by Heidi Perks
‘You didn’t even know him,’ I protest. ‘And that’s not true at all.’
‘None of us want you back on this island. You realise that, I hope.’ She stops and shakes her head. ‘I only wish I’d never given you a bed in the first place.’
I grit my teeth, hesitant. I don’t know where else to go, but I won’t plead for a room now. ‘My brother’s innocent,’ I say. ‘And I’m going to prove it, then you and the whole bloody island will really have something to talk about.’
I turn away, expecting to hear the slam of Rachel’s front door, but as I walk to the path in the quiet I realise she must be watching me go. Only when I’m at the corner do I finally hear it close.
‘Shit,’ I mutter, kicking at the gravel beneath my feet. The few beach houses clustered around me are shrouded in darkness. There is only one place I can think of going – Annie’s.
The light is fading fast and I stick to the path, but as soon as I approach the clifftop above Pirate’s Cove a warm yellow beam shines out from the back of the nearest bay house belonging to Susan and Graham Carlton.
It is getting darker and I should get to Annie’s, but then I never did speak to Susan when I was last here. And apart from Annie, she was the closest one to my mum.
In the latter years I didn’t visit the Carltons’ house much, but often when I’d pass I’d see Mum and Susan sitting on a swinging seat beside the front porch, laughing over a glass of wine. The seat is still here. Tonight the wind catches it, rocking it back and forth, and, empty of people, it’s a disquieting sight.
The light shining from the back illuminates their garden which is exposed to the clifftop, bordered only by a low hedgerow. A figure, doused in black from the shoulders down, is standing at the far end, looking out to sea, the wind picking up her hair and whipping it about wildly.
I walk to the side of the house, and while there’s a break in the rain I pull my hood back and call out, ‘Susan?’
She doesn’t respond.
I clear my throat to call out more loudly, when she moves her head ever so slightly, as if she wants to look over her shoulder but can’t quite make it.
As I pass along the side of the house, she inches around further and peers in my direction. ‘It’s Stella,’ I call.
Finally Susan twists her whole body around, but she doesn’t move off her spot. I smile as I walk up to her, her face passive and pale against the bright beam that floods the garden from her kitchen. ‘Do you know, Graham looked like a ghost the day he told me you were back,’ she says. Fumes of alcohol waft from her breath and a glimmer of a smile hangs off her lips but it isn’t reflected in her eyes. ‘He’s been down on that beach for over forty minutes now. In this weather, too.’
She turns back to the cove which is a sheer drop down from the end of their garden and I follow her gaze, spotting two figures, one with a flashlight that shines out towards the water. I take her word it’s Graham as there is no way of knowing from where we stand.
Susan turns to me again and holds out her arms and I fall into her stiff embrace. ‘We didn’t get a chance to talk the other day before Annie stole you away. I imagine she was telling you to leave the island.’ Susan pulls away and turns back to the two figures below. ‘Good on you for coming back.’
‘I’m not sure anyone else will see it that way.’
‘Probably not. She has your best interests at heart, but she still thinks she owns this place and everyone on it,’ Susan murmurs before saying, ‘You’d have thought he’d realise I can see him from our house, wouldn’t you?’
‘Why are you watching him?’ I peer over the edge.
She glances at me like I’ve asked a stupid question, but doesn’t answer. ‘Do you think he’s guilty, Stella?’
‘Who, Graham?’
‘No!’ she laughs. ‘I know he is. I mean your brother. Danny.’ She pulls out a packet of mints from her pocket and squeezes one to the top before offering it to me.
I take it, holding it in my hand. ‘No, I don’t think he is.’
‘Everyone on the island does,’ she says. ‘And by association, they’ll think you are too. It’s a risky move coming back again.’
‘I know.’
‘Why are you? Back, I mean.’
‘Because I want to know what happened.’
Susan nods. ‘There’s nothing wrong with putting people on edge,’ she says. ‘Just look at him.’ She gestures her arm towards her husband. ‘People get too comfortable, but that’s when they make mistakes.’
