The helicopter clatters overhead as Jack goes storming out, cursing the lighthouse keeper, who is glad to see him go. The Keeper longs to be wrapped up in silence again in the weary light of afternoon, when the chopper has gone. He watches Jack stride away, out of the gate, down the slope. He’s heading down past the bench and into the dip where the coaches stop.
Oh no.
The black and yellow helicopter is like a huge wasp hanging just beyond the edge of the cliff. People are standing on the grass and in the lay-by looking at it, some daring to step forward and try to see down over. Careful now. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy. They must have found another body. Three this week. What’s happening? Not Frank, surely? He was going home.
The Keeper begins to jog down the hill. He sees a police car, and recognizes the two officers from the pub, standing with the Chief. Jack is there too, shouting at them: ‘Is it her? Is it Sarah? I told you, why didn’t you believe me? You could have saved her!’
‘Sir, please!’ The male officer steps in front of Jack, both palms up, trying to calm him down. His female colleague intercepts the Keeper and diverts him by a few paces, turning so they both have their backs to the others. ‘Sir, could I have a word? The gentleman says you were talking to someone on the cliff here earlier. Is that right?’
‘A lot of people come here.’
‘This person, in particular, was distressed.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I only have a description at the moment, sir. A smallish gentleman, shorter than average. Slim. He was wearing a white football shirt, I believe.’
Frank. The helicopter is still hovering over the edge, the downdraught whipping into faces. A few people push against it and dare to lean forward and look over. It’s a long, long way down. If the chopper goes, the wind will drop and they’ll fall.
‘He was fine. I don’t understand.’
‘Sir, the Guardian says—’
‘He was really angry.’
‘People sometimes are, sir, when the time comes.’
‘Not Frank. The Guardian was angry. He said I should keep my nose out of it. I just talked to him. Frank, that is. He seemed fine. Better.’
‘Look, sir, can I be honest with you? These Guardians, they’re not police officers. But they are trained, sir.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘They know what they’re doing. It’s best we let them get on with it.’
The man they call the Keeper sees the Chief throwing a glance his way.
‘Are you arresting me?’
‘Should I be, sir? At this stage, I’m making enquiries. Now . . .’
The clatter of the helicopter makes it hard to think, but the Keeper tries to recall the things that were said, tries to make sense of what happened with Frank. He can’t believe it. What about Billy? Go home. That’s what he said. Go home. ‘I didn’t mean jump—’
‘What, sir?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So as I was saying, if you wouldn’t mind, sir, just let us know if you see anything out of the ordinary, living where you do. Another pair of eyes. Living up here. Here is my mobile number, just in case. I wouldn’t want you to be overly concerned; it’s just there has been this increase of late, and we would like to know . . .’
Where’s Jack? He’s not by the police car. Not with the walkers and students trying to peer over the edge. It’s not Sarah they have found, thank God for that anyway, but poor Billy, poor Sophie. Poor Frank.
‘Your phone won’t work up here,’ he says to the policeman. ‘You know that, though. Will you talk to Jack? Please?’
‘Ours do. Sorry, sir, I’m not with you.’
Jack is nowhere to be seen.