‘If it was Becky and not some kind of trick,’ he said bluntly. He saw how she reacted to his words and held up an apologetic hand. ‘I’m going to give this a go, too,’ he said determinedly. ‘Check it out for myself. It’s the only way I can be sure.’
‘Helen wants you to see Annabel tonight.’
‘That’s another thing; what’s with this kid? I mean, how does she do it? And if she’s only got the mental age of a young kid, does she even know she’s doing it? Hoods, fastening arms down to the table, if anything smacks of abuse then that does.’
Susan shook her head. ‘It was obvious Helen loved her. They treated her kindly and gently. Annabel even appeared to enjoy the game, as she called it.’
He gave a tiny snort of contempt. ‘Except when she started to freak out. She wasn’t enjoying it then.’ His fingers drummed animatedly on his thigh. ‘Tonight, you say?’
‘Yes, you can see Annabel tonight.’
‘I can see Becky tonight…’ he said. A silvery line of tears edged his eyelids.
‘You believe me, then?’
Paul was silent, listening to the clatter of raindrops striking the window. ‘Something weird is going on here, Susan, and I don’t just mean raising the spirits of the dead, as if that weren’t weird enough. Just supposing this thing with Becky is true, then what if you’re in some kind of danger like she says? I need to know who poses that threat.’ He gave an agitated shake of his head. ‘Christ, listen to me! Even I’m starting to believe all this shit!’ He laughed, nodded towards the paperback on the bed. ‘I really ought to stop reading Stephen King on lonely, remote islands. It stirs the imagination and at the minute our imaginations are being stirred just a little too strongly.’ He scratched at his bandaged foot. ‘I’ll reserve judgement till I’ve seen this Annabel tonight. If I think this is getting out of hand, or it’s damaging to us in some way, then we’re getting off this damn rock.’
‘I saw someone else yesterday,’ she admitted, ‘when you left me at the stone circle.’
‘What? You didn’t say anything about that. Who was it?’
She offered a loose shrug. ‘It wasn’t Alex, Douglas or Hector, that’s for certain. He ran off when he knew I’d spotted him.’
‘Was he spying on you?’ he said, frowning.
‘Watching me, more like,’ she said. ‘I followed him but lost him on the other side of the fence they’ve put up to stop people getting into the area where they have those archaeological remains Helen told us about.’
‘You should be careful, Susan. You had no idea who it was, and it’s not the sort of place you should be wandering around on your own. I saw those cliffs. It’s a mean-looking place.’
She smiled wryly. ‘That’s sort of what Alex had to say, too, when he caught up with me. Treated me like a schoolgirl getting a ticking-off. He was eager to get me out of there for some reason.’
‘Did you tell him about the man?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? He was obviously trespassing or up to no good; he wouldn’t have run away otherwise, would he?’
‘I don’t know why I didn’t tell Alex about him. Strange, but I had this feeling I shouldn’t…’
There was a knock at the door. Susan opened it; the wind drove icy-cold rain inside. Young Hector MacLeod was standing there with a tray in his hands. He was being rocked slightly by the gusts.
‘Hello, Hector, I didn’t know you were on the island. Do you want to come in?’
‘No thank you, Mrs Carmichael. I was told to bring your breakfast over to you.’ He nodded at a covered dish on the tray. ‘I hope your foot’s feeling better, Mr Carmichael,’ he said.
‘Fine, thanks, Hector,’ he replied with a wave.
‘Helen said you needed to rest it as much as possible, so thought you’d not mind having your meals at the cottage for a day or two.’
Susan took the tray from him. She noticed the vase of purple-flowered heather beside the dish. ‘These are pretty,’ she said.
‘I picked them this morning for you,’ said Hector sheepishly. ‘For both of you,’ he added hurriedly. He offered a garbled goodbye and loped off through the wind and rain back to the main house. Susan closed the door.
‘Looks like you’ve got an admirer,’ said Paul, smiling knowingly.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, taking the tray to the table. ‘He’s a kid. I’m old enough to be his mother.’
