Page 68 of Beautiful Ugly
The metal gate that leads to the graveyard has been left open and swings back and forth in the wind, squeaking on its hinges as though trying to break free. I leave the petrol can next to it, and creep a little closer to the main entrance of the church, putting my ear against the huge ancient wooden doors. I can hear multiple voices now, but I can’t make out who is speaking or what they are saying. After a great deal of deliberation I try to quietly push one of the doors. It swings wide open surprisingly fast, making a comically loud creaking sound. The chatter inside abruptly hushes. Everything stops.
They’re all here. Almost everyone I’ve met so far on the island, and from the size of the congregation, everyone I haven’t. I’m no great mathematician, but I’m fairly sure this is what roughly twenty-five people looks like. Most of them are sitting in the wooden church pews and have turned to stare at me. I can see Midge in the front row, sitting next to Arabella from The Stumble Inn and Cora from the corner shop. Alex the butcher grins at me while Mary just stares open-mouthed. Behind them I can see Travers with a baby. She holds the child as though she weighs nothing and looks at her as though she means everything.
They’re all women. Every single one.Allof them.
That can’t be right, can it? An island with no men?
Nobody says anything, including me, because I’m staring at the person standing in front of the stone altar. It isn’t Reverend Melody Bates; she’s sitting in the back row.
Seeing the person standing at the front of the church is like seeing a ghost.
“Hello, Grady.”
LIVING DEAD
Sandy is standing there. The same Sandy they said was dead. She is very much alive.
“You look surprised to see me,” she says.
I am. I feel like I’m in a scene fromNight of the Living Dead.
“I’m relieved,” I say. “I thought—”
“We all know what you thought,” she interrupts, and there are murmurs from the rest of the women.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I say.
“Are you?”
“Of course. And I know you said there’s no crime on the island but there have been some very strange things happening that, as the sheriff, you may want to know about—”
“Oh, there’s not much that goes on on this island that I don’t know,” Sandy says. “For example, I know that Charlie had written a tenth novel because I had read it. And I know that you have sent a very similar-sounding novel to your agent. You do know that it’s wrong to steal things don’t you, Grady? I presume that’s why you left me to drown? You didn’t want to get caught stealing something that wasn’t yours.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m also aware that we had a theft on the island recently. Are you ready to hand over your walkie-talkie?”
I pull it out of my pocket but hang on to it. “The things that have happened since I arrived here aren’t my fault. I heard you all talking about me,” I say shakily.
The congregation rustles and murmurs again. It sounds a bit like the sea.
“Why would we all be talking about you, Grady? Sounds to me like you’ve become a bit paranoid since moving into Charlie’s cabin.Seeingthings andhearingthings. Maybe you should see the doctor when she visits the island next week. Perhaps she could give you a little something to calm you down.”
“I don’t need anything to calm me down and I’m not imagining it. Someone on this island knows something about my missing wife. They’ve been slipping newspaper clippings, stories that she wrote under the door.” Sandy looks surprised then frowns. “If someone here knows what happened to her I deserve to know the truth.”
“People rarely know what they deserve. They almost always think they deserve more or less than they do.”
“What is this place? Why are there no men on the island?”
She doesn’t answer at first, just stares.
“I’m going to need you to hand over your mobile phone too,” Sandy says.
“To hell with this, and all of you. I’m leaving.”
Sandy shakes her head. “I don’t think you are.”
“Perhaps we should give them some space and some privacy,” says the Reverend Melody Bates, dressed in her black clothes and white collar. She flicks her long blond hair over her shoulder, then stands and steps out of the pew she was sitting in. The others do the same, and soon they are filing out of the wooden doors I just stumbled inside. Each one of them glaring in my direction when they pass me. The doors creak as the last person closes them and I am left alone with Sandy.