Swimming at Night: A Novel

( 6 )

Overview

People go traveling for two reasons: because they are searching for something, or they are running from something.

Katie’s world is shattered by the news that her headstrong and bohemian younger sister, Mia, has been found dead at the bottom of a cliff in Bali. The authorities say that Mia jumped—that her death was a suicide.

Although they’d hardly spoken to each other since Mia suddenly left on an around-the-world trip six months earlier, ...

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Overview

People go traveling for two reasons: because they are searching for something, or they are running from something.

Katie’s world is shattered by the news that her headstrong and bohemian younger sister, Mia, has been found dead at the bottom of a cliff in Bali. The authorities say that Mia jumped—that her death was a suicide.

Although they’d hardly spoken to each other since Mia suddenly left on an around-the-world trip six months earlier, Katie refuses to accept that her sister would have taken her own life. Distraught that they never made peace, Katie leaves her orderly, sheltered life in London behind and embarks on a journey to find out the truth. With only the entries in Mia’s travel journal as her guide, Katie retraces the last few months of her sister’s life and—page by page, country by country—begins to uncover the mystery surrounding her death. . . .

Weaving together the exotic settings and suspenseful twists of Alex Garland’s The Beach with a powerful tale of familial love in the spirit of Rosamund Lupton’s Sister, Swimming at Night is a fast-paced, accomplished, and gripping debut novel of secrets, loss, and forgiveness.

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Editorial Reviews

Free-Lance Star
“A satisfying exploration of two sisters’ relationship, cleverly put together and written in a way that draws the reader along.”
From the Publisher
“A satisfying exploration of two sisters’ relationship, cleverly put together and written in a way that draws the reader along.”

“In the same vein as Rosamund Lupton’s Sister, Clarke takes the reader on an exciting and mysterious trail. . . . [She] does a nice job of creating characters who make us care about them and situations that are exciting and believable. A great read for fans of smart contemporary women’s fiction as well as thriller and mystery readers.”

"Alternating chapters juxtaposing the two sisters’ lives engage readers from the start in Clarke’s accomplished debut."

“A tender and intricate meditation on sisterhood and family, Swimming at Night is an accomplished debut. With a deft hand, Lucy Clarke weaves a deep and compelling story that is as much about what binds us together as it is about what tears us apart. Perfectly capturing the impossibly complicated love of siblings, this is a rich and moving story that lingers long after the book is closed.”

Swimming at Night reaches deep, exploring sibling relationships, love, friendship, identity, and the willingness to put it all on the line in order to learn the truth. I loved my own journey with these two sisters and the haunting landscape of their travels!”

"I could not put down Lucy Clarke's engaging debut, Swimming at Night. As Katie searched for the truth about her sister's death, I savored being an armchair traveler to seaside locales around the world."

The Free-Lance Star
“A satisfying exploration of two sisters’ relationship, cleverly put together and written in a way that draws the reader along.”
Lisa Unger
“A tender and intricate meditation on sisterhood and family, Swimming at Night is an accomplished debut. With a deft hand, Lucy Clarke weaves a deep and compelling story that is as much about what binds us together as it is about what tears us apart. Perfectly capturing the impossibly complicated love of siblings, this is a rich and moving story that lingers long after the book is closed.”
Ellen Sussman
Swimming at Night reaches deep, exploring sibling relationships, love, friendship, identity, and the willingness to put it all on the line in order to learn the truth. I loved my own journey with these two sisters and the haunting landscape of their travels!”
Amanda Eyre Ward
"I could not put down Lucy Clarke's engaging debut, Swimming at Night. As Katie searched for the truth about her sister's death, I savored being an armchair traveler to seaside locales around the world."
Booklist
"Alternating chapters juxtaposing the two sisters’ lives engage readers from the start in Clarke’s accomplished debut."
Library Journal
In the same vein as Rosamund Lupton’s Sister, Clarke takes the reader on an exciting and mysterious trail as we follow younger sister Mia’s diary entries to recapture her thoughts and feelings in the aftermath of her suicide. Katie is the older sister, the one who is always responsible, the do-gooder, the hard worker. Mia is the beautiful artist, the dreamer, the drifter. Even with all their differences, the sisters were always close, always loving, until the death of their beloved mother and the unforgivable dalliances of a drunken night cause a seemingly unfixable rift between the siblings. With her future in disarray and her past unknown, Mia heads out to find herself by purchasing an open-ended ticket to explore the world. When it ends with Mia’s death, Katie puts aside her own fears and through Mia’s itinerary and journal entries follows Mia’s path, uncovering the mystery of Mia’s suicide and coming to terms with her own life.