‘I know it when I see it,’ he said. ‘Trust me, I was that age once. And he’s at the right horny age to get certain urges on seeing a beautiful older woman. I saw how he looked at you on the boat coming over.’
She lifted the lid on the breakfast. ‘You’re trying to embarrass me,’ she said.
‘Lonely hormonal kid on a girl-starved island; maybe it’s him Becky was warning you about.’ He gave a chuckle.
‘Ah, smoked kippers,’ she said. ‘One of which you’ll get in the face if you carry on talking like that.’
Later that afternoon Susan made the excuse that she had to go over to the house to speak to Helen, and putting on her waterproofs she dashed across the sodden grass and heather. As she approached the house, its tiles looking silvery-blue with the rain, she made out Douglas and Alex MacLeod in the yard. They appeared to be having a heated discussion, which ended with Douglas giving his brother a stout push to the shoulder. It looked like it might have escalated, but they became aware of Susan’s approach and openly stared at her, both of their damp faces frowning. Alex grunted and, with slumped shoulders, he turned away to go into the house.
‘Sorry, I’m not disturbing anything, am I?’ she said on coming up to Douglas.
The man wiped rain from his steely eyes. He smiled broadly. ‘If you’d ever had a brother you’d know that it isn’t always easy getting on with them. We argue over most anything, and have done since we were bairns. I lost a lottery ticket that just won us fifty quid, that’s all. We’ll have a drink and make up tonight, like we always do.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘What brings you and Hector to the island?’
‘The weather’s closed in and forced us to hang around. Too bad to go out and fish. Too bad to do anything. Thing is, it’s going to get worse before it gets better, so I offered to help around the place till it improves. Fine thanks I get,’ he said good humouredly, indicating the door through which his brother had passed.
‘Mr and Mrs Donovan got back to the mainland safely?’ she asked. ‘I saw your boat, from the cliff tops yesterday. The sea looked decidedly choppy for such a tiny boat to be making a crossing.’
He blinked, as if trying to work out what lay behind her words. ‘I’m an experienced seaman, Mrs Carmichael. I’ve worked the boats since the first day I could stand up. We’ve been a family of seamen for many generations. I know whether a crossing is good or bad. Yes, they were delivered safe and sound.’
‘I guess Hector will be following in your footsteps, then.’
Douglas nodded. ‘Very much so, Mrs Carmichael,’ he said meaningfully. ‘Like father, like son.’
‘I’m glad. And where is Hector?’ she asked.
‘My boy is around the back somewhere. He’s messing with the generator – it’s on the blink and he’s good with engines and the like. Why?’
‘There’s something I’d like to ask him.’
‘You can ask me,’ he said, his face clouding perceptibly.
‘Round the back?’ she said. ‘Thanks, and I hope you find that lottery ticket soon.’ She left him, and was sure she felt his heated stare burning into her back.
There was a dilapidated old shed leaning against the side of the house. She heard the tinkling of metal against metal coming from inside. Standing at the open doorway, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the dull light, amid the accumulated jumble of logs, bits of twisted iron and stacks of wooden crates she saw Hector MacLeod crouching down to a rusted, green-painted generator, a spanner in his hand. He was mumbling something to himself.
‘Hello, Hector,
’ Susan said.
He jumped to his feet. ‘Mrs Carmichael, I didn’t see you there,’ he said, putting aside the spanner and wiping oil from his fingers down the side of his soiled jeans. His other hand went instinctively to comb through his mass of dark hair, making it worse in the process. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should make eye contact or not and shuffled embarrassed on the spot. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I need to ask you a favour,’ she said, going over to him. The mustiness of the damp old shed filled her nostrils; that and the sharp smell of oil and diesel from the generator. She took out the map of the island Helen had given her. ‘Can you tell me where the old lighthouse will be on this? It’s not marked.’
‘You don’t want to go there,’ he said hurriedly. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s not in a good state and there’s nothing much to see.’
