Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach (34 page)

"You could have, couldn't you," Sandra said and gazed at Ray. "Especially since there wasn't anyone to keep a lookout for."

"We've agreed to that now," Ray said.

They had, but only so as to reassure the family. Last night Sandra had pretended she believed the uninhabited photographs had been taken just to disprove his fancies and her own. He'd already told her how he'd ventured into the depths beneath the monastery, but had stopped short of describing what he'd found. He'd heard the movements of something that still lived down there, far from any light: that was enough for her to know. He didn't want to associate it with her, however remotely. Whenever he'd wakened in the night, and too often while he was asleep, he'd seen the dwarfed although swollen arms poking out of the immense bloated body, reaching to drag him towards the pallid practically eyeless face, the fanged voracious mouth.

As the coach passed the shrine that marked the start of the path to the beach and the cave, he saw the image of St Titus brandishing his rotten splintered lance, the cocoon bulging out of the spear. It seemed to sum up the secret of Vasilema—the ineffectual dead saint nurturing the occupant of the cell under the monastery that bore the saint's name, the saviour only managing to prolong Skiá's unnatural life by figuring in rituals that epitomised resignation. Before the coach left the path behind, Ray had the horrid thought that the pallid body concealed somewhere in the darkness beneath the landscape was all too reminiscent of a cocoon. Suppose it was ripe to burst open, releasing a multitude of thirsty progeny? He managed to shudder the notion away, hoping Sandra wouldn't ask why he'd grimaced at the window. The truth about Skiá was dreadful enough, though perhaps not so awful that he couldn't bear it for her sake.

He did his best to concentrate on her needs until he was distracted by a throaty rattle from the microphone Sam had picked up. "We're nearly at the ferry," she said. "Make sure you all have your tickets to show."

As the coach drove down to the harbour Ray saw masts rise and fall as if they were making a bid to tug the clouds lower. Among them the ferry was less agitated, almost still. The coach driver released the doors, but even when he opened the luggage compartment some of the passengers seemed by no means eager to leave the bus. Once they'd retrieved their luggage they made a dash for the ferry, where they took refuge in the enclosed saloon, having barely waited for the crew to check their tickets. As he and Natalie competed at limping to the gangplank, Ray observed that Sandra and the teenagers weren't in quite such of a hurry to reach the saloon as the contingent from Sunset Beach had been. It was enough to let him murmur words under his breath.

The family had hardly found seats in the saloon when William said "Are we coming back next year?"

"Don't you want to see more of the world?" Ray hoped aloud.

"I wouldn't mind coming here again," Tim said.

"Nor me," said Jonquil.

As Julian looked ready to object Sandra said "You can't say what you'll want a year from now, can you? You shouldn't, either."

Having seen what she intended, Ray joined in. "There's so much more to your lives."

"What are you going to be doing before then?" Sandra asked them.

"Some friends and me, we've started a band," Tim said. "And I've got my art project for school."

"Mine's all the history of our town, my project," Jonquil said. "And I'm being Ariel in the play."

Ray thought they were starting to recollect their lives off the island. He was certain there was more to them—surely enough to divert them from yearning to return to Vasilema. He and Sandra would be striving to ensure they didn't, though without admitting why. As the ferry edged away from the wharf he gazed out at the town, and then he leaned close to the window. Dozens of watchers had gathered beyond the harbour, peering out of the streets that were shaded by overgrown awnings. While the faces were too distant for Ray to be able to make out their features, he was sure that if they were closer he would recognise several of the watchers. Even at that distance he fancied that he sensed their thirst, which all of them were suffering on behalf of the denizen of the dark. When he glanced at Sandra he glimpsed longing in her eyes, but the instant she noticed that he was looking at her she smiled and clasped his hand.

The ferry swung away from the harbour, and the faces withdrew into the streets on the hill as though retreating into a lair. For a while he listened to the chugging of the engines, until he began to feel as soporific as Doug and Julian continued to be. The ferry had been at sea for most of half an hour when Sandra said "What did we do with all those days?"

She sounded wistful but also not far from confused. "Oh, mum," Doug said.

"So long as they gave you some benefit," Julian said.

"You said they did you good," Natalie reminded her, and Pris contributed "We could see they did."

They all must think her age was catching up with her, but Ray knew how wrong they were. He'd seen Tim and Jonquil agree with her question, and they might have supported it if Doug and the others hadn't responded first. So this was how Vasilema enticed back its visitors: not to relive their memories but in search of them, if they even realised. Crossing water erased the memories—that was one of the hints the family had been given on the island. At once he hoped it could do more, and took out his phone to activate the camera while he trotted down the aisle to face his family. "Is there enough light for that?" Pris said.

"Well soon find out." However hard he squinted at the miniature screen, Ray wasn't sure. He took one photograph and used the flash to take another, which made several of the other passengers grimace despite their sunglasses. "You're right," he said, having examined the images. "I'll try for a better one later."

He was able to believe it would indeed be better. While Sandra and the teenagers weren't in focus, he was certain that their outlines were significantly sharper than the last time he'd tried to photograph them. "Some people aren't helping," Julian said. "Do you seriously still need to keep those on, Jonquil?"

Jonquil snatched her hat off, further tousling her hair, and dropped her sunglasses into it. "Maybe not just now."

"Well then," Sandra said, "I don't think I do either."

She removed her hat and glasses as Tim did. "Welcome back to the light," Natalie said to them all.

Ray heard more than she'd meant, but wondered if this was a little premature. "I'm just going up for a last look," he said.

Nobody followed him up the stairs to the open deck, and so he couldn't judge whether Sandra and the teenagers were still wary of sunlight. As he emerged onto the deck, where a very few people were seated at the rail, the clouds unveiled the sun. It felt like sailing free of the shadow of Vasilema, but he knew that its influence lingered within Sandra and Jonquil and Tim. The clouds seemed to shrink back towards Vasilema, and he realised that he was seeing the entire length of the island for the first time in his life. He thought the elongated mound looked like a colossal grave, but it was more than that too. He watched it sink beneath the horizon as if it were retreating into hiding. As it vanished, drawing the clouds with it, he repeated the words he'd breathed before stepping off the island, and wondered how much he was inviting for himself as well. "Let us come back," he murmured like a prayer.