The Island Girls: A heartbreaking historical novel

by Noelle Harrison

  Everything hurt. Her body, from what Matthew had done to her; her heart, from being let down so badly by her mom, and even worse, from Kate not having her back. Her head, from not knowing what to do. It was horrific to think of her sister captive in her marriage with such a brute. But unless Kate herself admitted it and asked for help, what could Susannah do? She missed baby Lynsey, and worried too about her. Would Matthew go as far as harming his own child? Should she go back to the island and try to take Lynsey? At least her niece would be safe then.

  Ava counselled her it was more likely she’d end up arrested by the police if she did such a thing.

  ‘I could tell them he’s abusive?’

  ‘Do you think they’re going to believe you over him?’ Ava said. ‘Trust me, abusers can be the best actors in the world. And he’s a man, too. They will just call you hysterical and dismiss your concerns.’

  Susannah hadn’t told Ava everything. When she had got back to their apartment in Cambridge, after her escape from the island, Ava had been angry and upset to see Susannah’s cut lip and bruised cheek.

  ‘Don’t ever, ever go back there,’ Ava said, as she held Susannah in her arms.

  ‘But what about Katie?’ Susannah said, her voice wobbling with tiredness and emotion.

  Ava took a step back and gently stroked the side of Susannah’s face.

  ‘I know it’s hard to accept, my love, but she’s made her choice. We can’t force her to leave, because if we do, she’ll only go back to him.’

  ‘What’s he done to my sister? I don’t know her any more!’ Susannah said in frustration.

  ‘She knows you’re here, Susannah, and that’s what’s important. She has somewhere to run to, if she ever does decide to leave.’

  ‘She’ll never leave Mom,’ Susannah said glumly.

  Her mother’s reaction to what had happened had shocked Susannah deep down. She tried to reason that her mother was afraid of Matthew too, but it hurt her deeply that her own mother had done nothing to protect her daughter.

  She hadn’t told Ava everything. If she said nothing, maybe the fact of what had happened would fade anyway. But no matter how much she tried to block it – spending hours in the library poring over books, or late nights out with Ava dancing and drinking wine – the memory wouldn’t go away. For the first time in her life, Susannah felt fearful.

  If she was walking home from the library after dark, she would get tense if a man walked behind her. Often, she’d cross the road back and forth several times, or go on a long roundabout route to avoid it. When she went on a protest with Ava, the whole experience was completely different from before. She no longer felt part of a community, but instead panicked by the size of the crowd and the hostility of the police. The next time Ava asked her to go on a civil rights march, she called off, saying she felt sick.

  Worst of all was that the horror of what had happened to her had turned her frigid. Ever since she’d returned from the island, whenever Ava had wanted to make love she’d made excuses – I’m too tired, I don’t feel well – or even pretend she was asleep. Ava said nothing, turned over and went to sleep, but Susannah knew she was hurting her. She had to forget what Matthew Young had done to her, else she’d drive Ava away.

  Christmas came with no word from her family. Susannah and Ava shared the festival together in their apartment. They found the top of a Christmas tree discarded in the street and decorated it with stars and bells they made out of card and string, before putting it in the window. Susannah gave Ava a copy of Joan Baez’s new record, Vol. 2.

  ‘I know it’s not really a surprise; you’ve been talking about it for months…’

  ‘I love it,’ Ava said, giving her a big hug, before putting the record on the turntable. ‘Open yours!’

  Ava gave her a first edition of Emily Dickinson poetry.

  ‘Oh my god!’ Susannah whispered. ‘Where did you find this?’

  ‘In a bookshop, dummy!’ Ava said, looking pleased with herself.

  Susannah felt so overwhelmed. She didn’t deserve this woman’s love. Ever since that terrible night in Vinalhaven, she’d been pushing her away again and again. Why was Ava still here, when she was so cold to her?

  ‘Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?’ Ava crouched down beside her.

  ‘I don’t deserve you,’ she whispered.