Verdict With a solid debut that has the reader as anxious as Katie to find out what really happened on Mia’s journey, Clarke does a nice job of creating characters who make us care about them and situations that are exciting and believable. A great read for fans of smart contemporary women’s fiction as well as thriller and mystery readers. [Library marketing.]—Marianne Fitzgerald, Annapolis, MD

(c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781451683417
  • Publisher: Touchstone
  • Publication date: 7/8/2014
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 416
  • Sales rank: 191,589
  • Product dimensions: 5.20 (w) x 7.90 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Lucy Clarke is the author of Swimming at Night and A Single Breath. She and her husband, a professional windsurfer, spend their winters traveling and their summers at their home on the south coast of England. Visit Lucy-Clarke.com.
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Read an Excerpt

Swimming at Night

  1  

Katie


(London, March)

Katie had been dreaming of the sea. Dark, restless water and sinuous currents drained away as she pushed herself upright on the heels of her hands. Somewhere in the apartment her phone was ringing. She blinked, then rubbed her eyes. The bedside clock read 2:14 a.m.

Mia, she thought immediately, stiffening. Her sister would get the time difference wrong.

She pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed, her nightdress twisted around her waist. The air was frigid and the floorboards were like ice against the soles of her feet. She shivered as she moved through the room, her fingers spread in front of her like sensors. Reaching the door, she groped for the handle. The hinges whined as she pulled it open.

The ringing grew louder as she picked her way along the darkened hall. There was something troubling about the sound in the quiet, sleep-coated hours of the night. What time would it be in Australia? Midday, perhaps?

Her stomach stirred uneasily remembering yesterday’s terrible fight. Words had been sharpened to injure and their mother’s name had been flung down the phone line like a grenade. Afterwards, Katie was so knotted with guilt that she left work an hour early, unable to concentrate. At least now they’d have a chance to talk again and she could tell Mia how sorry she was.

She was only two steps from the phone when she realized it was no longer ringing. She hovered for a moment, a hand pressed to her forehead. Had Mia hung up? Had she dreamed it?

Then the noise came again. Not the phone after all, but the insistent buzz of the apartment intercom.

She sighed, knowing it would be late-night visitors for the traders who lived upstairs. She leaned towards the intercom, holding a finger to the Talk button. “Hello?”

“This is the police.”

She froze, sleep burning off like sea mist on a sunny day.

“We’d like to speak to Miss Katie Greene.”

Her pulse ticked in her throat. “That’s me.”

“May we come up?”

She released the front door, thinking, What? What’s happened? She switched on the light, blinking as the hall was suddenly illuminated. Looking away from the glare, she saw her bare feet, toenails polished pink, and the creased trim of her silk nightdress against her pale thighs. She wanted to fetch a robe, but already the heavy tread of feet sounded up the stairway.

She opened the door and two uniformed police officers stepped into her hall.

“Miss Katie Greene?” asked a female officer. She had graying blonde hair and high color in her cheeks. She stood beside a male officer young enough to be her son, who kept his gaze on the ground.

“Yes.”

“Are you alone?”

She nodded.

“Are you the sister of Mia Greene?”

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Yes . . . ”

“We are very sorry to tell you that the police in Bali have informed us—”

Oh God, she began to say to herself. Oh God . . .

“—that Mia Greene has been found dead. She was discovered at the bottom of a cliff in Umanuk. The police believe she fell—”

“No! NO!” She spun away from them, bile stinging the back of her throat. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“Miss Greene?”

