PROLOGUE
19 YEARS EARLIER
Ipumped my legs harder, and the swing soared higher. Above me the rope creaked, the same sound it had made every summer for as long as I could remember. I glanced up at the fraying strands. If it snapped now, what a way to go. It’d definitely make the local paper.
I had no idea what time it was, but that was the beauty of Highland summers. Daylight stretched endlessly, bedtime became a distant concept, and Mum transformed from her usual stressed London self into someone who actually laughed at my jokes. She was happy here. It made me wonder why we bothered going back to London.
Especially when Eliza travelled up with us, too.
She crouched by the water’s edge, searching for the perfect stone. Her long legs had got even longer this summer, and she’d developed this habit of tucking her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating that made my stomach do weird flippy things.
“Right,” she said, straightening up. “This is definitely the one that’s going to beat your record.”
“Good luck with that.” I was the reigning stone-skimming champion, a title I’d held all summer. They should engrave my name on one of the bigger rocks by the lake: Poppy Voss, Undefeated. My older sister Katy had gracefully accepted defeat and was now performing a series of increasingly elaborate cartwheels along the shore, claiming the title of best gymnast instead.
I tried not to think about the fact this was our last night before heading back to London tomorrow. I’d already formulated a plan to convince Mum we should live here permanently. Even every summer would be a start.
She always claimed winters were too brutal, but I quite fancied the idea of snow piling up against the windows and drinking hot chocolate by a roaring fire. When I’d shared this vision with Mum, she’d called me a hopeless romantic. When I told Eliza, she said there was no such thing as being too romantic. I much preferred her answer.
This summer, she’d managed to get a tan too, which was miraculous in Scotland. But we’d had two weeks of sunshine, warm enough to swim in the loch without turning blue. Eliza’s tan stretched across her shoulders and down her arms, golden against the white straps of her swimsuit.
“Which type of stone works best again?” She turned to me with a frown, not quite as sure about her stone as she had been moments ago.
“Trade secret.” I leapt off the swing with perhaps too much confidence. My ankle twisted on landing, sending a sharp bolt of pain up my leg. I crumpled to the ground with a yelp.
Eliza rushed over, and slipped her arm around my waist to help me up.
I got all lightheaded as heat coursed through me.
“You okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” I lied, trying not to wince as I hobbled towards the shoreline. “Though you might need to give me a piggyback home.”
“Only if you tell me which stone gives me the best chance of winning.”
She looked away from the water. I followed her line of sight to the smoke curling from the chimney of Loch Cottage. Nestled in what looked like an enchanted garden, it was hands down the best house on the water.
“I wonder who actually lives there,” Eliza mused. “We always see smoke and lights, but never any people. It’s like they’re invisible.”
“Maybe they’re ghosts,” I suggested. “Or they’ve got some kind of magical cloaking device. If they’re ghosts, they’ll never die, which means they’ll never move, and we’ll never get to live there.” We’d fantasised about living there all summer long.
I couldn’t think of anything better in the whole wide world.
Eliza shook her head. “Even ghosts have to move to retirement homes eventually. That’s when we’ll swoop in.” Her eyes lit up with the vision. “Imagine it, Pops. We could drink ice-cold Cokes in the garden, and run straight from the loch to an outdoor shower. Pure genius.”
I grinned, following the way she craned her neck to peer at the cottage windows, the elegant line of her throat catching the evening light. At 14, Eliza had started developing curves that made it increasingly difficult to concentrate on stone skimming. Four years felt like a lifetime between us. She was starting Year 10 next month, while I was about to go into Year 6. I was desperate for her to see me as something other than just a kid.
“Should we make a pact to buy the cottage when we’re older?” I tried to sound casual. “When we’re the ones making decisions instead of having everything decided for us?”
Eliza’s face brightened. “Yes! We could start a business selling cold drinks and your gran’s scones to tourists. Make a fortune.”
“I could set up a Voss Watch stand in the garden, too.”
We high-fived just as Katy cartwheeled over. “What did I miss?”
“We’re buying Loch Cottage and moving here permanently,” Eliza announced.
Katy laughed. “Right. That’ll only take about 20 years if you save every penny of pocket money. But hey, good to have goals.”