  ‘I think that’s for me to decide,’ Ava said, kissing her tears away, before softly kissing her lips. She paused, took Susannah’s hand and led her to the bed. But as soon as they were naked and under the covers, Susannah began to tremble. She tried to still her body, kiss Ava back, but all the passion she had felt when they first kissed had dissipated.

  ‘What is it, Su?’ Ava asked her, pulling back.

  Susannah shook her head, eyes squeezed shut.

  ‘You haven’t wanted to make love for weeks. Don’t you like me any more?’ Ava said in a small voice.

  Susannah opened her eyes. ‘Oh no, Ava, that’s not it.’

  She had to tell her, because if she didn’t, Matthew Young would ruin her life as well as her sister’s. She turned to Ava, took her hand in hers. Felt the squeeze of encouragement.

  ‘I have to tell you something,’ she whispered.

  Later, in the darkness of the midwinter afternoon, they went for a walk in the snow.

  ‘I want to kill him,’ Ava hissed as the snow fell around them.

  Susannah raised her face to the sky, felt the snowflakes landing cold and wet on her cheeks. Already, she felt a little better because Ava knew. She couldn’t forget what had happened, but perhaps she could learn to live through it.

  They walked hand in hand for once not caring how they might look. With Ava by her side, Susannah felt hopeful for her future for the first time since that dreadful last night on Vinalhaven.

  33

  Emer

  30th October 2011

  Emer woke to an empty bed and the smell of bacon frying. The scent hit her in the back of her throat. Made her want to gag. She’d always hated the smell of cooking meat, right from when she was a little girl. Orla had claimed Emer was born vegan.

  She sat up unsteadily in Henry’s large bed, and held her head in her hands. She had a terrible hangover. Her mouth was parched, and she felt dizzy and nauseous. Details of the previous night came back to her. Oh god, how many times had they had sex? Henry’s appetite had been insatiable, and in the end, she must have just passed out from sheer exhaustion.

  She slid her legs out from under the sheets and stood up, feeling very wobbly. Hunting around, she found her jeans, bra and sweater, but couldn’t find her T-shirt or knickers anywhere. She’d have to go commando.

  Henry was in the kitchen, frying his bacon. He gave her a big grin and a wave as she staggered in and perched up at the breakfast bar. How come he was so cheery, when she felt like the living dead?

  ‘How you doing?’ he asked, pouring a glass of orange juice. ‘Hope you don’t mind I’m frying bacon. It’s my own personal hangover cure.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ She could hardly tell him not to in his own house. ‘But I thought you were vegetarian?’

  ‘No, flexitarian. Eat fish, too. You can’t live on Vinalhaven without eating lobster. You’ll see,’ he said, placing a plate with fried tomatoes, mushrooms and a slice of toast in front of her.

  She wanted to react to his presumption. There was no way she was ever going to eat lobster, of all things. But she was just too tired to bother.

  He slid in next to her at the breakfast bar and kissed the top of her head, before digging into his bacon and tomatoes.

  ‘Hey, last night was so special,’ he said to her, his mouth full of meat.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, not knowing what else to say. She couldn’t really remember too much about it, apart from the fact it had felt like two lost souls giving each other solace.

  ‘Like, so amazing,’ he continued, and then leant over and gave her a big greasy kiss. The taste of bacon on his lips made her stomach heave. />
  She quelled her nausea. He really was so sweet, making her breakfast.

  ‘I don’t feel so great,’ she said, pushing aside her mushrooms.

  ‘Oh, no, baby, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Henry said, his face a picture of concern. ‘Do you want to go back to bed? You could hang out here for the day?

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, trying to ignore the fact it felt weird he’d called her baby. ‘I have to get back. Lynsey’s leaving and Susannah needs me.’

  ‘Okay, you go have a rest on the couch. I’ll clean up and then we’ll get going.’

  She wandered into the front room. In daylight, the views were staggering. It was a hazy fall day, the mist rising off the sea, and the sun glowing pink, illuminating the dense pine woods.

  Henry’s place really was idyllic, and yet she wasn’t tempted to hide out here for the day. She was anxious about Susannah. Keen to get back before Lynsey left.

