by Heidi Perks
But he’d seen the way Tess had looked at him in the cave. He’d counted the seconds of silence before she’d let out a piercing scream.
It wasn’t how she’d made it seem.
Bonnie was fuming. With gritted teeth, she climbed the steps to the top of the cliff, her legs shaking. The entire evening had been a write-off.
Behind her Iona was chatting away to Tess, who by all accounts seemed to have got over the whole incident in the cave pretty quickly. Bonnie stopped suddenly on the step, which forced Iona to crash into her.
‘Hey!’ Iona cried. ‘Everything alright, Bon?’
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘I thought I saw something in front of me.’
‘Like what?’ Tess called out.
Bonnie closed her eyes and bit her lip. Like what? she mimicked in her head. Iona had told Tess she would take her home, which meant their evening together was over. Tess could walk home on her own; she only lived in the bloody house at the end of the cliff path. Why did Iona have to be so damned nice?
Bonnie started climbing again.
‘Bon!’ Iona said, laughing. ‘Didn’t you hear Tess? She asked what you’d seen.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t,’ she called back breezily. ‘I don’t know, Tess, maybe a slow-worm.’
‘Eughh,’ the girl said and Bonnie rolled her eyes. She knew she was being unreasonable but she couldn’t help herself. Iona was her best friend, and because of Tess’s dramatics she was being taken away from her.
‘I’ll come back with you and we can drop Tess home then go and do something else, shall we?’ Bonnie called back.
‘Don’t you think you should check on your brother and sister?’ Iona said. She’d already commented that Stella shouldn’t have been running home on her own. ‘Anyway, there’s no need, I’ll go in with Tess and probably stay for a bit.’
They reached the top of the steps and Bonnie was glad for the lack of light, which meant they couldn’t see how cross she was. ‘Fine, I’ll see you in the morning,’ she snapped and barely turned back. She had no idea why Iona was so keen to drop into the Carltons’, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing she was upset.
Maria glanced up as David walked into the kitchen. She ushered Stella away and told him what had happened. She could see the pain on her husband’s face; it matched that in her heart.
‘Talk to him before making any judgements,’ he said.
Of course she was going to, but she was also scared about what he might tell her. ‘I knew he shouldn’t have gone.’
David frowned. ‘We can’t keep him locked up.’
‘Where did we go wrong?’ she whispered, tears pricking at her eyes. ‘Was it my fault? Did I spend too much time focusing on Bonnie?’ She had loved Danny the moment he’d come into the world but had felt guilty her oldest child was draining her attention. And Danny had been so placid.
‘Of course it isn’t your fault,’ David said, but his voice was flat. She felt him pull away and she looked up at him. Did he think it was?
‘What is it?’ she said. ‘You do think I spend too much time on her.’ Her heart hammered a rapid beat and she already knew she didn’t want to hear his answer. She’d always feared he might one day open up, and if he did they might never come back from it. In the end she would be right, but that day Maria was relieved when David shook his head and told her there was nothing. Rubbing her arm, he motioned for her to talk to their son.
Maria climbed the stairs and stopped outside Danny’s door. She tapped on it quietly, easing it open. His body was a mound in the bed, his duvet pulled over him. She couldn’t see his head but she could hear his breaths coming short and fast.
Easing herself on to the end of his bed, Maria reached out and touched his leg. He flinched but the rest of him didn’t move. ‘Danny,’ she whispered. There was no reply. ‘You can tell me anything.’
She waited a moment and then rubbed his shin before getting up to leave, when from under the cover she could just make out his voice. ‘It wasn’t how it seems.’
Maria knew in that moment whatever her son had done, she would do what was needed to put it right. She would do the same for any of her children.
PRESENT
Chapter Twelve
When I wake the next morning my brow is dripping wet, my pyjama top clinging to my skin in patches of damp. My sleep has been laced with dreams that entwined and made no sense and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and only a fraction longer for the news of Jill to hit me again.
