What Lies Beneath the Fog

》22《

Emma turned towards me with a questioning  look in her eyes, waiting patiently for my answer.

I stared back at her for a while, surprised by her train of thought, and even more surprised that my own thoughts were following more or less the same path.

After a moment, I shook my head no. I didn't want to think that Walter Byron killed his wife. But I didn't think that Anne had left him for the painting teacher either.

It was something else.

"Me neither," Emma said, walking back to our desk and closing the old book gently. "But what happened to her then?"

Lost in her own thoughts, she placed the book back in its case and locked it. Then she looked at me again, her heather eyes determined, sparkling with mischief, and an impish smile playing on her lips.

"Give me your key and watch out, I don't want my mum to see me," she said in a low voice.

"What?" I asked, unsure of what she was after.

Emma pointed to another glass case containing a few objects, a large skeleton key among them.

"We need that," she whispered, indicating the key, "and Mum will never give it to us, even if I beg her. So just watch out, and let me borrow it, ok?"

Was she going to swap the keys? No way...

But, as she had said, we needed it. I gave her my broken key and looked towards the entrance, where her mum was still working on the computer. Luckily, we were the only visitors that afternoon. There was no one to see what we were doing. In no time, I heard the soft click of the glass case being open, then closed and locked again, and felt Emma's hand slipping the whole key in my pocket.

Standing on her tiptoes, she leaned to my ear and whispered, "Done."

I shivered when her warm breath touched my earlobe. She was suddenly so close, the scent of roses from her hair was muddling my mind, making me forget all about the Byrons' mystery...

"What are you two up to?"
Mrs. Boyd's voice echoed unexpectedly through the empty room, making me jump.

"Nothing, Mum," Emma replied, giggling, taking a step away from me. "We are done."

"It's about time," Mrs. Boyd said, looking at her watch. "We are going home soon, Emma. Come on!"

Only now I noticed that the faint light of the rainy afternoon coming in through the windows was gone. It was getting dark outside.

I looked back to the glass case containing the key, inspecting her work. The way Emma had arranged it, the broken key looked perfect. No one would notice the difference unless they touched it. I smiled at her, and she winked at me, placing her index finger over her lips.

"You keep the key. I feel we will need it soon," she said in a half whisper, walking towards her mother, removing her gloves.

"Are you ok to go home alone, Liam? I'll keep Emma here with me for a while to help me lock up, and then we'll leave as well," Mrs. Boyd asked me.

"Of course. Thank you very much for letting me see the book," I responded, finally removing the plastic gloves too, stuffing them in my pocket.

Emma accompanied me to the front door, out of her mum's earshot.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I asked her. I couldn't imagine a day without seeing her anymore. She had already become an inseparable part of my life on this island.

"Sure, maybe we can go over to the lighthouse and try the key," she proposed.

Her curiosity about the Byrons' mystery seemed to be even stronger than mine. I didn't really fancy entering the tower of the Old Lighthouse, in which no one, except for Anne's ghost, had laid foot in years.... But how could I tell her no?

"Certainly. Now that we have it, we must definitely try it," I said what she wanted to hear, and noticed that it took all her self-restraint not to jump in my arms and hug me. If only her mum wasn't there...

But she was, and she was watching us over the rim of her glasses. So I could only return Emma's huge, content smile and say goodbye to both of them. Then I was on my way home in the drizzling, misty semi-darkness, following the cone of light of the Byron's Lighthouse.

In the time I reached our house, the short, grey evening morphed fast into a dark, damp night. I was glad that the rain was still very soft, not a real danger to my father's expedition. It was quite exciting to be on my own and do whatever I wanted for once.

This was the first time that I found myself alone in the old cottage, and as the evening progressed, I noticed how much louder it was when there was only me to listen to it. The ancient wood of the floors and stairs cracked and creaked, whispering its memories and moaning against my feet whenever they disturbed its deep slumber.

Hoping to banish, or at least obliterate, some of the disturbing shadows and sounds of the house, I switched on the lights in most of the rooms and turned the television on. Then I walked into the kitchen. It was dinner time, and I was quite hungry. Opening the fridge, I sighed. There was enough food left, but I was in no mood for cooking and then washing dishes. In the end, I fixed myself a simple ham and cheese sandwich, using precisely one plate. It would do for once.

I carried my meal to my dad's study corner of the sitting room and switched on the computer. Maybe I could find some more useful information about the Byrons on the internet. While the computer was coming to life, I took a bite of my sandwich and piled some wood inside the empty fireplace. It wasn't cold enough to start the fire at the moment, but if the rain kept coming all night, there would be a need for it soon.

The computer was still without any internet connection when I finished my dinner, rinsed my plate, and came back with a cup of tea. It was the same with my phone, no coverage at all. If this was what a bit of summer rain did to our more delicate technology, I didn't want to think about a proper winter downpour and a gale-force wind, so typical of the Hebrides. Hopefully we won't spend all winter without electricity or running water.

Fortunately, I wasn't dependent on the internet connection. Not tonight, at least. Feeling suddenly tired, I switched everything off and went upstairs to my room.

Grabbing my pyjamas from under the pillow, I went to take a shower. Then, without bothering to separate my dirty clothes from those cleaner and reusable ones, as Mum always requested, I switched off the lights and threw myself on the bed.

The pleasant pitter-patter of rain falling on the roof tiles above my head made me fall asleep in no time.