"Pint."
"Oh, yes. Sorry,” Becky smiled to show she understood now.
Colin didn't turn away. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You look a little white."
"No. I'm fine," Becky told him, then she smiled. She really was fine, she thought. What was a little struggle in finishing a book, compared to losing your partner in life?
"I just didn't hear you come in."
Colin smiled, his lined face creasing easily from a lifetime of staying cheerful.
"Well, I'm sorry I gave you a scare. Have a nice evening." He tipped an imaginary hat, and then pushed open the door.
Becky watched him go, and then turned back to the computer. She saw the password box again, still with too many asterisks in it and her unease returned. Had Rob forgotten the password? It seemed unlikely. He was the one who set it. So was it possible that one of the guests had tried to get into the computer? The island had no mobile coverage so it wasn't unknown for guests to request to use their computer, to check an email or something. They had Wi-Fi in the lodge, but it was always dropping out, and some people didn’t have smartphones still. Actually maybe that was it – the Wi-Fi had dropped out, and someone had tried to reset it using the desktop computer? She didn't really like the idea of that, but she knew how annoying it was when you couldn't get a connection, so she shrugged and deleted the characters and typed the correct password. The screen came to life.
Becky made a note of the two new guests arriving the next day, then logged off. She slung her laptop bag over her shoulder and pushed her way into her and Rob's room.
"Hello?" she said, turning on the light. There was a noise she couldn't place.
"Rob?"
He came out of the bathroom, one towel wrapped around his waist, and drying his hair with another.
"Why are you in the dark?" she asked.
"I'm not," he said.
"You were."
"No, I wasn't. I was in the shower. With the light on." He looked at her as if she was being crazy. She shook her head.
"How was it?"
"The surf? Awesome," Rob said, and he walked past her to the little window and pulled the curtains shut. "It was really good actually. How was the writing?"
"Don't ask."
"That good?"
"No, really. I said don't ask." As Becky spoke she realised she really hoped he would. But Rob simply shrugged.
"Okay. You hungry? I can make pasta?"
"No. Not really," Becky replied. "I was thinking of an early night."
"Okay." Rob got dressed, pulling on jeans. "I’ll grab something quickly for myself."
Rob left the room, and Becky heard him in the kitchen, looking in the fridge. Suddenly she didn't feel comfortable being in their room alone. It was a strange feeling – it made no sense.
"Rob?"
"Yeah?" he called back. But Becky had nothing to say, she just wanted to hear his voice. She lay back on the bed, and looked around the room. It was funny how quickly the little space had come to feel like home. And funnier still to think who else it had been home to over the years. She considered how the former lighthouse keeper and his wife must have seen the same views she had, over and over, until the fateful night when the man had killed her. What was the truth of it, that story? Had she been a spy for the Germans, or had he simply gone mad?
Her eyes fell on the wardrobe, which dominated the room, an antique almost as old as the building itself. They would have hung their clothes in that very same wardrobe that now housed hers. She smiled in spite of the unsettled feeling that seemed to have established itself upon her. She could still hear the bashing of pans in the kitchen as Rob fed himself. She closed her eyes. But then she jerked them open again.
The wardrobe had moved. Had she seen that right? Or was she now imagining things? She tried to clear her head by shaking it lightly, then she stared at the wardrobe. It certainly wasn't moving now, yet she was sure she had just seen it shift, rocking from one side to the other. Then the answer came to her. This room, and the kitchen next door, were both in the old part of the house, and the floorboards must run across both rooms. When Rob stepped on a floorboard next door, it must have lifted the wardrobe a tiny amount. There was always a rational explanation, no need to believe in silly stories.
Moments later Rob came back, carrying a bowl of pasta, reheated from the night before. He jumped on the bed next to her and began forking the contents into his mouth. It smelt quite good, and Becky realised she might be hungry after all. She rolled over and looked up into Rob's face.
"Where's mine then?"
