Page 48 of Beautiful Ugly

“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. Withher.” 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 2019The TimesPage 48

BESTSELLING AUTHOR

CHARLES WHITTAKER DIES AGED 82

By Abby Goldman

Charles 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’mthisexhausted—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 tenminutes 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, withBAY OF SINGING SANDS & DARKSIDE CAVEcarved into the top. Behind the glass, I see the now familiar hand-drawn map of Amberly. Next to Darkside Cave on the map is the bright red triangle reading youARE NOT HERE. It’s strange, but so are many things about the island, so I pay no attention.

There is a track from the car park leading through a field of heather, a vast sea of purple stretching all the way from the road to the cliffs, and I can hear the dull roar of the ocean in the distance. If I want to find Sandy I guess I’ll have to follow the track. It looks unsafe—there doesn’t appear to be anything between the path and the cliff edge—so I leave Columbo in the car. It’s not something I like to do, but it’s a cool day and the roof and windows on the old jeep are all open.

The sound of crashing waves gets increasingly louder the closer I get to the cliffs, and then I hear something else. It’s like a ghostly choir singing in a language I have never heard, their quiet voices sometimes completely stolen by the wind. I look around, but I am quite alone, and I start to wonder whether I am losing my remaining marbles. Then I remember what the pub landlady said about bog myrtle tea being a hallucinogenic. I’ve been drinking a lot of the stuff, and I wonder if that might be why I keep seeing and hearing things. The track splits in two directions a little farther ahead, one leading to the cave and the other leading to the bay. There is another sign that I stop to read.

In the right conditions, you may hear

the sound of singing as you approach the bay.

There are many tales about who or what makes the sound.

But it is a natural phenomenon created by the wind

in this particular cove.

It might be a natural phenomenon, but the sound is unlike anything I have ever heard before. It no longer sounds like singing; 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 saysDARKSIDE 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 anotherDANGERsign 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?