Mam was drunk. And for once, I didn’t blame her because Morgan had been to the inn again. She had been skittish all afternoon before he arrived. Nervy. Snapping at me when I got under her feet so I retreated to my bedroom to brood. I’d tried to persuade Arthur to help me come up with a way to find out what Morgan wanted with the pub. Or to stop him hurting my mother, or even think of a way to prove he was the man who killed my father, but Arthur said gently that maybe it was too late for that. That I should have said something when Da was killed, because now no one would believe me. I had a horrible feeling that he was right, but how could I rest when my father’s murderer was lurking round the inn, and doing goodness knows what with my mother?
I’d stayed in my room most of the day, wincing every time I heard the clinking as Mam poured herself another drink. I watched the sea and the birds, and sketched the boats that bobbed about on the waves. There were a lot of boats out there, I thought. And one or two seemed closer to shore than usual. Apart from the fishermen, most boats and ships just skirted the Lizard and sailed on by Kirrinporth on their way to Falmouth or up the river to Truro. Today, though, there were more, even though it was a gloomy day with the clouds gathering over the water and the waves swelling bigger and bigger. I looked out at the sea again and shivered. I loved living so close to the water but sometimes it scared me.
Downstairs, I could hear Mam banging about so I closed my sketchbook and went to find her. The inn was empty and she was draped across the bar, head resting on her outstretched arm, while the other hand held a glass of something. Rum? Brandy? It didn’t matter to me – she’d clearly had a lot of it whatever it was, even though the sun was still in the sky.
She looked up at me through bleary eyes.
‘Emily,’ she said. ‘Are you hungry?’
I nodded and tugged her sleeve gently to get her to move. Unsteadily, she stood up, and grasping my hand, followed me obediently to the kitchen at the back of the inn. I let her slump down at the table and set about trying to find some food. The shelves were mostly bare, but we still had some cheese and bread in the pantry so I cut chunks and put them on a plate then I sat down too and pushed the plate towards Mam.
‘Is there anything to drink?’ she asked.
Sighing, I got up again, filled a mug with water and put it down in front of her with a thud. Some of the water spilled on to the table and Mam traced the drops with her finger. I pushed the plate nearer again and she picked up a slice of bread and nibbled it. I took a piece of cheese.
Eventually, when all the food was eaten, Mam spoke. ‘Morgan said he’d come today but he didn’t.’
I nodded. I’d assumed that was why she’d been so jumpy. I was glad he’d not arrived. I didn’t want him looking at Mam the way he did. Touching her with his big hands. Drooling over her like how Tully had drooled over the pig’s ears my father gave him.
A tear rolled down Mam’s cheek. ‘I miss him, Emily.’
I took her hand and squeezed it. I knew where this was going; I’d heard her say the same words so many times since Da died.
‘I loved him,’ Mam said. ‘And he loved me. He did. He loved me. “You’re my girl, Janey,” he would say to me.’
She grimaced. ‘Was he lying?’ she said, her voice harsh from the drink. ‘Was he stringing me along? I know we rowed but I don’t understand why he’d leave, if he loved me like he said.’
She looked at me, her face ugly and twisted suddenly. ‘I don’t understand why he’d leave me here with this inn a millstone round my neck.’
I winced at her sadness, wishing I could take it away. Make her feel better.
Mam pushed the cup of water away and more slopped on to the table.
‘I can’t drink this,’ she said. She got up and wobbled out of the kitchen, hitting her hip on the chair as she went. I got up and followed her as she went back into the front of the inn, ricocheting off the wall on the way. She took a bottle of rum from the side and sloshed some into a glass. I put out my hand, trying to stop her.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Want some?’
I shook my head.
‘Nah. Course you don’t.’
She swigged from the glass and I stared at her, wondering where the old Mam, the one who’d laughed and danced round the inn with Da, had gone.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Emily,’ she said. ‘I’m doing the best I can.’
Suddenly out of energy, she slumped down heavily on a chair and began to sob. ‘I’m doing the best I can,’ she said again, groggily this time. Her head nodded and jerked, and then dropped on to the table in front of her.
I knew that she’d fall asleep soon and that her head would hurt when she woke up so I stroked her hair and nudged her to keep her awake. Then I pulled her arm and like a child she let me take her upstairs to her bedroom. I helped her take off her dress and when she lay down in bed I pulled the blanket over her. With her eyes drooping, she looked up at me.
‘You’re a good girl, Emily,’ she said. ‘What would I do without you?’
I smiled and gently brushed her cheek, which was wet with tears.
‘I don’t want you to worry,’ Mam went on. ‘Morgan will see us right. I know he will.’
I froze with my hand still on Mam’s face and shook my head. He wouldn’t see us right. How could he, when he was the reason we were struggling so much?
Mam snuggled down into the pillow. ‘He’s not a bad man, Emily. He’s just trying to make a living. He’ll take care of us.’
My throat felt tight and narrow. I gasped in air and tried to speak but nothing happened. I tried again. ‘Mam …’ The word was croaky and stilted but it made her eyes snap open. I took a deep breath. There was so much I wanted to say about Morgan, but all I could manage was: ‘Bad.’
Mam’s hand shot out from under the blankets and grabbed my hair, yanking my head painfully downwards.
‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘You know how things were. You know how bad it had got and how no one would help us. Morgan is offering us a way out and he’s the only chance I’ve got of putting food in your belly. I know he’s not perfect but he’s the only one round here bothering with us, and he’s not going to up and leave like your da did.’
I wriggled around so she would let go of me and stood up out of her reach. It had gone so far now that I didn’t know if telling her the truth would hurt her more. How would she feel if she knew she’d let the man who killed her husband into her bed? If she knew there was no chance of Da ever coming home. So I stood there and looked at her, taking in the bruises round her wrists and her dark eyes that were dull and hopeless. And then I turned and walked out of the room, leaving her on her own.
I stood at the top of the stairs for a minute, listening in case Mam called out for me. But she was quiet, so rubbing my hair where she’d pulled it, I went back down to the inn to lock up for the night. There were no customers. It was dark now and quiet on the clifftop. All I could hear was the waves crashing down below. And a shout. Then another. I opened the door and stepped outside into the night. The earlier rain had stopped but the clouds covered the moon and it was as black as the dead of night, though it wasn’t late. I stood still listening. There was nothing.
Carefully, I walked round to the side of the inn and looked out over the dark sea. No. No sign of anyone or anything. But as I turned to go back inside, a light on the cliff to my right caught my eye, glowing red through the darkness. It wasn’t a house – there was nothing there – but there was definitely a steady glow from somewhere. Was it a lantern? I wasn’t sure. Squinting through the night I tried to see if there was someone there but it was impossible to make out any shapes in the gloom.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And then I heard a wail, like the yowl of a cat or a woman in pain. With a gasp, my heart thumping, I darted back inside the inn and slammed the door shut, sliding the locks across with trembling fingers. What was that noise? Was someone hurt? Should I help? Quickly, I ran up the stairs, looking in on Mam to check it hadn’t been her crying out, but she slept peacefully.
In my bedroom, I went to the window and looked out. On the cliff I could see an ethereal glow – different from the glow earlier and sort of other-worldly. I’d seen it before, that phosphorescent glimmer, and it always made me shiver. Again I felt that prickle on the back of my neck. Something was very strange here, I thought as I picked up my sketch book and quickly sketched an outline of the cliffs, to remind me where the odd lights were; I wanted to tell Arthur all about them when I had a chance.
I put that paper aside, and hunching down in my blankets, I began to draw another picture of Arthur and me on top of our cart, heading out into the wild to build a new life together. We’d be safe there, I thought. Safer than we were here.