Islands: A page turning story of love, secrets and regrets

by Gwyn GB

  She looks into his face, recognising the pain etched on to it. It’s what she’s looked at in the mirror a million times before.

  ‘I didn’t want a repeat of all those awkward looks people gave us the first time,’ John continues, ‘You know when they don’t know what to say, can’t properly look you in the eye because they feel awkward. I just wanted us to deal with it together, keep it between us – just you and me. But that wasn’t such a great idea was it? We should at least have told our family, had some support – especially for you.’

  ‘It was hard for both of us.’ Katherine simply replies by way of acceptance and absolution.

  He nods sadly and they sit for a while allowing the words to hang between them like stepping stones.

  After that, the air calms around them, a spark of an old connection reignited. Albeit, a connection of shared pain and grief. John asks Katherine about her life in London and she gets to ask him her ready prepared questions about his life.

  ‘You know I don’t farm as such anymore, don’t you?’ He starts explaining.

  ‘Yep sort of, Margaret told me you grow plants and sell them now instead.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nods ‘but not just any plants, specialist vegetables and flowers. You know stuff you can’t get in the garden centres. I’ve got my own website – a basic one, but it does the job.’

  ‘So why did you start that?’

  ‘Difficult to make money in farming nowadays, unless you’re mass producing Jersey Royals for the UK supermarkets. Tomatoes are all but finished on the island. I just came across a little niche in the market and decided to go for it. I sell as much as I can produce. It’s satisfying. More rewarding than growing a field full of veg that I’ll be paid a tuppence h’appenny for by the supermarkets.’

  ‘So are you expanding? If you think your website needs revamping, I’ve got a great contact in London who could help you. They owe me a favour so it wouldn’t cost anything. You could...’ Katherine stops mid-sentence.

  John is simply looking at her and there’s no enthusiasm on his face. ‘Thanks,’ he replies taking advantage of her pause, ‘but to be honest I like it just the way it is, just me and my plants. I don’t have to worry about staff and running a big business, I just get on with what I enjoy doing. I know you’ll think me a boring island boy for that, no ambition and all that stuff, but do you know what? It makes me happy. I don’t need to earn loads more money, I have plenty for what I need.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Katherine answers hanging her head.

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he reassures her. ‘I appreciate it, it’s great you want to help, but I’m OK thanks. I’m just where I want to be.’

  For the first time in twenty years, Katherine envies her husband. All this time she’s been feeling sorry for him, for all the things he’s missed out on, for all the experiences she’s gathered whilst living off island: the shows, the people, the culture. In this moment she sees and recognises true contentment, something she’s never been able to achieve. In her career there has always been something else to chase, to achieve. Every time she’s moved up another rung or closed the deal she’d thought unobtainable, she was after a new one. She’s never had the time to stop dashing from one experience to the next, to stop and savour. To study a tiny plant and wonder at its existence, nurturing it, giving it life. John has found his happiness without ever having to leave. Katherine could have searched the world and she wouldn’t have found that look of peace on his face. He doesn’t need to expand his business, build up his website, he has nothing to prove to anyone - most especially himself.

  Katherine looks at him differently, her eyes open, and finds herself wondering what happened to that love she’d felt for him? To that need to drink each other in, to fuse to each other, swap souls. She remembers that feeling. Where has it gone? Did it completely wither and die in the face of all their pain, or is it buried, deep down in the dark someplace, like a bulb waiting for spring?

  47

  September 2008, Jersey

  It’s one of the last good days of the year, good enough for swimming and sunbathing at the beach. Margaret and Robert take Sophie to Anne Port, Katherine goes too. They drive through Gorey and past the Castle.

  Behind the houses on the hill the investigation at Haut de la Garenne is all but over. In May the Mail on Sunday revealed ‘the remains of a child’ found back in February, was in fact nothing more than a small piece of coconut shell. Lenny Harper, the Chief investigating officer, offered up other bone fragments and children’s teeth to any media still willing to listen but most people, including Katherine and Margaret, grew wary of his finds. He retired at the end of August and the national newspaper buying public appear to have grown tired of the story now none of the lurid promises of ‘mass graves’ have materialised. Only the local media keep on top of the story and listen to the real victims - those still living and hoping for justice.

  Life in Jersey has found a new rhythm for Katherine. Last night she’d found herself looking around the dinner table and feeling content. John had joined them all and they’d chatted and gossiped about old family stories, or the latest news from friends, laughing as James repeated all the jokes he’d heard about murdered coconuts.

  Katherine wondered what kind of person Anne would have been if she’d been at the table with them. Would their friendship have survived her terrible secret? Would she ever have been able to stand up to her father and seek retribution?

  At Anne Port, Margaret, Robert and Sophie head off into the water to swim but Katherine declines, instead sitting on a blanket on the beach just taking it all in. There are children playing in the water and digging holes in the sand; a canoeist who has been fishing carrying his boat up onto the slip. She sees somebody water skiing further out, several people wind surfing, two little boys rowing in an inflatable dinghy held safe to shore by their father at the end of a long rope. There are swimmers including Margaret, Robert and Sophie and a tiny sailing boat. It’s the perfect day, bright hot sun and a sea breeze carrying the scent of seaweed and salt.