Jill’s name was the first on the list I’d sent to PC Walton. I wonder if he already knew she’d died and had crossed her off as soon as he read my email. Then scanned the remaining four names, prodding his finger against the one of most interest.
I throw back the thick purple bedspread, checking the time on a phone still empty of bars. I tap on it regardless, knowing there won’t be messages or emails, but still I hope there might have been a crack of signal at some point during the night.
There is nothing. And it is already eight thirty, which means I have missed breakfast. By the time I’ve showered, dressed, and made my way to the dining room there’s no sign of Rachel, but she has left out a few boxes of cereal, some milk in a jug, and a kettle on a sideboard so I can make a cup of tea.
This morning I will pay Bob and Ruth a visit. Even though the idea of rapping on their door paralyses me, I cannot spend the next two days on the island avoiding them.
Thoughts of them circled my mind before I fell asleep last night. They were a couple of contrast. On the few occasions Jill and I were in her kitchen, Ruth had melted into the background, always busying herself cooking or cleaning, occasionally tittering at something we’d said, but never integrating herself into our conversation like Mum had. She’d give the impression she felt like a spare part whenever I was there. Her timidity only amplified when her husband was around. Bob threw himself into rooms, larger than life, full of misplaced character and usually too much beer.
Jill had tried to explain this was because they lived in a pub and that he had to accept drinks when he was offered one. I thought their family could all do with Bob getting a different job, but then I also couldn’t imagine him doing anything else.
Jill didn’t always defend her dad. I knew she didn’t like him and it was only guilt that stopped her from uttering the sentiment aloud. There were two occasions where she had bruises on her arms and once I’d touched the purple flesh without thinking, making her wince. ‘I’m sorry, does it hurt?’ I’d asked. ‘Where’s it from?’
She quickly pulled her sleeve down and changed the subject but I wouldn’t let it go. ‘Tell me what happened,’ I persisted. ‘We’re best friends, remember?’ I turned over my hand to display my middle finger where I’d cut myself a year before. She’d done the same and we’d pressed them together, swearing ourselves ‘blood sisters’. We’d got the idea from a film but had both been too scared to cut our wrists like the girls in the film had.
‘Best friends,’ she nodded and pressed her finger against mine. ‘He didn’t mean to do it. He just grabbed me too hard when he was cross. He said sorry and promised it won’t happen again. Then – then he started crying. I ended up telling him it didn’t matter.’
I shuddered at the thought of a man like Bob crying. ‘Are you going to tell your mum?’ I asked.
‘Dad told me not to because she’d be upset. You mustn’t tell anyone. You need to keep it a secret. Blood sister’s promise.’
‘Promise,’ I said and we pulled our fingers away.
I hated the thought of keeping a secret from Mum only slightly less than I hated what Jill’s dad had done to her. But a blood sister’s promise meant keeping my word.
Bob didn’t keep his. And by the end of the summer I’d caved in too and told my mum what was happening. I don’t know what she did about it but shortly after that we were gone.
My stomach churns as I turn on to the gravel lane that leads to the pub. Overgrown plants trail and
wither on either side of the track and as I get closer to the building I can see how unloved it looks. Paint is peeling off the windowsill into curled strips that only need a light tug before the whole lot could be ripped off.
I knock on the side door, my heart thumping in time with the beat. It takes a moment for a figure to pass the obscured glass but eventually three bolts clank and the door slowly opens. On the other side of it is a shadow of Jill’s mum. Ruth Taylor’s eyes are hollow and rimmed dark underneath. Her hair is almost entirely grey, with a thin fringe, and falls just above her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to talk to any more press.’ She stares at me with a frown that creases her sad eyes, though she doesn’t make a move to close the door, and I wonder if actually she would quite like to talk to someone. She looks at me more intently and I can see there is recognition.
‘I’m Stella,’ I say, smiling.
‘Oh my!’ She holds a hand over her mouth as the frown disappears. ‘I haven’t seen you in years.’
‘No. And I’m sorry to turn up unannounced. I hope you don’t mind me coming by, only—’ I break off, watching her expression carefully. ‘Only I’ve just heard about Jill.’
