Page 29

DULL ROAR

I remember the way to Sandy’s house without checking the map, but I find it hard to concentrate on the road ahead. My worries bleed into all other thoughts, soaking them in anxiety. The old Land Rover now feels like a disobedient beast to drive, it’s too slow, but Columbo seems to enjoy sitting up front and sticking his head out of the window. At least someone is having a good time.

It doesn’t take long to get to the House on the Hill. The dark gray exterior looks even more forlorn than the last time I was here, and despite the turrets on either side, this is no fairy-tale castle. I’m dismayed not to see Sandy’s pickup truck parked outside but knock on the door anyway. It takes Midge a long time to answer, so long that I was about to give up and walk away, but then the door finally opens. She looks very different from the smiling, bubbly woman I met a few weeks ago. Smaller, as though she has been deflated. Midge is wearing a tatty old pink dressing gown even though it is early afternoon, and no makeup. Her hair looks unwashed and her eyes are red as though she has been crying. She doesn’t speak, just stares at me. I remember Cora saying that the shop was closed out of respect, but I didn’t think to ask out of respect for what. There is obviously something going on that I am not aware of.

“I was looking for Sandy. Are you okay?” I ask.

“My sister isn’t here.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“This isn’t a good time, Grady.”

I can see that.

“I’m sorry. It’s important.”

“I can’t contact her. She’s turned off her walkie-talkie. Always does on the anniversary...” Her words trail away and she appears to be staring at something in the distance behind me, as though she has forgotten I am here.

“Midge?”

Her eyes find mine again. “I expect she’ll be at Darkside Cave. With her .” Midge’s eyes fill with fresh tears that soon spill over, streaming down her cheeks. “If whatever it is can wait until tomorrow, then you should probably do that,” she says, closing the door before I can even say thank you.

I climb back into the Land Rover and look inside the glove compartment for my map of Amberly. I find something else in there, too, and stare at the newspaper clipping in my hand. I have no idea how it got there or when.

10th April 2019 The Times Page 48

BESTSELLING AUTHOR CHARLES WHITTAKER DIES AGED 82

By Abby Goldman

C harles Whittaker, the author of nine global bestsellers, has died at the age of eighty-two following a short illness. He passed away peacefully at his London home, surrounded by family. Beloved by readers around the world, Whittaker was a shy man and exceptionally private. He was seldom seen in public, rarely attended events, or awards, or even film premieres celebrating his work—several of his books were adapted for the big screen. With over 50 million books in print worldwide, he was a man who lived to write, and wrote to live. Charles Whittaker will be remembered for his stories, which those closest to him say is exactly what he wanted. He will be buried in a private ceremony.

I don’t understand what I am reading. Abby was an investigative journalist, she didn’t write obituaries. And so many things about this one are wrong. Charles Whittaker did not die in London surrounded by family. He died here, alone, on this island. And it had nothing to do with a short illness, he killed himself. By all accounts, he lived on Amberly for over thirty years, never left, and is buried here. I’ve seen his headstone. And yet, there is no mention of the island at all. As though he were never here. Why would Abby, who believed in truth above all other things, write so many lies?

I don’t have time to get distracted by this. I need to find Sandy and find out if she read the book I have basically stolen. I shove the obituary back in the glove compartment and find what I was looking for. Darkside Cave is clearly marked on the map on the other side of the island next to something called the Bay of Singing Sands. It’s somewhere I haven’t been before and would have struggled to get to without a car. I haven’t slept properly for weeks and I wouldn’t normally drive when I’m this exhausted—I know how many road accidents are a direct result of tiredness—but I have to find out the truth. If Sandy didn’t read a first draft of Charlie’s last novel then everything is okay. But if she did... then I don’t know what happens next. If anyone finds out what I’ve done my career, my life, my everything will be over.

My map-reading skills must be improving, because ten minutes later I see a sign. I pull off the road into a small car park where I find Sandy’s pickup truck. It is parked next to a large wooden noticeboard, just like the one I saw the day I arrived on the island, with BAY OF SINGING SANDS it sounds like sobbing coming from the sea. There is a voice in my head telling me to turn back, drive away, and get off this island for good. But then I’ll never know if Sandy read the book. And then all hope of a better future will be lost. I follow the sign that says DARKSIDE CAVE —where Midge said I would find Sandy—and that’s when I see her in the distance. A woman in a red coat, just like the one Abby used to own. She is too far away for me to recognize her face, which is hidden by her hood. As soon as she sees me she turns and runs in the opposite direction.

