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PROLOGUE
They’ll know soon enough. Everything was taken care of to ensure the best outcome. At first the idea was crazy, ludicrous, not thought out. I couldn’t say it was the most razor-sharp of plans. It happened so quickly. I remember my breath, raggedy, sharp, as if something was trying to burst out of my lungs. I was losing my footing in the fast pace of it all, the almost-running. I couldn’t really run with the weight in my hands. The wind from the sea was whipping at my face in a fury, telling me to slow down. But I couldn’t. I had to listen to the other sounds; the calls of the gulls, saying it was the only way. You’ve always got to listen to the birds.
FRAN
3 January
The black-throated diver takes its chances; the crash and the slam of colour into the waves catches my eye once again, and I am diverted from my thoughts. He surfaces after a few seconds, prize in beak, turning, a flash of silver, worth embracing the icecold of the waves for. I recoil into the warmth of my fisherman’s allweather jacket, sleeves rolled due to the length. Dom won’t mind that I’ve borrowed it.
Most of the caravans are empty, save for the bloke who stays now and then to escape his wife and kids. I lock the caravan door behind me, head along the narrow path to the next one. The guests are few and far between at this time of year, only the most hardened of holidaymakers risking their Christmases on the coast here. Most families stay away until at least April, once the ground has thawed a little. The second caravan I check, number thirty-one, has a door that sticks, and I swear as my fingers sear from the pain of trying the handle with too much enthusiasm. I poke my hooded head around the door. Still clean. Stepping into the caravan, I snoop around the living area, notice the carpet is looking a little threadbare. Rugs, we need to purchase rugs. We keep saying we will, and then we don’t. Another thing to do. I step out of the unit and close the door behind me, wondering if I should go to check on my sister in number eleven. She’s been here six months, now I think of it. It’s late afternoon; the sun set a long time ago, leaving only a pinky-red swirl of a ghost in the sky, something that used to be.
Dom and Bruno are sitting in front of the television, feet up, shoes on. There are still swathes of tinsel in the highest corners of the room that we have not yet taken down. Christmas came and went in a tangle of doubt. I don’t mind that the festivities are over. The occasion is stifling, too much pressure. I like this bit, just after New Year, the bit that many folks seem to wish away. I think of mentioning the bird to Dom but decide not to. We don’t see them often around here, and the sighting was a rarity for me. I think about why we moved here, and why we purchased the caravan park when we had barely even talked about the notion before. I know why I wanted to move here. The birds. Of course, the birds. I don’t think I’ve said this to my husband properly before. My ten-yearold shows more interest in my ornithology obsession than Dom does, though this might just be his age. He does tend to follow in whatever his dad thinks, usually, so perhaps it won’t be long until his interest dwindles. I walk through to the kitchen, gather up the dirty plates on the side, and my mind slips to Ros again.
Later, we walk to the beach. We follow the trail that leads from the house, past the caravan site and down along the side of the church. The last wisps of pink are long gone from the sky, our journey lit by the streetlamps on the one main road which runs alongside the coast. Dom holds my hand on one side, Bruno on the other. I can feel a rush of warmth inside me, not felt for a while. Bruno is jigging up and down from the cold, or it could be the excitement of a late evening stroll. He is chattering away about his return to school, his keenness making me smile down into the scarf which is double-rolled around my neck. I glance at Dom to see if he is enjoying the moment, but his eyes are further up the road, not looking at either of us, red brows knitted. Sooner or later, I know Bruno will mention Sadie, ask the questions, but he doesn’t. I am holding my breath, but he doesn’t.
The lights beam from our left-hand side, my child straining to drag me onto the sand.
Ellis has been back a few weeks now. I feel for him. I like his obvious interest-bordering-on-obsession for his daughter. I find myself pacing around the door of their caravan in the cold morning mist, debating whether to knock. It’s still early. I hear the pigeons in the nearby tree, wonder why we get just as many of these as gulls here. I need to see if Ros is alright. There’s no movement in the van even several moments after I’ve hammered at the door with my fist. Eventually, there is a face poking at me through the yellowed net curtain of the window where the second bedroom is. Sadie. I grin, and she smiles back, slowly at first, sleep still covering her at the edges. The door of the van rattles, and she is standing there, all of her eleven years.
