‘I’m OK.’
But I’m not, not really. I’ve swallowed a lot of water and feel battered and bruised by the waves. And I’m shivering from the icy cold of the sea. But that’s not it. I can cope with all of that. But being overboard and truly confronted by the rage of the storm, I wonder how anyone could possibly have made this crossing in a rowing boat with one oar. And if one of the girls fell overboard …
‘The weather was fine last night and this morning,’ I say, voicing my thoughts out loud as much for myself as for the others. ‘If they made the crossing last night or in the early hours they should be OK. They are both strong girls. Even with just one oar I think they could have managed it.’
I’m not sure how much of what I say I actually believe, though. Jack and Alice pile blankets over my shoulders and on my lap.
‘How are you doing?’ Jack asks. All I can do is nod. We look out to sea where the waves continue to rise and fall. I can’t stop shivering. And not just because of the cold.
They sit down beside me, their bodies either side of me helping to warm me up a little. No one says anything. I look again at the single oar pulled out from the sea.
After a while the waves die down slightly and the boat continues forward, bobbing and rocking now instead of the violent lurches of earlier. The rain continues to fall above us but it is easing slightly, falling with a constant beat now rather than in a raging shower.
‘I see the boat!’
Mallachy points towards the shore, gripping the wheel with his other hand. I nearly stumble again as another wave rolls beneath us, but Jack and Alice reach out, steadying me. Together, we head towards the railings, staying close to one another. Somehow, we are now just a hundred metres or so from the island. There is the tumbling-down silhouette of the old church in the distance, there the grey stone walls of what used to be homes, there the white backs of sheep that graze in spite of the storm. Directly ahead I spot a small cove that had been hidden before. Unlike the beach to the right that is being pummelled by waves, this cove is protected by a small headland and the water is much calmer. And there on the pebbly shore is a small boat. Or at least, most of it. As we pull in closer I see a gash in the side of the boat’s hull, splinters of wood scattered on the beach.
I lift a hand to my face. I’ve been trying so hard to stay positive and not to let the worst-case scenario play out in my mind. But looking at that small, broken boat it truly hits me. Today I might lose my daughter. I might have already lost her.
The others are silent too. Jack and Alice hold hands and stare at the beach, their faces pale.
‘I think we might have to wade,’ says Mallachy, the boat slowing and the engine growing still. ‘I don’t think I can get us in any closer.’
In silence he drops the anchor. I’m the first over the side, climbing down into the sea. I’m drenched already so the cold doesn’t even register as I wade without pause towards the beach. Next is Jack, splashing down and helping Alice behind him. As I reach the shore I turn back and am surprised to see Mallachy following us into the water too, Rex leaping after him and swimming to shore.
We gather around the little boat. The hull is half-filled with water and splinters of wood. I don’t need to ask if it’s definitely Ben’s boat. Because there is one word written in cursive letters on the front, next to the crack. ‘Sarah’.
No one moves.
‘Hey, there’s the other oar,’ says Mallachy suddenly, pointing to a piece of wood a little further up the beach. It matches the one that was pulled earlier out of the water and onto Mallachy’s boat. Is finding this second oar a good sign or not? I have no idea.
‘Molly! Molly!’ Alice strides up the beach, shouting with all her strength. Jack follows her, calling his daughter’s name too.
‘Go on, Rex,’ Mallachy says, ruffling his ears. The dog runs away, sniffing the ground and scattering darting rabbits in all directions.
Together, Jack, Alice, Mallachy and I set off across the island. I call my daughter’s name and Molly’s too. We search the cottages by the sea front. Could the girls be hiding in here? But they are all empty. Grass grows up between dilapidated floorboards, ivy wraps around glassless window frames and birds’ nests cling to bare beams, but there’s no sign of the girls. The island has grown wild in the years it’s been uninhabited; birds disperse skittishly from trees as we walk and the sheep look up at us curiously before returning to grazing. Ahead is a low, long building, the roof missing and the window frames bare like most of the other buildings on the island. We head towards it, calling the girls’ names. Jack steps through the open doorway and we follow behind.
Inside is a large room. My eyes fall with surprise onto a scattering of decrepit wooden desks. Twigs and leaves line the floor. There’s a broken, rusted clock buried in a pile of moss.
‘This must have been the school,’ says Alice quietly.
There’s something about this place. It’s so sad, so empty. I glance at the broken desks, trying to picture the children that once sat here.
‘It’s sad, isn’t it?’ Alice says quietly, and I notice that her eyes are red from crying. ‘This once would have been the heart of the island. All those people who used to call this place home … And now everything’s gone.’
Her voice shakes. I shiver, thinking suddenly about the possibility of returning to my flat in London without Ella.
‘Let’s try the church,’ says Jack, turning away from the school. Alice lingers for a second longer and then follows us, wiping hereyes. The church is near the middle of the island. It’s one of the few buildings that still has a roof, or most of it anyway.
Jack and Alice are first to the doorway and I follow behind with Mallachy. As we step inside a clutch of birds shriek and flap away up through a gap in the roof. But other than the birds and a set of dusty pews, the church is empty.
The reality of the situation hits me like one of the waves in the sea and I sink down, sitting on the end of a pew. We were supposed to be going home. And I was supposed to look after my daughter. It’s my job, it’s the only thing, when it comes down to it, that really matters. I bow my head, my body cold and numb.
‘What are you doing?’ comes Jack’s voice.
‘Praying.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in God?’