"What? You said you weren't hungry!"
"So?" Becky took the fork from him and helped herself to some of the pasta.
"Hey!" Rob sounded outraged, but he let her have it.
"Is there any more?" Becky asked, when she'd finished the mouthful.
"No!" Rob said, but then he changed tone. “I can do you some more if you like?”
But Becky shook her head and smiled. She knew he would do, too. Because he was Rob and he would do just about anything for her. She thought again of Colin, the man in room five who had lost his partner. She thought of him, sitting alone in The Hunsey Tavern, and suddenly she felt a strong sense of obligation. They should go and talk to him. Keep him company for the evening.
"Do you fancy going out?" Becky said.
Rob looked surprised. "I thought you wanted an early night?"
"I did, but I've changed my mind," Becky said. "Let's go to the Tavern. We can get some chips."
Rob's eyebrows went up in mock delight. "Well, now you’ve eaten half my dinner…" He grinned and quickly finished the rest of his food, then finished getting dressed. A few moments later he led the way out of the room and into the dining area. Becky was the last to leave, and as she did so, she gave the wardrobe a last look, as if warning it to stay still while they were gone.
Fifty-Six
Three hours later and Geoffrey was still waiting by Julia’s VW. There had been a few cars entering and leaving the quarry car park, but although Geoffrey carefully inspected each one, none seemed to have any link to Julia, nor did any of the people inside give her vehicle the slightest glance. Nonetheless he took note of their registration details, if for no other reason than to pass the time.
He was grateful for his sandwiches and banana, and ate both while he waited. A couple of times he had to get out of the car to find a tree to go behind, and both times he passed close to her car when he returned, looking for some clue to explain what on earth was going on.
Now it was getting dark, and the only cars remaining were his, Julia's and one other vehicle, belonging to a couple who had turned up a couple of hours earlier, pulled on walking boots and set off towards the ridge.
Geoffrey made a decision to act. He put his fingers on the door release handle inside the Land Rover. But then he changed his mind. Instead of opening the door he softly hit the inside trim in frustration. He continued to wait.
The last car left a half hour later. The man driving gave Geoffrey a curious look as he pulled out of the car park – it was really getting dark now. Geoffrey looked at the clock, and saw it was nearly seven. But still he hesitated.
At eight o’clock Geoffrey moved the Land Rover so that he was able to flick on his headlights and illuminate Julia's car. But still he waited with the lights mostly off, worried about his car’s battery. He watched as the quarry's shadows deepened and turned to proper night.
At nine he got out and had another look around Julia's car. It felt creepy now, in the quarry. The sky was clear, and the moon bright, but the walls of the quarry cut out what little light it gave. Geoffrey heard the noises of animals, snuffling around at the undergrowth. He felt relieved he had a proper torch, that he always kept in the back of the Land Rover, and charged up, too. He shone it inside Julia's car, and saw the notebook again. The writing was too small for him to make out what it said, and the book itself was obscured, partly hidden beneath a corner of the sleeping bag. He wished he could read what
it said. He felt it might offer some clue as to Julia's whereabouts. He told himself that if she wasn't back by ten he would take things into his own hands.
At ten-thirty he finally did. Standing over the bonnet of the VW he dialled her number again. First her mobile, then the landline for the cottage, then for the penthouse. She didn't answer any of them. Geoffrey stroked his beard for a long time. Then he returned to the back of the Land Rover and pulled out his toolbox. He carried it around to Julia's car, then, within the flood of the Land Rover’s headlights, he inspected his tools, and considered which might do least damage. He tried fitting a screwdriver into the keyhole and turning, but he was afraid he might damage the car's paintwork. He pulled the screwdriver away, then made a frustrated sound.
