I start to follow the path, which bends down towards the sea. The salt in the air seems to fill my lungs, the sea glugging to my left, calling me on, a warm breeze gently pushing behind me. At times the path gets rocky and I have to crouch to clamber down short but steep drops, lift myself over stone stiles. Nettles and overgrown gorse bushes sting and grab my skin with tiny sharp mouths, but I ignore them. I’m getting closer, I must be. To my left the sea no longer gulps and sloshes but has become a low, steady roar. Suddenly the path opens onto a small grassy patch; the lighthouse sweeps its beam over a cove below. I’ve been told enough times never to go near the edge at places like this, the ground might look secure but it could be false, a weak grassy overhang, the stone and rock underneath eroded, licked back into the sea. It’s not clear how to get down into the cove and, for the first time, I hesitate. My eyes start to adjust to the gloom. I tell myself I’ll just go down and see it, just for a moment—I’ve come all this way, after all. The path is steep and narrow. I bend low and use my hands to help me along. I slip a couple of times but stop myself from crying out.

With the moon bouncing off the water and the sea-slick rocks, the cove is lighter than it looked from above, the night more navy than black. Stars like benevolent spirits seem to smile down at me. The cove is almost a perfect horseshoe shape. The sea strokes the sand where the two meet so gently. I can see why Simon thought this was a good place for his family, a safe place. I decide to sit for a moment, then I’ll make my way back. It seems impossible that this flat, soothing sea stole a small boy and planted the seed for so many years of sadness and pain. I close my eyes but the noise of falling rocks makes them fly open again. It’s the noise I made as I came down the path. There are no voices and whoever or whatever it is doesn’t make any other sound. I listen hard. Above the sound of the sea I hear the steady crunch of small rocks being disturbed, rubbing against each other. Footsteps. I shrink back. Who the hell would be coming down here now, in the dark? Could Jon have seen me go, followed me? But why wouldn’t he have shouted after me?

I see Robbie’s dark eyes, his thin arm pulling back before sending the heavy lamp crashing against Meg’s skull. Drip, drip. Please, please, I beg the sky, don’t let it be him. They’re getting closer, footsteps steady, they’re coming down to the beach. If I don’t do something he’ll see me. I have to move, I have to move now. I slowly come to a crouching stand and then run behind a large boulder. I push myself close, its cold bulk reassuring against my cheek. The footsteps stop as the person steps down onto the sand. It’s worse not being able to hear them. He could well have seen me from above. Perhaps he’s already holding a rock in his hand, testing its sharpness against his thumb, nice and heavy. Drip, drip.