The Drowning Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise for The Drowning and Valerie Mendes

  About the Author

  Books by Valerie Mendes

  Acknowledgements

  “Ready, Steady, Go”

  The Audition

  Waiting

  Playing with Friends

  “What Have I Done?”

  Aftermath

  In Benjie’s Room

  The Diary

  Dead End

  Meryn

  “Will You Dance For Me?”

  A Wedding

  The Photograph

  Revelations

  On the Midnight Beach

  Beyond the Waves

  Read an Extract of Girl in the Attic . . .

  THE DROWNING

  Valerie Mendes

  LBLA Digital

  Praise for The Drowning and Valerie Mendes

  “After a spectacularly astonishing, and beautifully handled, opening section Jenna’s personal ambitions are set aside as she tries to cope with the aftermath of a fatality. The story follows her despair and dilemmas over family matters and her dreams of an opportunity to dance and go away and train with major specialist schooling. The renewed attention for the novel comes with the long-awaited move of the Urdang Academy to new premises at Finsbury Town Hall.” The School Librarian

  “Author Valerie Mendes has returned to the unique setting of St Ives for her fourth novel. … Returning to St Ives was a natural choice for Valerie, who first fell in love with the town when holidaying there as a child. ….” The Cornishman

  “As with Mendes’ previous novels, Girl in the Attic, and Coming Of Age, it is very difficult to tear oneself away from Lost and Found. Both my son and I found it very hard to stop reading once we had started. Mendes is a mistress of plot-weaving, skilfully introducing characters at a comfortable speed for the reader and yet never patronising her teenage target audience. … Adults writing for older children often have trouble pitching the tone of their writing and can end up sounding like children’s entertainers. Mendes avoids any danger of this through her obvious respect for her readers. … The novels are accessible and highly enjoyable for anyone from a mature pre-teen upwards, male or female.” The Oxford Times

  “Amy is an attractive heroine and Mendes’ tantalising tale unfolds in an atmospheric and engaging way.” The Observer

  “This is a beautiful portrayal of a girl on the edge of adulthood and a lovely follow-on to Girl in the Attic. … Mendes displays a fantastic ability to delve deep into the hearts and minds of her characters. As a reader you really get to know Amy, and just as she finds it hard to let the past go, I found it hard to let her go. A truly inspiring read for any teenager.” Waterstones

  “Childhood tragedy means that growing up is tough for Amy. As she begins to come to terms with what happened, she discovers a mysterious postcard which threatens to further undermine her rocky family life. … An Italian journey of discovery follows for Amy in this superb teenage story from the author of the outstanding Girl in the Attic.” Ottakar’s

  “This gripping story covers six years and a gamut of emotions in Amy’s life. Two weeks after finishing it, I look back as on a film, so vivid are the characters, the situations, and the changing scenes. Also the dialogue and conversations always ring true. The author creates memorable, visual set pieces.” The School Librarian

  “An exquisite first novel … An unusual ghost story set in Cornwall, it is beautifully written, with a rich understanding of love and friendship.” Daily Telegraph

  “Gripping.” Daily Mirror

  “This great read gives you a boy’s point of view on what it’s like to have a total crush.” Mizz

  “The story is well-written—sometimes tense, sometimes atmospheric, sometimes particularly descriptive. A sound read.” Carousel

  “If you’re into gripping, mysterious and slightly sinister stories, this is definitely the story for you. Girl in the Attic is a masterpiece!” Teen Titles

  “The sense of place, the frustrations of the protagonists, and the development of the mystery all contribute to a page-turning read.” School Library Association

  “I thought that Lost and Found was the best thing you’ve ever written—gripping, fast-moving, delicate and touching. I thought the shifting perspectives offered by the different narrative voices added a whole new dimension to your work, and I especially loved Jade’s first-person narratives. And Kieran’s chapter is not only a masterstroke, coming where it does, but is also the finest writing of all. The song is an especially wonderful touch.” Sam Mendes

  About the Author

  Valerie Mendes wrote her first short story when she was six years old. It was published in her school magazine. Reading it that night, she decided she wanted to be a writer. After North London Collegiate School, where she was awarded a State Scholarship in English and History, she went to Reading University and gained an Honours Degree in English and Philosophy. She began a long career in publishing, initially as a journalist and then in book publishing itself.

  The publication of two of her short stories in Puffin Post encouraged her developing passion in writing for children. Two picture books followed: Tomasina’s First Dance and Look at Me, Grandma! Then, several years later, four critically acclaimed novels for young adults allowed her to explore in powerful story form many of the current issues that affect the lives of teenagers today: Girl in the Attic, Coming of Age, Lost and Found and The Drowning.

  Larkswood is Valerie’s first historical novel for the adult marketplace. It is a gripping family saga about the Hamilton clan, set in 1897 and 1939.

  Valerie lives and works in Woodstock, Oxfordshire. She is proudly the mother of the theatre and film director Sam Mendes CBE, and Granny Vowel to Mia and to Joe.