  She walked over and studied Orla’s painting again. She remembered the preparations for her last exhibition. Orla had been on a high for weeks, having been told she was officially in remission. Ethan had tried to get her to calm down, worried she’d get sick again, but she’d been a frenzy of creativity. Painting non-stop, and organising a show at a gallery in the Back Bay area of Boston. Emer would come home from a night shift at the hospital, red-eyed and bleary, to find Orla still painting, having been up all night.

  ‘Don’t overdo it,’ Emer had warned her.

  ‘But this is what keeps me alive,’ Orla had announced, her face flecked by paint and her studio a cacophony of creative industry.

  Sometimes, rather than going to bed, Emer had curled up on the paint-spattered couch, still in her scrubs, and fallen asleep to the sounds of Orla creating. She had found it so soothing.

  Emer reached out and touched the surface of the painting now. Her sister could have put her fingertip right in this spot. It sent a shiver down Emer’s spine. Orla always signed the back of her pictures. Without thinking to ask Henry whether he minded, Emer lifted the painting off the wall and turned it over. There it was: Orla Feeney, her swirling signature in pencil. Ethan’s surname was Goldberg, but Orla had kept her own surname when she married.

  Above the signature, Emer noticed the gallery receipt still taped to the back of the picture. It was hanging off, so she pressed the tape back down. As she did so, she noticed something else. The date on the receipt was for the previous week. That was strange. Henry had said he’d bought it at Orla’s exhibition, last year. But it was there, in black and white. The name of a gallery in Portland, not the exhibition space in Boston, and the date. Exactly one week ago. The day after they’d gone for their first walk.

  Emer carefully hung the picture back up again. Should she call him out on it? But he hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? In fact, it was touching that he’d looked up her sister’s art and had bought a picture.

  The ride across the bay was so stunning Emer’s nerves at being in a boat again began to gradually dissipate. As she watched sea ducks taking off, her head felt clearer freshened by the sea spray and the clean air.

  Henry dropped her at the bottom of Susannah’s road.

  ‘Best Lynsey doesn’t see us, right?’ he said to her as she got out of the pick-up. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t tell either her or Susannah we’re dating, okay?’

  ‘Oh.’ She turned around. ‘Are we dating?’

  ‘Well, I sure hope so,’ he said, looking very pleased with himself. ‘Want to go for another hike tomorrow? It’s going to be great weather and I can take you to the best viewing point on the whole of Vinalhaven.’

  ‘Okay, I guess, as long as Susannah is all right.’

  He didn’t pick up on her lack of enthusiasm at all.

  ‘Have a great day, gorgeous,’ he called out to her as he drove off.

  She stood for a few minutes watching Henry drive off, feeling a little lost and confused. How had she somehow found herself in a relationship with this man? If Orla were alive, she’d say he ticked all the boxes. His own house. A successful sculptor. Owns a restaurant. Passionate lover. Attentive. Maybe too attentive?

  It was only as she opened the door into Susannah’s house that Emer remembered. Stopped in her tracks. They hadn’t used protection. Not once. And how many times had they made love last night? How stupid could she be? She was a nurse, for god’s sake. He had said he wouldn’t get her pregnant, but how old was that line? She’d have to go to the medical centre and get the morning-after pill as soon as she could. What a mortifying thought. The island was so small – would people find out? She hoped they were discreet.

  ‘So, how was Rockland?’ Lynsey asked her, coming down the stairs with her bag packed.

  Emer baulked for a second.

  ‘Oh, it was great,’ she said, feeling herself redden from the lie.

  ‘Did you go to that cool restaurant, Fog? They’ve got a great vegan dish, and the cocktails are awesome.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Emer lied. ‘How’s Susannah?’ she said, hastily changing the subject.

  ‘Well, still criticising me, so she must be okay,’ Lynsey said. ‘I tried to do some reiki on her and she almost slapped me back.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll be back after Halloween. Rebecca’s arriving, so I’ll see you in a few days.’

