“They meant well.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there were still chicken nuggets from time to time. And I don't look over my shoulder every time I have a cheat day. It’s not like they gave me a complex or anything. But later it dawned on me that there's no sense in wasting time worrying about the bogeyman. There's nothing he can do to us. Nothing like what we do to ourselves.
“I told you I don't believe in the Devil, but the fact is I don't care. If he's out there waiting for me, let him wait. I have no time for him. And neither do you, Mr. Browne.”
“We've got nothing but time. You'll find that out soon enough if you stay on this island. There's something wrong with this place. And everyone on the outside, people like you, they don't see it.”
“The island does have a certain… broodiness to it. My husband called it a beach resort for goths.”
“For what?”
“Goths? It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s not the gloom, Constable. How many people where you come from know we exist?”
“Not many. Most of them didn’t believe it was a real place even after I told them.”
“That's because they've forgotten about us again.”
“Again? Is that something that happens often?”
“People have been forgetting about this place for ages.” His hand drifted down to where a hymnal might have once rested in a pocket on the pew in front of him. “The first time the island was forgotten, it went by Nouvelle Rochelle. I read about it in the library in Perth. That’s the name Baudin gave to it. But the British decided it was South Alderney and settled sheep farmers here to prove it. Then they forgot about it too, until the whalers came. When there were no more whales they brought in debtors and orphans to live in the hulks and resupply the ships to Australia. The steamships came along and forgot why they needed to stop here in the first place. The Australians came for the fisheries and left to go be independent. And then there was no one left to remember South Alderney but us.”
He looked down as if noticing his fingers running along the empty wooden pocket and pulled his hands in.
“When we die out, they’ll have to discover it all over again and give it a new name. Maybe that’s what Baudin did. Maybe there was someone here before us that we’ve all forgotten about.”
“Mr. Browne. Gregory. I'm not going to forget about anyone I'm tasked with protecting.” Emma suppressed the realization that she had already forgotten how many people even lived on the island. “I don't believe you committed a crime, let alone that you're possessed by the Devil. There is something going on here that is logical and reasonable. Right now I feel stupid for not putting the pieces together, but whatever is going on I will figure it out, and I will keep you safe. I promise you.”
Greg looked her in the eye. Through an enormous force of will Emma didn't look away. He stood up.
“I think I need to go home now. The wife will be worried.”
The walk back to The Rock was uncanny. Dawn and dusk were the only moments when the air stood still. In the unnatural quiet, sound could be heard that was normally drowned out. She could hear a generator humming two back gardens away, and a woman somewhere was chasing geese. Everyone’s activities were revealed. People walked quickly, like insects scurrying away from the kitchen light.
Emma knew better than to expect anyone to show their true nature when there was nowhere to hide. When it’s quiet people whisper. It would help if she knew what she was listening for.
On the street in front of her, a seagull perched on an upturned cobble and preened. She could clearly see the white feathers underneath and the almost blue-gray speckles along the back.
Emma stopped short.
“Do they all look like that?”
She walked on, squinting sideways at every bird she passed.
That night Emma and David sat on the hotel bed with the island's finest takeaway between them. David rummaged through paper bags with his hands, though he could have identified their contents by looking straight through them.
“These are your chips, I think.”
“Are they... weeping?”
“Can't blame them, really. They've led a hard life.”
Emma bargained for a way out. “What's under there?”
“That's what the girl referred to as ‘cod.’ No doubt some antipodal shorthand for whatever creature they found evolving its way onto dry land today.”
“We're sure it's dead, right?”
“Greased to death, the poor thing.”
She picked it up with a piece of transparent wax paper. “What do you think they're up to back home?”
“Something old, something new. Mostly the former if precedent is any guide.”
“Sometimes I forget that time doesn't stand still while we’re here. Our friends in London are getting on with their lives. The last time I talked to him, Dad went on and on about his plans for the garden. He says he finally has a spot for hydrangeas, because you can't grow them in full sun over there, apparently.”
“Goodness. I hope they at least wait until we can visit to have the viewing party!”
“Alright, so it's not a high stakes dilemma. It still bothers me. Nothing ever bothers you.”
“How utterly dare you. That’s not true at all. I wondered yesterday when we would get our next proper pint by the river.”
“You didn't say anything to me.”
“I didn't want you to blame yourself for dragging us out here to this waterlogged shanty town.”
“Oh yes, thank goodness you didn't guilt me. My hero. Give me something else. Is that a saveloy or a sea cucumber?”
“I
