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storm?’
    â€˜Hmm. I like that one.’
    Because even though it came from a magical tale, it was about a shipwreck and all things below the sea fascinated him. So in the half-light, beside her son, watching his small body lying safely in bed, she sang:
    Full fathom five thy father lies;
    Of his bones are coral made;
    Those are pearls that were his eyes;
    Nothing of him that doth fade,
    But doth suffer a sea-change
    Into something rich and strange.
    But then the room began to fill with water. Quietly, innocently almost, as it always did. And, as always, she couldn’t tell where the water was coming from. She heard its low trickle and then watched it climb slowly up the legs of the chest of drawers, over the tops of Sam’s small shoes lying haphazardly across the floor where he had just pulled them off and left them, urgently moving on to the next thing.
    She saw the water rise gradually over her own feet, up to her ankles and beyond, ever rising. She watched it soak the dirty clothes piled in the corner, saw it rising inexorably upwards. She was powerless to stop it. She felt that clearly. She looked towards the window, saw the pale light gaining access there, spilling over the rising tide within the room, the water inching its way up the walls. Where was it coming from? She couldn’t understand it. Before long it spilled over the bed and covered the sleeping form of her son. She tried to move towards him but she couldn’t; her feet were cemented to the floor. She felt a flash of fear move through her body, and still the water flowed into the room, rising ever upwards. Now it was approaching her neck, and before long it would rise over her head.
    The water continued to creep. Freya took a deep breath and held it as her body became entirely submerged. For a moment she stayed stock still, then she opened her eyes and looked. They were no longer within the confines of the bedroom. Instead it had given way to a vast watery expanse. Beyond the edge of her vision, there was something, she was sure. Something in the darkness. In front of her, she could no longer see Sam’s silhouette, his sleeping form, and fear bolted through her again. She looked deeper. There was someone, or something there – watching her. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Only the escape of breath. She wanted to call out to Sam, to say ‘Goodbye.’ For she knew that this was goodbye. But no words came out of her mouth. And then she knew that there was no breath left in her. But it didn’t feel like death. She closed her eyes and surrendered. ‘Goodbye my son,’ she said.
    Then she woke up.
    Freya opened her eyes. She felt the pillow wet with tears. It took her a moment to remember, to realise that she had had the nightmare again. But it took her turning over in the empty bed, feeling the cold absence on Jack’s side, to remember everything. To feel the sickening reality claw its way out of the dark. Those are pearls that were his eyes.
    Freya lay still for a few moments. She was always drained after the dream. More than that, she felt it was trying to tell her something. But quite what it was, its meaning, always eluded her. Finally she looked at the clock. It was only 9 p.m. She flicked on the bedside lamp. Yellow light spilled into the room, and with it the last clutches of the dream – any resonance it might have had – vanished in an instant. Besides, what was there for it to tell her? Her husband and her child were dead, drowned. And there was no way anyone could feel anything beyond despair at the remembrance of that.
    Freya closed her eyes and swallowed. Her throat was parched and she had a bitter taste of saltwater in her mouth. It was simply fallout from the dream, she knew – her doctor had told her enough times. It was her mind playing dirty tricks on her. She climbed unsteadily out of bed and made her way slowly across the creaking bedroom floor. The wood felt warm,