Ruth’s face falls again but she opens the door wider and stands aside for me to enter. She gestures me into their open-plan back room that sits behind the pub. Not much has changed. A large TV hangs on a wall over the fireplace but the kitchen has the same eighties look with its red leather bar stools and red and white splashback. Like Annie’s, I find it surprising how, inside their walls, they are almost frozen in time.
Ruth drops into a chair and, not knowing what else to do, I sit too. ‘Bob’s not here,’ she says.
‘That’s good,’ I reply without thinking, ‘I mean, I—’
She breaks me off with a wave of her hand.
‘I’m so sorry about Jill. It’s a huge shock.’
Ruth’s eyes mist over like a film has been draped across them. Her fingers fiddle with the edge of a cream doily that sits under a fruit bowl. When she stops they continue to shake. ‘It was when it happened. She got ill very quickly,’ Ruth says, in a repetition of what Annie told me yesterday. ‘She couldn’t get her breath, she said her chest was hurting her.’ Ruth’s hands clench into fists and I can’t help but glance at them. ‘We took her to the hospital on the mainland when the doctor here couldn’t do more. They admitted her to run some tests. I wanted to go private,’ she murmurs, almost looking through me as if caught in a distant memory. ‘She had sudden cardiac failure,’ she says as if she’s uttered the same words countless times before. Her entire speech feels like it’s been learnt by rote.
‘I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it could have happened to her at that age.’
‘She had something very rare,’ Ruth says.
‘What was it?’
‘Nothing I’d heard of. Hypertrophic cardio—’ Ruth breaks off suddenly and turns away, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she clamps her mouth shut. I wait for her to go on but she doesn’t finish the sentence. ‘They told me there was nothing I could do,’ she says quietly. ‘Oh, dear me.’ She pulls her hands back to fumble in her pockets for a tissue, which she uses to dab at her eyes. ‘No one’s asked about Jill in such a long time.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.’
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘It’s nice talking about her. It feels like she’s been forgotten. Bob doesn’t speak of her and anyone who knew her won’t – they just don’t—’ She stops again and adds in a whisper, ‘No one talks about her to me.’ She scrunches the tissue, clenching it tight in her hand.
‘That must be hard,’ I say, willing her to open up further. It’s clear the woman needs to talk.
‘It is,’ she cries.
When it seems she isn’t going to go on I say, ‘Why don’t you think they do?’ I hear my counsellor’s voice but Ruth doesn’t notice as she shakes her head.
‘I don’t know,’ she says quietly. ‘I used to think they were told not to.’ Her eyes are glazed over and I can see she’s back all those years ago. ‘It hit Bob hard.’ Suddenly she snaps her focus back to me and her hands stop scrunching. ‘She missed you a lot when you left.’ Ruth smiles sadly before her face drops. ‘Anyway, that was all such a long time ago.’ She reaches out for the doily and stares at it intently as she begins fiddling again.
‘I missed her too,’ I say. ‘I wrote to her a few times but she never wrote back.’
‘Oh.’ Ruth grabs a handful of the cotton, releases it, and then flattens it down. ‘Oh right,’ she goes on. ‘I don’t know why she didn’t do that.’ She gives a small shake of her head but won’t meet my eyes and I can immediately tell she knows exactly what stopped her daughter from keeping her promise, but I also know this isn’t the time to press her. ‘I saw you put up a bench for her,’ I say instead. ‘On the clifftop.’
‘That was Bob’s idea. He said it was her favourite place. You know, I never knew it was,’ she adds, her eyes shadowing again. ‘I sit on the bench every day. People keep walking if they see me. I guess they think they’d have to talk to me about her.’
‘People often don’t know what to say regarding death so they find it easier not to mention it. Maybe they also think you want that time alone.’
Ruth nods.
‘I had many friends who didn’t know how to handle me when my mum died,’ I say.