I squint at her, trying to fathom what she’s actually talking about. It seems like there are multiple strands twisting in her head.
‘Some people seem very excited that Danny confessed to killing that girl,’ Susan tells me. ‘There’s a lot of gossip about him. Stories that aren’t actually true.’
‘Like what?’ I ask, but she brushes away my question with a swipe of her hand.
‘The fact is, he was a good boy. Painfully introverted, but …’ Susan pauses. ‘He wasn’t bad.’ She looks up at me sharply. ‘You know, my daughter later told me he never actually grabbed her in the cave. Do you remember that happening? Maybe you were too young.’
‘No, I remember.’
Susan watches me with wide eyes. ‘They set him up. Or someone set Tess up to do it. I was so cross with her. I never brought her up to be like that, but that summer she was – she was different. She was sucked in by someone who pretended to be her friend.’ Susan turns back to the beach, and I realise she must be talking about Iona. ‘I didn’t realise why at the time, but it was all to do with him.’ She flicks a hand in Graham’s direction.
‘Graham …?’
‘And now she’s moved to London and I barely see her or my grandchildren.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say as a torchlight from the beach arcs in the sky. ‘What’s he doing down there?’ I ask.
‘He’s with that little tramp again.’
‘Oh.’ I step nearer. ‘Oh,’ I say again, at a loss for any other words.
‘Emma Grey,’ Susan says as she turns to me, staring pointedly. ‘You remember her?’
I nod. ‘Yes, of course, but—’ My mind flashes back to the two of them together at the end of her road. Is that what he was worried about when he saw me? Did he think I’d tell Susan?
‘But she’s your age,’ Susan says. ‘Is that what you were going to say?’ She laughs. ‘I know. He’s always preferred them younger.’
A lot younger, I think. The age gap must be touching thirty years.
‘So, what do you think I should do, Stella?’ she says, with feigned recklessness. ‘What’s your advice? Your mum told me to leave him,’ she goes on before I can answer.
‘My mum? But—’
‘Yes. That was many years ago. And you’d have thought I’d have learnt my lesson, wouldn’t you?’ she interrupts. ‘Your mum said if I wasn’t going to leave him I should give him an ultimatum. So I told him that if he didn’t leave her then we were all leaving the island. Starting again.’
‘Not Emma—’
‘God, no, not Emma,’ she says. ‘She was only a child back then. The joke is, we only moved to this place because he’d done it before. I thought it would be safe living on an island, but he still manages to find them.’
‘You never left, though,’ I say. ‘I take it that relationship ended.’
Susan doesn’t respond. Instead she carries on intently watching the couple below.
‘He’ll be coming home now,’ she says finally and I look down to see the figures pull apart, both of them now with flashlights that bow in front of them as they walk off in different directions: Graham heading for the steep path that winds up towards his house and Emma for the steps leading to the cliff and Jill’s bench. ‘As if nothing’s happened,’ Susan adds.
‘Why stay with him?’
Susan shrugs. ‘You get to a stage in life where the alternative isn’t an option,’ she says sadly, as rain splashes on to her forehead. ‘Be careful, won�
��t you, Stella? Coming back here. Looking for answers. I don’t care what you find, but some will hate it.’ She looks down at Graham. Her gaze penetrates him for a moment too long before she disappears into her house.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I slip away before Graham arrives and am about to turn left in the direction of the lakes when a shriek from the clifftop stops me. Emma is climbing the far steps, but between her and me stands another figure, precariously close to the edge. As Emma’s torchlight flashes towards us it’s Meg who is caught in its beam.
‘Get back,’ Emma shouts at her daughter as I simultaneously call out her name. Meg’s head snaps to me and then to her mother who is slowly approaching her. She takes a step away, ignoring me as she storms towards her mum.
‘What are you doing?’ Meg is shouting.
Emma reaches the clifftop. ‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘Yes, you are, I saw you down there with him. I’m not stupid,’ Meg screams, slamming her palms against her mum’s chest. Emma stumbles backwards with shock as I race forwards.
‘Meg.’ I catch her arm, spinning her around. Her skin is streaked with tracks of tears amid the dampness of the rain.