  Small motor boats and white gulls bob together on the waves. The birds occasionally fly a few feet before settling back down again, too content to go far. The green topped granite sides of the bay curve their protective arms around them all and in the distance the coast of France, coffee brown, topped with dark chocolate icing and the white candles of a wind farm.

  The sky is blue except for a few frothy milk clouds: a cappuccino sort of day. The gentle breeze carries the sounds of boat engines and children’s squeals and giggles to her and all the time there is the gentle, rhythmic swoosh of waves on a beach. It could have been her childhood forty years ago, the endless joy of sea and beach. Katherine closes her eyes for a few moments grateful for the good memories. She can almost feel those worry-free days of childhood and the warm love of her family.

  Katherine has thought a lot about her mother in the last few months. The grudge she’d held against her since the eve of her wedding has been brought into sharp context now. The pain she must have felt each time Katherine mentioned Anne, why she didn’t want to go to the funeral, why she never wanted Katherine to associate with the family - all of it now makes sense. She can explain most of her mother’s attitude as a result of the rape but that comment, ‘She’s better off dead?’ still rings in Katherine’s ears. Did she know about Anne’s abuse? But how could she? Unless others also suspected and she’d been told. That thought makes her shudder and she opens her eyes again to take in the warm day.

  There’s no one left to seek retribution for Anne’s death. Like many of the Haut de la Garenne abusers, time has either given them a lifetime without justice, or it’s clouded evidence so convictions are difficult to attain. Anne and Marie have gone. Anne’s father is dead and Elizabeth West is dying an agonising death alone. Time has played its card and the living have no need to stir up its rancid secrets.

  Katherine knows her mother didn’t have it easy, she lost the man she loved too early, forced to br
ing up her two daughters alone - and she got no thanks for it from Katherine. She took some flowers to her grave yesterday. Margaret came with her and the pair of them swapped stories from their childhood as they paid their respects. There’s nothing Katherine can do now to make up for those lost years but there’s plenty she can do for Margaret and her family. She’s not going to walk out on them again. Talking has healed their relationship and they’re both determined never to let the cracks return.

  The sale of Katherine’s London house is almost finished and although still living with Margaret and Robert, she is starting to think about what’s next. To finally be able to talk about her miscarriages has been uplifting, invigorating even. They’re no longer like some dirty guilty secret she’s ashamed of, now she can stand up for them in public, talk about them. She has so often imagined her lost children as a little gaggle of babies and toddlers, now of course they would have been young adults ready to fly the nest. Kathy knows she needs to set them free.

  She gets up to stretch her legs, sitting on blankets isn’t as comfortable now in her late forties as it had been as a child, and wanders along the small beach. There’s a mother with a young boy and their dog. The boy and his pet are playing in a rock pool together. He’s happily chattering away in his own little world, the dog chasing reflections and bubbles in the pool. The mother is just sitting, watching, smiling. A serenity on her face that can only come from one human watching the happiness of someone they completely and utterly love; the kind of love where the joy of one creates happiness for the other. Katherine has long ago accepted this world will always be closed to her, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Perhaps she can share in it a little now, enjoy the remains of Sophie’s childhood. She knows Margaret is eager for her to become part of her nieces and nephew’s lives.

  Katherine wanders further along the beach and finds some blue and white pottery pieces. She places them in her pocket to take home to put into Margaret’s jar - and she does feel like she is home, really home, for the first time in twenty years.

  48

  12th November 2008, Jersey

  Not long after their trip to the beach the days turn shorter and the evenings longer and colder. Katherine has been over to the UK one final time to tie up all the loose ends. It’s a relief walking out of her mews house for the last time, closing the door on its empty shell.

  In Jersey the JEP headlines are all about another door closing. Katherine returns to the island and to Margaret’s home to find her sister and Carol ranting over their coffee.

  ‘A major review of the Haut de la Garenne enquiry evidence says there’s no bodies, no skull, no cellars, no blood and no instruments of torture.’ Margaret reads from the JEP.

  Carol is sitting shaking her head, ‘All those national newspaper reporters aren’t here now are they?’

  Margaret continues, ‘The new officer in charge of the investigation says information given out in police statements had been incorrect.’

  ‘Incorrect!’ interrupts Carol, ‘We trusted him, him and his coconut shell.’

  ‘It’s not just about that though is it?’ Katherine joins in, ‘There was abuse.’

  ‘Yes,’ continues Margaret, reading from the JEP, ‘The police say they’re going to turn their full focus on getting justice for the abuse victims.’

  Carol purses her lips. ‘Shame they didn’t concentrate on that in the first place instead of all this crap about murdered kids and the big conspiracy theory that we were all in on it!’

  ‘People must have known about the abuse though,’ Katherine adds, ‘Not the whole island, but some people must have known.’

  Margaret nods her head, agreeing with her sister, ‘Kids in homes like that were easy pickings for paedophiles in those days. Just hope some good comes out of all this. You watch the victims on TV, telling their stories and you can see what it’s done to them. How what happened all those years ago is still affecting them. You can destroy lives in lots of ways.’

