by Heidi Perks
‘I was so shocked when I saw the news,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t believe it.’
‘And that’s why you’ve come?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘It’s part of it.’ I look out towards her garden. In the summer it used to be filled with heather and roses and bushes of lavender. Now it looks bleak and stark. ‘There are things I need to find out,’ I say. ‘Things that have been playing on my mind for too long.’
Her eyes are wide and she pulls her hand away and wraps it around her mug, dipping her eyes to her tea as she slowly takes a sip. I expect her to ask what I mean but she doesn’t. ‘Have you seen anyone else since you arrived?’
‘Only Emma Grey,’ I tell her, frowning at the oddness of our encounter. ‘Oh, and Freya Little – the journalist.’ My mind drifts back to what she’d told me about Annie being one of the few the police had been keen to talk to. I hate the idea that she expected me to interrogate Annie, yet the fact Freya clearly knows more than I do means I’m loath to tell her I want nothing to do with her. ‘It’s very quiet everywhere,’ I add.
‘People are frightened. First the body and then all the questioning. Journalists like that Freya try to turn us against each other, I swear.’
‘It must be horrible.’
‘It is.’ Annie’s gaze drifts out of the window. ‘You’d hope something like this would bring a small community together, but …’ She shakes her head.
‘Why do you think it hasn’t?’ I ask.
‘Because of people like her, as I said.’ Annie turns back to me. ‘The police have to ask their questions, but those journalists want even more from us. It’s better to keep to yourself. Then you can’t be drawn into farcical conclusions.’
‘Are you alright, Annie?’ I ask. ‘No one’s hounding you, are they?’ Annie was always the matriarch of our island. The thought of her being pestered by someone like Freya bothers me.
Annie shrugs. ‘Oh, I can look after myself,’ she says, though her tired eyes say different. ‘For some reason everyone thinks I have all the answers, though.’ She gives me a thin smile and I shrink back. She must know that’s why I’m also here, though it’s different answers I’m looking for.
‘Tell me what you’re up to now.’ Annie plumps out her words as if this is much more important than anything else.
‘I’m a counsellor,’ I say as I relax my shoulders, picking up my mug. ‘I counsel families.’
‘How wonderful. I can imagine you doing exactly that,’ she smiles. ‘You were always so caring about everyone. And how is your sister?’
I tell her that Bonnie is married with two boys she idolises, but not that every time I see my sister I nervously watch her for signs she might be teetering on the edge of having a drink. Thinking of my sister reminds me that I still haven’t spoken to her or told her where I am.
I glance over at Annie’s telephone perched on the windowsill, wondering whether I should ask to borrow it, when she carries on, ‘The day your parents arrived on the island, Bonnie screamed her head off like she was determined she wasn’t going to like it here.’ She pauses. ‘I’m glad she’s finally happy. And how about your father?’
‘Well, Dad moved away,’ I start. My eyes flit from her gaze as I fumble with the handle of my mug.
‘I realise he left, love,’ Annie says. ‘Your mum wrote to me at the time. But do you see him much? Is he still with the other woman?’
‘Olivia. Yes. Somehow they’re still together, and no, I don’t see him as much as I’d like.’ I let out a deep breath. Her eyes crease as she regards me, waiting for me to tell her more, but instead I say, ‘I didn’t know you were still in touch with Mum?’
‘We weren’t really. Only if there was something important. She sent me a long letter telling me your father had gone. I think she was more upset about his choice of woman than the act.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I’m being flippant.’ Annie waves a hand dismissively. ‘And what about your brother?’ she asks, and I wonder why Mum didn’t consider Danny’s leaving important enough to mention.
‘Danny went too. We lost touch with him, but I think it’s the way Danny wanted it.’
‘He never came back?’ Annie leans away and turns her attention to the garden again. So, Mum had told her.
‘Things didn’t turn out well,’ I say as we fall into a burdened silence.
