That evening they went to a restaurant near the hostel. Carl, in front of the waiters, was back to his charming self, as though nothing had happened earlier, but Isla’s stomach felt too knotted to eat. They talked and drank wine, as Carl ate pasta. He told her more about how he’d travelled Australia over the last couple of years, been to Canberra, Brisbane and Perth. ‘Everyone should see the Great Barrier Reef, Isla. Dive down there among the amazing fish, see the corals. You need to see more of this wonderful country,’ he said, not for the first time. ‘You should stay with me. We could travel together.’ He leant forward, taking her hand. ‘I’d really like that.’
‘I can’t,’ she said, pulling away. ‘I’m homesick as hell.’ And now, on top of everything else, she couldn’t get out of her head the way he’d looked at her earlier, spoken to her. It was time to head back to the UK. Begin a new chapter in her life.
That night she told him again she had to leave, her head resting against his back. His muscles tensed as she spoke, and he exhaled a long breath, making her uneasy.
‘We can keep in touch. I don’t want to lose you from my life,’ she said, but it was far from the truth. It was over.
He left her room around eleven, and she curled like a question mark on the bed, hugging her teddy bear, her eyes open, thinking about home.
As she drifted into a fitful sleep, a nightmare latched on to her subconscious. She was falling fast, grasping at the still, hot air as she tumbled from the Blue Mountains. She woke with a gasp, sweating, the sheets twisted beneath her. There was no doubting that she’d made the right decision to leave as soon as possible.
At around 4 a.m. the tapping on her window began again. At first she lay still, trying to ignore it, hoping it would stop. But a sudden sound, as though fingernails were scraping the windowpane, made her shoot upright.
She pulled back her duvet, heart banging against her ribcage, and moved towards the window. She eased open the blind, hands shaking, and let out a strangled scream.
A man stood so close that her reflection morphed with his image. He wore a green beanie hat. A scarf covered his face. She fumbled the blind closed, raced across the room and turned on the light. She checked the door was locked and pressed her body against it, holding her chest, her breathing erratic.
She grabbed her mobile phone from her bedside cabinet, and tapped in 000.
‘Someone’s out there,’ she cried, as the phone was answered.
‘Try to keep calm, love.’ A woman on the other end. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Isla Johnson.’
‘And where’s there, Isla?’
‘Bristol Hostel. There’s someone outside. You have to help me.’
A rap on the door. ‘Isla!’ Thank God. Carl. ‘Are you OK in there?’ he called. ‘I heard you scream.’
She raced to open up, fumbling with the lock. Did I scream?
‘Carl?’ As she opened the door, her phone slipped through her fingers and clattered to the floor. He was wearing a green beanie, a scarf draped around his neck. There was a thick rope in his hand. Her body froze. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I can’t let you go, Isla,’ he whispered, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. ‘You can’t leave me.’
She went to scream, but he covered her mouth, grabbed her, and slammed her so hard onto the bed that the cheap mattress creaked, and the metal frame bounced on the floorboards. Stars danced in her head, as she fought back panic and pain.
‘Please, Carl, stop,’ she attempted through his heavy, sweaty hand. But his eyes were wild as he wrapped the rope around her slim neck.
He was unreachable.
Now
Tap, tap, tap.
Isla leapt out of bed, darted across to the window and, beating down the fear that someone would be standing behind the glass, yanked back the curtain. A branch, heavy with snow, swayed back and forth in the wind. Tap, tap, tap.
‘Thank God,’ she whispered, closing the curtains. She hugged her chest, her heartbeat strong under her fingers. ‘Get a grip, Isla,’ she muttered, rushing back to bed and covering her head with the duvet.
Chapter 31
Friday, 11 November
Deep snow surrounded Aurora Sky Station, the temperature around minus ten. The wind chill caused pain in Isla’s temples, as though the blood in her veins was slowly freezing. The inside of her bones hurt, and her teeth ached, and her toes had gone from painful to feeling as though they weren’t there at all. But still she’d stayed, mesmerised by the sight of the Northern Lights through her lens.
‘The Aurora Borealis.’
She turned, the fur around her snowsuit hood tickling her cheeks, and lowered her camera.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ the man, early fifties at a guess, continued, stomping from foot to foot, snow crunching beneath his boots. He rubbed his gloved hands together. ‘I’m Alex.’
Isla stared, unsure whether to enter into conversation. He was tall and slender, with feathers of silvery-white hair poking out from beneath his hood. He smiled, his sparkling blue eyes appealing in his tanned, lightly lined face. He seemed to pick up on her apprehension. ‘I believe we’re both staying at Camp Arctic.’
He looked suddenly familiar. She’d seen him when she first arrived, and several times the day before. He was sharing a room with a much younger woman.
Isla smiled. ‘Ah, yes,’ she said, a slight stutter in her voice, a misty cloud leaving her mouth as she spoke. She looked towards the sky. ‘It’s stunning – indescribable – although I’ll give it a jolly good try.’
‘Ah, you’re a writer, yes? I did wonder when I saw you on your laptop back at the lodge. What do you write?’
‘Articles, mostly travel.’ She smiled. ‘I’m on the final chapter of my book.’
