Page 50 of Beautiful Ugly
“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 downthe 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 I wondered if you had read any of Charles’s unpublished work?”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 neverwanted 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.”
GUILTY PLEASURE
Columbo is overjoyed to see me when I climb back into the Land Rover. I feel drunk with tiredness but I’m grateful for the affection. A thick mist has now settled over the island, and I close all the windows to stop any more of it getting inside. My hands are trembling and I don’t know whether it’s a result of extreme exhaustion or because of something else.
I haven’t eaten at all today except for the crisps I had at the pub, and I suspect my blood sugar must be low. I’m not sure I should be driving given the state I am in, and although I don’t care much about myself in this moment I do care about my dog. I remember the KitKat in the paper bag that Cora gave me in the corner shop—chocolate has always been one of my guilty pleasures—and despite having no appetite now, one bite might help boost my energy level. Enough to get us safely back to the cabin at least. I open the bag and see something unexpected inside. I remember Cora saying it now, though it didn’t make sense at the time.I’ve popped it in the bag along with a little something else. If she had mentioned it was a letter from the mainland I would have read it straightaway. I recognize Kitty’s handwritingand tear open the envelope. According to the postmark it was sent a week ago.
Dear Grady,
I’m sorry not to be telling you this in person, I’ve tried calling but your phone just goes to voicemail. I hired a private investigator when Abby disappeared. I never told you about it then because there was nothing to tell. But now they’ve uncovered something rather unpleasant. I think it best not to go into detail in a letter, but I fear not everyone on the island is who they say they are. Please call me as soon as you can.
Kitty
xx
I can’t call her. I can’t call anyone.
The uncomfortable feeling I’ve had since I arrived on Amberly now feels a bit too real. Why couldn’t she share whatever the private investigator discovered? Am I in danger? From who? I already wanted to leave but now I have to find a way to get off this island to speak to Kitty and find out what she knows.
The engine rumbles to life and I try to turn on the car radio. After listening to Sandy’s story, even I think I can hear children crying on the wind now. I’m desperate to drown out the sound, but the radio signal is patchy. I suppose it is to be expected given where I am and the strange weather conditions. I pull away with the radio barely working, preferring to listen to the crackle of poor reception than the sound of ghosts.
I drive very slowly along the cliff road even though I’ve never been in more of a hurry. Thick fog is everywhere I look and visibility is almost zero. It probably isn’t safe to drive but I have to get out of here for so many reasons. I just want to get back to thecabin, pack up my things, and find a way to leave. If the ferry isn’t an option there must still be a way off the island. I’m sure I’ve seen a rowboat attached to a wooden jetty on one of the southern beaches. Perhaps I could borrow it. We’re only ten miles from the mainland, maybe I could row that far. I’ll drive around the entire coastline if I have to until I find a way to get out of here, that’s what I’ll do.
I’m so tired and my thoughts are too loud and the radio keeps going berserk. Occasionally I hear old-fashioned music I don’t recognize, but most of the time all I can hear is static or interference, despite constantly twisting the dial. When I hear what sounds like children whispering I get goose bumps and reach down to turn the damn thing off.
That’s when it happens.
There is a loud bang and a blur of color in front of the windshield.