by Julia Bell
This sounds like temptation to me.
‘We know not the hour or the day.’
‘But that’s not true!’ she says. ‘I could make myself die right now. I could just throw myself down there.’ She walks towards the edge, making my heart leap.
I put my arm out to stop her. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘I’m not going to, silly. I was just saying I could kill myself. Then I would know the hour and the day.’
Since we have been here three people have been lost from the cliff tops. One when I was very young, before I can remember. The other two were newcomers. One was a woman who believed she could see the devil in everybody. Father said they were accidents, although I have heard Mary Protheroe and others refer to them differently.
I’m not scared of dying. Mr Bevins has taught us all to expect the transition from heaven to earth as if passing through a burning curtain. And once on the other side, all will be peaceful and gorgeous. It’s avoiding the Tribulations that is most important. During the Tribulations people will go mad and there will be raping and pillaging and torture.
‘But aren’t there things you want to do before you die? Like a bucket list.’
‘A what?’
She sighs. ‘Things you want to see or do before you kick the bucket. A bucket list.’
‘Oh.’ I’m still not sure I understand what she means. ‘I suppose.’ I haven’t really thought about this. Everything we do is about preparing for heaven, not about living our lives as they are now.
‘There are so many things I want to do!’
‘Like what?’
‘Like . . . I want to go surfing in Hawaii! And ride elephants in Thailand and . . . Oh! Go everywhere! Don’t you want to see the world?’
I shrug. Bevins teaches us that the world is full of danger. That there are demons and agents of the Antichrist waiting to destroy us everywhere, that being here is the only safe place. I’ve never thought of the world as somewhere I could visit. I’ve only ever thought of it as somewhere to be avoided.
And then Alex turns towards me and looks at me strangely, a smile twitching across her lips, as if she has just thought of something amusing. ‘Have you ever kissed anybody?’
What a thing to say. ‘No!’ I giggle.
‘Don’t you want to do that before you die?’
‘I don’t know.’ I wish she’d be quiet.
‘Are you embarrassed?’ She’s testing me, I know she is. ‘Your ears have gone red.’
‘No!’ I say, wanting her to change the subject. She’s being deliberately provoking. The sun disappears behind a bank of cloud and the wind starts to pick up. I shiver. ‘Shush.’
‘Aw, you’re shy. Don’t be shy. Kissing is nothing to be scared of.’
‘Have you kissed anybody then?’
‘Course! Loads of times.’ She puts her hands in her pockets all nonchalant.
I wish I knew how to be confident like that. There’s this awkward silence between us, where what I really want to say is, ‘Kiss me then,’ like a challenge, but I don’t because I’m scared and the thought stays in my head and I know it’s making me go bright red. Sometimes I feel so see-through it’s painful. ‘Come on. We need to get back.’
But Alex stands still. ‘I don’t want to go back,’ she says quietly. ‘I mean, not back with you. Sorry. Coming here was, like, a mistake. I’m serious. You’ve got help me find that phone.’
‘But you can’t leave!’ I blurt out before I have a chance to think. Then, flustered in case she thinks I’m trying to stop her. ‘I mean, not till the next boat comes and that won’t be till next month. You heard what Father said.’
‘I can’t wait that long!’ She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and pulls out her phone.
‘You know if they find that they’ll think you’re a spy.’
She shrugs. ‘That’s just stupid. It’s fucked anyway. There’s no reception and the battery’s about to die.’ She stares at the blank screen a moment and then says, ‘Maybe it was my fault.’
‘What was?’
She shivers. ‘Everything. He said . . . she never wanted to see me again.’
‘Who did?’
‘My mother. Bevins said I was sick. And because I was sick, that was why she died.’
‘You don’t look sick to me.’
She smiles bitterly. ‘I think he meant sick in the head. In the soul.’
‘Oh.’
Then I realize that there is a fat tear snaking down her cheek.
‘Oh. No. Don’t cry.’ I don’t know what to do. I touch her arm.
