Page 65 of The Blue Hour

‘Well,’ Grace says, ‘no. I don’t think I could saythat.’

It’s difficult for her to explain, because for so long the moment of the killing has existed outside words, the memory of it elusive as smoke, all but irretrievable. If she did try to recall it – something she rarely allowed herself to do – it seemed dreamlike in itsabsurdity. It made no sense at all: they were walking, it was a beautiful day, they stood on a hill, they looked at a house, they ate sandwiches, held hands, talked about lying low, starting over. Then it was dark, the wind tearing at the trees, the sea raging, and she was freezing, filthy, frightened. Alone. In between those two states of being there seemed to be nothing at all, no bridge, no causeway.

The tide was out and they were together, the tide came in and he was dead.

Connections between these two situations came to her only rarely and in brief snatches: the sound of his voice, mocking and relentless, the sensation of soft, tender fingers crunched beneath her boot. Such a small thing, that stamp: petulant, ludicrous,deserved. Small and momentous at the same time: once done, there was no taking it back; once done, the story wrote itself, the ending was clear: there was no possibility Nick could ever leave the island.

She only understood this much later, when she realized that what she had done had been self-defence. He was threatening her, wasn’t he? Didn’t he say that he would make her pay? And there was a physical threat too, wasn’t there? He was down the hole and she was on the edge of it, but surely there was menace when he said,Do you want me to fuck you?

What choice did she have?

And once it was over, what else could she do but cover him up and leave him there and never speak of it? What good would it have done to turn herself in? No one would have understood. It would have given no comfort to his parents to learn of their son’s final moments, though it would have given them closure, and for denying them that, Grace has always been sorry.

But what good doessorrydo? Who doessorryhelp?

‘You have to think of all the good I have done,’ she says quietly to Becker. ‘There is so much more onthatside of the scale.’

Becker coughs, shaking his head. ‘That’s not how it works, you can’t weigh one life against another.’

‘You can,’ Grace insists. ‘I’ve helped countless people, I’ve saved lives. I saved Vanessa’s life, Marguerite’s, too.’ She slips the belt from the top of her trousers and loops it around his upper arm; she slips one end through the buckle and pulls it taut. ‘I killed Julian for her,’ she says. ‘I did it to keep her safe.’ She would like to tell him about the art, too, not because she is proud, but because she wants to confess tosomeone. After all, Vanessa’s forgiveness was granted without knowing the enormity of what Grace had done, and so if she’s honest with herself, it wasn’t really forgiveness at all.

Becker starts to struggle again, so she places her forearm across his throat to subdue him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘please don’t struggle. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.’ She can see that he doesn’t forgive her, he hates her. She presses harder. ‘It’s all right now,’ she says. ‘It’s all right.’ He looks so frightened. She doesn’t want him to be frightened. She removes her arm, kisses him on the forehead, and slips the needle under his skin. ‘Rest now. You can stay here with me.’

48

The old lady has put arsenic in his tea. Is she going to stuff him?

Becker has stopped crying. He feels so much better. Everything is going to be fine. He’ll just sleep for a while, right here, on the sofa.

No, not on the sofa. He’s not on the sofa, is he? He’s sitting up. The car. He’s in the car. His car. Did he walk out to his car? He can’t remember walking to the car. He’s not sure he’s OK to drive. Oh, that’s OK, he’s not driving. She is. Grace is driving. They’re going down the hill, down they go, down down down.

We’ve missed the tide.

The tide is too high. Grace, the tide is too high.

It’s dark now. Or did he just have his eyes shut? No, it’s dark.

Where is Grace?

He can’t drive, he’s in no state to drive. Where is Grace?

Grace is gone.

Grace. Amazing grace, the grace of God. Good graces, bad graces. Grace killed Julian, Grace destroyed Vanessa’s work. How did it take him so long to see the light?

He can see a light.

The light at the end of the tunnel?

That’s gone now, too.

Oh, there it is.

The lighthouse. It’s the lighthouse.

It’s cold, his feet are very cold.

His feet are wet.

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