‘Annie told me about your mum.’ I wait for Ruth to express some kind of condolence but she adds nothing. Mum and she were never close, but as far as I knew they were friendly. It surprises me that she offers nothing.
Ruth frowns and pushes her chair back. ‘I have things I should be getting on with,’ she says, when there’s a sudden noise outside and we both turn towards the window. When I look back she’s already standing, flattening her skirt, her eyes flicking from me to the glass.
I’m conscious it’s probably Bob and that he’ll walk through the door any moment, but there’s more I want to ask Ruth. I never intended to follow Freya’s request to question my old friends, but at the same time I want to know what they do. ‘It’s nice to be back but I wish it was in better circumstances,’ I say. My words spill out quickly.
Ruth nods. ‘Yes. It’s a horrible affair.’
‘Does anyone have any idea what happened?’ I ask, expecting Bob to crash into the house any minute.
Ruth glances across at me. ‘Why would we?’ Her hands hang at her sides, but her face looks frozen as she glares at me.
‘I hoped someone would know something, that’s all.’
She doesn’t move until the side door suddenly flings open, making her head snap towards it.
‘That damn woman,’ Bob is shouting as he enters, ‘never looking where she’s going. She came straight into me—’ He stops abruptly when he notices me at his table. ‘Who are you?’ he demands before turning to Ruth. ‘I told you not to keep letting these lot in. We’ve got nothing more to say—’
‘She’s not from the papers,’ Ruth interrupts shrilly, shaking her head a little more than necessary. ‘This is Stella Harvey. She was Jill’s friend when they were children.’
He turns to me. ‘Maria and David’s kid,’ he says slowly, his cold eyes roaming over me.
‘I just came by to pass on my condolences,’ I say, pushing myself out of my chair.
Bob’s face pales, his eyes growing wide. ‘What the hell are you on about?’
‘Jill,’ Ruth says quickly, in that high-pitched voice again. ‘She’s come to talk about Jill.’
His face relaxes slightly. ‘Oh, Jill,’ he says. ‘Right.’
For a moment I don’t speak as I wonder what it might be that Ruth is afraid her husband will say. ‘I’ve only just heard. I’m so sorry,’ I tell him.
Bob breathes in, his lungs sucking the air from the room. ‘Only just? Our daughter died sixteen years ago. And that’s why you came back, is it?’ he asks with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Well, no, I didn’t fi
nd out until I was here.’
He drops his bag on the floor and folds his arms across his chest as his eyes bore into me. ‘So what the hell did you come back for?’
Ruth’s hand grabs for the doily again, twisting it into a tight ball. I have no need to explain myself to Bob, but at the same time I have no idea how I’m going to get out of their house without giving him something. And right now that is all I want to do.
He leans forward, his face almost pressing against mine as he says, ‘Your family left a long time ago. There’s no need for any of you to return. So whatever you think you’re doing back, you aren’t wanted.’
He pulls away and stands aside, motioning to the open door. ‘I don’t want to see you around here again,’ he says, and I know he doesn’t just mean his house. He means the island.
As soon as I reach the top of their lane, out of sight of the pub, I pause, trying to regain control of my breath. I never expected a warm welcome from Bob but I hadn’t been prepared for that.
Clenching my fists, I stand rooted for a moment, undecided what I can possibly do next. Freya was right. I’ve been here twenty-four hours with no answers, only more questions.
‘Stella!’
I turn at the sound of Ruth calling me, quietly but urgently. She scurries up the lane, glancing back at the pub, which means Bob likely has no idea she’s taken the risk of coming after me. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘For talking about Jill. It’s been years since I’ve heard her name spoken aloud.’
‘Oh Ruth, I’m so sorry.’ I reach for her hand but she pulls back. ‘We can talk about her again if you like? I’ve got so many stories from our childhood I can share with you.’ The chance to meet her somewhere else would be good. Where Bob won’t walk in.
Ruth bites her lip as she glances back again. ‘Bob can’t mind you talking about her,’ I say, though I doubt this is the issue. ‘Why doesn’t he want me here? I don’t understand.’