Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach

by Ramsey Campbell

  Or perhaps it wasn't quite his wake, for Ray had the wholly useless thought that the thief was staying well clear of the water. Ray floundered across the beach, where every step felt clogged with soft sand, to retrieve all the pages he could. Many, indeed most, were already well out to sea, too far away for him to risk paddling. He had a nightmarish vision of drowning out there in the dark, leaving Sandra alone because he'd cared more about a few bits of paper than he cared for her. Why, he'd already left her in the darkness by taking the key with him; while the fob wasn't in the slot the lights in the apartment wouldn't work. Just grab all the pages he could reach—the waves had even stranded a few on the sand—although were they worth salvaging? As he picked up the first sodden scrap he saw that the pages weren't even intact; they had all been torn raggedly in half. This was too much for him. "What do you think you're playing at," he shouted, "you damned vandal?"

  He wasn't looking at the culprit, but when he straightened up from gathering a handful of crumpled scraps of paper he saw that the figure had turned to gaze at him. In a moment it shied the remains of the book into the sea and crouched towards him. He couldn't have said why he was grateful not to be able to make out its face. Its posture put him in mind of a runner at the start of a race, an idea that was all too appropriate. Before he could take a breath the figure came for him.

  It moved as fast as any animal, practically flying across the soft sand. For a very short time Ray was determined to stand his ground and not be daunted, and then panic overtook him. He clutched the handful of paper so hard that moisture seeped between his fingers as he retreated towards the alley with all the speed he could achieve—not much at all. The sand felt as though his age had gathered underfoot, soft masses spilling into his sandals to grit between his toes, not merely retarding every step but weighing it down, sending heavy pains through the muscles of his legs. A backwards glance showed him that while he'd laboured halfway to the alley, where at least there was some light, the pursuer had almost halved the distance to him. Ray might have cried out if he'd had any breath to spare from struggling towards the feeble reassurance of the light. He couldn't even run, but had to take unsteady strides that came near to robbing him of balance. Another shaky stride that seemed more capable of kicking up sand than of bringing him any closer to the light, and another that let more aches dig deep into his legs, and one that nearly sent him stumbling headlong into the wall beside the alley—and then he was leaning against the prickly stone, and made himself twist around at once. As far as he could see, he was alone on the beach.

  How reassuring could that be? Ray had a sudden awful notion that the pursuer might reach Sandra ahead of him. He dashed along the alley, barely managing not to collide with the walls. As he came to the end the spidery shadow reached for him, and he could have imagined the pursuer had leapt on him. He stumbled along the road to the Sunny View, where the unlit buildings and the glassy pool felt as if they were keeping quiet about an intruder, while the faces in the playground might have been sharing a secret grin. Ray hauled himself up the steps, every one of which demanded an effortful breath, and let himself into the lightless room.

  He thought Sandra was asleep—she appeared not to have moved—but she spoke as he looked for somewhere to put the bedraggled pages. "Ray, where were you? I thought you'd left me."

  "Just with the book," he said in the hope that she hadn't fully wakened, "that's where I was," and felt as if he'd betrayed her by leaving her. Nothing would make him do that again, he vowed. He stowed the pages in his bedside table and slipped into bed to renew his embrace, but Sandra was asleep again well before him. He kept thinking that the soft fluid sound of waves had sneaked into the room, or another presence had—the pursuer from the dark beach.

  The Ninth Day: 28 August

  "Sorry, everyone," Natalie said. "We needn't have got up quite so soon."

  While Tim and Jonquil looked as if they might have answered this not just with dull-eyed blinks behind their sunglasses, it was Sandra who said "Not your fault. It's our transport that's late."

  "Relax, you two," Doug said. "That's Greece."

  "Perhaps we could have been warned about it," Julian said without quite identifying the culprit.

  "The sooner I'm up seeing everyone," Sandra said, "the better I like it."