  You can visit her website www.valeriemendes.com

  Books by Valerie Mendes

  Young adult novels

  Picture books

  Tomasina’s First Dance

  Look at Me, Grandma!

  Adult novel

  Larkswood

  Copyright © 2005 Valerie Mendes

  First published as an e-book in the United Kingdom by LBLA Digital in 2012

  First published in paperback in the United Kingdom by Simon & Schuster in 2005

  This e-book is sold subject to the condition it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise without the publisher’s prior written consent.

  All rights reserved

  Artwork copyright © Louise Milidge using images supplied by Dreamstime

  ISBN 978-1-908879-06-6

  For Captain Phil Moran and the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, St Ives, Cornwall, with gratitude, admiration and love

  THE DROWNING

  Valerie Mendes

  Acknowledgements

  I could not have written this novel without the help and encouragement of three people:

  Captain Phil Moran, former Lifeboat Operations Manager of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, St Ives, Cornwall, who so generously shared with me his unique knowledge of both the sea and St Ives;

  Liz Nolan and the students at her Theatre Dance School in Lelant, Cornwall, who put up with me practically living on the premises for a fortnight in September 2003, and who talked me through a host of technical and Cornish details;

  and Angela Askew, former Director and Head of Dance at The Urdang at Finsbury Town Hall. Angela not only gave me her immediate and unstinting cooperation, but also shared with me the Urdang’s crucial move from their beloved banana warehouse in Covent Garden, their premises for the past thirty years, to the magnificent air and space of their new home.

  “Ready, Steady, Go”<
br />
  Jenna woke early that February morning.

  Her room crouched in darkness.

  She listened for the yearning cries of the gulls, the swirling waves of sea.

  They made no answer.

  Instead she heard the faint growl of Sunday traffic, pawing the streets beneath her attic room; a tube train grumbling underground; water lurching down a pipe.

  Suddenly she remembered.

  She was not in Cornwall.

  Yesterday, on the station platform, sleet blowing across their shoulders, Dad had waved her goodbye, his eyes behind his funny round spectacles full of pride and shining with tears. She had taken the train from St Erth to Paddington. To stay with Dad’s beloved sister, Aunt Tamsyn.

  For a very special reason.

  Jenna sat up, her heart flapping into her throat like a bird trapped in a chimney.

  It had finally arrived. The first Sunday of the spring half-term.

  The day that could change her life . . .

  “Are you ready?”

  “No,” Jenna said. “How can I be? I’ll never be ready, not in a hundred years.”

  “Nonsense.” Her aunt looked Jenna squarely in the eyes. “You haven’t got a hundred years, you’ve got half an hour to get there. You’re sure you know the way?”

  “Out of Goodwin’s Court, turn right up St Martin’s Lane . . . God,Tammy, you’ve shown me often enough. It’s only down the road.”

  “And you know what they want, what they’re looking for.”

  Jenna chanted, “Potential not perfection.”

  “Exactly—”

  “But I haven’t done anything. There’ll be girls so much better than me. From Edinburgh, Paris, Stockholm, all over. I’m not good enough—”

  “Oh, yes, you are. I’ve watched you dance, remember? I’ve heard you sing and I’ve seen you act. I know it was only local, amateur stuff, but it was plenty good enough for me. I can spot real talent a mile off.”

  “But you’re biased. You know it’s me and you make all kinds of allowances.”

  “Rubbish, Jenna. Stop putting yourself down. You’re better than good. You’re brilliant – and you’re beautiful.” Her aunt’s voice grew brisker. “Now, have you got everything? Pink tights, leotard, ballet shoes, jazz trousers, jazz boots, sheet music—”

  Reluctantly Jenna grinned. “Arms, hands, legs, feet, head, eyes, hair, memory—”

  Her aunt gave a sharp crow of laughter. “Point taken . . . Here, I’ve made you lunch. It’s going to be a long, hardworking day. Promise me you’ll eat, keep up your energy.”

  “Yes,Tammy.” Jenna crammed the food into her bag.

  “So!” Her aunt stood back and looked at her. “It’s ready, steady, go, then?”

  “Suppose.” Jenna swung her bag over her shoulder. “I guess this is the moment.” Her teeth chattered. “Eleven years of work, since I was four years old . . . all leading to this.”

  Stiffly, she turned towards the door, but her courage failed. She threw down her bag and leapt across the narrow hallway. In her arms, Aunt Tamsyn felt like a tiny, light-boned child.

  “Thanks for everything, Tammy. Your support, your encouragement—”

  “Least I could do—”

  “Being here in London, being here for me . . . Even if nothing comes of it, thanks for everything. Even if I fail.”

  Her aunt hugged her. Then she held her at arm’s length, her eyes scanning Jenna’s face, her hands gripping Jenna’s.

  “You won’t fail, Jenna Pascoe. What have I always told you? You’ve got star quality.”

  Jenna bit her lip. “Don’t know about that.” She felt her aunt’s confidence flowing through her, warming her veins. “But I’m going to have a bloody good shot at this. My best.”

  “There! You’re never Elwyn’s girl for nothing.”

