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Almost at once the surface of the lane deteriorated. The tarmac gave way to what felt like mud interspersed with the occasional island of hard core. Rain soaked the lower part of my trousers. My face was wet. When I licked my lips I tasted the tang of salt.
The sea was very close now, its rolling roar angrier and louder. That was the moment I realized that this ridiculous adventure was no longer just time-wasting and inconvenient. It was becoming increasingly unpleasant. I was even growing a little scared. This was not a night to be outside, especially not in the middle of nowhere.
The lane ended in a gate with a stile beside it. The source of the light was somewhere beyond it. It seemed no closer than it had been before.
I passed through the stile and into a field that sloped down towards what I assumed was the sea. The surface was too uneven for running in the dark – I didn’t want to sprain an ankle – so I slowed to a walk. The force of the wind was stronger here. It wrapped itself around me, pushing me away from the light. The grinding of the sea filled my ears.
I heard a cry. Just for a moment – a high wordless sound, instantly swallowed by the sea. It could have been human. Or from a bird or a fox. It was a cry, that’s all, barely audible in all the racket and devoid of personality.
The light was nearer now, a faint yellow glow. I shone the torch ahead. This time, as well as the slivers of rain, it picked out what looked like masonry. The light was to the left of it and beyond it, on the seaward side.
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