She scrambled to her feet, and brushed the snow from her suit with gloved hands. ‘Bloody hare, you nearly gave me a heart attack,’ she muttered, close to tears as she hurried back to the lodge.
There was no doubting that it had been stunningly beautiful out there in the cold, dark night, far away from everything and everyone. But it was a place for those who absorbed the heavy silence and loneliness without fear. It might be something Isla craved, but Roxanne knew now, it wasn’t for her.
Sunday, 13 November
It was still dark when Roxanne woke at 6 a.m. She lay for a few moments before grabbing her phone from the bedside table, and staring at the screen blurry-eyed. The battery was dead from using the torch the night before. She got up and plugged it in to charge. After showering, she headed to reception and asked Alma for the key to Isla’s room.
‘Just to see if there’s something I missed, if that’s OK,’ she said, tilting her head apologetically. She needed to do something.
Alma led the way. ‘I need to give the room to someone else, soon,’ she said, opening the door, and folding her arms. ‘Your friend left a credit card number, but if she’s not coming back . . . ’
Roxanne growled inside at the woman’s lack of tact, but decided to shrug it off. ‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘In fact, stick her things in my room, if you like.’ She stepped through the door. Isla’s room was as it had been when she and Jack looked around the day before. She knew she was wasting her time. She left within moments, closing the door behind her. Alma locked it and headed back to reception, swinging the key by her side.
Roxanne leant against Isla’s door, noticing the door to the next room stood open. She peered inside to see a housekeeper singing as she puffed up pillows.
Roxanne stepped in. ‘Hello.’ The woman didn’t look round, so Roxanne moved closer. ‘Hello,’ she repeated, tapping her on the shoulder.
‘Skit!’ the woman said, dropping the pillow and pulling out her earphones.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ Roxanne said. ‘Do you speak English?’
‘A little.’ The woman gestured a small amount with her thumb and forefinger. ‘Is this your room? I can come back later.’
Roxanne shook her head. ‘No, I just wondered if you remember the woman who was staying in the room next door?’ She pulled out the photograph of Isla with Andy and showed it to her.
She shook her head, ‘Sorry.’
‘What about the man?’
She screwed up her nose, as though thinking, before shaking her head again.
‘Did you clean her room on Saturday morning?’
The cleaner looked puzzled.
‘On Saturday.’ Roxanne grabbed her feather duster and wiggled it in the air. ‘Did you clean her room?’
The cleaner laughed. ‘Ja, ja.’
‘Did you see anything odd?’ Roxanne had no idea where she was going with her questions. She pointed at the photo again. ‘Did this man spend the night with her?’
She shook her head, brow furrowed. ‘I clean, and make bed. That is all.’ She shrugged. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘I don’t know . . . we think . . . ’ She stopped, frustrated for not knowing any Swedish. There was no point in carrying on. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaving the room.
***
‘That’s right, we saw Isla on Friday at the sky station,’ Alex said as he tucked into his breakfast. He was a bit of a silver fox, the kind that might give Paul Hollywood a run for his money.
Alma had pointed the couple out to Roxanne, saying they’d been to the sky station on the night Isla was there, and she’d approached and shown them a photo of Isla. Alex had invited her to sit down, to the clear disapproval of his much younger, and very beautiful wife.
‘The Northern Lights were incredible, weren’t they, Maddie?’ he went on, turning to smile at her.
Maddie flicked her dark hair over her shoulders, and sipped her Buck’s Fizz, her eyes boring into Roxanne. She didn’t respond.
Roxanne snatched her eyes away from Maddie’s, and glanced around the restaurant. It was heaving. Waiters and waitresses buzzed to and fro with pots of tea and coffee, and the tables were crammed with visitors. She returned her attention to Alex. ‘So did she seem OK?’
He nodded. ‘Well, she was taking lots of photos, and seemed to like it up there in the darkness. She was still there when we left. Although I noticed her heading down as we climbed into the minibus.’
‘Did you see her talk to anyone? A man with red hair?’