She wouldn’t turn. Her gaze found the bulletin board in the hallway where invites, a calendar, and the business card of a caterer were neatly pinned. At the top was a map of the world. The week before Mia left to go traveling, Katie had asked her to plot her route on it. Mia’s mouth had curled into a smile at that, yet she indulged Katie’s need for schedules and itineraries by marking a loose route that began on the west coast of America and took in Australia, New Zealand, Fiji, Samoa, Vietnam, and Cambodia—an endless summer of trailing coastlines. Katie had been tracking the route from Mia’s infrequent bursts of communication, and now the silver drawing pin was stuck in Western Australia.

Staring at the map, she knew something wasn’t right. She turned back to the police. “Where was she found?”

“In Umanuk,” the female officer repeated. “It’s in the southern tip of Bali.”

Bali. Bali wasn’t on Mia’s route. This was a mistake! She wanted to laugh—let the relief explode from her chest. “Mia isn’t in Bali. She’s in Australia!”

She caught the exchange of glances between the officers. The woman stepped forward; she had light-blue eyes and wore no makeup. “I’m afraid Mia’s passport was stamped in Bali four weeks ago.” Her voice was gentle, but contained a certainty that chilled Katie. “Miss Greene, would you like to sit down?”

Mia couldn’t be dead. She was twenty-four. Her little sister. It was inconceivable. Her thoughts swam. She could hear the water tank downstairs humming. A television was playing somewhere. Outside, a late-night reveler was singing. Singing!

“What about Finn?” she asked suddenly.

“Finn?”

“Finn Tyler. They were traveling together.”

The female officer opened up her notebook and spent a moment glancing through it. She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have any information about him currently. I’m sure the Balinese police will have been in contact with him, though.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Katie whispered. “Can you . . . I . . . I need to know everything. Tell me everything.”

The police officer described the exact time and location at which Mia had been found. She told her that medical assistance had arrived swiftly on the scene, but that Mia was pronounced dead on their arrival. She explained that her body was being held at the Sanglah morgue in Bali. She confirmed that there would be further investigations, but that so far the Balinese police believed it was a tragic accident.

All the while Katie stood completely still.

“Is there someone you would like us to contact on your behalf?”

She thought instantly of their mother. She allowed herself a moment to imagine the comfort of being held in her arms, the soft cashmere of her mother’s sweater against her cheek. “No,” she told the officer eventually. “I’d like you to leave now. Please.”

“Of course. Someone from the Foreign Office will be in touch tomorrow with an update from the Balinese police. I’d also like to visit you again. I’ve been assigned as your Family Liaison Officer and will be here to answer any questions you have.” The woman took a card from her pocket and placed it beside the phone.

Both officers told Katie how sorry they were, and then left.

As the door clicked shut, the strength in Katie’s legs dissipated and she sank onto the cold wooden floor. She didn’t cry. She hugged her knees to her chest to contain the trembling that had seized her. Why had Mia been in Bali? Katie didn’t know anything about the place. There was a bombing outside a nightclub some years ago, but what else? Clearly there were cliffs, but the only ones she could picture were the grass-covered cliffs of Cornwall that Mia had bounded along as a child, dark hair flying behind her.

She tried to imagine how Mia could have fallen. Was she standing on an overhang and the earth crumbled? Did a sudden gust of wind unbalance her? Was she sitting on the edge and became distracted? It seemed absurdly careless to fall from a cliff. The facts Katie had been given were so few that she couldn’t arrange them into any sort of sense. She knew she should call someone. Ed. She would speak to Ed.

It was her third attempt before she managed to dial correctly. She heard the rustle of a duvet, a mumbled, “Hello?” and then silence as he listened. When he spoke again, his voice was level, telling her only, “I’m on my way.”

It must have taken no less than ten minutes for him to drive from his apartment in Fulham to hers in Putney, but looking back she wouldn’t remember any of that time. She was still sitting on the hallway floor, her skin like gooseflesh, when the intercom buzzed. She stood groggily. The floorboards had marked the backs of her thighs with red slash-like indentations. She pressed the button to let him in.