  Her children and their partners produced a variety of smiles before they looked away, out of the courtyard. Beneath clouds growing pale with dawn, streetlamps cast shadows like emblems of the stillness of the road. Ray glimpsed movement at the near end of the alley leading to the beach, presumably the shadow of the spider that had the light for its lure—the retreating shape had been thin enough. He remembered last night, and was trying to make more sense of it than he had so far when William said "Please may I go on the swings while we're waiting?"

  "If anyone would care to go with you I should think you may."

  "I'll take you, William," Natalie said.

  Ray thought Sandra would have offered if she hadn't joined the teenagers in a state close to dozing. All three were seated on the wall beside the entrance to the courtyard and already wearing hats as well as sunglasses. As Natalie and William disappeared through the gap in the apartment block the boy's absence let Ray blurt "Doug, you saw the photo in my book."

  "The monastery, you mean? I got a glimpse," Doug said and visibly refrained from looking at Julian. "You should see it, Pris."

  Ray felt robbed of whatever question he might have asked. "I don't know if you'll be able to. I'm afraid I've lost the book."

  "Oh, Ray," Sandra said and made an effort to widen her eyes. "How?"

  Her concern felt worse than an accusation. "I left it on the balcony," he said. "It must have fallen off."

  "Haven't you looked for it?"

  "I did last night. You won't believe this, well, you'll have to, but someone had run off with it."

  By now Doug had acquired some of his mother's concern. "How do you know that, dad?"

  "I saw them on the beach with it." Ray had a sense of abandoning reticence as he said "They were tearing it up."

  "Well, that's awful," Pris declared. "What did you do?"

  "I rescued some of it. That's where I was when you didn't know where, Sandra. I haven't had a chance to see what state the bits I saved are in."

  "What kind of villain would destroy someone's book?" Julian demanded. "There was nothing objectionable in it, was there, Raymond?"

  "Not unless someone objected to the legend of the monastery."

  Ray saw Doug and Pris ready questions, but Julian was faster. "How long have we been waiting now? I'm somewhat tired of Greekness."

  "It hasn't been half an hour yet," Pris said. "Maybe other people have kept the pickup waiting."

  "I suppose we could call the rep," Doug said, though not as if he meant to.

  "I have her number here."

  "I'll see what she says, Jules," Doug said to forestall him. "Sam, it's Doug Thornton," he told his phone, having listened at length. "We're still waiting at the Sunny View. We're wondering if there's a problem."

  "I'd like to hear what's said," Julian let him know.

  I'm really sorry," Sam said on the loudspeaker, "but the trip's been cancelled."

  "How long have you been aware of that?"

  Perhaps it was Julian's tone that made her pause. "I've just spoken to the tour operator, Mr Thornton," she said, presumably to Doug. "They say the sea's too rough. Of course you'll get a full refund."

  "I think we should expect compensation for disappointment and inconvenience," Julian said.

  "You'd need to take that up with our company when you're home. Now I have to let my other clients know about the cancellation if you'll excuse me, Mr Thornton."

  "One moment," Julian said not far below a shout, then stared at Doug. "Have you let her go?"

  "She went of her own accord, Jules. We'd better give Nat the sorry news."

  Ray thought Sandra and the cousins might stay seated on the wall, but they stumbled
in unison after him as if they hadn't quite woken up. He would have taken Sandra's arm if the teenagers hadn't been on either side of her. As everybody passed the office, Evadne called "Do you not go out today?"

  "We've been let down," Julian informed her. "Kept in the dark as well."

  Her gaze dodged from side to side as if nervous of settling. "Who it in the dark?"

  "Jules is saying they didn't let us know."

  "I don't need a translator, thank you, Douglas." In much the same tone Julian told Evadne "Our day off the island has been cancelled."

  "They do that often. That is their way."

  "Well, it emphatically isn't ours," Julian said like a warning, "and it isn't what Samantha wanted us to think. She blamed the state of the sea."

  "Maybe sea, maybe other troubles." Evadne seemed to make an effort to marshal her thoughts before saying "I expect the sea."

  She'd left it too late to persuade Julian, and Ray felt oddly unconvinced as well. As everyone trooped past the pool Jonquil said "Maybe they don't want people getting off their island."