Maddie leant forward. ‘What’s this about, exactly?’ She was Scottish, and there was a hint of aggression in her voice.
‘I just expected my friend to be here,’ Roxanne said, not wanting to talk about the email. ‘I’m worried about her, that’s all. I don’t suppose she mentioned where she might be heading.’
‘Well, I didn’t speak to her.’ Maddie looked at her husband, and folded her arms across her slim body. ‘I just wanted to get back to the hotel that night. It was fucking freezing up there. But Alex just had to say hello.’
‘I thought she looked lonely, needed a friend.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re meant to be with me, remember? It’s our honeymoon, for Christ’s sake.’
Roxanne sensed Alex was a bit of a ladies’ man, and Maddie didn’t fully trust him. Whatever it was, their marriage looked destined to fail.
‘She said she might go to Narvik – take in the Fjords,’ Alex said, ignoring his wife. ‘There’s a direct train.’
Maddie unfolded her arms, pulled her phone from her bag and began thumping the screen. She glanced up and met Roxanne’s eye. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Do you want to be in my Facebook update too?’
‘Well, thanks for your help,’ Roxanne said, rising, knowing it was time to leave.
‘I hope you find her soon,’ Alex said.
‘Me too,’ she called back over her shoulder as she left the restaurant.
Back in her room, she found her phone was fully charged, and that she’d missed several calls from Sally. She pressed her number.
‘Sally. Hi, it’s Roxanne,’ she said, when she picked up, keen to tell her about Isla’s planned trip to Norway, and about the Andy she’d found on Facebook.
‘Oh thank goodness, Roxanne,’ Sally said, before she could get the words out. Her voice was anxious and jerky, not helped by the poor signal. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’
‘Is everything OK? Is there news about Isla?’
‘Yes, yes there is.’ She was close to tears. ‘A woman was struck by a car in Narvik in the early hours of this morning. They think it’s Isla.’
Chapter 37
Sally took a deep breath and went on. ‘They can’t be certain it’s Isla,’ she said. ‘But the description fits. They got her details from her bag, and my name and number were on her passport.’ She snatched another breath, clearly struggling to get the words out. ‘We’re at Stansted now, waiting for a flight over. She’s not good at all, Roxanne.’ Sally let out a stifled sob. ‘She’s in a coma.’
‘Oh God, that’s awful.’ She gripped the phone tighter to her ear, tears flooding from nowhere.
‘They said she’s opened her eyes once, and mumbled something they couldn’t make sense of.’
‘That’s good, right? She’s at least attempted to speak.’ Roxanne gulped, trying to compose herself, fighting the tears.
‘I really don’t know,’ Sally said, through her sobs. ‘I feel at a loss being so far away.’ She paused, clearly trying to calm herself. ‘The driver of the car that hit her said she leapt out of nowhere. He swerved and crashed into a wall. Lucky to be alive, they said.’
‘This is too awful.’ Roxanne dashed away her tears with the back of her hand.
‘What was she doing wandering the streets of Narvik at gone midnight?’ Sally said. ‘I thought she was in Sweden.’
‘She did tell a couple here in Abisko that she hoped to see the Fjords. There’s a direct train to Narvik.’
‘But it doesn’t fit, Roxanne.’ Sally sniffed. ‘Why would she tell people she wanted to see the Fjords, only to . . . to do this?’
‘You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense at all.’ Roxanne picked up her pyjama top, and wiped the tears from her face with it.
‘They said it happened in a side street where youngsters often hang out. Druggies some of them.’ Sally paused, as though trying to compose herself. ‘What was she doing hanging out somewhere like that? It’s not Isla’s style.’
Roxanne began pacing the room, and a silence hung between them for a few moments.
‘People stay in comas for years sometimes, don’t they?’ Sally said. ‘What if she never comes out of it?’ Her voice was growing in volume.
‘But she’s alive, Sally.’ Roxanne sat down on the edge of the bed, searching for her inner strength. ‘We have to see this as positive news. She’ll come out of the coma, and we’ve been given a second chance to help her.’ She lowered her head, letting her hair fall around her face. ‘Everything will be OK,’ she added, wishing she believed her own words. ‘And when she comes round, she’ll need our help. We must be there for her.’
