So to hell with him, that man, that broken, awful man and his creepy tower. Sarah is glad to be out of there, striding hard down the hill away from the lighthouse, wondering if he is watching her, knowing that he is. That bloody man with his stories and his soup and his skin tight on the bones and his blue eyes that never look at you and when they do they see right through you. The late afternoon is absurdly still; she can hear her breathing in time with the crunch and slip of her boots on chalk and grass. The sea is a flat grey snakeskin, sliding into a slightly lighter sky. All the walkers have gone home, there are no cars on the road below. The thud of a farmer’s gun echoes over the Downs from a field somewhere, followed by a crack. And the cry of a child . . . no, it’s the mocking call of a gull, away out of sight where the nests are, on the sheer cliff edge below the line.
As she walks on the broad green back of the hill, there is a dip to the left where the ground falls, then rises again to the edge like a wave. And in among the bushes a woman dressed in green and black, almost hidden but for a red cloth folded over her arm. It’s a sweater, with gold lettering. She’s a Guardian. Calling out something to Sarah. What is it? She can’t hear. Too late to turn away.
‘Hi! Please, I am not a busybody, it is my job. Are you okay?’
‘No. Not at all. I’m thinking of throwing myself off.’
‘Oh! My name is Magda—’
‘I was joking,’ says Sarah, walking on. ‘But thank you.’
Magda is there in front of her, alongside her. ‘Let me help, please. I can. You see.’
Her grip is strong. This Magda is wiry, hard. She has full, flushed cheeks, a button nose, dark-rimmed eyes that dart across the Downs as she takes the lead. Her bright white hair flicks into Sarah’s eyes. ‘You come. Here. Sit.’
Seriously? It’s a mound of grass sheltered by shrub and gorse, out of the wind . . . but right on the edge. Three, four steps away. The drop looms, it’s giddying.
‘It is safe,’ says Magda. ‘A quiet place.’
No, thinks Sarah, but she’s so tired, so empty, she sits down anyway.
Magda holds out a white paper bag. ‘Fudge? I make it myself.’
It tastes good, sweet, rich. There is tea to drink, from a flask. The steam curls straight, there is barely any wind in this moment. Sarah has not seen it like this up here before. Is Gabe still watching, from the tower? He will be thinking she is safe now. Who is this woman?
‘Where are you from?’
‘London.’
‘No, where from?’
Oh please, not that again now. ‘London.’
‘Yes. Okay. I can help. More tea?’
It’s thick, dark, laden with sugar and it makes Sarah feel sick, but she does want more. She’s so tired.
‘Would you like to lie down?’
Yes, she would. She feels safer that way, with her face to the sky. If this great chalk wave collapses into the sea, then she will go with it. But Sarah feels bonded to the earth.
‘Better? More comfortable?’
She could sleep.
She could.
Sleep.
Magda is beside her. Speaking. Slowly. Softly.
‘Now that is better. You are very beautiful. I like your hair, it is very special. My mother, she was beautiful. Different to you, of course, she is from Poland, but so beautiful, even when she was old. Full of life, you say, zywa.’
Sarah feels breath on her cheek but her eyes are closed.
‘That is better. You should rest. We are not to suffer, God does not want that. I know this. He has shown me, through my mother. She got sick. It begins with her fingers. She cannot feel. Then her arm, two arms. Legs. She is a bird in a cage, she is, unable to fly. Pain all day, all night. I cannot stand to see her but I must be in the room, to feed her. Clean her. Everywhere. She cannot speak but she begs me, you know?’
Magda is so close, but Sarah is lost in a light, a blinding light from long ago.
‘I saw that it was kind to help her go on, woli Bozej, will of God. You are so lovely, like her.’ She moves closer still, cheek to cheek. ‘I want to help you. There is no shame. It was good for me to come to this country, away from the talking. The priests do not understand. God is peace. Love. Mercy. No more tears. No more suffering. We go to a better place. Perhaps it is better while you are still young and strong and beautiful, while you can choose. Before the pain.’
A gust of wind is like a slap in the face that wakes Sarah, just enough, but Magda’s hand is firm on her shoulder, pressing her back down into the earth.
‘Hey! Hush, now. Be still.’
‘Stop!’
‘I am doing nothing. I am a Guardian, I am here to help. Is God’s will. He loves you. He tells me, after my mother. You miss your mother, yes? She waits for you.’
Magda stands, and pulls a wobbly Sarah to her feet.
‘See, the light shining on the water?’
She does. Far out to sea. As if through a fog.
‘Your mother is there. She is happy, she wants you. This is the door. Take a step. Good, now again. You can go through to her. She is waiting—’
‘Sarah! Sarah!’ The lighthouse man is calling, from far away. ‘Magda, is she okay?’
He’s running over the slope towards them, approaching fast, barefoot despite the stones. Sarah feels Magda’s grip tighten and she is yanked back, away from the edge and down, manhandled like a sickly patient.
‘There is something wrong with her,’ Magda tells him urgently. ‘She is not sensible. She was here by the edge and I saw her, I came across to stop her, I pull her back,’ she says, talking fast, wrapping Sarah in the red sweater that smells of heavy, sickly perfume. ‘Is this the one who is missing? Jack, the husband, he is in the pub. London today, but we have the booking, so he will return this evening, I think. Shall we take her there, to the pub?’ There is desperation in her voice. Whatever this is, whatever it was Gabe saw that made him run, he suddenly doesn’t trust Magda like he did.
‘The lighthouse is closer. I’ll take care of her.’
‘Until Jack comes?’
‘Yes, okay,’ he says reluctantly, stopping himself from saying any more.
Sarah feels fuzzy. Her head is so heavy. Magda whispers in her ear: ‘Your mother is waiting.’ Then the lighthouse man lifts her up and off the ground and walks with her in his arms. She can smell the sweat on him and something else, darker, stronger. What is that? What is it? Wondering, she sleeps.