But she turns away from me and sniffs and wipes her sleeve across her eyes. ‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘It’s OK.’
‘No, it’s not. You’re crying.’
‘I’m just cold.’
‘If you want that satellite phone, we’ll have to make a plan.’ I say it before I realize what I’m promising. If I get caught breaking in to Mr Bevins’s cabin I can’t imagine what will happen. ‘We can’t just go and get it; someone will see us.’
‘You’ll help me?’
I look at my shoes, the scuffed, muddy leather, the holes in the toes. Something in me gives, and I know then that I’d do anything for her. But I don’t say that.
‘Yes.’
She smiles at me then, properly. ‘You’re cute, you know that?’
No one has ever called me cute before. She has this way of being confident, like she knows stuff about the world, like she knows me. It makes my insides flip over.
But then she’s distracted by something behind me. She squints into the distance. ‘Someone’s following us.’
I turn around quickly, but can see no one behind, just the rocks of the Devil’s Seat towering above us.
I stare until my eyes hurt, but nothing emerges, just the bright hum of the wind in the grass, the constant smash of the water against rocks.
She shrugs. ‘Maybe it was nothing.’
But as we walk towards the harbour and the old lighthouse my back starts to prickle. I keep turning around, just to check.
A shower blows inland on the wind, the rain sudden and harsh. We run to the lighthouse, Alex pulling her jacket over her head for protection. The lighthouse is dangerous now; Micah has built a fence to keep the goats away. Bits of masonry and mirror keep falling from the top, and on the western side, where the winds are worst, it has a gaping gash where the bricks have split and crumbled. I look over the fence. It’s made from rolls of chicken wire, which in places have sagged so low as to make them pointless. I can see goat droppings on the grass on the other side.
Alex steps over it. I am about to tell her it’s dangerous, but she won’t listen to me anyway. I step over too and we walk around it, looking up at the damage. One more winter storm and it will be rubble, the bricks have moved since last summer and the structure is unravelling from the top like a dropped stitch.
‘It stinks in here!’ Alex says, peering and then stepping inside, disturbing a whole colony of birds, who rise from the top in a messy squawk.
I wait outside. ‘Be careful! It’s dangerous!’
As if to prove my point a slither of crumbling plaster hisses down the wall.
‘Come on, hurry up.’
‘Who used to live here?’ Her voice echoes inside the walls.
‘The lighthouse keeper, some farmers. A missionary. That’s who built the houses at the harbour. Before that, I dunno. Vikings or something. Hermits.’
She seems impressed by this. ‘People were so hardcore back in the day, weren’t they?’
‘I suppose so,’ I say, like I know what she means. Her hair blows across her face and she suddenly looks really beautiful, like she could be an angel or something, both a girl and a boy.
‘Are you OK?’
I realize I’m staring and my face flames. ‘Uh, sorry, er, yeah.’
She steps towards me and touches my cheek. ‘You’re blushing.’
There’s a heat in my body so vivid I can’t believe she doe
sn’t feel it too.
‘I want a bucket list too,’ I say, lamely.
She looks at me from the corner of her eye and then squeezes my hand and we walk along like this back to the path. All I can think about is how I want to walk with her off this rock and into the world and know the things that she knows, and my thoughts are so loud I’m sure she must be able to hear them. And my mouth is dry and I don’t know what to say. When we get to the path there is bright flash, the reflection of the sun on glass, someone with binoculars, higher up. Instinctively I let go of her hand.
‘There!’ Alex says. ‘I told you there was someone following us! Whoever you are – we can see you!’ She waves her arms.
I wonder who it is, until a figure emerges from behind a boulder and starts to walk towards us. My stomach cramps. Thomas Bragg, followed by Job, Micah’s dog. He’s wearing dark glasses and he takes his time, swaggering almost, towards us.
Job reaches us first, barking and putting muddy paws up the front of my dress.
