The man they had found a month later, well he was different. This time it had been him and Rick, the rovers of the creeks in their idle hours last summer, looking for flotsam, only Stonewall secretly hoping they'd find another corpse, because of all the fuss people made of him last time.

Being famous gave him a wonderful, fleeting insight into being noticed.

They'd been so brave, they could still make themselves shudder at the memory. The second body, a man, had only been in and out of the sea for two days and was so nearly alive they couldn't look at him. A man with his face in the rictus of a smile, another gob full of sand as he lay on a bank, sluiced with mud, his good trousers dragged off his ankles and his bottom a little white mountain.

Turned him over and his goolies fell out. Hung like a donkey, Rick said. They had sn.i.g.g.e.red while trembling, called Uncle Jack who panicked and talked about sending for the lifeboat. More sn.i.g.g.e.ring, hugging themselves, as if anything more than a rowboat could get near at low water, he'd have to go by land. Seen one, seen 'em all, said Rick. They had stood in the tideless channel and rocked with mirth until the doctor came and seemed to know who it was. Then it was harder to laugh. In the end, it was he who carried the corpse away with their help, brought his car as far as he could, using a piece of Rick's dripping sail to lug the thing over two creeks and into the boot; it was all anyone could do with the tide rising all the time.

Mostly, though, it was left to the doc. Everyone else turned away; so had Rick and he, but not before they had both seen what they had seen: the doctor, kicking the corpse as if it had been a football. Just a couple of kicks, but hard. Stonewall could still hear the sound of a shoe going into a' waterlogged chest, could not quite recall the sight of it, since even he had turned his head, but he could always recall the sound. Schluck, schluck, schluck, the thudding of mad hatred.

Funny at the time. Everything with Rick was funny, but they never, ever discussed that bit again.

Stonewall had felt sorry for the drowned man, later. He reckoned that if he drowned, he would be taken away and buried somewhere like the man was. His mum and dad wouldn't come to the funeral either. They'd be too busy.

Stonewall pounded on the door of Swamp Cottage, then opened it. There was a lock which was never used, nothing to steal; burglary was not a problem in the village, except recently, when it could be called the work of tourists or the ghost. The door led straight into a tiny scullery where only two dishes lurked in the sink and a fly buzzed at the window, down a step into a living room where a TV blared. Rick sat in an old sofa, his finger easing stuffing out a split in the arm as he gazed at the screen. The sight of the haversack on the floor and the bruises round the eyes threw Stonewall into a panic.

'You're not going, Rick? You're not going away, are you? Your dad'll kill you.' His voice was high with anxiety.

'He already tried,' Rick grunted. He got up, towering in the gloomy room, his head inches away from the ceiling as he ruffled the boy's hair. 'Don't fret, boy, it wasn't so bad. Only I might go on the boat tonight. Then again, I might not.'

'Can I come too?'

'Nope. Only in the mornings. Your mum'd miss you. G.o.d knows why.' Stonewall relaxed. If Rick was teasing, he must be all right. The boy took up occupation of the sofa and began to play with the stuffing, rolling flax between his fingers. He was utterly relieved to find Rick so normal, had news to impart which made him as full to bursting as three rounds of chips followed by chocolate.

'Tell you what, Rick, I just seen a ghost just now. I did, honest. A woman.'

Oh yeah?'

I saw this woman, see? Same one as I used to see, long time ago, when my dad started taking me out in the boat-'

And you were scared to death of the water. Oh I remember that. You'd cry like some mating cat in heat, you would.' Rick taunted without malice. 'Wait a minute,' he added, still teasing, 'you mean you saw one whole woman ugly enough to be a ghost? Just the one? There's dozens out there!' His laugh hit the rafters.

It's the same one,' said the boy stubbornly, 'that came up out of the sand. She went down the creeks, drunk, her face mashed up. I was with Dad, he ticked me off for laughing at her. Course, that was MY body, the one I found with Dad, not the one I found with you. I'd never have remembered her if it wasn't for her stuff, with her picture in. Anyway, this one I just seen got the same red hair. Lots. Got to be a ghost. Or a twin?' He wilted under Rick's glare.