I’m not imagining this.

“Abby?” I call.

Is it really her?

Whoever she is doesn’t answer, just keeps running. I don’t want to scare a woman who is clearly running away from me, but I have to know the truth. I chase after her toward Darkside Cave, and slow down only when I reach some stone steps carved out of the cliffs. They’re steep, leading downward and curving around the cliff edge. There is another DANGER sign and I can see why. But then I see a flash of red again in the distance and I hurry on. The steps have crumbled away altogether in some places, and the ones that still exist are wet and slippery with seawater. It’s easy to see why when the waves crash into the rocks down below causing a large cloud of spray. I try to take each step carefully, but I’m desperate to catch up with her. My trainers slip more than once as the path leads around the edge of the cliff, and I cling to the rocks for dear life. I can no longer see the car park and I’m starting to wonder if this was a good idea. But then I turn another corner and find myself standing in the mouth of a large dark cave. The woman in the red coat is nowhere to be seen, but Sandy is here. She is leaning against a glistening granite wall, and she does not look happy to see me.

“Where did she go?” I ask, catching my breath.

“Who? You shouldn’t be here,” Sandy says, wearing a look of discomfort.

“The woman in the red coat.”

“What woman? I don’t have time for this today, Grady.”

Did I imagine her?

“Sorry, Midge told me where I could find you—”

“Is it an emergency?” she asks, looking up at me.

Yes.

“No.”

“Then this isn’t a good time.” I can see that. She looks as though she has been crying and she’s holding a bottle of whiskey. “This cave isn’t safe. Did you not see the sign?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll—” She squints in my direction and cups her hand over her ear as though she cannot hear me. I realize I’ll have to shout to be heard over the sound of the sea and take a step farther into the cave. “I was just apologizing, I shouldn’t have come. It can wait—”

“That’s what I thought,” Sandy says, interrupting me. “I thought things could wait, but they can’t. Life doesn’t wait for anyone, and death is always too soon or too late, never on time.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She takes a sip of whiskey.

“Are you... okay?” I ask, even though it’s obvious that she isn’t.

Sandy shakes her head. “Can you hear them?”

“Who?”

“The children. I thought I heard her once, on the anniversary, calling for me. I’ve been coming here every year since. Midge won’t come anymore, she doesn’t believe in that sort of thing, but she’s wrong. Can you hear them? I thought I saw her once too. Just there, behind where you’re standing.” I look over my shoulder and move away, even though there is nobody there.

“Who?”

“Do you believe that we can sometimes see the dead?” Sandy asks.

I think of my wife but don’t answer. I’m not sure how to. I don’t know if my wife is dead but I think I see her all the time. I still sometimes forget that she’s gone, and when I remember, it’s like being swallowed by my grief all over again.

Sandy glances over to the back of the cave where it is too dark to see. “I only come here to let her know that she is not forgotten. This island used to be such a safe place, for everyone, but especially for children. There was never any need to lock your door or to say ‘don’t talk to strangers’ because there weren’t any. Everyone knew everyone and everything about them. Warts and all. Until they started letting visitors come to Amberly. Can you really not hear them?”

“Visitors?” I can only hear the sound of the sea.

“No. The children. Crying. We put that sign up on the coast path about the ‘Bay of Singing Sands’ so as not to scare the tourists away, but that’s no natural phenomenon . How on earth would sand sing? It’s not logical. I’ve lived here all my life and I never heard that sound until after it happened. Some people don’t hear anything. Did you? And did it sound like singing to you? Or did it sound like crying? What you heard is the ghosts of dead children.” The cave seems to get smaller and darker and colder. “You might have noticed there’s no school on the island. No children at all apart from Holly at The Croft. Well, there used to be. There were thirteen children living on Amberly back then, including my daughter, all of them under the age of ten. One of the oldest little girls led all of the children here one day. Old Mrs. Marchant—the only teacher on the island—was seriously ill, so the person left in charge of the school that day was a last-minute stand-in, a substitute teacher from the mainland. He didn’t know our children, and he didn’t even know that they had disappeared until it was too late. He’d been in the pub for hours, drinking when he should have been watching the children, and he was a liar . The whole island stopped what they were doing to help with the search, but by the time we knew where they were it was too late. You see, this cave fills with water at high tide. They didn’t stand a chance. The seawater flooded in, trapping them and blocking their only path to safety. Then it flooded back out and took the children with it. All of them.”