Thomas shouts at him, but it seems to make no difference; Job carries on grinning and slobbering, as if he’s pleased to see me, though I know he’s sniffing my bag for food. Micah has had him since he was a puppy and he trained the dog himself to round up the sheep.
‘What are you doing?’ Thomas asks, not smiling. The dark glasses make him look mean.
He stands in front of us and glares at Alex. He has the kind of heavy face that makes him seem fat even though he’s thin, like we all are. Since he went off with that woman at last year’s mission, he’s moved back into a cabin with his parents. Father says he will have to work hard to prove that he is worthy of being trusted again. Lately Bevins has been keeping him close. They are often seen walking together discussing passages from the Bible, striding around with the book open in front of them like a map.
‘We were just—’ I start.
‘I didn’t mean you,’ he snaps. ‘I meant her.’ His face is red and he seems really agitated.
Alex shrugs. ‘We were just looking at the lighthouse.’
‘Yes, we were looking at the lighthouse,’ I echo. ‘Nothing was happening.’ But Thomas isn’t interested in talking to me.
‘No, I mean, what are you doing here?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘He said you were a harbinger.’
‘Who said?’ Alex stares at him, all the time squaring her shoulders, clenching her hands into fists.
‘Bevins.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Well, why are you here then? Why aren’t you in the Solitary?’ He’s almost shouting.
‘Thomas, calm down,’ I say, but he ignores me.
‘Bevins said you would corrupt us. I saw you; I know what you’re doing!’
‘And what were we doing?’
‘It’s just like Mr Bevins said!’
‘What is?’ I’m confused, I don’t know what his problem is.
‘I’m not talking to you!’ He swats at me with his hand. ‘Have you forgotten yourself?’
Women aren’t supposed to speak to men unless they’re invited, but somehow Thomas doesn’t count. He’s only a few years older than me. I remember him as a boy, still young enough to play with me, hide and seek in the barn, beachcombing on the north shore. He used to be okay.
‘You’re unnatural!’ he says again, his voice too high, tinged with hysteria.
‘Thomas, you’re being rude.’ I feel embarrassed. I don’t want Alex to hear this.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t like her,’ he says, as if she isn’t even there.
‘But we have a message from Naomi.’
‘Show me.’
I hold out the piece of paper, which he snatches from me.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m telling you now.’
He looks at it. I still don’t understand why he’s being so aggressive.
‘Well, come on then, we’d better get back. Come on.’ He gestures to the path, and we walk in front of him, all the way with him and Job behind us.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Alex whispers at me. ‘Who is he?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him.’
‘If he touches either of us, I’ll end him,’ she hisses. ‘Seriously. I will.’
I look at her, shoulders set, fists balled, muscle twitching in her cheek, and I don’t doubt her. It makes me like her even more.
ELEVEN
ALEX
The tack room went quiet the minute we walked in. A shiver pulsed through my body. The room was muggy and full of people and mud and piles of carrots and potatoes and courgettes. They all turned to look at me. I tried to hang back behind Rebekah, but it was as if I had some glowing spot on my head or something. Rebekah was the only one I felt safe with in the whole place. She was naive, but she wasn’t angry or spiteful. She stood up for me against Thomas, and said sorry when he was nasty to me. She didn’t blame me. I wished I could take her away from here, show her the real world, show her what she was missing, let her decide for herself. She deserved that, at least.
Thomas elbowed his way past me, in his stupid, pretend-important way. He thought he was someone special, but Mr Bevins was using him, I could tell.
‘A message from Naomi!’ he announced, opening his hand and throwing the crumpled ball of paper on to the table like he was the one who had been there and heard what the freaky woman said, not us. Something about his attitude made me angry. Who was he to make out like he was in charge? I hated him then, as I knew he hated me.
The paper was damp with his sweat.
Hannah peeled it apart. ‘Jonah 2.3.’
One of the other women, a thin and willowy shadow called Margaret, pulled out a pocket Bible and looked up the verse.