‘Amazing. Will we see it in the shops?’
She shook her head and shrugged. ‘Perhaps, one day.’ An embarrassed tingle rose in her neck, as the words tripped off her tongue. Jack had always been behind her, encouraging her to finish her book, been so full of praise, but now, as she stood in the darkness, she wondered if she’d been naive. She’d devoted so many hours to it, but perhaps she’d been a fool. Maybe it had simply been her way of dodging reality through the years.
‘We should head back,’ came a voice through the darkness. It was the younger woman she’d seen with Alex, now standing by the chairlift in a pink snowsuit. Isla knew instantly that this was the couple she’d seen on her walk the day she arrived. That Alex was the man who’d waved at her with his walking stick. The man she’d fled from in such a rush, stupidly afraid.
‘Well, however beautiful this all is,’ he said with another smile, ‘I’m more than ready for bed.’
‘Goodnight,’ Isla said.
He went to step away. ‘To be honest, I’m not looking forward to the chairlift down.’
Isla laughed. ‘No, it’s quite wobbly, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘But I guess we have to suffer these things, if we want to see the wonders of the world. It was nice meeting you . . . sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Isla,’ she said.
‘Well, Isla, perhaps we’ll see you again,’ he said. ‘What are your plans?’
‘I may go to Narvik tomorrow. I want to get some photos of the Norwegian Fjords.’
‘We’re hoping to see them too,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’
He trudged away, and Isla turned and raised her camera towards the sky once more. The liquid greens drifted across the cloudless, star-filled sky, like a fantasy creature let loose from captivity, weaving psychedelically on its way to another planet. She wanted to stay, up there she could pretend everything was OK, but her fingers ached with the cold, and it was getting late. She searched the darkness. The mountain had been alive with people earlier, all gasping with excitement as they witnessed the phenomenon, but the throng had now whittled down to a few stalwarts.
She stayed a few more minutes before putting her camer
a in its case and collapsing her tripod. She had so many photographs. Two or three would be perfect for her book. One might even be right for the cover.
She walked across the mountain, paraffin lanterns lighting her way towards the chairlift. Once there, a chair glided in and thumped onto the platform.
A young lad steadied the swaying metal chair. He held out his arm and guided Isla into it. The bar locked down over her and he pushed the chair onwards.
At first it moved swiftly downwards, heading away from the mountain, before coming to an abrupt stop midway down. The sky looked even greener than it had been up above, and the circulating freezing air clung to her like a fog. She was glad to be swaddled in the snugness of her snowsuit.
As she swung to and fro in the gentle breeze, the vacant chairs around her creaking in the darkness, the neon lights bending and stretching in the low sky, she caught sight of someone standing in the darkness below, staring up at her.
Chapter 32
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Saturday, 12 November, 9 a.m.
At first, last night was amazing, like something from a romantic novel. He was there looking up at me as I came down on the chairlift, searching me out in the darkness. Even from a distance I knew it was him. He’d come. Even after saying he wouldn’t. He’d come. Andy.
As the chair drifted down, I could see him clearly, wrapped in a thick, dark coat, hood up covering his auburn hair, brown eyes on me as I drifted down my final descent, before thudding to the ground.
He helped me out, pulled me close and started kissing me. I felt as though I’d been injected with a powerful drug. I couldn’t speak I was so excited. The weather was so cold it felt as though my breath had frozen in my lungs. I couldn’t believe he was there.
He said sorry for not answering my calls, for not coming to England. But said he was here now. I was close to tears when he told me it was me he loved. That he’d always wanted to be with me.
We went back to my room and made love. I wasn’t cold any more after that. The ice on that window I couldn’t see through before had melted.
Later, as we drank gin, he told me again that there was someone else in his life. But it was more than that. He was married, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave her. But he said his love for me had been too overpowering. He’d known he had to come to Sweden. The draw was too much. ‘I’m here now,’ he said again, stroking my cheek, his hot breath on my neck.
I didn’t think about Jack. Does that make me a horrible person? Am I cruel? Cruel in the same way I was cruel to Trevor all those years ago?
This morning I woke at eight, expecting to find Andy’s warm, naked body beside me. But he wasn’t there. I glanced around the room, straining my ears, wondering if he was in the shower, but there was no sound, just silence.
‘Andy,’ I called, getting out of bed, grabbing my robe and slipping it on. And then I saw the note.
My darling Isla,
I’ve been awake all night thinking – tormenting myself for coming. I thought this was the right thing to do, as I missed you – I really did miss you. But this morning, I found a text from my wife. She’s having our baby, and I realised I’d made a terrible mistake coming here. I can’t leave her. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m so sorry.
I love you, Isla, but I’m returning to Canada. I’ll be changing my phone number, so you can’t contact me – not because I don’t want to hear your voice, but because it’s easier this way. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. The mess I’ve made of both our lives.
Forgive me, Andy
I wasn’t sure how long I sobbed for, or how loud. But now the tears have gone. I know what I have to do.
