by Heidi Perks
‘Oh yes,’ he says gravely. ‘Yes. I do remember her …’ he trails off. ‘Is our treehouse still there?’ he asks suddenly. ‘I built that for you. You and Danny loved it in there.’
‘We did,’ I say.
‘I built it well.’ I can hear his smile seep through his words. ‘Your mum was worried it would collapse, but I bet you anything it’s still there.’
‘Yes, Dad, it’s still here,’ I lie, pain pressing at my heart.
‘You wanted to sleep in it,’ he is saying.
‘I did once,’ I admit, smiling sadly at the memory. ‘It was too cold, though. I didn’t last the night.’
See, we were happy. I do remember it right.
‘We had good times on the island,’ I murmur.
‘We did, my love.’
So what happened? Why did you make us leave?
‘Dad,’ I start, ‘you told Bonnie you took Iona back to the mainland at the end of the summer.’
A pause. ‘Did I?’
‘Do you remember her leaving? She was called away for a sick relative.’
There is the sound of clanking in the background and I imagine him rooting through drawers, his mind somewhere else entirely. The noise stops. ‘Yes. I took her back,’ he says, ‘when she had to go.’
‘Did she ever come back?’
I wait.
‘No, love,’ he says eventually. ‘I don’t think she did. Love, I can’t find my …’ he stops again, ‘oh, you know that thing. The thing that goes round …’ I blank out his words as his frustration rises and I know I have lost him again.
I fight back the tears when I hang up. They are tears of exasperation, anger, and a desperate need to get to the truth. But at the same time there’s a fear that if I do I won’t like it.
You are lying, Dad.
Before the end of that summer I never would have believed it was possible. Not my dad. He was the most straight-up person I knew. In conversations like we’ve just had, I see snatches of that dad again. Since his dementia diagnosis, there have been plenty of pieces of him that have been taken away from me but many have been given back. When he takes me to happier times on the island it makes it hard to believe he could lie.
Outside I take a deep breath of the cold fresh air, a few spots of rain drop on to my face, and for a moment I stand awkwardly in the middle of the small cluster of shops, not knowing which way to turn.
As the rain starts falling more heavily, flashes of bright umbrellas begin to pop up, but through them I catch sight of Meg, her arms flailing wildly in the air, her face as hard as stone as she shouts at her mum.
Emma’s face is passive, willingly taking whatever her daughter is throwing at her. I fall in step behind a couple of young girls sheltering in a shop doorway under a large pink brolly and move closer to Meg and her mum.
‘Why won’t you just leave it?’ Meg shouts, fear dripping from her words. ‘Keep away from him.’
Emma doesn’t answer, but as the young girls dip into the shop I am left exposed and staring straight at Meg and her mother. Emma turns and gapes at me while Meg throws her hands in the air. ‘I give up,’ she screams, before running off.
‘Emma, is everything alright?’ I venture.
Her face is wet with rain but I can make out tears glistening in her eyes.
‘Emma, are you okay?’
She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, before she too walks away, in the opposite direction of her daughter, leaving me alone again, hair plastered to my scalp as water drips down the back of my neck.
The sooner I get off this island the better.
When I let myself into the B&B Rachel stops rifling through the drawers of her bureau and looks up. ‘Take off your shoes, you’re leaving a puddle on the floor,’ she says, eyeing me cautiously.
I do as she says, pairing them up neatly by the door.
‘You’d best get a towel,’ she murmurs, going back to whatever she was looking for. ‘And I suspect you’ve heard the news.’ She pauses again and glances over her shoulder. ‘The body. A young girl who lived here a long time back.’
‘Yes, I heard,’ I say.
‘Did you know her?’
I nod.
‘I’m sorry.’ She turns back to her desk. It won’t be long before she hears just how well we did know Iona. ‘There’s a note for you on the sideboard,’ she adds. ‘It was on the mat earlier.’
I pick up the envelope, turning it over in my hands. My name has been written on the front in block capitals. ‘Thank you,’ I say and when she doesn’t respond I go up the stairs to my room.
I close the door behind me, ripping off my wet coat and throwing it on the bed, then slide a finger under the seal of the envelope and peel it open, pulling out a small sheet of notepaper. The writing mimics that from the envelope – all in block capitals.
My eyes skim over the words but I have to reread them before I can take in their warning.
STOP DIGGING. YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT YOU FIND.
I glance back at the door, half expecting Rachel might have followed me up. My breaths are shallow as I turn back to the note, reading the two lines over and over until they blur in front of me.
I sink on to the bed and tears sting my eyes as a sense of desperation overwhelms me. I am out of my league. My fingers tremble as they continue to clutch on to the piece of paper, its warning staring back.
I want to get off the island now. Maybe, I think, there is some way I can get back without having to wait until morning.
Dropping the note, I close my eyes and allow images of Dad to plague my mind. He knows more than he’s telling, but surely, I cry silently, he had nothing to do with Iona’s death.
Yet there’s a fragile strand that links my dad to her and it’s one I’ve spent the last twenty-five years trying to erase from my mind.
It’s the reason I couldn’t go back to my and Jill’s secret place. The reason my family began to break down.