But before she could find it Hannah said, from memory: ‘For thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me.’
Margaret put her hand over her mouth and started to cry. ‘He sends us comfort!’ she said.
‘Praise be to God,’ said Thomas.
‘Praise be to God!’ everyone repeated loudly. Thomas whooped and stamped his foot. Idiot.
‘What are billows, do you think?’ Hannah asked of no one in particular.
‘Holy pillows?’ I muttered. I couldn’t help myself.
Rebekah snorted, but no one else laughed. We looked at each other and I grabbed her hand and squeezed and she squeezed back, but she then she let go like my hand was a hot coal when she saw Mary staring at us.
‘Has Bevins seen this?’ one of the men asked, a touch of irritation in his voice.
Thomas shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ I hated the way that he took the space in the room as if he was the one that was in charge when Mr Bevins wasn’t around.
‘Before we all get carried away, he needs to verify this.’ The man seemed angry. I guessed it must be Thomas’s father. He looked a lot like him, with the same fat-thin face and doughy expression.
Thomas narrowed his eyes. ‘I am the appointed deputy!’ He was really big on trying to prove he was the favourite.
‘Thomas!’ one of the women, his mother, said. ‘Honour your father.’
But Thomas shrugged. ‘I have one Father, and he is in heaven.’
There was a hush around the room. Mr Bragg’s face was going purple but he didn’t say anything. There was obviously some kind of situation going on between the two of them.
Then Mr Bevins came in. I could sense his presence even before I saw him. The room was suddenly quiet, expectant. He stood in the centre of us, smiling benignly, hands raised, palms open as if he were like the blind beggar in his story.
Thomas snatched up Naomi’s prophecy and gave it to him.
‘She gave you this?’ Bevins asked.
‘No, them,’ he mumbled, reluctantly pointing to me and Rebekah. I think Thomas wished it was him. He wanted to please Mr Bevins the most o
ut of everybody. I wished it had been him too. I didn’t want Mr Bevins to notice us. I didn’t want to be in the path of those eyes. I felt his gaze burning right through me.
‘And how was she?’
I didn’t know what to say so I kept my mouth shut.
‘OK,’ Rebekah answered.
‘Did she say anything? Was there any other message?’
‘No. She just gave me that.’
‘See!’ he said. ‘I told you she was the one!’ He pointed at me as if that prophecy had something to do with me. ‘That she would set off a chain reaction. It’s in motion! The countdown has started! The time is upon us! I must now discover the hour!’
It sounded like craziness to me, except that everyone was drinking it in. Some were nodding, some had their eyes closed and hands raised to the ceiling. I didn’t know what to do.
‘Praise Him!’ Hannah said.
I stared at the table, at all the grooves made by scratches and weathering, at the grain of it, the whorls and rings, the knot marks. I could almost hear the tree that made it creaking in the wind, the shudder of a chainsaw, the—
‘I asked you a question!’ I looked at him. I hadn’t heard any questions. ‘What do you think of our paradise?’ he said, slowly, like I was dense.
I flinched, then nodded. ‘Really nice,’ I said, like a sap. In my head I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to let me go home, but what came out of my mouth was something else. That was the effect he had on people. ‘Great.’
He nodded. ‘Great and nice,’ he said. ‘Yes, it is nice. But not too nice – lest you get too comfortable. Life is a short dream, Alex. You don’t want to get too attached to it.’ I nodded, even though what he was saying sounded like riddles. He turned the piece of paper over in his hands thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t I say? Didn’t I say that this would happen?’ A few people murmured and nodded, as if they were encouraging him. ‘It’s uncanny. So soon after the vision. And now this . . . and the girl . . .’ He looked at me again as if I contained a puzzle or a secret and shook his head. ‘We should be in the church on our knees! Thanking God for revealing His mysteries!’
‘Yes!’ Thomas leaped up and punched the air.
But Mr Bragg blinked and cleared his throat. ‘Mr Bevins, if I may . . .’