  Margaret’s words stay with Katherine. A few nights later she stays up late after everyone else has gone to bed, sitting staring into the autumn fire; the roaring of the wind in the chimney like thunder rumbling in the distance. Tomorrow evening John has invited her round for dinner in the cottage. She’s looking forward to seeing her old home again and reminiscing some good memories.

  Tonight though, Katherine is enjoying being alone with just her thoughts for company. She opens the black notebook she’s always kept in her bedside drawer. Inside are some small grainy images. One, two, three, four in total, showing almost identical little bodies. The faded grey print-outs of scans, of curled up babies waiting for a life that would never come. She’d waited for her life that never came too, and then mourned all of their loss.

  Katherine picks up each picture, faded and worn. Max, Emily, Charlotte, Harry, Jack or Sarah, that’s not what matters now. She loved them, she still loves them and always will. They say a small amount of a baby’s DNA stays in the mother’s body somewhere, even long after the baby has gone. Katherine’s babies are a part of her. She never had the chance to hold them and to tell them, but just as they would have one day flown the nest for University, gone travelling, or fallen in love, so she must now let them go. In front of her the wood on the fire glows bright orange - its flickering promise to cleanse and erase.

  One by one she places the pictures in the flames of the open fire. They curl and vanish in a split second to black paper ash.

  From out of her notebook falls a piece of tissue paper. Katherine opens it carefully. Inside is a tiny flower, dried and brittle. Its colour once a pink, or perhaps lilac, is now brown. She can’t remember when she picked the flower, why she decided to keep it. That day in 1976 is long lost to her. She picks it up and a petal falls from its fragile head. It no longer holds any of the sunshine, or the promises of the day it grew in the field outside their farm. The years have taken its energy leaving it merely a hint of a summer’s day gone by.

  Katherine lets it too float into the fire. Outside there are plenty of its descendants seeding themselves ready for the next spring. Perhaps one day soon Sophie will potter into one of the fields, spot the tiny flowers and pick some for her mother, or maybe for her Aunt Katherine once her vases have arrived from the UK and found familiar windowsills. Perhaps then.

  Fact or Fiction?

  All the characters in this book are completely fictional: Katherine, Margaret, John, Marie and Anne do not exist and bear no resemblance to anyone who ever has. All the facts about the way in which the Haut de la Garenne enquiry was undertaken and subsequently reported by the media are fact, as is the way it shocked the island of Jersey. Not all that was said and reported is true and there have since been inquiries into the handling of the investigation as well as how Jersey’s care system can be improved.

  There were no murders, no bodies or ‘remains’ ever found at Haut de la Garenne, but there had been sexual, emotional and physical abuse there and at other children’s homes in the island. What went on in Jersey may pale into insignificance with the scale of the revelations which followed about Jimmy Saville and Operation Yewtree, but every single individual case leaves a victim.

  HAUT DE LA GARENNE: AN ENQUIRY TIMESCALE

  9.30am Saturday 23rd February, 2008 Jersey Police’s Deputy Police Chief Lenny Harper issues a statement saying, ‘Today, what appears to be potential remains of a child have been recovered.’

  Monday 25th February: Lenny Harper reveals police have uncovered a bricked-up cellar. Local newspaper the JEP reports: ‘Police do not yet know the age or sex of the child whose bones were discovered, but say the remains had lain under the floorboards at the rear of the building for some time.’

  They quote Lenny Harper: ‘We just do not know how many kids may have disappeared.’

  The Daily Telegraph headlines: Seven children ‘could be buried at hostel’ and reports: ‘The bodies of at least seven children may be buried at a former care home in what police fear is one of the worst
instances of child abuse in Britain.’ The report continues: ‘Scientists will take several days to identify the gender and DNA evidence may be too decomposed. However, the body is thought to be of a child, aged 11 to 15, dating from the 1980s.’

  The Daily Mail headlines: Bodies of six children may be buried at the home of horrors. In its report it says: ‘The discovery of the skeleton of a girl...’ and reports that it asked Deputy Chief Officer Lenny Harper ‘...if he expected to find more bodies, he said: ‘There could be six or more. It could be higher than that.’

  Wednesday 27th February: Lenny Harper gives a media briefing. He says sniffer dogs have had a strong reaction after going into ‘the cellar’.

  One of the dogs being used is a Springer spaniel called Eddie which was used in the hunt for missing Madeleine McCann in Portugal, and which was reported to have picked up traces of Madeleine in the back of her parents’ car.

  The Independent headlines: ‘Secrets and Lies the Dark Side of Jersey, the report goes on to say ‘The team mounting a painstaking forensic excavation of the Haut de la Garenne former children’s home have pinpointed six more places where they think corpses are buried, in addition to the one set of child’s remains they have already found.’

  Thursday 28th February: Police say they’ve uncovered a feature, which some of the abuse victims had claimed was there. A journalist takes a photograph of it, it’s a large concrete bath. Police say traces of blood were found in the bath after another sniffer dog Keela had identified places of interest there.