Chapter 17
In the light of day, the night’s worries seem groundless. I awake in my bed with an aching back; the knife has fallen to the floor in the night. If someone had wanted to murder me in my sleep, they wouldn’t even have had to bother bringing a weapon.
I take the knife downstairs and return it to the block. The dirty teacup in the sink is the only thing to prove that any of it was real.
Connor bounds into the kitchen, his sprained ankle long forgotten. As he gulps down a bowl of cereal, I question him about the missing food.
‘Nope, sorry,’ he says, so quickly that I’m not sure I believe him. ‘It wasn’t me.’
‘I mean, if you’re hungry, you should say. You shouldn’t be eating porridge oats and sugar straight out of the container.’
‘Dunno, Mum.’ He stands up and puts his bowl in the sink.
‘And I hate to ask this, but did you take the key to the cellar? It’s missing.’
‘No. Can I go now?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But you need to tell me where you’re going.’
‘Outside,’ he says, already halfway to the door. ‘To the beach.’
‘Be careful,’ I say, ‘and don’t go into the caves.’ Most likely my words are pointless. Connor will either be careful or he won’t. I should trust that he’s sensible and now appreciates the danger. I should… but I’m not sure I do.
By the time I’ve cleared the table, he’s gone. I see him streak down the cliff path and out of sight. I let out a loud sigh, and don’t hear Bridget come into the room.
‘What’s wrong?’
Her voice startles me.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I say with sarcasm. ‘I mean, it’s not like Connor got injured in the tunnels underneath Polgothley, or that last night, I thought an intruder was trying to murder us.
’ I save the pièce de résistance for last. ‘And,’ I say, ‘your laundry is currently being held hostage in the machine, because the cellar door is mysteriously locked.’
‘My laundry?’ She glares.
‘Yes. But beyond all that, everything is hunky-dory.’
She leaves the kitchen and tries the cellar door. ‘Is there a key?’ she says.
‘Not that I’ve ever seen.’ I tell her about the missing food and the noise in the cellar. ‘I’m worried that there’s an intruder down there. A real person, not a ghost.’
Bridget isn’t a girl who’s naturally intrepid or brave, so I expect her to be worried too. Instead, she shrugs. ‘It’s probably just Connor sneaking in and out of the pirate cave with his little friend Med.’
‘Med?’ I say. ‘Has he come here? You’ve met him?’
‘I’ve seen him with Connor. In fact, I think he’s actually stayed over a few times.’
‘Stayed over?’
‘In the other bed in Connor’s room.’
‘Are you serious?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Why would I lie?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘But this is the last straw. Med was with Connor when he got in trouble over at Polgothley. He left Connor there with a sprained ankle.’
‘I would have done the same.’
‘I’m sure you would have.’ I wave a hand. ‘But anyway, please do say if you see anything suspicious.’
‘Like a ghost pirate and a phantom three-legged dog?’ She huffs. ‘I may look like some dead girl in a painting, but that’s all you, Mum.’
‘Maybe it is. But while we’re on the subject of new friends and suspicious persons, I’d also like to meet Alex—’
But Bridget’s reply is drowned out by the sound of a siren, growing louder, coming towards us.
‘Those officers didn’t say they’d be back, did they?’ Bridget looks more annoyed than rattled.
‘Not that I know of.’
The siren draws closer, then fades away. The police car has passed the inn and continued down the road to the beach car park.
‘Maybe a surfer got in trouble,’ I say. ‘Or a swimmer.’
‘Or Connor,’ Bridget has the gall to say.
‘Stop,’ I say. ‘That isn’t funny.’
‘I know.’
We stare at each other. For the first time, I get it. She’s all bravado on the surface, but underneath, she’s just a scared teenager. And right now, she’s scared for her brother. As a mum, that makes me terrified.
‘Come on.’ I rush to the door, with Bridget right behind me. We put on our shoes and jackets. I consider taking the car, but don’t want to get in the way. ‘We’ll take the cliff path,’ I say.
Neither of us speak as we hurry down the well-worn track.
We reach the small harbour, which is empty.
Cliff must be out fishing, and the speedboat and the dinghy that are usually moored alongside his boat are gone too.
I recall the excitement and exhilaration I felt coming here and seeing Ollie’s barque sailing out beyond the breakwater.
It seems like a lifetime has passed since then.
Those feelings belong to another person. All I feel right now is fear.
We continue over the headland to the far cove and look down upon the long stretch of white sand.
The beach car park is a hive of activity – with two police cars, an ambulance, and several other cars that probably belong to day trippers and dog walkers.
And before us, down on the sand, there’s another cluster of people.
Something is lying in the surf.
I stop, bile rising in my throat.
Bridget stops. ‘Oh my God.’ She puts a hand to her mouth.
It’s a body.