After the Accident: A compelling and addictive psychological suspense novel

by Kerry Wilkinson

  Julius: I don’t know what Emma did with the girls, but they didn’t stir all night. I slept here and there, but, every time I dropped off, the thunder came back.

  Daniel: Slept like a log.

  Emma: It was around four in the morning when I went onto the little patio at the side of the cottage. There was a big umbrella next to an outdoor table and I sat under that watching the lightning hit the ocean. The thunder would boom at almost the same moment as the light and there was something so… primal about it all.

  I enjoyed it.

  Julius: I watched the end of the storm from the balcony. There were quite a few lights on from the other windows of the hotel and I think lots of people were doing the same. I thought about getting the girls up, but they were sleeping so peacefully. I can’t remember the last time they were that tired.

  Emma: There was a coffee machine in the cottage, so I made myself a mug and then watched the storm peter out. It was only a little while later that the sun started to rise. The view from the hotel is nowhere near as wide or clear as the one from the cliffs – but I sat and watched it anyway. The sky was flaming orange and I thought about the old saying ‘Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.’

  Claire: Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.

  Emma: Some of the staff were sweeping water into the drains, but, within about an hour, it was as if the storm had never happened. Everything was dry again and the sky was cloudless and blue. I thought about Dad in hospital and wondered if there would be more improvement. I thought about Mum and her diagnosis – plus how this was the last thing she needed. The holiday felt like a mistake, but I’d had such a great night with the twins that I was stuck not knowing how I really thought about it.

  Julius: I pulled the curtains and went back to bed as soon as the lightning stopped.

  Emma: Before prison, I never understood exercise. I hated PE at school and didn’t see how anyone could ever take pleasure from running around.

  When I was inside, it was a gradual thing, but gym became the thing I looked forward to the most. It became the start of my routine before I knew that could be so important.

  That morning, after the storm, my legs were itching, like they were craving the exercise I’d not given them in a couple of days. I went into the cottage and put on my running gear and then left the hotel.

  If I’d waited another couple of hours, it would have been too hot, but the temperature was perfect.

  I ran down the slope towards the village just as a pair of delivery trucks were pulling in. There was one with a Coca-Cola logo and another with Pepsi. It was this really normal thing and yet you’d never see it during the day. There was a peacefulness about something so utterly mundane.

  I continued through the village and out the other side. The road gets narrower there and the verges are overgrown grass. It was only as I was running past it that I remembered the Grand Paradise Hotel. They’d started building it ten years before and, at the time, it was said that it was going to be the biggest and best on the island. There were brochures and Dad had talked about switching our annual booking to the new hotel when it was ready.

  When I ran past the site, I realised that it was still this half-finished, abandoned patch of land. I didn’t stop running, but I did slow and look across the site. There were foundations and a couple of walls – but that was about it. I suppose the developer ran out of money. The grass was up above my knees and it didn’t look as if anyone had worked there in a very long time.

  I kept moving and cut in on a path that took me out towards the cliffs. I stayed away from the edge but followed the shape of the ridge all the way back around the coast until I ended up going past that single cone that was still on the spot where Dad fell.

  It was laughable really. Worse than having nothing there.

  After that, I was back at the front of the hotel. I was sweating so much that it was running into my eyes and stinging. Trying to rub it away was only making it worse, which is why I almost missed Mum walking towards the taxi. I was past her when she called my name. I stopped and tried to clear my eyes while she asked what I was doing. I didn’t get a chance to answer before she laughed and said it was a stupid question. She told me she was off to the hospital, but then asked if I was going back to the cottages. She said she’d forgotten her phone charger and that she wanted to take it to the hospital in case she ended up being there all day.

  I’ve thought of that moment quite a bit since it happened – but I honestly can’t remember whether she asked me to fetch it for her. I think it might have been one of those things that was implied. If she was going back for her charger, she would have said that.

  Whatever was said, I ended up going through the hotel, out towards the cottages.

  I went into mine first to grab a towel – and then let myself into Mum’s with the spare key I’d been given by the manager. Mum hadn’t told me where the charger was, but I started by looking next to her bed, because that’s where I keep mine. The first thing I noticed was that the bed didn’t look slept in… either that, or Mum had got up and made the bed herself. It was probably nothing important – but I forgot to ask her about it because of what happened next.

  I couldn’t see her charger in the bedroom, so I went through to the combined living room and kitchen area. There was a big suitcase on a table that was resting in an alcove of the wall. I thought the charger might be in there, so opened it up and started looking.

  …

  I didn’t go looking for that envelope – it was just there, sandwiched between a pair of Dad’s trousers. The flap wasn’t sealed. Maybe I opened it up to see what was inside, or maybe it fell out. I don’t think it matters. I don’t know why anyone would care how I found it, only about what was inside.

  I should have taken a photo of it so that people would believe me later on, but that’s easy to say after the event. At the time, I was struggling to understand what it meant. I almost didn’t believe what I was seeing. I picked it up and turned it over, then twisted it around, trying to convince myself it was real.