And now what if someone else knows about it too? Someone on this island, and for whatever reason they don’t want me digging any more?
Because I’m certain I saw my dad and Iona together before we had to leave. Together in the clearing. Only I don’t understand how that fragile strand means Iona ended up deep in the ground.
Evergreen Island
5 August 1993
David was always aware when Maria was watching him. He could sense her eyes penetrating his back and when he looked in the mirror, after spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, he caught her hovering behind him. He rinsed off his brush, slotted it back into the pot, and turned to face her.
‘There’s something about Iona,’ she said.
David had to agree. There was something about the girl, the way she brightened up Bonnie, how she was always so keen to please everyone around the table. But he knew Maria didn’t mean those kinds of things. Her face was pinched, which meant she was worrying herself over something.
‘I can’t put my finger on it,’ she went on.
‘I thought you liked her.’
‘I did. I do – I …’
David didn’t like that Maria got so wrapped up with everything, twisting things around, making problems where there weren’t any. They were always the little things too. In his mind it was the one big thing she should be anxious about, but his wife seemed to have miraculously glossed over that as if it didn’t play on her mind.
In this way, David thought, they could not be more different. He lived with it hanging over him every day. They just never spoke of it.
He refused to agree with his wife about her recent concern. ‘Iona’s a lovely girl. Don’t go there, Maria.’
Maria sighed. ‘I don’t see her doing much university work,’ she went on.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’
‘I’m just saying,’ she murmured, gnawing at a patch of skin on her thumb. He gently prised it out of her mouth, knowing she was nervous. What did she really think there was to be afraid of with Iona?
&nb
sp; He kissed her on the head and moved past her. He wouldn’t be drawn into this. Not when he was beginning to really like the girl.
The following morning Maria was still agitated by her conversation with David. She shouldn’t have to prove to him that she was beginning to realise there was something odd about Iona’s behaviour, but it seemed she was going to have to.
By the end of the summer she would wish she’d tried even harder to get David to see that side of Iona, and maybe he would never have done what he did. But the fact was, at this point, Maria didn’t really understand the depth of it herself.
That morning she had just got a chance to sit down with a coffee when she heard Bonnie screaming outside. She sprang out of her chair and shot to the door as Bonnie approached. ‘What the hell’s happened?’ she cried.
‘I hate him!’ Bonnie yelled.
‘Who do you—’
‘Danny. Jesus, who else? He’s been sitting up a bloody tree in the woods again. Watching us, listening to us.’
Maria’s stomach clenched. She’d spoken to Danny, choosing her words carefully, reminding him he shouldn’t be watching people.
Bonnie stared at her. ‘We were sitting under the tree, talking, and then he fell out of it and landed by our feet. It’s obvious he’s obsessed with her.’
‘He fell? Is he okay?’
‘God, Mum!’ Bonnie shouted. ‘Clearly he’s not okay, he’s tapped. In the head.’ She prodded the side of her own with her forefinger.
‘Is he hurt, Bonnie?’ Maria found herself yelling back.
‘I don’t know. I don’t care.’
‘Oh, what’s wrong with you?’ Maria muttered as she ran out of the house, calling behind her, ‘Where is he?’
Bonnie followed, snapping back that he was in the woods. Already Maria was running towards her son.
‘This way.’ Her daughter pointed left and Maria raced forward when she saw a figure slumped on the ground.
‘Danny!’ she called. Her son was curled in a ball, wrapped up into himself. If it weren’t for his size, he’d be mistaken for a child. ‘Danny,’ she said as she crouched next to him, touching his leg and shaking him gently.
He opened his eyes but then shut them again quickly. ‘I wasn’t doing anything wrong,’ he murmured.
‘Are you hurt?’ Maria asked and he shook his head.
‘I wasn’t spying. Bonnie says I was listening to their conversation. I wasn’t.’
‘You were,’ Bonnie cried out from behind Maria. ‘You bloody well were.’
‘Bonnie, will you just shut up,’ Maria said. Her daughter’s feet were planted defiantly apart, her hands on her hips, her face white as a sheet.
Danny had opened his eyes again at the sound of her raised voice.
‘What did you hear?’ Bonnie was asking him, but Maria was looking around.
‘Where’s Iona?’ she asked before Danny got the chance to answer. Where could that girl have gone so quickly if she was only here a moment ago? With all this fuss going on, why suddenly run away?
‘You have to do something,’ Bonnie snapped and Maria turned back. It seemed none of them were listening to each other. ‘Every time Iona looks around, he’s there, watching her.’ Eventually Bonnie stormed off, towards the house.
Maria pulled her son up until he was sitting. ‘Were you listening to them?’ she asked.
Danny shrugged.
‘Because you know we talked about that.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘You can’t eavesdrop on other people, Danny.’
He didn’t answer for what felt like an eternity and she was about to give up and haul him to his feet when he said, ‘I don’t even know why they’re still friends.’
‘Who? Bonnie and Iona?’
Danny nodded. ‘It’s not like Bonnie’s ever happy when she’s with her any more.’