‘Mum’s not up yet,’ she states. I smile again, but she seems to be intent on beginning to close the door.
‘Wait, Sadie,’ I say, my hand holding the door still. ‘Is your dad around?’
She thinks for a moment, looks upwards, shakes her head. ‘He went out last night. Don’t know if he’s back.’
‘Can you check?’
She leaves the doorway, heads towards the bedrooms. I hear a door open and close. She is back in front of me, shaking her head again, narrowing her eyes slightly.
‘OK,’ I say. The doubt is like an itch. ‘No worries. Just tell your mum I popped by.’
As I turn to leave, I hear Ros’s slight voice in my ear. ‘Fran.’
She is pale, and I am almost afraid to look her way. Dark bags surround her slitty eyes. A rush of concern heats up my veins.
‘You knocked?’
I make myself look at her. ‘I was checking you were OK. That’s all.’
She squints at me slightly. ‘I’m fine. You know that.’ Her face breaks into a smile, cautious at first.
‘Yep.’ I don’t know what else to say. I just need to know that she is alright. ‘Ellis around?’
Her shoulders hunch up, a casual shrug. ‘No. He’s out.’
‘Dad’ll be back soon.’ Sadie is still in the doorway. She thinks she is a part of the conversation between me and her mother.
‘Late night somewhere?’ I try, looking at my sister.
Ros straightens herself up, pushes hair from her eyes. She might have had two hours of sleep. ‘Look, Fran, I know you mean well, but you did say you were going to stop worrying.’ She pauses. ‘He’s not a bad guy, you know. And we’re very grateful, what with you letting us stay here.’
I am nodding. I’m not looking for appreciation. I know he’s not a bad guy. He’s one of the good ones.
‘I’ll leave you be.’ Ros closes the door without a proper goodbye, and I wonder if she will be able to get any more sleep this morning. Mum and Dad would have been so sad to see her like this. I try not to consider it further. Sadie’s face appears again at the window, not smiling. She pulls the netting across.
I walk back towards our cottage, the sun pushing its way through the clouds, light on dark.
Dom is on his way to work, first day back, rushing through the door, mock-surprise on his face when he sees me on our path. He pauses, and I stop walking too. I wonder whether I should plant a kiss on his cheek, but I don’t, and continue my walk to the door.
‘Bye, Fran,’ he says from behind me.
‘Yeah, bye,’ I say. Again, I think of leaning in for a hug of some sort. Instead, I bend down, untie my shoelaces.
He is close to me, still. I can feel the warmth from his body. ‘Bruno doesn’t start back at school today, does he?’
I look up from my crouched position on the floor.
‘It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?’ he says, before I get a chance to speak. ‘He’s so excited.’
‘Yup,’ I agree.
Once I am inside the cottage, I check Bruno is alright in the living room and begin the rounds of laundry from my sister’s caravan and the man in number thirty-one. It’s a thankless task, makes my arms ache, hanging it all out to dry in our spare room. I prefer to fold the dry stuff. Downstairs, I can hear Bruno’s game, cars revving. Dom is right, he cannot wait to be back at school. I know why. The children have a new teacher, and besides, Sadie has promised since before Christmas that she will sit next to him in class from now on. I don’t think he has a crush on her, that would be a little strange considering their connection. I let myself collapse on the sofa, try to get my breath back. I’m not fit like I used to be. And certainly nothing like Ros, with her sunrise runs. At the same moment, Bruno stands, wanders into the hallway. I pull myself back off the chair and tiptoe behind him, hoping my knees don’t click like they usually do. I know he can’t hear me. He’s staring out of the little window beside the front door. It’s like he’s waiting for her. Watching, and waiting.