‘She’s seeing a married man!’ she cries. ‘Graham Carlton of all people! You make me sick,’ Meg sobs, twisting back to Emma who is lingering behind, seemingly unsure what to do. ‘Look at her,’ she says. ‘She can’t even deny it.’
‘I was finishing it.’ Emma stumbles over her words.
‘You’re lying!’ Meg screeches, sobs catching in her throat. ‘I’ve been watching you both.’
‘I don’t – I’m going to finish it,’ Emma says weakly. She reaches for her daughter who leaps back.
I hold out my hand to steady her. ‘Meg, I know you’re upset, but don’t you think you should both go home,’ I suggest. ‘Talk about this together. I’m sure your mum—’
‘My mum knows exactly what she’s got herself into but she can’t stay away,’ Meg cries. ‘For the last six months she’s been slinking around the island, pretending nothing’s happening between them. She tried denying it, but I know her. It’s not hard to see she’s dolling herself up for someone, giggling like a stupid schoolgirl whenever she sees him lingering around the village in that revolting hat of his.’
‘Meg, it’s normal to feel like this—’ I begin.
‘You asked after him when he came into the café,’ she goes on, blindly ignoring another protest from her mum to stop talking. ‘He fled pretty quickly when he saw you, didn’t he? He recognised you—’
‘Meg, stop!’ her mum begs.
‘Why?’ Meg laughs. ‘Why shouldn’t I tell her?’
‘We’re going home,’ Emma says, her voice shaking and not in the least authoritative as she fumbles for her daughter’s arm.
‘My mum isn’t the first, Stella,’ Meg sneers as Emma attempts to tug her away. ‘She found out the other night he was seeing the girl who was buried in your garden.’
‘Iona?’
‘But you already knew that,’ she says, yanking away from her mum’s grip again.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did. You saw them together. That’s what he told my mum last night.’
I shake my head again, desperately trying to piece together what she means.
Meg hesitates. ‘He said you must have told the police because they’ve been crawling all over him. That’s why he confessed to her.’ She flicks a hand in Emma’s direction. ‘But the stupid cow is still seeing him.’ Her voice reaches a crescendo.
‘I’m going to finish it,’ Emma pleads but her words fade into the wind and Meg, having heard enough, suddenly races off down the path towards the village, swiftly followed by Emma.
The rain starts up again, pounding against my hood as I gape at them, watching them disappear out of sight. Graham was having an affair with Iona? I’ve always been convinced it was my dad, because of the cap. That damned cap. It was the only thing I can picture in the image I’ve tried to shut out of my head. But what if all these years I’ve had it wrong?
It takes a while for Annie to answer the door. When she finally does, I can’t help my eyes drifting down her frail body. Even though it’s only five thirty, she’s wearing a thin pink nightie that skims her knees. Her legs are bruised and patched with dry skin, her arms too fleshy for the bones that hide beneath, and as she opens the door wider I feel guilty for my intrusion. This old lady is possibly the only person on the island who’ll welcome me in, but I don’t know that I should be putting her out.
I step inside anyway as she orders me to take off my coat and my boots. ‘My dear, you’re soaking,’ she says, hanging my coat on an oak hook that’s been shaped to look like antlers.
‘Danny made that,’ I remember. ‘Dad helped him.’
Annie stops to look at it. ‘He did,’ she says. ‘He was always clever with his hands.’
I want to tell her he’s still making things, that he’s selling them on a website I never ended up looking for. Instead I follow her through to the living room and wait for her to fiddle with a gas fire until a fluorescent orange flame flickers into life. Annie stands in front of it for a moment and my mind drifts back to all the presents she gave us which were always so thoughtful.
Every birthday she bought me something she knew I would love, like the notebook with a lock and key that she handed to me when I was ten. I’d held it up to my face and smelt its leather, running my fingers over the sheets of paper tied in with string. It was as good as the bike Mum and Dad had given me, if not better.
