Page 41

CLOSE DISTANCE

I find myself parking in the village without really knowing how I got there. I remember leaving The Croft, then pulling over for a few minutes to try to compose myself. It clearly didn’t work because then I just drove along the coast road, looking for fishing boats or anything I could beg to borrow, or steal, to get myself off this island. I think being here might be making me crazy. The walkie-talkie on the passenger seat crackles when I open the car door but I don’t hear any voices. Trust me to take a broken one.

I head straight for Christie’s Corner Shop and my heart sinks when I see the CLOSED sign. Cora was the only person I could think of to ask. It might be days until the next ferry now that Sandy is missing, but Cora will know when the next mail boat is due to arrive. I have to find out when that is so I can make sure I am on it. I’ll bribe them if I have to. We’re only ten miles from the mainland, it’s such a close distance, and yet it seems impossible to make the journey. I don’t care how I get off this island, I just know that I need to.

As soon as I start to turn away the shop door opens.

“You okay, Grady?” Cora asks, dressed in green as always. A tartan ensemble today.

She invites me inside and listens patiently while I explain that there has been a family emergency and that I need to get to the mainland as soon as possible.

“There’s no boats at all for a couple of days I’m afraid,” she says.

“Why not? Is there a storm coming?”

“No, it’s just the weekend.”

That means I’m stuck here for at least another forty-eight hours.

“Do you know why I always wear green, Grady?” Cora asks. “It isn’t about luck, there’s no such thing. I wear this color because green is made of blue and yellow.” She stares at me as though waiting for a reaction I do not know how to give. “Blue and yellow are very different, wouldn’t you agree? Like the sea and the sun. I like that one thing can be made from two such different things, because none of us are just one thing. Once you understand that, it’s so much easier to know yourself and make peace with who you are. Green being your surname, I thought you might like to know. You’re looking tired, Grady. Do you want some more bog myrtle tea to help you sleep?” she says, sounding genuinely concerned.

“No. Thank you.” If I sound a little rude, it’s because I suspect it might have been the tea she gave me that made me see things that weren’t there.

“Okey doke,” she replies with a crooked smile. Perhaps my paranoia is getting the better of me. “It’s such a shame you want to leave.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to leave...” The lie sounds like what it is so I add a little truth. “But I’m afraid I need to.”

“Well, I’ll be sad to see you go. You’ve been much friendlier than the last one.”

“The last one?”

“The last author. After Charles Whittaker, but before you. We hardly saw much of that one at all to be honest, he didn’t last long. Very unfriendly. Cocky fellow too, but the book he wrote while he was here was terrible. More of a page burner than a page turner if you know what I mean. So I’m glad he’s gone. We all were.”

“There was another author living in the cabin after Charles Whittaker but before me?”

“Of course. It’s nice to have a resident writer, but some live longer than others.”

I stare at her. “Pardon?”

“I said some last longer than others. Are you feeling okay, Grady?”

Her walkie-talkie begins to crackle and she turns it off.

“Not really, no.” I head for the door and the little bell above it tinkles.

Cora calls after me. “I know you want to leave but it might be best, for you, if you stayed awhile longer.”

“I told you, it’s not that I want to leave—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Grady. How could you possibly know that there’s a family emergency on the mainland when there are no phones on the island and no internet? I’d know if you’d received anything in the post and you haven’t, nothing for weeks except a couple of letters from your agent. Nobody misses you, nobody cares, nobody even knows that you’re here. There is no family emergency because you don’t have any family.”

I stare at her. “What did you just say?”

She frowns. “I said I’m sorry to hear about the trouble with your family.”

My mind is determined to break me. I’m seeing things, I’m hearing things, I no longer trust my own senses. I no longer trust myself.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll just get the next ferry—”

“There might not be one for a while. Could be weeks, maybe even longer until you or anyone else can leave the island again.”

“Why won’t there be a ferry?”

“There’s nobody to sail it.”

“Because Sandy is still missing?”

“Sandy isn’t missing. They found her. She’s dead.”