He tried again, this time brushing his concerns away. He put the screwdriver into place, and used a hammer to force it into the lock. When it was buried so deep that it stayed where it was when he took his hand away, he tried to turn it. First with just his hand, and then by fitting a pair of pliers around the shaft of the screwdriver. Nothing happened. He tried harder, and slowly the screwdriver turned. But it didn't open the car – all he had managed to do was lever open the keyhole so that it would never accept the real key any more. He thought for a moment, then picked up the hammer. As he felt the weight of it in his hand he decided on another course of action. He stood up and turned his face away from the car, then practised the action of swinging the hammer into the driver's window. Twice he lined up the shot, and then – with one last glance around in the hope that she might finally turn up – he swung the hammer hard.
Again, nothing happened. With the exception of the whole frame of the door bouncing outwards to absorb the impact. Geoffrey hit it harder, with the same effect. Then he stopped, and cursed himself for his stupidity. He looked again inside his toolbox until he found a counterpunch, and this time he placed it carefully at the corner of the window. Now he lined the hammer and struck it once, cleanly and hard. This time – with the hammer’s blow focussed upon one tiny point – the glass instantly shattered into thousands of tiny cubes. Geoffrey removed his hands just in time.
His heart was racing, and he acted quickly now. Since he feared someone would turn up and ask what he was doing, he opened the door and reached in for the notebook. He hurriedly closed the door again, carried his tools back to the Land Rover and climbed back inside. He turned off the headlights, and from the interior light he began to read.
The first thing he noticed was a flyer from the Lighthouse Lodge B&B. It was dog-eared and had obviously been read many times. It was marking a page inside the notebook, and when Geoffrey turned his torch to read what she had written there, his sense of disquiet took a much more concrete form. In the notebook Julia appeared to have listed a variety of different ways to kill someone. Underlined twice, and then circled as well, were the words:
Kevin Rat Poison!!!
He looked closely. The word 'gun' was also on the list, but it had been crossed out so thickly Julia had nearly gone all the way through the paper. He thumbed through the notebook, at random, the hairs on his neck feeling prickly now. It seemed to be notes as if Julia had been spying on someone:
12.45: Becky in Lantern room – what is she writing??????
2.00: Becky still there. Rob surfing. Hate, hate, hate Rob.
4.00: Becky stops for the day. Hear her laughing with guests. What are they laughing at? Me? Is she telling them about ME?
4.30: Rob back from surfing (not drowned, dammit!)
Only opportunity to get them together is later. Ideally when no guests!!!!!
There were pages and pages of it. Geoffrey frowned in concern. The only explanation he could come up with was that this was all some sort of bizarre research for whatever she was writing, but it didn't feel right. It didn't feel right at all. Then one of the phrases Julia had written – lantern room – struck him again. It was an unusual phrase, yet he'd read it just moments before. He grabbed the flyer for the Lighthouse Lodge – and there it was again. The Lighthouse Lodge offers guests the opportunity to experience the magical old Lantern Room, now a spectacular lounge forty metres in the air.
Was Julia spying on the old lighthouse? Clearly, she was. The real question was, why?
There was no answer to that, but Geoffrey felt a sense of profound urgency now. He started his engine, and – unsettled at leaving Julia's car unsecured – quickly pulled away. He turned left down the hill that led to the causeway and onto Hunsey Island. He was only a five-minute drive away, and he hoped he wouldn't be too late.
Fifty-Seven
Inside the wardrobe, Julia was readying herself. In better times it might have occurred to her to wonder just how far a person could be driven, if subjected to the right pressure. She might even have been inspired to write about it. But right now such analysis was beyond her. She had been transformed into a much more primal entity. Living, breathing, acting, preparing, but not thinking, not in the wider sense of the word.
There was only cold planning. While she listened to Rob in the shower she ran her hand down the shaft of the garden fork and onto the steel tines. She measured their length, trying to feel how much force she would need to drive them through his body.