Stonewall could not resist the importance of being present at the finding of two bodies, made reference to it whenever he could. He'd been a cosseted celebrity in school twice over. Rick, on the other hand, had only ever found the one. A few dogs and cats down the creeks, a couple of swans poisoned by lead weights, a seal killed by ma.s.sive fishing hooks, but only one corpse. It was the only feature of Stonewall's little life which gave him any superiority. He milked it.

'Red hair? You saw a ghost with red hair this morning, did you?' Rick jeered. Stonewall was deflated.

'Saw her this morning, when I went out looking for you. Saw her again, walking into town, with your girlfriend,' he said cunningly, but Rick only shrugged.

'That weren't no ghost, baby. That's a lawyer, so she says. Belongs out with those Pardoes. They could do with a gardener, never mind a lawyer. And Jo isn't my girlfriend.'

Oh no? Not what I heard,' said Stonewall, looking so much the little man. Rick wanted to laugh at him but hadn't the heart.

Anyway, I follows them both. That's how I come to reckon the red one was a ghost. Your Joanna went in the grocer's; the ghost went in the doctor's. Just like that other one with the hair used to do, all the time. My Aunty Mary used to say it was shocking.'

Stonewall loved to be the purveyor of adult gossip, which lost none of its sparkle in his eleven-year-old eyes for the obscurity of its implications. He simply liked the tone of it, knew they were talking about s.e.x when they lowered their voices and went into corners. In his own home with two babies, he was not a powerful person, always last in line, listening. Brilliant, Rick would say, sometimes in genuine amazement at what this child, so silent indoors and so loquacious out, could collect as second-hand knowledge. Stonewall sensed attention was beginning to wander.

'Going to get your girlfriend on the boat?' he asked, to rekindle interest.

'She ain't my girlfriend, I tell you. You deaf?'

'She thinks she is,' Stonewall muttered.

Rick swaggered. 'Her and who else?' he said, then caught sight of his face in the cracked mirror propped over the mantelpiece, let his mouth drop in a leer. 'Her and Granny Pardoe, at this rate, any woman draws a short straw with me,' he muttered. 'Fancy an ice-cream down on the beach?'

The boy hid his enthusiasm by shrugging, nodded, followed with a little skip and a sigh of pleasure which somehow got out before he could stop it.

And there's another thing,' he began as they went out into the alley.

Oh yes, another ghost, I suppose. The one with white hair? Tall bloke? Come on, everyone says they've seen that.'

'Maybe ghosts come out at the same time.'

'Well, I don't know,' said Rick admiringly, cuffing him round the ear. 'I think you need gla.s.ses, boy. Dark ones, with wipers, stop you seeing so much.'

'That ghost got my dog,' said Stonewall stubbornly, horribly ashamed of the way his eyes filled with tears. 'He did. I saw him, and then Sal ran away.'

Rick was thinking of his evening date, half wishing he hadn't made it. Thought of Jo and tried to put her out of his mind.

When Sarah got back to the homestead, wondering whether it was better simply to pack up her bags and leave before she was sacked, two sights met her eyes as she went, like an old familiar, to the back door. The first was Mrs Pardoe, sunbathing in the cabbage patch. She looked like a religious emblem, lying in the pose of a crucifixion with her legs discreetly crossed, the dress hoiked up and the arms spreadeagled. A little dirt didn't seem to matter. Sarah approached with caution until her shadow fell over the body. It was very hot; her own longing for the sea was intense.

'Hallo.'

'You're taking my sunlight,' said Mrs Pardoe, shifting in irritation. 'Give me back my rays.'

'Can I get you anything?' The body laid out on the earth still had very good legs, the face resembled a pixie, oddly ageless.

Ice-cream,' said the lady, dreamily, then closed her eyes.

The second sight was Joanna crying in the kitchen, with none of her mother's aplomb, but again, there was a sense of absent beauty.