“I’m so sorry.” My words come out as a whisper.

She waves me away, tears in her eyes, and I can see she is a woman doing battle with herself. I know what it’s like to keep all your hurt bottled up inside.

“There was a strange mist that night,” Sandy says, her voice so quiet now I can barely hear her above the sound of the waves, which seem to be getting louder. “The likes of which I’d never seen before but I’ve seen plenty of times since. It was like a fog settled over the island. Whenever the mist rolls in I hear them everywhere.” She stares at me. “You can hear them now, can’t you?” she asks and I nod, because I can hear something and it does sound like children crying. “And here comes the mist, right on cue,” Sandy says, with tears in her eyes.

I look out toward the opening of the cave and sure enough, something cloudlike has settled on the ground outside. I feel like I have stepped into a horror movie.

“They are the children of the mist and they don’t want to be forgotten. Some of their broken little bodies were found in this cave, some were found washed up on the bay, some were never found and the island was never the same afterward. Whole families left, people who had been born here just packed their bags and moved to the mainland, leaving everything behind. The population dwindled, houses were empty. Everything changed after that day because of one man not doing his job. We lost everything because of one selfish, dishonest, despicable man. Things had to change after that and they did. Nothing like that could ever be allowed to happen again, so I set up the Isle of Amberly Trust and vowed to protect this island and the people who live here. I’ve made that my life’s work, but I’ll never forget my daughter. She was such a happy soul. She loved playing in the woods and she had this red harmonica that—”

“A harmonica?”

“Yes. The sound used to drive me nuts, but I missed it so much when she was gone. The world was too quiet without her in it. She would have been forty if she was still alive, but in my heart she’s a little girl forever. No parent should have to bury their child. Especially when all you get to bury is an empty coffin because the sea took everything that was left of them away. There’s no vaccination for heartbreak and there’s no cure. Children born on the island are cursed, that’s what people here believe—me included—so we knocked the school down and no child has been born here since. Probably sounds crazy to someone like you. The worst part is not really knowing what happened to them in those final moments, do you know what I mean?”

I do. I think about my wife and the night she disappeared.

“I’m... so sorry for your loss,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to listen to all of this.”

“It’s fine, honestly. I know what it is like to lose someone.”

Her face darkens again, as though I have insulted her. “ You do not know what this is like. Grief is like a fingerprint, different every time. Mine is not like yours and you are not like me, but I doubt that is within your spectrum of understanding,” she says, slurring her words.

“Can I maybe give you a ride home?” I offer.

“You think I’ve had too much to drink?” I nod and she does too, as though agreeing with me. “You’re not looking so hot yourself, Grady. You look like you haven’t slept for weeks. I’ll be all right. I just want to stay a little longer,” she says, sliding down the wall of the cave to sit on the ground. I look out at the sea and the water seems higher than it was before.

“You said the cave floods at high tide. Maybe we should—”

“Why were you looking for me? It must have been something urgent for you to have driven all the way out here.”

“It can wait. Another time—”

“No, tell me. I could do with something to take my mind off of all of this.”

My problems seem so trivial now that I have heard what she has been through. But I do still need to know.

“It’s nothing, really. Just that I heard that you were Charles Whittaker’s first reader—”

“Do you want me to read your book? I’m flattered—”

“No!” I say and she frowns. “I mean, maybe. I wondered if you had read any of Charles’s unpublished work?”

Sandy nods and closes her eyes. “The man was a writing machine until something inside him got broken. Charlie was like a father to me when my little girl died and we became close after that. He lost someone too at around the same time and we bonded over grief. He let me read everything he wrote, all of it. There were some books he decided never to publish, and one which I’m sure he should have. The famous Book Ten. I read a first draft and it was brilliant but nobody could find the manuscript after he died.”

“Why didn’t he let anyone else read it?”

“He was scared his agent wouldn’t like it.”

His agent is my agent.

“Why did he think Kitty wouldn’t like it?”

Sandy shrugs. “I don’t know. I searched the cabin after he died—his agent wrote and asked me to—but I couldn’t find it. Maybe he burned the thing. It wouldn’t have been the first time that the crazy old fool did something like that. I confess we had a falling-out before he died, but I still respected the man. He never wanted to publish a bad book; that was his number one rule, but sometimes I don’t think he knew how good they were. Book Ten was the best, but I’m the only person in the world who was lucky enough to read it.”