STAND DOWN
STAND DOWN
I didn’t have an easy childhood—I told you that when we met—but I spared you some of the details. You were always so weighed down with your own unhappy past, I didn’t want to burden you with mine. When I was ten I lived on Amberly, here in this house. There is everything and nothing for a child to do growing up on a small island like this. There was one school, one teacher, and one class for thirteen children aged between five and ten, but I was happy here. My best friend on the island was Sandy’s daughter, Isla. We were the same age and we were inseparable...” I remember the picture on the wall in Midge’s kitchen, of Abby and the blond little girl blowing out candles on a birthday cake. “So when I decided to run away, Isla decided to come with me. Unfortunately she wasn’t the only one.
“There was a substitute teacher that week—a creepy old man from the mainland—because our normal teacher was ill. He always brought a flask of coffee to class in the morning and took noisy sips from the plastic cup during registration, and he shouted at anyone who dared to stare at his prosthetic hand. His idea of teaching was to wheel a trolley into the classroom with a TV and VHS player, and let children watch films all afternoon while he sat in the pub. But he didn’t go to The Stumble Inn that day.
“I was off sick and home alone the afternoon he knocked on the cottage door. I’d been taught not to open the door to strangers, but he was a teacher. A person children are taught to trust and obey. He stank of alcohol and slurred his words when he said that my mother had sent him, which I knew was a lie. He walked into this house as though he owned the place. Then he stood next to that piano, turned on the metronome, and smiled at me. I don’t want to talk about what he did, or tried to do next. I got away from him and ran out of the house with a bag containing my most prized possessions: a harmonica, a book, and a Magic 8 Ball. I ran to the church looking for help, when I didn’t find any I ran to find the man who was like a father to me, but he was busy working and told me to go away. So I ran to the school to find my best friend. Isla said I should ask my Magic 8 Ball what to do, so I asked out loud if I should run away and the ball said yes. The next problem was where. “Should I go to the Standing Stones?” I asked, and the screen on the ball said MY REPLY IS NO . “Should I hide in Darkside Cave?” was my next question. This time the answer was WITHOUT A DOUBT . Isla said she’d come with me but that we should keep it a secret. There is nothing more exciting than a secret when you live in a place that has none. Unfortunately the other children overheard and followed us.
“We walked out of the village, through the wildflower meadow, and along the coast road toward the bay. The path around the cliff was steep and slippery, but one by one we climbed down the giant steps until we were inside Darkside Cave. Isla handed out cookies her auntie Midge had baked—they were terrible, but we ate them anyway—but then it started to get dark. And then the seawater started rushing in. We’d all been told not to play in the cave, but we didn’t know why. None of us understood that it flooded at high tide.
“We tried to leave but we couldn’t, it was already too late. A wave of water reared up like a wild animal’s paw and snatched the child standing nearest to the entrance. The rest of the children started screaming and crying. People say you can still hear them in the Bay of Singing Sands, and I believe them. I hear those children screaming inside my head every day. I was screaming too until the seawater filled my mouth and silenced me.” She drinks the second glass of whiskey and closes her eyes.
“I remember the feeling of drowning, and letting go of my best friend’s hand.
“I remember not being able to breathe and then I only remember black.
“They all died, except for me, and it was all my fault. Soon afterward I found myself living in London, with Kitty, taken away from the only place that had ever felt like home.”
“That’s why you don’t like boats, and why you were scared of the ocean?” I ask, and she nods. “But now you’re not? Beautiful Ugly is right on the beach. Your work is literally inspired by the sea.”
“I guess when I finally faced my fears I discovered that I loved the thing that used to scare me. Fear can make something beautiful appear ugly.”
I stare at her and she stares into the fire.
“Why did you never tell me any of this?” I ask.
“It was a version of me I wanted to forget. But I want you to understand why the women on this island are the way they are, and why I owe them so much. This isn’t a cult , it’s a community. Isla wrote a note for her mother, Sandy, before we ran away to Darkside Cave. That’s how they eventually found us but it was too late. The men on this island were slowly removed after the tragedy, because if the substitute teacher hadn’t done what he did, and if a woman hadn’t been so desperate to leave her husband, none of it would have happened—”
“Sorry, I don’t understand—”
“Men still rule this world and as a result the world is broken. Men still hold most positions of power, men control governments, men control the media, and it is always men who start wars. Men have tricked women into thinking they see us as equals, but real equality, for all women everywhere, still feels like little more than a pipe dream. The women on this island have had enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“They decided it was time for men to stand down. It was a gradual process, but when someone died—like the pub landlord—the Isle of Amberly Trust would advertise for a suitable replacement. Opportunities to run a pub on a remote Scottish island are rare and surprisingly popular. The all-female board of the trust would sift through the applications and select a candidate who was best qualified to take over. And it was always a woman. Often women in need of a second chance. Same with the butchers, and the bakers, and everywhere until all of the islanders were women. An extreme example of positive discrimination but with the best of motives.”
“So Arabella was the victim of domestic abuse you wrote about for the newspaper? And Cora really was in prison before—”
“It was the family of the man Cora killed who were sending me anonymous threats. They didn’t like what I wrote about them. Almost everyone now living on Amberly is here because they were running away from something. Or someone. Women come here when they need to leave their old life behind and start again. It’s a refuge. A safe place where they don’t need to be afraid. There’s no war, there’s no hate, there’s no crime, and there’s no poverty. A handful of the women who live here now are people I met as a result of my work, people I interviewed who needed help, who Midge then read about because she collected every newspaper article I ever wrote. Cora, Alex, Mary. Arabella arrived with her whole life packed into one suitcase after her husband beat her so badly she nearly died. Her sister, Sidney, had experience running a pub and came with her. Together the islanders work hard to maintain ownership of Amberly, not for themselves but because they believe they owe it everything. As do I. The island doesn’t judge you. It doesn’t care who you were, or who you think you are. It doesn’t make judgments based on how you look, what you believe in, what you do, or how much you think you are worth. The island treats everyone the same. The island takes what it needs from people and gives what it can. Amberly is home to women who were wronged by the world. A place of hope when all hope is lost. Everyone who lives here will do anything to protect it.
“I’m going to get another drink. Are you sure you don’t want one?” Abby asks. She grabs the empty glasses and starts to leave the room.
“You said everyone on the island was running away from something or someone,” I say. “So what were you running away from?”
She turns back and stares at me. “You.”