‘We need to be strong for Isla, don’t we?’ Sally’s voice was shaky, but resigned.
‘She’ll be counting on us.’ There was a brief silence before she added, ‘Listen, I’ll catch the next train to Narvik. I can be at the hospital in about two hours.’
‘OK, well we’ll be a lot longer, but hopefully we’ll be there before nightfall.’ Sally told her the address. ‘I’ve tried calling Jack, but he didn’t pick up. Is he still with you?’
‘No . . . ’ Roxanne recalled the dreadful state he’d been in the night before. ‘He said he was going back to England.’ She paused, and tugged one of her curls until it hurt her scalp, then released it so it pinged back like a coiled spring. ‘He wasn’t coping, and who can blame him?’
Sally sucked in a sigh. ‘Well, I’ve left a message on his phone. Told him all we know.’
‘Good. Well if you hear from him . . . or anything else . . . just call me.’
‘I will.’
‘Oh, hang on a sec, there’s one other thing,’ Roxanne said. ‘There’s an Andy Fisher on Isla’s Facebook. It looks as though he’s from Canada, going by his profile and cover photos.’
‘Do you think it could be him?’
‘Yeah, there’s a good chance it could be. Trouble is, his settings prevent me messaging him. But maybe you could tell the police. See if they can get hold of him, somehow.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll call them now.’
‘And once I’m at the hospital, I’ll be in touch.’
‘Thanks, Roxanne.’
The phone went dead, and Roxanne flopped back on the bed, eyes wide as she stared up at the ceiling, her head pounding. But she knew she couldn’t waste a second.
She tried calling the hospital – but they couldn’t tell her any more than Sally already had – so she dragged on her snowsuit, and left the room. She would catch the next train to Narvik. She needed to be there for her friend.
On the platform, she stomped her feet to keep warm. She didn’t have long to wait before the train roared into the station, shrieking to a stop. She and half a dozen others climbed on board, and she moved along the almost empty carriage, and sat down next to the window.
The train moved away, passing stationary trains and scattered, isolated buildings on its way into the whiteness of the countryside. The sky was a light, hazy grey, with hints of blue, and a pale sun lit the clouds. As the train gathered speed, and rattled on its way, the rows and rows of leafless trees moving past became hypnotic.
A coal train rumbled by, as they continued along the track and curved their way into a tunnel. Everything felt so slow, bashing against the urgency she felt inside.
In Norway, the stunning fjords lying beneath snow-tipped mountains looked like a scene from Narnia. The views of the mountains could have been drawn with charcoals, strokes of black on white. Roxanne imagined Isla taking photographs, aiming for her dream to publish her book and write more articles. She gulped back more tears. She’d cried more over the last few hours than she had ever before. She had to get her act together. She was no use to her friend, or anyone else, if she fell apart.
She pulled out her phone, and texted Jack.
Hi, Jack. Hope you got Sally’s message. I’m heading for Narvik. Call me, please. Roxanne X
The view opened up further with such splendour. How could anyone in their right mind take their own life when there was so much beauty in the world? But then who was she to judge her friend? Perhaps Isla had never really been in her right mind after Carl Jeffery.
Eventually, the train pulled into Narvik Station, brakes squealing, and Roxanne got up from her seat and hurried down the carriage, her adrenaline racing. The doors sprang open, and she disembarked onto the snowy platform, quickly spotting a taxi. She raced towards it, and climbed into the back seat.
As the driver headed through streets buzzing with shoppers, all wrapped up against the cold and hurrying along snow-covered pavements, Roxanne tried to imagine, once more, Isla – the Isla she’d known for so many years – falling for a stranger, without giving Jack a second’s thought – Isla taking her own life. It still seemed so out of character. So far removed from the friend she thought she knew.
‘Women in the headwind,’ the driver said, breaking into her thoughts, his pale blue eyes fleetingly meeting hers in the rear-view mirror. They’d reached Kongensgate, and he’d braked to almost a stop behind a queue of traffic.