Really? Could she have actually missed that? Maria found herself shaking her head as she regarded her son. She couldn’t imagine it to be true, but if it were, she would have to watch that girl even more closely.
Danny feared he might have gone too far when he told his mum what he did. But he also wanted to get the heat off him. The fact was he had been watching Iona and he couldn’t stop. He was drawn to her like the moth that had kept him awake the night before, buzzing about the landing light. She was so intriguing, made up of so many different things. She wasn’t like anyone else on this island. Watching her excited him, and every time, he saw something new.
PRESENT
Chapter Sixteen
In winter on Evergreen the evenings are long. Longer still when there is nowhere to go. Since returning to my room I have made myself a prisoner, much like the islanders have done over the last few days. Soon everyone else on the island will know Iona was practically a part of my family.
I’d convinced myself I was desperate for answers but now all I want to do is bury my head like Bonnie.
It’s eight p.m., and I am lying on the bed, my thoughts circling, and each time they complete a loop I am back where I started – my hope that I am jumping to conclusions that Iona’s death had anything to do with Dad.
A loud knock on the front door below startles me and I push myself up against the headboard, listening to Rachel’s footsteps on the hard floor. I pray it is her they’ve come to see and not me. I don’t relish the thought of any of the islanders asking me questions or reminding me I’m not wanted.
There is a murmur of voices, then footsteps on the stairs, and I swing my legs off the bed, moving to open the door a crack, releasing my breath when I see Freya on the landing. ‘Hello again,’ I say.
‘She didn’t want me coming up.’ Freya rolls her eyes.
I smile, amused that Freya got past Rachel, and invite her in, watching her gaze swoop around the room before she plonks herself down on the end of the bed.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,’ I say. ‘What’s it been like out there? Are they still all around, talking about Iona?’
‘No. They all cleared off back to their homes when it got dark,’ she says and I sit next to her, studying her expression. Her eyebrows are arched into a small frown. There is more she wants to tell me, but I’m afraid to ask.
‘I still can’t get my head around it,’ I say, not taking my gaze off her.
‘Of course.’
‘My sister’s upset and I feel like I need to be there for her. I think I should probably leave in the morning,’ I rattle on, realising I need her to understand I’m not running away.
‘Yes, I guess,’ she says. It’s not the answer I expected.
‘Bonnie relies on me quite a lot, you see,’ I go on. ‘She has Luke and the boys, but whenever anything goes wrong it’s me she turns to. To be honest, it gets a bit too much at times, you know, the pressure of always having to put her first.’ I give a short laugh. ‘Do you know, in some ways I think I was rebelling against her when I came back to the island? I knew she would hate it and that made me more determined. But now—’ I break off. ‘Actually, Freya, I thought you’d tell me to stay,’ I admit. ‘I thought you’d want me to carry on talking to people, especially now we know it’s Iona.’
She turns away and stares at my closed door. ‘I feel like I’m the bearer of bad news every time I see you.’
A familiar sensation of numbness spreads through me again, starting at my fingertips, making me squeeze them tight. ‘What’s happened?’
Freya dips her head, looking at her hands clasped in her lap.
‘Will you just tell me what’s happened,’ I snap.
‘I’m sorry,’ she starts, ‘and I shouldn’t even know this, but a couple of hours ago someone confessed to Iona’s murder.’ Already her words are ringing in my ears.
‘No. No,’ I say. ‘Oh God, no.’ I cradle my head in my splayed hands, rocking it back and forth as my stomach sinks. Dad, what have you done? I should have been with him. I should never have broken the news on the phone. He doesn’t understand what he’s just done. He can’t realise what this
will do to his life.
Freya’s words are muffled but they come through anyway. ‘I could get into trouble for telling you.’
‘It’s my fault,’ I cry. ‘I spoke to him earlier. I told him everything. I should have done it face-to-face.’
‘Really? I thought you hadn’t seen him in years.’
‘What?’ I look up at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your brother,’ she says. ‘Danny’s just confessed to killing Iona.’
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning I cannot get off the island quickly enough. All night my thoughts have tumbled over each other, reaching crescendos of fear, trying to make sense of what Danny has done.
In the morning I wait until the last moment to slip out of my room, leaving a note for Rachel on my bed to tell her I’m going a day early. I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to face any of them. It won’t be long before they learn of my brother’s confession, and when that happens I won’t be here.
As soon as I’m on the ferry and the mainland is within sight, my phone springs into life. I call Bonnie, and when she doesn’t answer I leave her a message to call me back urgently, that I’m on my way home but I need to speak to her.
Once I’m at Poole Quay I call her again but there’s still no answer, and when, half an hour later, the same thing happens it crosses my mind she’s doing this on purpose – letting me know she has control back after I left her. I’m nearly in Winchester by the time she calls, and by then she’s already heard the news from a police officer.
‘When did you find out?’ she shouts.
‘This morning,’ I lie. There’s no point reiterating my lack of phone reception. ‘I got on a ferry as soon as I heard. I’ve been calling you ever since.’
‘I didn’t have my mobile on me.’ A lame excuse but I don’t bother arguing.
Instead I tell her I’m going straight to her place and within twenty minutes I’m ringing her doorbell.