what I found or what?’
‘You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?’
‘I just fancied a ride out, so off I went. I wasn’t even thinking of the house when I left, sure I wasn’t, but after a bit I just had an idea. Why not, I thought? If there’s nothing to see, there’s nothing to see. It wasn’t like I was doing anything else. So I headed west.
‘I got lost a few times, but there was always some kid to put me right. I got there just after lunchtime. It was pretty much like any other seaside village. I stopped on the green, sat on a bench and ate my sandwich. Watched the world go by. Well, a couple of old folk was about it. Then I rode up the lane towards the coast, looking out for the MacLennan cottage.
‘I found what was left of it. Looked like it had been demolished, right enough. You’d miss it if you weren’t looking. The garden was still there, though, with a broken fence and gate - the fruit trees, too. It was dead quiet like, just the birds singing. It gave me the creeps, so I didn’t hang about. I cycled down to the cliffs. There’s a cool path all the way to the main beach, so I left the bike at the top and went down. In the book it’s the beach where they met the dog. So I climbed rocks for a bit and had a paddle, you know. Then I looked up and saw what was left of Kilmareich House. Just one of the walls; that’s all you can see from the beach nowadays.
‘Anyway, I went back up the cliff path and followed me nose. You have to walk through bushes and trees and all to get anywhere near it. When I got to the gates I felt really weird. It was like I was in the book, you know? But it’s just rubble and the roof’s fell in and all. Looks like no one’s been there for years. So I had a root around, not really looking for anything, just poking about in the ruins.
And that’s when I found it.
‘I knew pretty much what it was straight away. It wasn’t plastic, it was that stuff they used to make radio parts out of way back before plastic was invented. My da reminded me what it was called when I showed it him - ‘cause I couldn’t remember the name at the time.
‘ Bakelite .
‘So, according to the story, Kilmareich House was empty from around 1880. And, like, no one would have had a radio there, or anything near it, ‘cause they hadn’t been invented. It was a weird shape, the Bakelite piece. I looked it up when I got home. It’s one of those tappy things they used to use on a radio transmitter - you know, to tap out Morse code or something like it. It was half burned away by the fire, but maybe that’s what the fire was all about - destroying evidence. But this part got saved somehow. Maybe it rained.
‘Anyhow, Mr Rory Keane, that’s what I found - so now I definitely don’t believe in ghosts.’
Fin went off then, hands in pockets, obviously pleased with himself. And I had to hand it to him, it was a pretty nifty piece of work. The really annoying thing was what he did with the bakelite. Did he keep it?
Did he hell.
He chucked it into the Atlantic on his way home.
So he says.
But like I said, I can always tell when Fin’s rawmaishing me.
the final chapter
Jean Brady, spinster, forty-four years of age, teacher and book club chairwoman, felt the wind on her face and sighed with pleasure. She had long abandoned trying to determine the reason for her fascination with this particular area - but today, perhaps, it was just that the book was preying upon her mind, as was its central character, Jenny MacLennan. Or maybe it was because her late adoptive parents had let slip on occasion that her real mother, about whom Jean knew very little, had enjoyed a special affinity with this stretch of coastline.
It was a calm evening and the sea was a blue band topped with white, curling horses. Jean made her way along the path leading down to the beach where the rocks lay like discarded slates from a giant’s building yard. She imagined Jenny and Jack
‘You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?’
‘I just fancied a ride out, so off I went. I wasn’t even thinking of the house when I left, sure I wasn’t, but after a bit I just had an idea. Why not, I thought? If there’s nothing to see, there’s nothing to see. It wasn’t like I was doing anything else. So I headed west.
‘I got lost a few times, but there was always some kid to put me right. I got there just after lunchtime. It was pretty much like any other seaside village. I stopped on the green, sat on a bench and ate my sandwich. Watched the world go by. Well, a couple of old folk was about it. Then I rode up the lane towards the coast, looking out for the MacLennan cottage.
‘I found what was left of it. Looked like it had been demolished, right enough. You’d miss it if you weren’t looking. The garden was still there, though, with a broken fence and gate - the fruit trees, too. It was dead quiet like, just the birds singing. It gave me the creeps, so I didn’t hang about. I cycled down to the cliffs. There’s a cool path all the way to the main beach, so I left the bike at the top and went down. In the book it’s the beach where they met the dog. So I climbed rocks for a bit and had a paddle, you know. Then I looked up and saw what was left of Kilmareich House. Just one of the walls; that’s all you can see from the beach nowadays.
‘Anyway, I went back up the cliff path and followed me nose. You have to walk through bushes and trees and all to get anywhere near it. When I got to the gates I felt really weird. It was like I was in the book, you know? But it’s just rubble and the roof’s fell in and all. Looks like no one’s been there for years. So I had a root around, not really looking for anything, just poking about in the ruins.
And that’s when I found it.
‘I knew pretty much what it was straight away. It wasn’t plastic, it was that stuff they used to make radio parts out of way back before plastic was invented. My da reminded me what it was called when I showed it him - ‘cause I couldn’t remember the name at the time.
‘ Bakelite .
‘So, according to the story, Kilmareich House was empty from around 1880. And, like, no one would have had a radio there, or anything near it, ‘cause they hadn’t been invented. It was a weird shape, the Bakelite piece. I looked it up when I got home. It’s one of those tappy things they used to use on a radio transmitter - you know, to tap out Morse code or something like it. It was half burned away by the fire, but maybe that’s what the fire was all about - destroying evidence. But this part got saved somehow. Maybe it rained.
‘Anyhow, Mr Rory Keane, that’s what I found - so now I definitely don’t believe in ghosts.’
Fin went off then, hands in pockets, obviously pleased with himself. And I had to hand it to him, it was a pretty nifty piece of work. The really annoying thing was what he did with the bakelite. Did he keep it?
Did he hell.
He chucked it into the Atlantic on his way home.
So he says.
But like I said, I can always tell when Fin’s rawmaishing me.
the final chapter
Jean Brady, spinster, forty-four years of age, teacher and book club chairwoman, felt the wind on her face and sighed with pleasure. She had long abandoned trying to determine the reason for her fascination with this particular area - but today, perhaps, it was just that the book was preying upon her mind, as was its central character, Jenny MacLennan. Or maybe it was because her late adoptive parents had let slip on occasion that her real mother, about whom Jean knew very little, had enjoyed a special affinity with this stretch of coastline.
It was a calm evening and the sea was a blue band topped with white, curling horses. Jean made her way along the path leading down to the beach where the rocks lay like discarded slates from a giant’s building yard. She imagined Jenny and Jack
Similar Books