She went closer to him. He bit at his lower lip, looking at her awkwardly. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you could simply point out where it is, that’s all.’
‘Ask Helen,’ he said.
‘I’d rather not,’ she said. ‘I have my reasons. And she’s a busy woman; I don’t want to bother her. Anyhow, I thought you might like to help me.’ She held the piece of paper out to him. ‘You will help me, won’t you, Hector?’
He nodded, took the paper and then stabbed the map with a grubby finger. It left an oily smudge. ‘There, on that headland. The one shaped like a crooked forefinger. It’s about a mile away. Head down the coast that way,’ he said, pointing with the same grubby finger, ‘and you can’t miss it. Why do you want to go there, Mrs Carmichael? There’s nothing to see.’
‘Oh, I just love old lighthouses,’ she enthused. She took the map back and folded it, putting it into her coat pocket. ‘I’d be really grateful if you didn’t tell anyone that I asked you about the lighthouse. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Hector?’ she said, smiling sweetly at him. ‘Keep it between us?’
He nodded helplessly. ‘Anything you say, Mrs Carmichael.’
She thanked him and told him she didn’t want to interrupt his work any further. At the door to the shed she turned and said, ‘And thank you also for the vase of heather. That was very sweet and thoughtful of you.’ She smiled as he nodded quickly and then went back to his work.
You manipulative bitch, she thought. Paul was right; the helpless, love-struck kid seemed to have a crush on her, and she’d played on that to get what she wanted. That was so cruel, she thought as she headed away from the house. But also wickedly delicious, she mused.
Hector watched her glide away. She reminded him of his mother. He’d not seen her since she packed her bags and left them. Even the thought of that day cut up his stomach like a razor. He hated his father for that, for driving her away like he did. He put down the spanner, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, creased and faded colour photograph, the colours slowly turning into a uniform shade of muddy brown. A mother and her young child. Mountains forming a dark backdrop. It was blurred, but that’s how his memory of her was fast becoming. He felt the sting of emotion and quickly put the photograph back.
* * * *
14
The Digger Man
The lighthouse stood out cold and white against the dark of the frothing sea, like a defiant exclamation mark. It had taken some effort battling the worsening weather to get to it, tracing the rugged coast as Hector had suggested, and true to his word, the old Victorian building stood alone and beaten at the end of a rocky isthmus that offered no shelter from the raging elements.
What on earth was Silas doing living out here? The isolation apart, the towering finger of stone did not look in the least appealing, and as she bent against the wind to get closer she noticed how parts of the lighthouse had fallen into disrepair, the outer coating having been dashed off in places revealing the large stone blocks out of which it was constructed. The glass at its summit had been shattered also.
Susan carefully negotiated the rough stone-flag path that led across the isthmus to the lighthouse, the sea snarling at the rocks some twenty feet below her feet. The great swells crashed loudly sending bouquets of spray skywards, drenching her already sodden coat. She held the hood close to her face to shield it from the worst of the gale that was building and was relieved to reach the wooden door of the lighthouse, her hand grasping the rusted handle, feeling some security in holding onto it. The eddying waters had that curious, hypnotic effect of drawing you to the edge, she thought.
The door swung open. Once inside she slammed the door shut, the wind trying to force it open again, and she paused to shake her coat of excess water.
‘Hello!’ she called. ‘Silas, are you there?’
Her words swam around the hollow chamber and echoed up the stairwell that spiralled out of view into darkness. There was a horrible stench in the air, faint but distinctive, like the nose-curling odour of a rotting sheep carcass she’d once smelled on the breeze long before it came into view. A rat or something had crawled in here to die, she thought.
When there was no reply she began to climb up the stone steps, ground into hollows by countless years of use by nail-studded boots. A rope handrail was bolted into the wall and she grabbed this to aid her up the dark passage, the steps narrow and needing some concentration. Every now and again a window had been cut into the thick lighthouse walls, but the effect was minimal; it remained perpetual dusk.