  "That's a ridiculous idea, and I'll thank you not to tell William."

  "I expect she means they want to keep us for themselves, don't you, Jonquil?" Ray said, only to find this less reassuring than he'd intended it to be.

  In the play area William greeted everyone by flying into the air, while beside him the other three swings looked eager for occupants, which they might have been grinning wide-eyed to entice. "Natalie," Sandra said. "Don't be sad, but they've called off the trip."

  "Oh, well." Ray glimpsed a hint of the wince that used to pinch their daughter's face whenever she was disappointed, and then he saw her recollect that they all had reason to be considerably sadder. "Never mind," she said.

  "I'm sure you do, and you have every right to." As she gave him a reproachful look Julian said 'Today is still your choice."

  Natalie was letting William's swing subside to help her ponder when she said "Why don't we have your day today, William, since we're here in any case."

  "Can we go to the beach with the big umbrellas instead?"

  "As your mother said, you chose a day at, for the sake of peace let's call it a hotel."

  Sandra and the teenagers had sat on the empty swings, and Ray thought she looked as if she was trying to recapture her youth while she could. As he turned away to dab at his blurred vision William said "I don't want the lady to have to play with me all by herself. It isn't fair."

  "The other children went home yesterday, Julian," Natalie said. "I can't see any harm in Sunset Beach while it's so quiet."

  "I'd like to," Sandra said enthusiastically enough to sway her perch.

  "Then I suppose it's decided." As everyone headed for their apartments Julian detained Ray with a beckoning finger and then the same gesture of his hand. "If you see the fellow who stole your book, point him out," he murmured. "We should have a few words with him."

  Ray increasingly suspected that the thief had been deranged, quite possibly by drugs. He wasn't eager to meet him again, and was glad to be able to say "I didn't really see what he was like. I doubt I'd recognise him."

  Sandra was waiting by the steps to their apartment, and he was dismayed to think she needed help until she climbed them faster than he could. In the room she grabbed towels and swimming gear and sun cream. "I wouldn't mind a higher factor if we see any," she said.

  "The forecast says another cloudy day."

  "Then let's buy what we need before we need it," Sandra said so forcefully it disconcerted him.

  He'd never known her to use a stronger sun cream as a holiday progressed than she'd begun by using. He shouldn't argue about it or over anything else, even if avoiding disagreements felt like invoking the unspoken. He had to devote himself to ensuring that all the time she had left was as untroubled as it could be. Years ago they'd decided that they didn't want to bequeath Natalie and Doug the burden of caring for them, even less the debt of doing so. If Ray weren't going to be left alone then Sandra would have been, and when he thought about that prospect he managed to feel it was even worse. "We're still a team," he said and saw his shadow fall across her face as he kissed her lined forehead.

  Tim and Jonquil were on the swings, on another of which William was twisting back and forth. He jumped off when he saw his grandparents, and the teenagers followed at their own sleepy speed, increasing it somewhat when Julian urged them. Sandra felt lighter and swifter than Ray expected, so that he had to suppress the idea of holding a memory by the hand. On the bus the cousins found seats out of reach of the sun, though it was hidden by the clouds above the mountains. At least Julian didn't make an issue of it, which meant Ray didn't need to point out how Sandra had sought the unnecessary shade as well.

  The neon signs of Sunset Beach were storing up the overcast. In some of the bars and tavernas staff were sweeping up litter, broken glass glinting amid dead leaves and crumpled plastic cups. The bus halted outside a taverna called Yummy's, which earned a giggle from William. "Excuse me," Julian said as he came abreast of the driver. "Where is the stop back?"

  Presumably he meant to simplify his language, but the driver's eyebrows drew together to pinch a furrow above his porous swarthy nose. "Stop back."

  "Yes, the stop back." When repetition didn't work Julian indicated the opposite side of the road and swept his hand leftwards. "The stop back," he said at half his previous speed.

  "That's to say," Pris intervened, "where do we catch the bus back to Teleftaiafos?"