Katie heard the thundering of his feet as he took the steps two at a time, and then Ed was at her door. She opened it and he stepped forwards, folding her into his arms. “My darling!” he said. “My poor darling!”

She pressed her face into the stiff wool of his jacket, which scratched against her cold cheek. She smelled deodorant. Had he sprayed himself with deodorant before coming over?

“You’re freezing. We can’t stand here.” He led her into the living room and she perched on the edge of the cream leather sofa. It’s like sitting on vanilla ice cream, Mia had said the morning it was delivered.

Ed removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, rubbing her back with smooth circular strokes. Then he went into the kitchen and she heard him open the boiler cupboard and flick on the central heating, which rumbled and strained into life. There was the gush of a tap as he filled the kettle, followed by the opening and closing of drawers, cupboards, and the fridge.

He returned with a cup of tea, but her hands didn’t move to take it. “Katie,” he said, crouching down so they were eye level. “You are in shock. Try and drink a little. It will help.”

He lifted the tea to her lips and she sipped it obediently. She could taste the sweet milky flavor on her tongue and the urge to retch was immediate. She lurched past him to the bathroom with a hand clamped to her mouth. The jacket slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor with a soft thump.

Bending over the sink, she gagged. Saliva hit the white ceramic basin.

Ed was behind her. “Sorry . . . ”

Katie rinsed her hands and splashed water over her face.

“Darling,” he said, passing her a blue hand towel. “What happened?”

She buried her face in it and shook her head. He gently peeled the towel away, then unhooked her robe from the back of the bathroom door and guided her arms into the soft cotton. He took her hands in his and rubbed them. “Talk to me.”

She repeated the details learned from the police. Her voice sounded jagged and she imagined that if she were to glance up at the bathroom mirror, her skin would be leached of color, her eyes glassy.

As they moved back to the living room, Ed asked the same question to which she wanted the answer: “Why was your sister in Bali?”

“I have no idea.”

“Have you spoken to Finn?”

“Not yet. I should call him.”

Her hands shook as she dialed Finn’s cell. She pressed the phone to her ear and listened as it rang and rang. “He’s not answering.”

“What about his family? Do you know their number?”

Katie searched in her address book and found it, the Cornish dialing code stirring a faint memory that she wasn’t ready to grasp.

Finn was the youngest of four brothers. His mother, Sue, a curt woman who was often harassed, answered, sounding half asleep. “Who is this?”

“Katie Greene.”

“Who?”

“Katie Greene.” She cleared her throat. “Mia’s sister.”

“Mia?” Sue repeated. Then immediately: “Finn?”

“There’s been an accident—”

“Finn—”

“No. It’s Mia.” Katie paused and looked at Ed. He nodded for her to go on. “The police have been here. They told me that Mia was in Bali . . . on a cliff somewhere. She fell. They’re saying she’s dead.”

“No . . . ”

In the background she could hear Finn’s father, a placid man in his sixties who worked for the Forestry Commission. There was a brief volley of exclamations muffled by a hand over the receiver, and then Sue returned to the line. “Does Finn know?”

“I’d imagine so. But he’s not answering his cell.”

“He lost it a few weeks ago. Hasn’t replaced it yet. We’ve been using e-mail. I’ve got his address if you want—”

“Why were they in Bali?” Katie interrupted.

“Bali? Finn wasn’t.”

“But that’s where they said Mia was found. Her passport was stamped—”

“Mia went to Bali. Not Finn.”

“What?” Katie said, her grip tightening.

“There was an argument. Sorry, I thought you knew.”

“When was this?”

“Good month ago, now. Finn spoke to Jack about it. From what I heard they had a falling-out—God knows what about—and Mia changed her ticket.”

Katie’s thoughts whirled. Mia and Finn’s friendship was unshakable. She pictured them as children, Finn with a wig of glistening seaweed draped over his head, Mia bent double with laughter. Theirs was a friendship that was so rare, so solid, that she couldn’t imagine what would be terrible enough to cause them to separate.