‘Sorry?’
‘Over there.’
Roxanne turned to where he was nodding, to see a snow-covered statue of two women struggling in a windstorm. It made her heart break.
It could be me and Isla.
Roxanne imagined that she was the woman at the front leading, grabbing Isla’s hand and holding on tight, battling onwards – hoping her friend would survive the storms, and always be there by her side. But Isla was behind, the wind dragging her back, her hand above her head, as a gust got the better of her.
A tear escaped and rolled down Roxanne’s cheek, and despite dashing it away and taking a deep breath, a feeling of helplessness consumed her.
‘You OK?’ the driver asked.
She sniffed. ‘Yes, yes. Thanks.’ But she was far from it.
Chapter 38
Isla
Sunday, 13 November
Floating between asleep and awake, Isla could see Millie and her parents racing along a beach by the sea, young and carefree, the sun beaming down on them, making them appear haloed. She was there too, blonde hair in a high ponytail swinging to and fro. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt with The Spice Girls on the front, and star-shaped sunglasses, and snatching glances over her shoulder, her little legs giving it everything as she darted across the golden sand. Giggling.
Her family were letting her win.
Mum?
They dissipated, like dandelion clocks floating on the air, up into a cloudless sky and beyond. Gone. Leaving Isla suspended in real time, unable to open her eyes, a pain in her arm, as if a giant dragonfly had stung her, over and over – her limbs left lifeless, heavy.
Hello.
The sensation in her neck and throat was intolerable. She’d only felt it once before. The day Carl Jeffery tightened a rope around her neck, intending to string her up. Why could she feel it now? Was it real?
Hello.
But she knew there was nobody there in the simmering orange behind her eyelids.
She’d dipped in and out several times now, attempting to grab on to what was real and what was not, only to drift back into what felt like a fantasy – a dystopian world where she knew people, but didn’t know herself.
A door opened with a creak and soft footfalls approached.
Where am I?
What’s happened?
Thoughts scrambled and tangled, as whoever it was moved to her side. She felt
moisture on her dry lips – soothing.
‘Isla, can you hear me?’ The voice, a whisper, was barely audible. She couldn’t even make out if it was male or female.
A brief memory of travelling through darkness on a chairlift, liquid greens zigzagging the night sky, came and went.
A cold hand touched her arm. She flinched inside, but knew she didn’t move.
The voice continued, fading further, words muffled. Isla was losing the connection. Drifting deeper into her thoughts.
Is any of this real?
Six years ago
Carl tightened the rope, his eyes wild. A hint of a smile twisting his lips.
Darkness called to Isla, as consciousness drained from her body.
I should have known.
Bronwyn had told her he’d acted weird when she tried to leave. Said she thought someone was watching her. He’d killed her, hadn’t he? Pieces slotted into place. ‘Bronwyn was abused by her father,’ he’d said. ‘A happy childhood brought up by two mums,’ she’d said.
Why hadn’t Isla taken it in? Seen him for who he was? The need for comfort after Bronwyn’s death had blinkered her. She’d been a fool.
He slackened the rope and she gasped, tears creeping from the corners of her eyes like tiny bubbles of pain. ‘Please,’ she tried to say, but words wouldn’t form.
‘Are you crying because you wish you’d tried harder, Isla? I mean we could have been so good together.’ He screwed up his face, and moved so he was inches from her face. ‘But you’re all the same, aren’t you?’ he said, breath hot on her skin. ‘Bronwyn. Clare. Sophie. Mother. Too full of your own importance, doing exactly what you want without a care for anyone.’
She went to try and talk again, but her throat closed in pain. ‘I . . . ’ was all she could say.
‘The police contacted me again about Bronwyn’s death.’ He moved back slightly and smirked, hands clenching the rope. ‘They have doubts about me. I may have to take off.’ He stroked her cheek with the rough rope. His once handsome face contorted, ugly – evil pumping through his veins. ‘After I’ve dealt with you, of course.’
Her Last Lie Page 20