The truth is I never got over what happened in Australia. Never got over Carl Jeffery. For a time those around me thought I had. And why not? I suppose even I thought I had control. Then came the appeal, stripping away the protective layers, revealing soft, bruised flesh. I felt those spindly cracks under the surface widen.
Going to Canada was the perfect escape, far away from reality.
Then he appeared – so strong. A man who made me feel so much safer than Jack ever could – Jack who played at being a man as he tried to fix me. When I was with Andy, thoughts of Carl Jeffery dissipated. I talked. I cried. Nothing new, but so different than the talks I’d had with Jack and Roxanne, my parents. Millie. When I was with Andy, everything was OK.
Then I came back to England, his promises echoing in my head. Things began to fall apart. Odd things started happening. Andy seemed to melt away like an ice cube on a hot day. And as he made excuses not to talk to me, not to see me, my fear grew. Nobody could help me but Andy. Without Andy, Carl Jeffery would haunt me for ever.
When someone you love lets you down, loves someone else, the world turns on its axis. Nothing looks the same any more, and a distorted image of life appears before you like a scene from a horror movie. I know nothing will ever be the same again.
Now I grab the bottle of gin from last night and pour the dregs into a glass and swallow hard. I need something to give me courage.
Life isn’t worth living without Andy.
There will be no more posts here.
I’m sorry. I can’t go on.
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PART 2
Chapter 33
Roxanne
Saturday, 12 November
Isla’s phone went straight to voicemail. Roxanne had tried to call and text her several times over the last few days, with no luck. It was odd that her friend hadn’t even messaged her from the airport, like she always did.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Leo, the bloke she’d met at Millie’s party the week before, heading down the stairs, two at a time.
‘Hey,’ he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He came up behind her, pushed her hair from her neck and trailed her with warm kisses. He smelt good. ‘You OK?’ he said, dropping down onto a chair at the table next to her and grabbing the box of cornflakes.
She watched him, mesmerised, a surge of panic rising inside her. He ticked far too many boxes – boxes she didn’t even know were there to tick. ‘Fine thanks.’
She put down her phone and opened Facebook on her laptop and began sharing links to various petitions.
‘Can I see you again?’ Leo asked, tipping golden flakes into a bowl. ‘I’d like to.’
She stared into his eyes. No, no, no. I hadn’t meant to see you this time. ‘Why not?’ she said, as her phone vibrated across the table.
‘You going to get that?’ he said, in his easy way.
She picked up the phone. It was Isla’s mum. Sally never normally called. Her number was only in Roxanne’s phone from a time when Isla was going through hell.
She was about to answer, when the call ended.
‘Everything OK?’ Leo said, dark eyes narrowing. ‘You look worried.’
‘I’m good. I’m sure everything’s fine.’ She rose from the table, a weird sense of doom washing over her. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning her back on him and pressing Sally’s number.
‘Hey,’ she said into the phone, when Sally picked up.
‘Roxanne.’ Her voice was jittery. ‘I . . . well . . . ’
‘What’s up? You OK?’ Roxanne turned a curl of her hair around her finger.
‘No, no I’m not. The thing is, Isla has emailed and . . . ’
‘Sally, what is it?’ Roxanne’s pulse quickened as Sally burst into tears. There was a rustle on the other end of the line, voices in the background. ‘Sally?’
‘Roxanne.’ It was Gary. His voice low and even. ‘The thing is, love . . . ’ He paused. ‘God there’s no easy way to say this.’
‘Say what, Gary? What’s going on?’
‘The thing is,’ he repeated. ‘We think . . . we think Isla may have taken her own life.’
***
Sally and Gary’s dining room had dropped into a painful silence, when the shrill so
und of the doorbell pierced the still air.
‘That’ll be Jack,’ Millie said, rising and rushing to the door.
Within moments, Jack dashed into the room, pale and bewildered, Millie behind him.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ Sally said through tears that hadn’t stopped since Roxanne arrived. She rose and pulled him into a hug.
He freed himself from her grasp, yanked off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa in the adjoining lounge. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’
‘I’m so sorry to drag you away from your father, Jack . . . ’
‘It’s hardly important, Sally, in the scheme of things,’ he said, not meeting her eye.
‘No, no, of course it isn’t. My mind is a complete mess.’
‘Why would she have done this?’ Gary’s elbows were on the table, the heel of his palms pushed into his eyes. ‘My girl would never take her own life.’
Sally sat back down next to him. ‘We can’t make sense of any of it.’
Jack glanced at Sally’s pink laptop open on Isla’s blog in front of her. The words ‘Travelling Girl’ headed the home page, typed in a swirly lilac font on a background of blue skies and butterflies, and a photo of Isla smiled from the screen.
Sally must have read all the blog posts twenty times since Roxanne arrived, taking her glasses off and on, as if hoping, each time, the later posts might say something different.
‘I keep trying her mobile, even though there’s no point,’ Jack said, eyes flicking from Sally to Gary.
Gary sighed. He was wearing a polo shirt, and there was a mud stain on his cheeks from gardening. Sally was in the navy skirt suit and white blouse she wore to her part-time job as a travel agent.
‘We’ve all tried to call her,’ Gary said, shaking his head, ‘. . . if she’d only taken her phone charger.’
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