*   *   *

Ten days later, winter sun flooded Katie’s bedroom. She lay perfectly still, her arms at her sides, eyes shut, bracing herself against a distant threat she couldn’t quite recall. She blinked and, before she had a chance to recall why her eyelids felt stiff and salted, grief bowled into her.

Mia.

She curled into herself, tucking her knees to her chest and pressing tight fists to her mouth. She screwed her eyes shut, but disturbing images bled into her thoughts: Mia dropping silently through the air like a stone, the rush of wind lifting her dark hair away from her face, a rasped scream, the crack of her skull against granite.

She reached for Ed, but her fingers met only with the empty curve of where he’d slept. She listened for him and, after a moment, was relieved to tune into the light tapping of a keyboard coming from the living room: he was e-mailing his office. She envied him that—the ability for his world to continue, when hers had stopped.

She knew she must get to the shower. It would be too easy to remain cocooned in the duvet as she had done yesterday, not rising until after lunch, by which time she was drowsy and disorientated. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself from beneath the covers.

Drifting toward the bathroom, she passed Mia’s room and found herself pausing vaguely outside the door. They had bought this apartment using the small inheritance they received after their mother’s death. Everyone was surprised that they were moving in together, not the least Katie, who had vowed she’d never live with Mia again after their acrimonious teenage years, yet she’d worried that if Mia didn’t put her share of the inheritance into something solid, it would slip through her fingers as easily as water. Katie had been the one to organize viewings, deal with estate agents and solicitors, and run through the rain with a broken umbrella to sign the mortgage papers on time.

Wrapping her fingers lightly around the brass door handle, she turned it. A faint trace of jasmine lingered in the cold, stale air. Mia had positioned her bed beneath the tall sash window so she could wake and see sky. A sheepskin coat, which once belonged to their mother, was draped over the foot of the bed. It was an original from the seventies with a wide, unstructured collar, and she remembered Mia wrapping herself in it all winter like a lost flower child.

Beside the bed a pine desk was heaving with junk: an old stereo, unplugged and dusty; three cardboard boxes bulging with CDs; a pair of hiking boots with their laces missing; a mound of paperbacks, well thumbed, beside two pots of pens. The bedroom walls were bare of the photos and paintings that had adorned Mia’s previous rooms and she’d made no attempt to decorate; in fact, it was as if she had never intended the move to be permanent.

Katie was the one who’d persuaded her sister to move to London, using words like “opportunity” and “career,” when those words had never belonged to Mia. Mia spent her days wandering the parks, or drifting in one of the rent-a-rowing-boats in Battersea Park, as if dreaming she were somewhere else. She’d had five jobs in as many months because she would suddenly decide to get out of the city to go hiking or camping, and take off, just leaving a note pushed under Katie’s door and a message on her employer’s voicemail. Katie tried searching out job opportunities using her recruitment contacts, but fixing Mia to something was like pinning a ribbon to the wind.

Noticing a pair of mud-flecked running shoes, she remembered the evening Mia announced she was going traveling. Katie had been in the kitchen preparing a risotto, slicing onions with deft, clean strokes. She tossed them into a pan as Mia wandered in, a pair of white earphones dangling over the neckline of her T-shirt, to fill her water bottle at the tap.

“Going running?” Katie had asked, blotting her streaming eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan.

“Yeah.”

“How’s the hangover?” When she’d gone to shower before work, Katie had found Mia asleep on the bathroom floor wearing a dress of hers borrowed without asking.

“Fine,” she replied, keeping her back to Katie. She turned off the tap and wiped her wet hands on her T-shirt, leaving silver beads of moisture.

“What happened to your ankle?”

Mia glanced down at the angry red cut that stretched an inch above her sock line. “Smashed a glass at work.”

“Do you need a Band-Aid? I’ve got some in my room.”

“It’s fine.”

Katie nodded, tossing the onions with a wooden spoon, watching their sharp whiteness soften and become translucent. She turned up the heat.

Mia lingered by the sink for a moment. Eventually she said, “I spoke to Finn earlier.”

Katie glanced up; his name was so rarely spoken between them.