'Sorry,' said Joanna, beyond embarra.s.sment. 'Sorry. I can't help it.'

Is it your mother?'

Oh no, I'm used to her. She's fine, honestly. Absolutely fine. You sort of adjust, you know?'

Sarah didn't know, but nodded.

I mean, she's quite safe by herself and everything, and she doesn't ask for much, never did. I mean, I could go out this evening, even though Ed and Julian are always out on Fridays. I mean, I think Ma quite likes a bit of time to herself and anyway, she goes to bed ludicrously early, so that's fine, she doesn't need a babysitter; but I can't go anywhere, can I? I mean, not even round to Caroline's, can I? Even though she's asked me twice and I said I would . .

Sarah continued nodding.

'Because I'm different, and Caroline's very together, you see. And she knows I was going out with Rick who is, let's face it, the best looking boy around, but he won't talk to me now. Julian warned him off. And she'll have her friends there, and I've got to pretend I just don't care, you know, have a gla.s.s of wine and make a joke of it. Which I just about could, just about, even if it isn't true and it's only a small party, but not like this. Not when I've got nothing to wear . .

Sarah nodded. An obscure dilemma, one she remembered well. King Richard offered his kingdom for a horse. A love-sick teenager would offer hers for the right suit of clothes. Twice seen, Joanna was remarkably badly, almost childishly, dressed. Sarah settled into an uncomfortable wooden chair and kissed goodbye to her dreams of a distant beach for the afternoon, pulled out her cigarettes, lit one, did not offer the rest. The child was a smoke-free zone.

'What sort of clothes,' she asked gently, 'do you think you need?'

'Cla.s.sics,' said Jo, fervently. 'I read it in a magazine . . . Caroline reads it too. Stuff that makes you look sophisticated. You know, older, thinner, all that stuff. Expensive stuff. Julian says I can get them if I want, but Edward says don't, it's bad to grow up too soon. I always laugh, tell him it doesn't matter, but it does.'

Sarah felt a recurrence of spontaneous dislike for Edward Pardoe. 'Cla.s.sics. A bit of nice jewellery? Just a bit?' said Sarah thoughtfully.

Exactly. Edward would murder me. I can't afford it anyway, I promised him a new fishing rod for his birthday, they cost a bomb-'

'Stand up.'

Joanna stood, much taller than Sarah.

I've got some lovely shirts, fit anyone. Leggings for the bottom? Come with me.'

Oh, I couldn't, Miss Fortune, honestly. I'm really sorry, blubbing all over you, scarcely know . . .

Oh, it's so awful . .

'Sisters under the skin,' said Sarah lightly. Clothes could be the stuff of dreams or the staff of confidence. 'I wouldn't listen to Edward,' she added kindly. 'Men are no good on these things. A nice, bold colour, no patterns, is what you need.'

'Black,' said Jo fervently. 'Then I could cope.'

There was darkness and privacy in the pine woods which covered the dunes and led to the beach, but when the man with snow-white hair came to the brow of the last ridge, the wind took away his breath into a vast, galloping sky, leaving him shocked. Memory played such tricks, even since yesterday. He had forced himself to walk this far with his military steps; the sea should have been closer, instead of that distant, mocking promise. The tide was a fickle woman who never obeyed orders. The man saw only the horizon, noticed no details, felt no pain and counted nothing but the minutes.

The sand was soft, his ill-fitting shoes suddenly struggling for a sinking foothold as he thrashed the air with his arms, overbalanced, fell with his jacket flapping, rolling over and over, sand in his hair and his mouth, landing on his back on the beach. There was an initial sense of fury, then exhilaration in letting go like a child, falling into a blissful, uninhibited waving of limbs without any sense of danger. He wanted to do it again. The sky was blinding blue when he opened his eyes and laughed. A face came into focus above his own.

'That wasn't very graceful,' said Edward Pardoe.

The man grunted, sat up, stroking his luxuriant white hair which curled into the back of his neck.