  It was a driving licence: a normal, British plastic card with Dad’s photo on it. He was giving one of those dead-eye stares to the camera like you have to do for those things. You’re not allowed to look human – but anyone would still recognise their own dad.

  The problem was that it wasn’t Dad’s name on that licence – it was Alan’s.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE BEST PASTRIES

  Emma: I couldn’t figure it out. I wondered if it was an old licence that actually belonged to Alan – but the issue date was from about six months earlier. By that point, Alan had already been dead for more than eight years. Then there was Dad’s photo. Everything looked new.

  When I was fifteen, one of my friends at school said she could get us all fake IDs. There were about ten of us and we all gave her a fiver with a passport photo. She came back after the weekend with an envelope full of fake student cards, with every one making us seem three years older than we were. I had my first drink in a pub using that card. I was thinking of that as I was holding the envelope. It was a fake ID, with Dad’s photo and Alan’s details.

  When we were kids, we needed those cards to make us look older – but Dad had this to make him look like Alan… to make him look like a man who’d died nine years before…

  It wasn’t just the ID in the envelope. There were a couple of sheets of paper and a small key. I remember ‘Ag Georgios’ being written across the top and thought it was probably a person. There was a separate line that had ‘#133’ on it.

  I definitely glanced at the rest but didn’t pay much attention because I was supposed to be finding Mum’s charger. I ended up stuffing everything into the envelope and putting it back where it came from.

  It was only then that I saw Mum’s charger on the ledge next to the front door. She’d probably put it down on her way out and forgotten to pick it up. I grabbed that and then opened the door… but I couldn’t leave that envelope
where it was. I just couldn’t. I ended up locking it in my cottage before running back to the taxi with Mum’s charger. I thought she might say something about the length of time I took, but she simply said ‘thank you’ – and then she left.

  It didn’t even cross my mind to mention the fake ID to her then. Maybe I should have?

  All I can say is that you weren’t there. People always read books or watch movies and judge the main character as if it’s them. They say ‘No one would ever act like that!’ – but what they’re really saying is that they wouldn’t. Except it’s not their story and it’s not their circumstances. They haven’t lived a whole life in someone else’s shoes. What those people are really saying isn’t that ‘no one would ever act like that’, it’s: ‘My existence and my thought patterns are so ingrained that I can’t imagine anyone acting in a way differently to me.’

  You have to have a real ego to think like that.

  Julius: It was quite a bit later when I heard what Emma claimed about that licence. I don’t know what to say about it. Either it existed and she was wrong about the details – or she made the whole thing up. Ask yourself this: If she’d found what she said she did, then where is it? She didn’t take a photo, she didn’t show anyone, she didn’t ask Mum about it.

  If it was me, I’d have done all those things. Wouldn’t you?

  Emma: After Mum’s taxi left, I was heading back through reception. There was a woman there talking to a man behind the counter. She wasn’t shouting, but she was speaking loudly enough that anyone could hear what she was saying. She was at that point where you’re not sure if you’re upset, angry, or both. Where your voice is wavering as you’re trying to hold yourself together.

  The guy behind the counter was trying to make a phone call as she was telling him how someone had been in her room and stolen cash. It was the specifics that stuck with me. She wasn’t just saying ‘money’, she was saying ‘three hundred and sixty euros’ over and over.

  If she’d not been there, I don’t think I’d have noticed the map next to the main desk. I glanced across towards her and spotted a large picture of the island on the wall. I don’t remember it being there when we arrived, but I guess I wasn’t paying attention.

  I went over to it and stared. It was taller than me, with the entire outline of Galanikos, with the roads and the villages. I don’t think I’d ever looked at the island like that before. I’d always thought of it as this one village with the hotels and the market – but there were other villages, too. A road ran from the south-west corner all along the bottom of the island and then up to the north-east before stopping when it got to the mountain that’s up there. There were intermittent markers the whole way around – and that’s when I saw the dot that read ‘Agios Georgios’ over to the east.

  Extract from official guide to Galanikos: The largest village on the island of Galanikos is also named Galanikos, although it is colloquially known as ‘The Village’. The extinct volcano that created the island – and which dominates the north-west corner – is also called Galanikos. Other villages on the island include Ermones, Vatos, Agios Georgios (Saint George) and Kokkini.

  Emma: A member of staff must have noticed me next to the map because she came over and asked if there was anything I was looking for. I asked her about ‘Agios Georgios’ and she immediately said ‘Saint George’. She seemed a bit confused about why I was interested, so I asked her what was there. She gave this sort of shrug like you do when you’re not sure what to say. I thought it might be a language issue, but it wasn’t at all. She goes: ‘No tourists.’ I misunderstood and replied: ‘Tourists aren’t allowed?’ She laughed and then said: ‘No reason for tourists to go. There’s nothing there.’

