Page 23 of Bonetide

He doesn’t look away.

“Goodnight, Iris.”

“Goodnight.” Alasdair, I think, but for some reason I don’t want to say his name.

He nods, once, very slightly, and steps back from the window.

He doesn’t walk away in the direction of the road.

He walks toward the bay.

I watch him go, seeing for real now that he is indeed wearing a pair of black pants and wasn’t naked after all. He moves down the slope behind the cottage, past the gardens, all the way to the rocks at the waterline. He pauses there for a second.

Then he’s gone.

Not into the water exactly, I don’t think I see him go, he’s just no longer there, the rocks dark and empty against the failing sky.

I blink and stand at the kitchen window for a long time after, watching the place where he was.

Then he surfaces halfway across the bay, turns in the water to face me, raising his hand in gesture, then does a quick and easy crawl the rest of the way.

I close the curtain. Double check all the doors are locked.

Then I pick up the phone.

Chapter

Six

The phone rings four times before Maddie picks up.

“You’re alive!” she exclaims.

“Barely,” I grumble, adjusting myself in the armchair, my legs still hurting from the panicked sprint this morning.

“Hang on,” Maddie says. There’s a clatter of dishes in the background, a thump of small feet, my niece’s voice raised in operatic injury. “Rosey, go ask Daddy. Aunt Iris is on the phone and Aunt Iris has been missing for six days. Six. Days. Go bother him.” The thump of small feet gets quieter as they run off.

“So, how are the kids?” I ask lightly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t open with the kids. You only ask about the kids when you’re about to bury something. What is it? Why haven’t you called?”

“I’ve texted,” I protest. “Several times. I’ve sent you pics.”

“Yes, but I know you and you said you would call and you didn’t and now you are, which means something propelled you to talk to me and I need to know what it is.”

“Nothing.”

“Iris. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I’m fine.”

“Iris.”

I close my eyes. My head goes back against the chair. The conversation through the window plays itself behind my eyelids on a loop that won’t turn off.

I would mind if you were afraid of me.

“You see, there’s this guy,” I begin carefully, wondering how on earth I’m going to explain any of this. “A man.”