Then Becky came in, and Julia knew the time was almost here. The girl switched on the light, so that a tiny crack opened up onto the room. Julia saw her lie back on the bed, and very quietly she turned the garden fork around, so that her right hand was wrapped around its handle, that arm straight, and her left hand gripped the shaft, with its sharpened tines upright. It meant that she would be able to burst out of her hiding place with the weapon deployed in front of her. But not yet. She had to stay patient.
Becky had told Rob she wanted an early night, which was perfect. Julia would just wait until they were sleeping. That way they would die before they even realised what was happening. It would be quick. Maybe even silent.
But then she noticed Becky looking at the wardrobe. There was something on her face, like she suspected it in some way – but that was impossible. Even so Julia froze, riddled now with uncertainty. Eventually, Becky looked away.
Strangely, Julia felt no fear. Perhaps there was no room for it – the magnitude of what she was doing was so all-encompassing that her mind simply lacked the capacity for any kind of emotions. Or perhaps again, she was simply acting upon impulses hard wired into her by millions of years of evolution. Kill, or be killed. Fight or flight. Whatever the truth of that, the fact was she waited, tense, in the wardrobe for her moment.
And then they decided to go out to the pub.
Her first reaction was that she had to seize the moment. Right now. She gripped the fork harder, and tried to judge, through her tiny slit of light, for her opportunity. But there was none. Either only one of them was in sight, or the other was out of the room. Then, without giving her time to burst out and surprise them, the light went off and they left the room.
Her second reaction was anger. A white-hot rage descended upon her. She had waited for this opportunity. She had worked for it. She deserved it. She deserved to be free of the curse of this pair of common thieves who had stolen money, and still wanted more! Wanted her very life. Julia barely waited until they had left the building and then she began beating the wooden inside of the wardrobe with the heels of her hands. Some of Becky's clothes got caught up with her arm, and it only added to Julia’s rage as she fought to free herself from the folds of material. But then the rage subsided, as if it were the tide surrounding the island, slowly drawing away.
Julia suddenly became aware of a desperate, overwhelming tiredness. By this time she had spent over a week stalking, spying and hiking around the island. Not wanting to take the risk of staying somewhere, she had been sleeping in her car, in the old quarry on the mainland. And that was nearly a four-mile walk each way, with early starts and late finishes to ensure she arrived at the lighthouse before the couple got up, and left after they had gone to sleep. Worse, sometimes she had got even
less sleep, having to wait for the tide. Even when she did make it to the car it was hard to sleep, with its lumpy seats and her tortured visualisations of how she could reclaim her life when, and only when, Becky and Rob were dead and silent.
So now she stopped beating the wardrobe, and slumped back against its side. She could have got out of her hiding place and waited in a more comfortable place. But there was no time. Her eyes began to slide closed, and then the weight of them was such that it was impossible for her to haul them open again.
With the darkness now all around her, with no slit of light, it almost made no difference whether she fought to keep her eyes open or not. Slowly, her head slumped to one side, and Julia fell into a deep sleep.
Fifty-Eight
It was a lively night in the Hunsey Tavern. Becky needn't have worried about the man in room five. By the time they got there he had struck up a conversation with Ted, and two of the older local boys who seemed to spend every evening perched at the bar in their tweed jackets. Indeed it was Becky herself who felt almost isolated, since Rob bumped into a couple of friends who had also been surfing that day, and they fell into an easy conversation about how good, or bad, the waves had been – Becky didn't care to listen to which it was.
Eventually Rob noticed her sitting there and brought her into the conversation. Rob always did, and then Becky enjoyed her night, chatting with Rob's friends and letting the old boys of Hunsey Island flirt with her a little.
It was gone eleven by the time they walked back, hand-in-hand, down the spine of the island to the lighthouse complex on its southern tip. The tide was high and the water lapped calmly at the feet of the rocks below them, the only sound that broke the quiet of the night.
"I love it here," Becky said to Rob, squeezing his hand tightly. He didn't reply at once, but looked around at the moon, hanging low over the water, and the bright array of stars spread out over their heads.
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