Page 49 of Beautiful Ugly

“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 whatIthought,” 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. Canyouhear 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 lettingvisitorscome 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 nonatural phenomenon. How on earth wouldsandsing? It’s not logical. I’ve lived here all my life and I never heard that sound untilafterit happened. Some people don’t hear anything. Did you? And did it sound likesingingto 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 shouldhave been watching the children, and he was aliar. 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 hearsomethingand 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,somewere 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.Everythingchanged 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 allowedto 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. “Youdo not know whatthisis 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.