His clothes were the ill-a.s.sorted garments of a tramp, too heavy for summer, but he folded his long, thin body about itself and clasped his hands to his knees with a kind of elegance. Strange, how wearing the clothes of a person of no importance could turn one into exactly that. He was beginning to perceive how disguise became habit. The transition had frightened him once, not now.

Edward considered that the face beneath the stubble of beard had been handsome once, possibly exceptional. They sat and said nothing for a while.

I'd like to reorganize this sh.o.r.eline,' Edward remarked, frowning. 'It's so . . . imperfect.'

But it's here,' said the man.

'Yes, I know, but the sea should be lapping at my feet. The trees should be more exotic than these drab pines. A few extraordinary shrubs. Flowers in winter. I could do it. I shall do it.

After art, nature,' the man murmured. 'These kinds of dreams are expensive.'

They were silent again. The sea stayed the same distance, the man staring at it as if mesmerized.

'Have you been seen?' Edward asked as if it did not matter.

'What do you think? From sea or land? I suppose so. A beastly little boy and his dog. The dog ran after me. I loathe dogs. I move about, beach hut, boat, occasional empty cottage where people obligingly leave me their soap. The village is crowded with holiday-makers, ignorant pigs. They don't notice anyone who looks so venerable.' He touched his white locks. 'People don't notice me now.'

'They may have done once, when you were younger,' said Edward nastily.

I am a person of no fixed abode,' said the man quietly. 'That is my choice, not my destiny. It does not mean I am a person of no consequence.' Even as he said it he wondered very briefly if it were true, looked down at his hands. Of course he could still remember how to pare his nails.

'What did you do about the dog?'

It was disturbing the way the man exerted superiority so easily with his patrician voice and his air of sheer indifference. He looked like an outcast and behaved as if he were a prince.

'The dog? Buried it. It was only a dog.'

Edward swallowed.

'You aren't invisible,' he said sharply. 'I've been hearing local rumours about a ghost with white hair committing minor burglaries. You're obviously perfecting this talent of yours.'

'Mrs Tysall was good at picking locks,' the man volunteered irrelevantly. 'She was never fond of keys, but she could always get in, or out.'

I never knew Mrs Tysall,' said Edward, profoundly irritated. It was my wonderful brother who knew her, as I told you in some detail.' Both were staring seaward, their eyes never meeting.

I have to be sure,' the man said.

'How to get into the surgery,' Edward continued, 'is something you must work out for yourself As I said yesterday, you'll need the keys to his desk.'

He dropped a ring of keys on the sand in between them. The man never took his eyes off the horizon as he felt for them with long, lazy fingers.

'By the way, don't stay in any of the cottages nearest the house again, will you? We have a visitor in the end one. My mother calls her a cow, but she seems quite observant.'

Aah, your lovely sister.'

'Leave her alone, she's mine,' said Edward sharply.

Of course I shall. I didn't doubt it for a moment. Ah, the love of a sister. How could you be ashamed?

' Say that we had one father, say one womb Are we not therefore each to the other bound So much the more by nature? by the links Of blood and reason? One soul, one flesh, One love, one heart, one all?"'

Silence again.

'Who wrote that?' Edward asked softly. 'I like it.'

"Tis Pity She's a Wh.o.r.e.'

Edward clenched his fists.

'John Ford. A play. I'm not being personal.'

Edward relaxed.

'Here,' he said roughly. 'Be grateful for the love of a sister. She made these sandwiches for me.

She does every day. Pity you can't fish for food. I could give you a rod.'

The man took the sandwiches without thanks, opened and ate them with the voracity of a dog before the daily bowl, swallowing rather than chewing. His teeth were brown. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of his jaws, the soft shushing of the trees behind them and the distant shouting of games. Edward could imagine the thin man eating carrion, crumbling bones and all, and shuddered slightly.

'Food,' the man announced, 'is a matter of complete indifference. I detest the vulgar business of eating. I suppose it would be useful if I had learned to fish. Can you fish?'