  After Lynsey had gone, Emer climbed the stairs to Susannah’s room. She was keen to see how she was.

  ‘Well, there she is,’ Susannah said as soon as Emer walked through the door of her room. ‘I thought you’d gone for good.’

  Susannah was sitting up in bed and her eyes were bright. Emer found she was very glad to see Susannah too.

  ‘Well, now, I was thinking about it,’ Emer joked. ‘But then I missed you!’

  ‘Thought you’d gone off to find your young man,’ Susannah said, sniffing.

  To Emer’s surprise, she realised Susannah was crying.

  ‘Hey, it’s fine, I’m here now,’ she said, grabbing a tissue out of the box and handing it to her.

  ‘But you should go after him,’ Susannah said. ‘Don’t make the same mistake I did.’

  34

  Susannah

  September 1966

  The letter arrived the afternoon before they were moving to New York. Ava and Susannah had spent the entire week before packing up their lives in box after box.

  ‘Five years of things all ready to go,’ Ava announced as she sealed the last box.

  ‘Who would have thought we’d have so much stuff?’ Susannah said. ‘When I arrived at Harvard with only one suitcase.’

  ‘Me too!’ Ava said, putting her arm around Susannah. ‘Are you excited?’

  ‘Of course,’ Susannah said.

  Things had worked out so well. Ava had work with a civil rights organisation in Brooklyn, while Susannah had secured a teaching position at Columbia. After saving up for months, Ava had bought an old black Ford and they’d driven down to New York the month before, finding a cute apartment in Brooklyn Heights to rent upon their return. It was also on the fifth floor, but worth it for the spectacular views of Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan Island. They’d made a little holiday out of the trip, and on the way back from New York had spent a few blissful days on Cape Cod, joining friends at one of their parents’ vacation homes by the sea.

  ‘Who would have thought Joni was so wealthy?’ Ava had said when they’d walked into the mansion.

  Being in Cape Cod had reminded Susannah of being home on Vinalhaven. The smell of the sea, watching the fishing boats going out, and even the rhythm of life. Slower, and more connected to nature than the city. It had been a wonderful few days of late breakfasts, swimming in the ocean, bonfires on the beach, and singing songs.

  She and Ava were on the cusp of a new beginning and she was looking forward to it. But a part of her was also still grieving for Kate. She hadn’t heard from her in over five years and once they moved apartment, her family wouldn’t know where she was any more.

  ‘Shouldn’t I write them?’ Susannah said. ‘Let the
m know where I am?’

  ‘If you really want to,’ Ava said to Susannah. ‘But maybe it’s better to let them go? That’s what I’ve done with my family.’

  Ava never went home to the reservation. Rarely talked about it, despite the fact she was so devoted to raising awareness of rights for American Indians. Susannah had once suggested they go visit, but Ava was adamant she never wanted to go back.

  ‘It’s not who I am any more. My parents are dead. My brothers and sisters gone I don’t know where. Why would I go back?’

  Susannah often wondered about the timing of the last letter from Kate, on the very afternoon before the day of their departure. Had it been providential? A sign? If she had known everything would change forever as a consequence, would she have ripped it open so fast to read it?

  One sheet. Just a few lines.

  Dear Susie,

  Lynsey is five now and I have another little girl, Rebecca – she’s two. When I see them together I think of us. I am sorry, dear sister. Can you ever forgive me?

  After you left, we were so frightened. We hoped he might get better after Rebecca was born. But it’s worse.

  I am leaving him. We have some money saved. We don’t care where we go. Just away from him.

  Please come help me. I’m trying to persuade Mom to come with us. If you come, it will help. Arrive on a ferry first thing in the morning, any morning. He’ll be gone fishing. By the time he’s home, we’ll have left.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Ava said.

  ‘But I have to,’ Susannah said. ‘You told me if she ever reached out, I should be there for her.’

  Ava stood among the boxes, frowning.

  ‘That was five years ago! You haven’t heard from her in all this time. After what happened, how could you ever consider going back there?’