She had done it for Bonnie and Danny too. A palette of eyeshadows for Bonnie on her sixteenth. A set of pencils with Danny’s name engraved into the wood the Christmas he’d turned ten. ‘For your drawing,’ she’d said, and I hadn’t known at the time what she meant, but my brother’s eyes lit up as he carefully tucked them into his rucksack. Annie must have known my brother liked to draw before even I had a clue.
Annie points to a chair, gesturing for me to sit, but I don’t move. ‘Graham was having an affair with Iona,’ I say. ‘I just found out.’
Annie looks at me quizzically and then slowly nods. Of course it wouldn’t have got past Annie if the police have been questioning him.
‘Bonnie knew he was seeing someone, but Iona never told her who,’ I go on. ‘My God. That’s why she befriended Tess,’ I say, as realisation dawns on me. ‘Susan said as much.’
When Annie doesn’t respond, I say, ‘He thinks I saw them.’
‘Does he?’ She raises her eyes.
‘I saw someone but I always thought it was my dad.’
‘Your dad?’ Annie lets out an incredulous laugh. ‘Oh, my dear, I think you were mistaken. Like I told you before, your father wouldn’t have had an affair. He loved your mother too much for that.’
I sink into the armchair, fighting the urge to cry. I’ve blamed him all these years, and now the weight of my heart pains me. ‘Graham thinks I told the police,’ I say. Possibly he was the one who sent me the threat.
Annie nods again, her eyes drifting over me.
‘I didn’t,’ I murmur.
When she doesn’t respond, I ask if I can stay with her for the night. ‘I’ve got nowhere else I can go. I promise I’ll be gone in the morning.’
‘Of course, you must,’ she says. ‘But you’ll have to sleep on the sofa. I have blankets and a spare pillow but I don’t have the guest room made up. I haven’t had anyone staying over in … well, as far back as I can remember.’
I breathe out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Annie.’
‘Though I don’t know if you will be going back in the morning,’ she says. A shadow crosses her face as she glances towards the window. ‘A storm’s coming.’
I turn to look. Trees silhouetted against the glass sway wildly from side to side. She is right. The island will be completely cut off if the weather gets worse. I have seen it before. I saw it the night we left.
‘I
’ll put the kettle on,’ she announces, as if pulling herself together. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No, and that’ll be lovely.’
Annie hesitates. ‘What brought you back, Stella? Tonight of all nights.’ The rain is lashing heavily against the pane like stones.
‘I went to see Danny,’ I tell her. ‘The police don’t believe he did it.’
‘Oh. I see.’
I try unsuccessfully to read the expression on her face before she wanders into the kitchen.
‘I don’t think he did either, Annie,’ I call to her as she fusses in a cupboard, pulling out a tin which she opens and pours into a pan. I lean back in the chair and turn to the bright orange flames flickering like ribbons in the fire. I’m unable to take much comfort from the warmth when the noise against the glass is so harsh. Rain knocks the window in a constant thud.
‘Danny is all everyone here is talking about,’ Annie says when she comes back in, a tray wobbling between her hands. She sets it down on the coffee table. ‘There’s soup and a roll. Help yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ I take a bowl and hold it on my lap. ‘I’m beginning to gather that. What are they saying?’
Annie sighs deeply. ‘Half the islanders don’t even remember him,’ she says, dipping her head as she slowly lifts her spoon to her mouth.
‘But you do,’ I say. ‘You must know he wouldn’t do something like this.’
Annie takes a sip of her soup and then drops her spoon back into the bowl, frowning. ‘Yet he confessed,’ she says.
‘But he had no reason to kill her.’ I’m certain the thought can’t sit right with her.
‘Yet he’s told the police he did it,’ she repeats, her eyes drifting up to meet mine, and as she holds my gaze I think she actually does believe him capable. ‘There are many people on this island who are glad for the fact,’ Annie goes on. ‘They have an answer. They know there’s no longer any threat, and if they see you back here, they won’t be happy, Stella.’ Her mouth flattens into a thin line as she hunches forward, her breaths short and quick. ‘I understand why you hope Danny isn’t guilty, but what do you think you can find here that the police haven’t already?’