  The driver's face cleared as if the hidden sun had found it. "Wait there," he said and pointed down the road to Sinatra's British Bar.

  Pris was stepping off the bus when he resumed his frown. "No bus stop after eight."

  "Where is it after that?" Julian said, displaying patience.

  "No," the driver said and stared hard at him. "Bus don't stop."

  "Where doesn't?"

  "Here," the driver said, throwing his arms wide to signify the whole length of the road. "Anywhere long here. Sunset Beach."

  "That's not the case," Julian informed him. "We've seen the bus passing through our resort later than that."

  The driver might have been staring at a backward pupil. "Bus comes, right. Won't stop."

  "Are you telling us the people here get out of hand so early in the evening?"

  "I say nothing about people." The driver looked as though he was trying to retreat behind his frown. "It is policy," he said. "And soon no stop after seven."

  "Does it matter, Julian?" Natalie protested from the pavement. "We'll have gone back by then."

  Julian descended the steps with a series of clanks like comments, eloquent though wordless, and seemed to feel he was regaining authority by finding a sign for the beach. It pointed down a concrete lane beside a supermarket called the Friendly Price. "Everyone go and get beds on the beach," Sandra said. "I won't be long."

  Ray wasn't about to leave her. He watched her hurry to the racks of sunblock, where she found the largest plastic jar of the strongest preparation and hesitated over taking just one to the till. The large slow woman behind the desk gave the item an indifferent blink, and then her gaze strayed to the jar protruding from Sandra's bag. "You want more," she said.

  "We're staying for a few days yet. I'll have run out by then."

  "No, more." The woman jabbed a stubby finger at the jar in the bag and then jerked her curved fingertips upwards. "More better," she said.

  "Stronger, yes, that's right. I expect I'm getting more sensitive to the sun in my old age."

  The woman's eyelids drooped so nearly shut that Ray could have imagined she was dreaming or about to dream. "How you feel?"

  "Oh, nothing much. Certainly nothing worth worrying about."

  This was addressed mostly to Ray, who would have responded if the woman at the desk hadn't spoken. "Say how."

  "Just a bit of a headache if I look at the sun too much." Since the woman seemed as dissatisfied with this as Ray was afraid he should feel,
Sandra said "And I have to drink a lot of water. Don't fret, Ray, it isn't sunstroke. Remember it's given me back my appetite as well."

  Ray had the odd impression that the woman found this less positive than he did. "You not stay here," she said.

  Ray couldn't help reacting as Julian would have. "We aren't, but why shouldn't we?"

  "I say you stay somewhere else. Sunny—"

  Of course she hadn't cut herself off; the last word was the end of the sentence. "Somewhere sunny all right when it is," Ray said. "The Sunny View."

  "Sunset Beach not for you. Not you or little boy." She must have seen the family outside, but Ray found her alertness disconcerting. "Not wanted," she said as if she was anxious to make her point clearer. "Too small."

  Sandra might have been defending William by saying "He's growing every moment."

  "Maybe he comes back."

  "Not if his parents have anything to do with it." When the woman seemed uncertain how to take this Ray added "Aren't we wanted round here either? If he's too young we're too old."

  "You must ask."

  Ray might have retorted that he just had, but he was growing tired of the clumsy conversation; in fact, he'd begun to feel too much like Julian. "Shall we head for the beach, then?" he said to Sandra. "We don't want them worrying what's happened to us."

  He ought to have stopped at the question. Once she'd paid he followed her out of the supermarket, which faced a shop called Happy Snappy across the lane. As well as cameras and every other photographic need he could have thought of, the shop displayed prints of holiday photographs. No doubt the shot of a young woman in a minimal bikini had caught a few eyes besides Ray's, but he'd begun to feel a little disloyal to Sandra until the photograph made him falter. It showed the girl standing beside the bearded shaggy-haired proprietor outside the shop, and so did the photograph next to it on the wall. The trouble was that although the proprietor had aged quite a few years in the second photograph, acquiring wrinkles and a profusion of grey hairs, the girl didn't look a day older.