“We’ve decided to go traveling.”

The onions started to sizzle, but Katie was no longer stirring. “You’re going traveling?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

Mia shrugged. “A while. A year, maybe.”

“A year!”

“Our tickets are open.”

“You’ve already booked?”

Mia nodded.

“When did you decide this?”

“Today.”

“Today?” Katie repeated, incredulous. “You haven’t thought it through!”

Mia raised an eyebrow: “Haven’t I?”

“I didn’t think you had any money.”

“I’ll manage.”

The oil began to crackle and spit. “And what, Finn’s just taking a sabbatical? I’m sure the radio station will be thrilled.”

“He’s handed in his notice.”

“But he loved that job . . . ”

“Is that right?” Mia said, looking directly at her. The air in the kitchen seemed to contract.

Then Mia picked up her water bottle, pushed her earphones in, and left. The pan started to smoke, so Katie snapped off the stove. She felt a hot flash of anger and took three strides across the kitchen to follow, but then, as she heard the tread of Mia’s shoes along the hallway, the turning of the latch, and finally the slam of the door, Katie realized that what she felt most acutely was not anger or even hurt, it was relief. Mia was no longer her responsibility: she was Finn’s.

*   *   *

It was mid-afternoon when the phone rang. Ed glanced up from his laptop; Katie shook her head. She had refused to speak to anyone, allowing her voicemail to record friends’ messages of condolence that were punctuated with awkward apologies and strained pauses.

The machine clicked on. “Hello. It’s Mr. Spire here from the Foreign Office in London.”

A nerve in her eyelid flickered. It was Ed who reached for the phone just before the message ended. “This is Katie’s fiancé.” He looked across to her and said, “Yes, she’s with me now.” He nodded at her to take the phone.

She held it at arm’s length, as if it were a gun she was being asked to put to her head. Mr. Spire had called twice since Mia’s death, first to request permission for an autopsy to go ahead, and later to discuss the repatriation of Mia’s body. After a moment, Katie pressed her lips together and cleared her throat. Bringing the phone towards her mouth, she said slowly, “This is Katie.”

“I hope this is a convenient time to talk?”

“Yes, fine.” The dry, musty warmth of the central heating caught at the back of her throat.

“The British Consulate in Bali have been in touch. They have some further news concerning Mia’s death.”

She closed her eyes. “Go on.”

“In cases such as Mia’s, a toxicology report is sometimes requested as part of the autopsy procedure. I have a copy of it in front of me, which I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Right.”

“The results indicate that at the time of death, Mia was intoxicated. Her blood alcohol content was 0.13, which means she may have had impaired reflexes and reaction times.” He paused. “And there’s something else.”

She moved into the living room doorway and gripped the wooden frame, anchoring herself.

“The Balinese police have interviewed two witnesses who claim to have seen Mia on the evening of her death.” He hesitated and she sensed he was struggling with something. “Katie, I’m very sorry, but in their statement, they have said that Mia jumped.”

The ground pitched, her stomach dropped away. She hinged forward from the waist. Footsteps crossed the living room and she felt Ed’s hand on her back. She pushed him away, straightening. “You think she . . . ” Her voice was strained like elastic set to snap. “You think it was suicide?”

“I am afraid that based on witness statements and the autopsy, the cause of death has been established as suicide.”

Katie reached a hand to her forehead.

“I understand this must be incredibly hard—”

“The witnesses, who are they?”

“I have copies of their statements.” She heard the creak of a chair and pictured him leaning across a wide desk to reach them. “Yes, here. The witnesses are a 30-year-old couple who were honeymooning in Bali. In their statement, they say that they had taken an evening walk along the lower cliff path in Umanuk and paused at a lookout point—this was close to midnight. A young woman, matching Mia’s description, ran past them looking extremely anxious. The male witness asked if she needed help and Mia is said to have responded, ‘No.’ She then disappeared along what used to be the upper cliff path, which has apparently been disused for several years. Between five and eight minutes later, the witnesses looked up and saw Mia standing very near the cliff’s edge. The report says that they were concerned for her safety, but before they were able to act, she jumped.”