Presently she came to the first level, a window casting its pewter light onto a closed door to her right, the stairs continuing on their way upwards and vanishing into clammy blackness. She knocked at the door.
‘Silas, are you in there?’ she said. Outside she could hear the regular, muffled thuds of beating waves.
‘Come in,’ said a feeble voice.
She entered. The room was small, the outside wall curved, with a bed pushed against it, the covers bedraggled. A table was the only other piece of furniture. High up the wall – so high even the tallest person would need a chair on which to stand to reach it – was a glazed window through which the scudding clouds were briefly glimpsed. The table had been set with a plate of food, a tin mug beside it, and Silas Blake was sitting on a chair at the table, his eyes looking deep into the empty mug. As she came forward she noticed the remains of a half-eaten sandwich on the plate.
‘Silas, what on earth are you doing in here? Is this where you’re living?’
The old man smiled warmly at her. ‘Hello, Susan. I am so glad you came to see me. Please, take a seat on the bed. I would offer mine, but the bed is far more comfortable than this old chair.’
Susan straightened the bedcovers; they smelled damp and felt moist to the touch. She sat down and the old bedsprings moaned.
‘What is going on, Silas?’ she asked, concern laced through her voice. ‘You can’t live in this place. It’s unhealthy as well as being completely unsafe. And don’t tell me that’s all you’re eating,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have a word with Helen about this.’
‘No, please, do not say anything about me!’ he said, alarm in his eyes. They soon fell calm again. ‘It is important you don’t say a thing about me. That would only cause trouble for me. And for you. We can’t afford that.’
‘Why are you being forced to live here? Are you being kept as some kind of prisoner or something?’
He smiled. ‘You could say that, Susan. After a fashion. But don’t worry about me. And please, do I have your word you will keep to our bargain; that you will not mention to anyone that you have been speaking to me?’
‘Why am I not supposed to speak to you? What kind of trouble will it cause?’
He held up his hand. ‘I know you seek answers, Susan. But all will become clear very soon. I need you to promise me, because so much depends upon it. More than you will ever know.’
She sighed. ‘Yes, you have my promise, Silas, but reluctantly.’
‘That is good. You had your first session with Annabel yesterday,’ he said.
‘Yes. It was�
�� It was interesting.’
‘You do not sound convinced.’
‘I wish I could be certain, but there are many things about it that I found confusing.’
‘Two apparitions…’ he said, nodding.
‘That’s right. How could you know? Did Helen tell you?’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Of those two apparitions, trust one and not the other.’
‘Which am I to trust?’
‘The one that gave a warning.’
‘And the other. Are you saying that wasn’t real?’
His eyebrows lowered. ‘Ah, what is real? Yes, it was real, to you, in your head. It was as you remembered your daughter in better times.’
‘Wishful thinking?’ she pursued.
Silas cocked his head. ‘As good an explanation as any.’
‘I don’t understand, Silas; do you mean I really could be in danger here?’
He lowered his head. ‘I am sorry to tell you that you most certainly are.’
She stood up. ‘So you’re telling me you brought us here, deliberately putting our lives at risk – why would you do such a thing, in heaven’s name?’ She was visibly angry with him, her face set, her lips a tight line. ‘And for God’s sake, what kind of danger? Who the hell is out to get us?’ She threw up her hands in frustration. ‘Christ, this is ludicrous! Are you ill, Silas, is that it? Are you here because you’re not right in the head? Because it sure sounds like it to me. I can’t see any other reason why they keep you out here except to protect other people from you.’
‘Don’t be angry, Susan. Please. I need your help. We all need your help.’
‘Who, Silas? Tell me who they are.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Then I’m getting off this goddamn island. I’ve had enough of this. Something strange is going on and I don’t want to be a part of it.’
‘You already are, Susan. You can’t escape this now. In fact, you never could.’
She went to the door. ‘Sorry, Silas, I can’t listen to this claptrap. I’m going to tell Paul and we’re getting off this island.’
THE SOUL FIXER (A psychological thriller) Page 11