Eventually Annie murmurs, ‘But now you’re here again. And like I say, this isn’t a good time. As lovely as it is to see you, Stella.’ She stops and shakes her head as she turns back to face me. ‘You should return when all this has died down. When everyone …’ she pauses, searching for the right words ‘… when everything’s back to normal.’
I drain my tea and place my mug on the table, carefully pushing it aside. ‘Annie, Mum really loved it here, didn’t she?’
Annie cocks her head to one side.
‘I know she never wanted to be anywhere else.’
She fidgets in her chair but doesn’t answer.
‘What I don’t get is that she suddenly let him take us away.’
‘I don’t know what you expect from me, Stella,’ she says, her voice soft but firm.
‘If anyone knows what happened, you do,’ I persist. ‘You and Mum were so close. She looked to you like her own mother. Especially when Gran died.’
Annie shakes her head, hanging it low.
I take hold of her bony arm, squeezing it gently though I’m scared to press too tight. She feels so fragile between my hands and it saddens me how much the last few days must have taken their toll. ‘Mum trusted you. I know she would have told you whatever was on her mind.’
Annie looks up at me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Did she find something out?’ I say.
Her lips are parted, her head giving only the glimmer of a shake, and I see something behind her eyes that she’s holding back from me. I wait for her answer. In my work I have become hardened to silences.
Straightening herself, she asks, ‘Whatever are you getting at, Stella?’ Her voice wobbles with uncertainty and I can almost see her held breath. Her question has been asked to detract attention. Annie knows why Mum agreed to leave, I am certain of it.
I have never before spoken to anyone about what I saw before we left. To do so now would mean unleashing everything I’ve buried in one of my boxes.
‘Did she find out Dad was having an affair?’ I say, the words tumbling out.
‘An affair?’ Annie’s rigid body softens as she sinks against the back of her chair. ‘Why would you think that? Oh, Stella. I don’t think for one minute your father would have had an affair.’
Annie seems so amused by the idea, and strangely so relieved, that I find myself smiling back, ignoring the voice inside my head saying, But I saw him.
She pushes away from the table, taking the mugs to the sink and rinsing them. When she wanders over she doesn’t sit down but instead hovers by the table. ‘It’s the past, Stella,’ she says softly. ‘The best place for many things to stay.’
‘It’s my past, though. I have a right to know what made us leave.’
‘You have no right at all if your mum didn’t want you knowing.’
‘So, there is something. I’m begging you, please tell me.’
‘There’s nothing I can tell you,’ Annie says, though I know she means there’s nothing she is prepared to tell me. All these years and she still remains loyal to Mum.
I sit back, deflated. For a moment we are both silent, but I don’t want to lose the track of our conversation and I’m not ready to leave, even though I get the impression she’d like me to.
Eventually I nod as if I’ve accepted what she’s telling me, and for now I change the subject to the body. ‘It must be frightening,’ I say, ‘when no one knows anyone who went missing. You must all be wondering who it is.’
‘Of course we are.’ Her face falls into a frown.
‘But no one has any idea?’
‘You still assum
e I have all the answers, Stella,’ she says. ‘You’re beginning to sound like Freya Little.’
‘I don’t mean to,’ I say. ‘I just can’t help wondering if we knew her.’
Annie nods slowly but doesn’t answer.
‘I hoped I’d get the chance to see some of my old friends while I’m here, too.’
Annie smiles and reaches out a hand to the table, leaning on it and stretching out her leg. She looks as if she’s in pain and I wish she’d sit down again, because it makes me feel uncomfortable too. ‘Like who?’ she asks.
‘Jill.’
A shadow crosses Annie’s face and for a moment she looks at me with a blank expression. She shakes her head. ‘Oh, my dear.’ She pulls her hand away and clasps both hands together tightly before letting go and reaching out for me. ‘I thought your mother had told you. Honey, Jill’s dead.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Jill died? When? How? I mean, what happened?’ My hands shake as Annie reaches for them, wrapping her own around mine in an effort to still them.