“My God.” Katie began to tremble.

Mr. Spire waited a moment before continuing. “The autopsy suggested that, from the injuries sustained, it is likely that Mia went over the cliff edge facing forwards, which collaborates with the witnesses’ reports.” He continued to expand on further details, but Katie was no longer listening. Her mind had already drifted to the cliff top.

He’s wrong, Mia, isn’t he? You didn’t jump. I won’t believe it. What I said when you called—oh, God, please don’t let what I said . . .

“Katie,” he was saying, “the arrangements are in place to have Mia’s body repatriated to the UK a week on Wednesday.” He required details of the funeral parlor she had selected, and then the call ended.

She felt shooting pains behind her eyes and pressed the arched bones beneath her eyebrows with her thumb and index finger. In the apartment below the baby was wailing.

Ed turned her slowly to face him.

“They are saying it was suicide,” she said in a small, strained voice. “But it wasn’t.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “You will get through this, Katie.”

But how could he know? She hadn’t told him about the terrible argument she’d had with Mia. She hadn’t told him of the hateful, shameful things she’d said. She hadn’t told him about the anger and hurt that had been festering between them for months. She hadn’t told Ed any of this because there are some currents in a relationship between sisters that are so dark and run so deep, it’s better for the people swimming on the surface never to know what’s beneath.

She turned from Ed and stole to her room, where she lay on the bed with her eyes closed, trying to fix on something good between her and Mia. Her thoughts led her back to the last time she had seen her, as they hugged good-bye at the airport. She recalled the willowy feel of Mia’s body, the muscular ridges of her forearms, and the press of her collarbone.

Katie would have held on for longer, treasured every detail, had she known it would be the last time she’d feel her sister in her arms.

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Sort by: Showing all of 6 Customer Reviews
  • Posted April 15, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    "People go travelling for two reasons: because they are se


    "People go travelling for two reasons: because they are searching for something, or they are running from something."

    That quote is an excellent introduction to Lucy Clarke's novel - Swimming at Night.

    The opening pages introduce us to Katie - who has just received news that her younger sister Mia is dead. Mia took off six months ago to travel the world. The police say she committed suicide in Bali, but Katie cannot accept that verdict. When the police return Mia's backpack, Katie discovers Mia's travel journal inside. Impulsively, she decides to travel in Mia's footsteps, hoping to find some answers.

    Clarke tells the story of these two sisters in alternating chapters. This format consistently grabs me - I always want to read just another chapter to see what happens next.

    Clarke explores relationships in Swimming at Night - friends and lovers but most significantly - that of the sisters. Each sister remembers their childhood, their growing up years and their relationship as adults. Katie is the sensible, stable sister - Mia is the wild child. With every chapter, Clarke drops a few more hints as to what triggered the rift between the two.

    "She hadn't told him about the terrible argument she's had with Mia. She hadn't told him of the hateful, shameful things she'd said. She hadn't told him about the anger and hurt that had been festering between them for months. She hadn't told Ed any of this because there are some currents in a relationship between sisters that are so dark and run so deep, it's better for the people swimming on the surface never to know what's beneath."

    Excerpts from Mia's journal exposes even more - lies, secrets, hopes, dreams and - more clues as to what really happened to Mia.

    I'm sure Clarke must have a sister - her exploration of this often complicated dynamic rings true. Both of the sister's narratives were equally compelling and well written. Certainly, I stopped more than once to consider my own relationship with my own sister. Clarke is an avid traveller herself and this showed in the lush descriptions of settings of Australia and Bali. Water is used very effectively as a metaphor for many aspects of the sister's relationship.

    Definitely a recommended read - and especially for book clubs

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 22, 2013

    Loved This Book!!!

    I received an advanced copy and I couldn't put it down! Amazing writing that literally carried me along the incredible journey that the book takes you. Loved the intimacy and bond of those two sisters. I highly recommend this book. I cannot wait for the next novel!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 20, 2013

    I found Lucy Clarke¿s debut novel, Swimming at Night, to be wond

    I found Lucy Clarke’s debut novel, Swimming at Night, to be wonderfully fascinating on so many levels.