  “Ready, steady, then, Tammy?”

  “Go for it. I’ll meet you outside the Academy at the end of the day. I’ll be jumping up and down, longing to know how it went.”

  Jenna shot out of the door and started down the flights of narrow wooden stairs. Her feet clattered like the thunder of tap shoes on the rehearsal floor.

  She heard her aunt calling after her.

  “I’ll be thinking of you all day, Jenna Pascoe. Just you remember that.”

  Jenna closed the front door behind her.

  She glanced at the brass plaque, Tamsyn Pascoe,Theatrical Agent, ran her fingers over the lettering in a last goodbye.

  Then she turned her face into the bitter wind, hunching her scarf across her throat, pulling on her gloves. Her singing teacher’s voice rang in her head.

  “If you are cold, you cannot sing. You must be warm, relaxed, comfortable. You sing not just with your throat but with your entire body. To look after your voice, you must attend to your health. It must become the good habit of a lifetime.”

  The alleyway of Goodwin’s Court stood bleak and empty. A thin tabby cat with yellow eyes, prowling for food, looked up at her expectantly. He reminded Jenna of Dusty, the cat at her home in the narrow cobbled street of the Digey in St Ives. He lived in their tiny communal courtyard, belonging to them all and yet only to himself.

  A wave of homesickness flooded the pit of her stomach.

  Right now, Dad would be standing at the long table in their tearoom kitchen, slapping and pounding his wonderful homemade dough, singing a sea shanty happily off-key.

  Her brother, Benjie, would be sitting at his desk, dissecting the insides of a radio in order to put it back together again, muttering to himself, frowning with concentration.

  For a moment, Jenna longed to be with them, safe and snug in her attic bedroom opposite Benjie’s; practising at the barre in the dance studio Dad had made for her above the tea room; walking through St Ives and up the steep hill of the Belyars to school, hidden among the quiet of its green fields.

  Mum would be still asleep. Sunday mornings were the only ones when she wasn’t up at the crack of dawn.

  Jenna groaned at the thought: Mum spelled problems, big time . . .

  Jenna tilted her chin in defiance. With an effort, she pushed thoughts of home aside. She walked briskly into St Martin’s Lane, turned right towards Shelton Street and the old banana warehouse which for the last thirty years had been the Urdang Academy.

  Towards her audition.

  If she could only get it right, Tammy’s flat, this short walk – and this Academy – would be her home from the autumn for the next three years. Her aunt had offered to pay the fees, to give Jenna all the support and encouragement she’d need. In spite of Mum . . .

  Jenna’s breath pumped into the dank, foggy Sunday-morning air. Her cheeks stung with the cold. Her heart raced with excitement.

  This is it, girl.

  Go for it.

  And don’t let anyone see just how nervous you really are . . .

  The Audition

  Shivering with fright, Jenna stood with nineteen other hopefuls in an awkward queue as they registered their names and were given a number and a timetable for the day. She glanced at some of them and tried to smile, but the effort was monumental. Her hands shook as she changed her clothes in silence for ballet, the first class of the day.

  She pulled on her pink ballet tights and the new leotard Leah had given her. Leah, who had taught her everything she knew.

  “A little present for you to kick-start the day. It’s a lucky red. Most of the girls will be in black. But with your dark hair and eyes, red will look wonderful. The colour’s warm and inviting – and you want to be noticed. You need to stand out from the crowd the minute you walk into the studio. Here, Jenn: wear it for me.”

  Jenna brushed back her long, straight hair, secured it firmly in a neat chignon. She double-checked that her ballet shoes were correctly tied; smoothed her heavy eyebrows, glossed her mouth. Hands on her hips, she took a deep breath.

  Right . . . Here we go . . . I guess I’m ready as I’ll ever be . . .

  They zoomed into the cream
-and-green-painted ground-floor studio, its upright piano perched in a corner, the pianist already behind it.

  The panel of four directors sat in front of them, poised along the wall of mirrors and multiplied by them, their pens at the ready, their smiles careful, neutral, attentive.

  Jenna willed herself not to look at them.

  They all appear so composed and confident . . . Wish I felt like that! . . . I’m not good enough for them . . . I’m going to blow this big time . . . I’ll probably fall flat on my face trying to do a pirouette and everyone will laugh . . .

  Their teacher – the whisper had flown: she had once been a soloist with the Royal Ballet – introduced herself and welcomed them. She was small with grey hair cut into a spiky fringe, bright eyes and a warm, authoritative voice.

  She expected them to work for a living.

  She glanced at the pianist, gave him a brief nod. “Thank you, Nick . . . Right, everyone. Shall we begin? I’d like you all to lie down on the floor . . . Use the space sensibly, please, including the corners.”

  First came the exercises to warm and strengthen their bodies. The routines at the barre followed, as familiar to Jenna as her own face and hands. Then the class burst into full swing. Feet in their ballet shoes pounded the floor like the drumming of horses’ hooves. Jenna forgot everything else as the music and the teacher’s voice took over – and as her body began to respond.