‘Many years ago,’ she says softly. ‘She was nineteen.’
‘But that was – that was ages ago. How come I never knew?’
She continues to look at me, shaking her head.
‘Mum can’t have known, she would have told me something like this.’
For a moment Annie doesn’t reply, then says, ‘She knew. I told her the news myself.’
‘But – but – why didn’t she tell me?’ I stammer, pulling a hand away to wipe the tears.
‘I can’t answer that.’ Annie leans awkwardly again and I want to force her into a chair. ‘Most likely she didn’t want to hurt you.’
‘That’s crazy. Even if she didn’t, she still shouldn’t have kept it from me. God!’ I cry out. ‘I don’t believe it. I came back here hoping to see Jill.’ The tears are flowing down my cheeks now. No amount of wiping will stop them from dampening my skin but my hand brushes them away regardless. ‘What happened?’
‘She got ill quickly.’ Annie lets go of me and picks up a box of tissues from the sideboard, passing it to me. I take one and hold it beneath my eyes. ‘It was too late to do anything.’
‘How was she ill?’ I ask, desperate for more details.
‘She had chest pains and was struggling to breathe. She suffered heart failure in the end. It was all very sudden.’
‘Heart failure?’ I repeat. ‘At that age? And no one knew there was a problem?’
‘No,’ Annie says, shaking her head vigorously. ‘She had a rare condition. But you mustn’t go asking her parents for any more details. Bob and Ruth never got over her death,’ she murmurs, a shudder rippling through her body, making her shiver.
I look at Annie for a moment longer but she won’t return my gaze. ‘We were so close,’ I say.
‘I remember. You were inseparable.’
‘Maybe Ruth would like to talk to me?’ An image of the woman I’d seen in the online photos hovering on the outskirts of the groups flashes into my head. I can’t imagine how devastated she must have been by her daughter’s death. ‘I’m sure she would,’ I go on. ‘My mum would have given all the time in the world to Jill if it were the other way round.’
‘No,’ Annie says adamantly. ‘Ruth has never got over it. Even seeing you back here will cause her too much pain. Please stay away from both of them. All this business,’ she mutters, ‘I keep telling you, it’s not a good time for anyone, Stella.’
I shake my head, unable to process it all. I have always respected Annie, the whole island does, yet I don’t see how she can expect me to leave without speaking to Ruth. Not now. ‘If only Mum had told me …’ I trail off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
‘There’s a bench,’ Annie says finally. ‘Up on the cliff above the cove. Her father put it there for her. Maybe you could visit that.’
‘On the cliff?’ I say. ‘But—’ My heart stops as memories of us fill my head. All the times I used to run along as close to the edge as I dared while Jill lingered behind, calling me back nervously.
‘That’s where he wanted it,’ she interrupts. Annie knows as well as I do how scared Jill was of the clifftop, and the fact Bob chose that spot to place a bench in her memory knots in my stomach. ‘And after that, my dear,’ Annie goes on, ‘I really do think it’s best you go home.’
Grief and anger merge in waves as I leave Annie’s house. A cold wind whips through the air and I decide to veer into the shelter of the woods instead of taking the path to the cliffs. Here the air is cooler but stiller, and I wind through the thick trunks, creating my own path, though skirting the edges, too uncertain to delve deeper into them as I’d once have done without a second thought.
Pushing my hands further into my pockets, I carry on until I’m back on the path by the clifftop, where I make my way over to the bench that perches proudly on its edge.
A bronze plaque on the back reads, ‘For our daughter, Jill. You will always be in our hearts.’ I run my finger over the engraving, fresh tears already flowing as I imagine Ruth writing the words, searching for the right ones that say everything she wanted to in such a small space. I remember how hard it was when we did it for Mum. Bonnie and I had argued over them and eventually settled on something that didn’t do justice to how I felt.