    First, the story opens with a fascinating premise. Katie is awakened from dreaming about the dark, restless sea by the police ringing loudly and persistently at her door. It’s bad news. Her younger sister Mia has been found dead at the bottom of a cliff on Bali. The next day, Katie receives even more upsetting news.

    From the evidence they have, including two eyewitness reports, police believe Mia’s death to be a suicide. But something about that doesn’t set right with Katie. Mia is a free spirit who is drawn to adventure and risk; she enjoys life too much. And Mia is a fighter, and fighters don’t take their own lives; they fight through and win. In a quest to find out what really happened, Katie leaves her home in London to retrace Mia’s tropical trip, using Mia’s personal journal as her only guide.

    In addition to the intriguing storyline, there is the unique creative voice of the author that makes the book a delight to read. In the telling of Mia and her boyfriend’s travels, Clarke writes, “Low-lying fog stalked them down the coast and clung to the sea like a damp cloak obscuring any view of the horizon… It was an impressive coastline—dramatic, weather-beaten, and empty. The space was intoxicating, a physical relief after London where she had felt as if she could never quite catch her breath. Away from the city, away from the memory of who she’d become, it was the first time in months that Mia felt at ease.”

    The author seamlessly weaves conflict, dialogue, character, and locale to paint a vivid drama. She and her husband, a professional windsurfer, spend their winters travelling; hence, her ability to write of far-flung and fascinating places with authentic detail.

    Overall, this is a story about feelings and issues that run as deep as the ocean itself. It’s about the complicated relationship between sisters and families. It’s about secrets and discovery. It’s about sadness, loss, and forgiveness. It’s about finding one’s true self, in spite of everything.

    I loved every minute reading this novel. It gripped me from the first page and held me captive till the end. Personally, I would prefer for the occasional swear word to be eliminated as I don’t think that added to the authenticity of the characters or the story. But that’s me. I recommend this book to anyone who loves a fascinating story and to anyone who enjoys a beautiful, truly creative writing voice.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 2, 2014

    great read!

    I couldn't put this book down and stayed up until 3am to finish it!

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  • Posted December 16, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    I received this book from Touchstone Books, Simon & Schuster

    I received this book from Touchstone Books, Simon & Schuster, in exchange for a fair and honest review.  

    "People go traveling for two reasons: because they are searching for something, or they are running from something."

    Swimming at Night by Lucy Clarke is a captivating read.  I was swept away by this story of two sisters: the older one, Katie, being the responsible sister and the younger one, Mia, being the reckless, travel-hungry sister.  

    Leaving her life in London behind, Mia leaves to travel the world with her best friend, Finn.  One night while Mia is traveling, Katie receives a knock on her door with bad news - Mia is dead. . . and it looks like suicide.  

    The only way Katie can move on is to find out what happened to Mia.  She takes Mia's travel journal (given back to her after being looked at by the police) and embarks on her own journey, following Mia's path.  

    The trip forces Katie to grow up, move on, and become a better person, all while learning more about Mia.

    And do these girls have character flaws . . . Katie is scared of EVERYTHING.  Although in her travels she overcomes many of those fears.  With Mia, well, sometimes I wanted to shake her!  I couldn't believe all of the "mistakes" she kept making.  She redeemed herself in the end but argh, if my sister did half of the things Mia did we would probably not be friends.  

    Even so, they weren't annoying - they were real.  We all have character flaws.  

    Swimming at Night is breathtaking, a story of two sisters, travel, and finding yourself amongst mistakes.  

    This book hooked me because my sister and I are similar to the characters in the book, although not as extreme.  She's a little more reckless and social, I'm a little more responsible and homebody-ish.  My sister and I are much closer than Katie and Mia were, but even with the differences, it's easy to relate to the two women.  

    This book would be great to almost any female reader, but especially for those of you with sisters.  

    Do you like to go swimming at night? 

    Thanks for reading, 

    Rebecca @ Love at First Book

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 1, 2014

    No text was provided for this review.

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