BooksBarbecue
Back The Whistling Save as PDF
Chapters (52)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. EPIGRAPH
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. Part Two
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. Part Three
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. Acknowledgements
  52. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Mary looked up when she heard me, the pail beside her. I reached her, breathless. My heart was a frenzy. Her eyes swivelled up to the house and to the room that had been hers. I twisted my gaze too. And for an instant, someone was there – the outline of a head and shoulders, the suggestion of a body, but whoever it was stepped quickly back into the shadow and out of sight. For a second my senses numbed and then my ear discerned a faint fluting. I shook my head but it remained – a whistling caught and carried in the wind. As much as I tried, I could not stop the way my thoughts were dragged to the instrument that Ailsa had described. A widows’ whistle.

‘Who is it, Mary?’ I said. ‘Who’s in the house?’ My voice fluttered like a moth caught in a jar, ‘Mary, answer me.’

Her eyes met mine with intensity, then she crouched, her hem catching a puddle of sea, and with her finger, she began to write in the sand. As quickly as she did, each indent filled with water and was swallowed, but I kept the letters in my head, and even though the name had gone it rang in my skull like an alarm.

‘William’, she had written.

William.

15

I do not fully recall now the return to Iskar or the weight of discomfort that sat inside me. I know that more than once I turned to look back at Gulls Cry, to see if someone stood at a window or left by the door, but the house lay still and heavy like somewhere long unoccupied.

I know that I pondered again the whistle of which Ailsa had spoken, thought of what it was made for, remembered the sound of childish steps in Gulls Cry and William’s engine on the floor of the attic. I had to stop in my stride to catch my breath. Looking up to Iskar, part of me withdrew like a crab into its shell. If I were to believe that such things were possible, all would be lost. To what would I cling? And so I pressed that dreadful idea back out of sight and reminded myself of what we knew for certain about the universe, that night followed day, that age followed birth and after death … after death, there was perhaps a place with God, or more likely the silence of an abyss.

In spite of my resolution to be calm, dismay made a fist in my chest, and as the morning progressed, a headache grew. I did not have an appetite for lunch and instead went to lie down. Mrs Lenister brought me up a hot drink laced with herbs. I longed for someone to talk to.