricking accident! It wasn’t going to happen again.
    She leaned down, quickly undid her laces, pulled off her socks and stuffed them into her Converse. She refused to be afraid of something she loved. She just had to get over it. She’d been unlucky that day, that’s all.
    The pebbles felt like dry ice cubes beneath her bare feet. She hopped around for a moment until she could stand the cold. Her jeans were skinny, and she had to yank the denim to get it past her calf muscles, but with her jeans as high as she could get them, she braced herself and edged into the lake.
    The shock of the water made her gasp and then giggle. The water tickled as it lapped over her toes. Freezing, but not too bad. She’d been in colder.
    As she stepped out, the feel of the pebbles beneath her feet transformed. They were no longer rough, but slippery, covered by a layer of slime. Poppy tried to concentrate on what her feet could feel instead of the frightened voice in her head telling her to get out of there. Sharp edges needled between her toes; moss tickled.
    The bottom of the lake sloped gently down, and by the time the water was above her ankles, she was wondering where the inevitable shelf was, where the ground would disappear and she would find herself plunged waist deep and in need of a change of clothes.
    Ahead, darkness swirled beneath the surface. It stretched out towards her like a shadow. Maybe this was it – the drop. But no, she could still see shapes beneath the water. She took another couple of steps forward and stumbled. The water hit the back of her knees, like a slap with a wet kipper, and soaked her jeans. A nervous giggle escaped her throat. Or was it a cry?
    It’s OK , she told