Hidden Depths by Ann Cleeves

answered. Clive leaned forward, his attention caught by something on the horizon. He had an old pair of binoculars which his mother had bought for him when he was about twelve, but his vision was legendary.
    Then Peter spoke. Pedantic, as if he was in front of a class of students. Weighing every word.
    ‘It’s about possibility, isn’t it? Possibility and chance. The random nature of the universe. We can sit here for four hours and see nothing but a few Manx shearwaters. Then the wind changes. A weather front shifts. And suddenly there are more birds than we can count.’
    Clive moved in his seat. He lowered his binoculars. Felicity thought he was going to say something profound. Sometimes he did. But he just called two puffins going north and went back to staring out to sea.
    Felicity climbed on into the tower. James jumped off the bench and came up to her, pulling a face. She could tell he was bored and restless.
    ‘Can we go home now?’
    ‘Go and have a look at the rock pools. As long as you don’t go too far . . .’
    Samuel stood up too. ‘Why don’t we all start back? It must be dinner time.’
    She smiled at him. He could be such a kind man. ‘It’s a lovely evening. And Peter’s birthday. Let’s enjoy it for a while.’
    When James started screaming her first thought was that the noise would make Peter irritated and he was in such a pleasant mood that that was the last thing she wanted. James did like drama. He’d probably found a live crab or a jellyfish stranded by the tide.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort him out. And then perhaps we should start back.’
    When the screaming continued she found herself panicking, imagining a dreadful accident, that he’d slipped and cut himself on a sharp rock, broken a limb. At first she couldn’t see him. The noise was disembodied. It was as if her son had disappeared into thin air and that only added to her panic. She scrambled across the rocks, felt the seam of her dress rip as she slipped. Then she came upon him, found herself looking down on him. There was a deep gully with a shallow pool at the base and he was standing there, apparently unharmed.
    Felicity saw the flowers first. They were scattered across the surface of the water close to the edge where her son stood, mouth open, rigid. There were poppies and buttercups, ox-eye daisies and pink clover. Someone must have waded in and placed them carefully on the surface. That, at least, was how it seemed to her. There was no breeze. She didn’t think the blossoms could have drifted so far if they’d been thrown from the bank. They formed an irregular circle. Then she saw, in the middle of them, the blue cloth of the skirt and the corn-coloured hair. The pool was so shallow that the body lay just under the surface, and the water lifted the flimsy fabric and stirred the hair. But the gully was deep and the whole scene was in shadow. It was like looking at a painting a long way away.
    ‘James,’ she said. ‘Climb back. Darling, come here to me.’ She didn’t think she’d be able to make it down and most of all she wanted to stop him screaming. Her voice seemed to wake him from a spell and he turned and clambered back towards her. She took him in her arms, looking over his head at the figure in the pool.
    If Lily had been wearing the peasant dress of the previous day, Felicity might have recognized her, but she was convinced that this was a stranger. She stood, her arms clasped around her son, frozen. She knew there were things you should do. She’d seen the medical dramas on the television, doctors thumping on the chest and breathing into the mouth. But all that seemed beyond her. Small and ridiculous objections came into her head. If I was wearing jeans I’d try. If I had on sensible shoes.
    Then the rest of them turned up. And they seemed no more able to act than she was. She had a horrible temptation to laugh at the four of them peering down into the bowl of rock. Then James pulled away