The Key to Anchor Lake ✓

52 : Blaire

B L A I R E

•

I love Sukie but I do not love being awake at half past four in the morning, when it was past one before I eventually drifted off. Luckily for her, my excitement for our date slightly outweighs my hatred of pre-dawn, so as painful as it is to drag myself out of bed in time to cycle to the lake, I do it with a spring in my step.

Sunrise with Sukie.

That's what I think as I layer up, favouring warmth and comfort over attractiveness as I pull on a vest under a t-shirt, followed by a long jumper that covers my arse, and thick socks inside my boots. It may be nearing the end of May, but that means nothing up in the Highlands, apparently, especially before the sun's out: it's barely five degrees right now, my arms prickled with goose pimples.

As I leave the house, I get a text from Sukie.

SUKIE: see you soon!! i can't wait! xx

I text back a heart and a kiss-blowing emoji, and I let her know that I'm on my way as I wheel the bike out from the garage, heart thudding in my chest so hard it's all I can hear, the rush of blood in my ears beating way more than once a second.

I also have a text from Cat, telling me to have a good time today with a winky face. Everyone knows about today; Sukie and I have talked about it in the café every day since I asked her out, officially. Subtlety is not my forte. Not when I'm excited about a proper date with the only girl I've ever kissed, the only girl I've been flung head over heels for.

As I start to pedal, I can't help but begin to question myself. Am I wearing the right outfit? Will she care? Am I going to get there on time? Probably, seeing as it's still pretty dark outside and I can get there in ten minutes – seven if I push myself, but I don't want to arrive in a puddle of sweat.

There's something peaceful about this strange, liminal time of day. Night has passed and I can smell the dew in the air, hear the birds tweeting as they wake up ready to start the day before the sun comes up. The cold breeze is refreshing on my cheeks, the right amount of bite to keep me cool as my feet pump and my pulse climbs.

I'm counting down the minutes. Two down, eight to go. Seven. Six. Five.

Halfway there. I hear a car coming towards me. It's unusual to hear anyone up and about at this hour, especially heading into the mountains. The road to Elizabeth's house turns into a steep, dangerous climb through out of the tree-lined valley and into a crevice carved between Ben Iuchair and the surrounding rocky hills.

I stick to my side of the road, wincing when I come around the corner and I'm blinded by full-beam headlights. Halos of light fill my eyes and I try to blink them away, so distracted by the shock of temporary blindness that it takes me a couple of seconds to register the car's change in gear. It shifts down to power up, biting the road as it revs.

It's a hill, I tell myself. Of course the car needs more power to climb the long, crawling hill. But it speeds up too quickly to take the corner it's approaching, the one I just came around, and it doesn't even try. It comes straight for me, too fast for me to register what's happening.

I don't expect it to hit me, but it does.

There's a surreal moment of weightlessness, when I think oh, was that death? Am I gone? It takes all of a second to realise I'm weightless because I'm flying, hit with such force that I'm flung off the bike between a gap in the trees, and any moment now, I will hit the ground.

Pain flares. I crash into the ground like a felled tree, a cry of anguish ripping from my throat when a sharp rock pierces my side, my brain shaking in my skull when it catches the edge of a tree stump. Not enough to knock me unconscious, but enough to bring up a surge of bile at the instant agony.