But to write them for their own daughter must have been unbearable. Torn apart with grief at the loss of their only child – I can’t imagine what Bob and Ruth went through, losing Jill at such a young age.
I sit on Jill’s bench and look out to sea, saying a silent prayer for my old friend. A lump lodges in my throat, making it ache, as the memories of us playing together run through my head like an old black-and-white movie. I can see us standing on the clifftop, a few feet further back from where I am now. She clutches tightly on to my hand and I count down from ten. ‘Six steps forward,’ I tell her, ‘that’s all we have to do today.’ I feel her hand tighten but she is giggling. And I am too until we both laugh so much we fall on to our bottoms and lie on the ground instead, looking up at the sky.
We didn’t know then what the future had in store for us. I’d had no idea that by the end of that summer I would leave the island. Jill had had no idea that she only had another seven years to live.
But what I do know is that, despite Annie’s warning, I cannot leave Evergreen without seeing Bob and Ruth.
Evergreen Island
13 July 1993
It was only a matter of hours until Danny stormed back from the sleep-out, his eyes wet and red, Maria’s fears confirmed. He brushed past her as he ran up the stairs. She called after him but already his bedroom door was shut.
Minutes later Stella arrived, panting, and when she came into the kitchen she dropped her bag and bent over, clutching her knees as she took deep breaths.
‘What happened?’ Maria filled a glass of water for Stella and pulled out a stool. Perching on the edge of it, she took hold of her daughter’s arms. ‘Did someone say something? And why are you so out of breath?’ Her questions kept coming as she waited for Stella to straighten up and take a sip of water.
‘I ran all the way back,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t catch up with him. He wouldn’t stop.’
Maria might be cross with Danny later for letting his little sister run all the way without looking after her, but for now she just needed to hear what had happened.
‘He didn’t join in from the start. I tried getting him to, but he just sat in his sleeping bag by the cave.’
Maria nodded. How she wished she’d listened to her heart and not her husband.
‘Next time I looked around I couldn’t see him,’ Stella said. ‘I told Jill I should look for him but someone was toasting marshmallows and …’ She paused and glanced away.
‘Stella, you’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘We carried on talking and I kind of forgot all about Danny and then there was this shriek. Everyone jumped up and we couldn’t work out who it was, but someone started running out of the cave sc
reaming that he grabbed her.’
‘That Danny grabbed her?’
Stella nodded.
‘Who?’ Maria asked. She raced through the girls in her mind. Jill – God, what would Bob say if it were Jill? Iona – what would she say if it were her?
And then there were the ones who were most likely to make something up for attention. Emma Grey?
‘Tess,’ Stella said solemnly, and Maria’s heart sank because they both knew Tess Carlton had never been the type for dramatics and also because she would have to face her best friend, Susan.
Danny pounded his fists into his pillow. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ he repeated.
His heart beat rapidly and tears stung his eyes. He’d heard Stella calling out behind him but he hadn’t stopped.
Why had he sat in the cave in the first place? If he hadn’t he would never have seen Tess, and then he would never have had to run away.
He knew the answer to that, but he also knew it wouldn’t sound right to anyone else.
He’d been watching them. Drawing them in his pad. It was the reason he’d wanted to go to the sleep-out. He was right about people; most of the time they acted the same way, but when you watched certain ones closely, they’d occasionally do something you least expected. He wasn’t sure if this made him more excited or more on edge, but either way he was definitely more interested.
Automatically Danny reached out a hand and grabbed for the pad, then leant over and slipped it under his bed. He was sure no one else saw things the way he did because they never looked hard enough.
They wouldn’t see tonight the way he did, either. They would take Tess’s side, and who could blame them? They weren’t likely to take the side of the weird kid.
He knew what they said about him but he didn’t care. He didn’t like engaging in conversation but it didn’t mean he was weird. They didn’t get how your body could feel like it was on fire every time someone stared down at you and asked you a question. And that if you opened your mouth to answer all the words would dry up.