  I didn’t get it at first, but then I realised it would be like running into a tourist on their way into Britain. You’d think they were visiting London or Edinburgh – but then they point to somewhere like Grimsby and you’d think, ‘Why are you going there?’ She couldn’t get her head around it.

  I asked her if there was a bus that went there and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She said there was one bus in the morning and one that went later, with nothing during the day. Other than that, anyone could drive.

  Someone called her away and she walked off still saying ‘Agios Georgios’ under her breath as if I’d just told her an amazing joke.

  Claire: I don’t know what Emma said to the woman in reception, but she found it hilarious. I think she went off to tell her co-worker about it.

  Emma: I was about to go back to the cottage when I noticed Claire was standing almost right behind me. It was only then I remembered Victor being dragged off after he punched that guy. Claire had this half grin on her face and she goes…

  Claire: ‘How was your night?’

  Emma: I didn’t know if she was joking. It felt like she was.

  Claire: I can’t remember any more. I told her the manager had been to my room and said that Victor was being held in the police cells for punching a guy in the hotel last night. It was all news to me. We’d had an argument and then I’d gone to bed. He hadn’t come back to the room, but let’s say it wouldn’t have been the first time Victor stayed out all night.

  Emma: I told her I saw what happened because I was on Julius’s balcony. She didn’t seem surprised that he’d punched a guy unprovoked.

  Claire: Is there an opposite of surprised? Unsurprised? Predictable? Par for the course? That was me when Emma said it was unprovoked.

  Emma: I asked her if she was going to the cells and Claire snorted.

  Claire: Oh, I remember what I said. I looked her right in the eye, shook my head, and said: ‘Let him rot.’

  Then I went to the breakfast buffet. Best pastries I’ve ever had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE COMPLICATED EMOTIONS THERE

  Emma: It was early and hardly anyone was up. I would have still been in my running gear at that point, probably still sweating from the run. I went back to the cottage for a shower and then grabbed that envelope with the driving licence inside. I wanted to act before anyone had a chance to do anything – or, more likely, before I had a chance to talk or think myself out of it.

  I still had that business card I’d been given at the pool, so went to the car hire place where the same man who’d given me the card was setting up. He greeted me like an old friend, even though that moment by the pool was the only time we’d met. He told me he was called Barak and I don’t mind admitting I was nervous about being there. It’s a long time since I’ve been anything other than a passenger in a car and that’s why I felt a twinge of relief as I spotted the problem.

  The guy offering cheap car hire was standing in front of a small but clearly empty car park. He said the cards had been more popular than he’d expected, which I guess was self-evident. He told me there would be cars returning late morning, or in the afternoon, and that he’d save the best one for me. I probably rolled my eyes in the way you do when someone’s calling you ‘pretty lady’ and making promises. I said I’d go back later and turned to go.

  That’s when I saw Scott for the first time in nine years.

  Scott Lee (son of Alan Lee, former business partner of Geoffrey McGinley): We saw each other at the same time. Emma had been talking to the guy at the car hire place and turned around just as I was walking past.

  I’d not seen her in nine years, but I recognised her straight away. I don’t think it was the obvious stuff, like her hair colour or anything like that; it was the way she stood. There was a time when we were really close and, when you’re like that, you know everything about a person. You can tell who they are from streets away. You know who they are from behind. Their shadow, their gait, the shape of their hands, the way they tilt their head. It’s not like you actively think about any of those things, it’s that they become intrinsic. You just know – and I knew Emma the moment I saw her.

  Emma: There’s one very important thing you need to know about Scott and his thinking at this poi
nt.

  Scott: Her dad killed my dad.

  Emma: It wasn’t just that he thought my dad killed his, it’s that he was driven by it.

  Scott: I wouldn’t use the word ‘driven’. It makes it sound worse than it was. I didn’t stay up all night with a map of the resort and a length of string, while trying to measure distances and comparing them to the angle of a sunset. I had a normal job and a normal life. I went to the football on a weekend and did a big shop every Monday night. Life was very normal… it’s just that Geoff McGinley killed my dad and I wasn’t prepared to forget it.

  Emma: I didn’t know what to say. It was enough that I was back on the island – but he was there, too. A big reunion that none of us planned or wanted.

  It felt like a whole bunch of thoughts were rushing at me all together. It was less than an hour ago that I’d seen his dad’s name on that driving licence with my dad’s photo. Then there was one burning thought I couldn’t get rid of.

  Scott pushed my dad off the cliff.

  Scott: I didn’t push her dad off the cliff.

  Emma: No one had a better motive. Scott had spent nine years believing my dad killed his and then, suddenly, he’s up on the cliffs and he sees that man standing on the edge. It was so clear in my mind that it was as if I was watching it happen.

  Scott: I was nowhere near those cliffs when her dad fell.

  Emma: I was so focused on Scott that I didn’t even notice who was walking directly behind him.