I went first. I said: ‘Why are we back here?’
Mum replied: ‘You know why,’ as if it was obvious. The thing is, Dad had billed it as a mix of Mum’s final trip here, plus a celebration for their anniversary and her birthday. It was all those things, but it felt like none of them.
I told her that it was Dad who’d brought up all those things, not her. I’d never heard her saying that coming back to the island was a good idea. I had these flashes of Dad standing on a table at the bar, Dad bombing the pool, Dad hiring a golf cart and riding it around the village, Dad betting another man that he could eat five pizzas – and then doing it. In all my memories of being on Galanikos, I wasn’t sure I ever remembered Mum particularly enjoying herself.
She took a deep breath and did what she always does when she wants something to disappear: she looked away.
I could have let it go, but I didn’t. I asked her how Dad and Daniel had come together as business partners. I asked if Alan and Dad had been arguing before Alan’s death. She wasn’t answering and I was in the middle of saying something more when she held up a hand. She said: ‘I think your father needs our support right now,’ before raising her book again.
Julius: Fancy hounding an ill woman like that. Your own, ill, mother. Disgraceful.
Emma: Maybe I went too far? I think that was the time something probably changed for good in our relationship and I suppose I only have myself to blame. Her loyalty was, and always had been, to Dad.
I probably sat with her for another minute or so – but I think I realised there was nowhere to go. This was why we’d never had the conversation in the time since I was released.
I said I’d see her at dinner – and then headed away from the pool towards the cottages. I can’t really remember what I was thinking. It had been another of those days where I’d rolled from incident to incident – and I would have been struggling to process everything.
That’s why I was already in my cottage when I realised someone else was there.
Chapter Thirty-Two
THE ASTHMATIC WALRUS
Emma: The front door of the cottage opens immediately into a living room area. There’s a sofa and a television, with the kitchenette at the back. There are sliding doors that mean you can leave the kitchen and head directly onto a small grassy area at the back. It’s where I’d found Daniel skulking around a day or two before.
The first thing I noticed was that those doors were open. I would close the curtains each morning to try to stop the sun making things too hot – but they had been shoved aside, too.
There was a shuffling from the bedroom – and I already knew what I’d see before I saw it.
Daniel was crouched in front of the dresser, typing combinations into the safe that’s built into the largest drawer. He turned briefly to take me in and then spun right back to what he was doing. He didn’t care that I was there: he kept typing numbers into the keypad.
Daniel: None of this happened. This is a pack of lies.
Emma: I think I was probably speechless for a moment. It’s a bit like when you walk into the cinema and someone’s sitting in your reserved seat. You check your ticket and then look at the row number. You might have a look at the row behind and see where the seat numbers match.
I’d almost expected it from him, but it was so brazen and obvious that I was dumbstruck.
I must have said: ‘What are you doing?’ because I remember him replying: ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ It was like he was drinking a glass of water and I’d asked what he was up to – because the response was so nonchalant.
Each time he’d put in a number, the safe would beep – so there’d be a quick four beeps, a short break and then four more beeps.
He must have tried four or five more combinations as I watched on. It felt like I was out of my body because I wanted to do something, but I felt frozen.
Daniel: Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? She says I was in her room, trying to get into the safe – and all she did was watch! Nonsense of the highest order.
Emma: After those attempts, he stopped and turned to look at me again. He said: ‘I need the items you took from your parents’ room.’
It wasn’t a gentle request; it was a firm order. He’s the sort of man who’d like to believe he would be a leader of men on the battlefield when, really, he’d be begging his mum to get him out of having to go in the first place. The bone spurs type.
That sort of posturing doesn’t work on me and I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He glared back and said: ‘Yes, you do.’ Then he added: ‘I want what you took.’
I could have kept playing, but we both knew how things stood, so I told him there was nothing in my safe. He looked between me and the safe, trying to figure out if it was the truth, before he asked where everything was. I didn’t answer, so he slammed the dresser drawer and marched across the room towards me.
There was a moment where I thought he might try to shove me into the wall, or do something else. I might have taken a step away. Those cottages are quite isolated from the rest of the hotel. It was only us there.
I’m…
…
Look, I’m not saying I’m some prized fighter, or anything stupid like that. I’m clearly not – but, when you’re in prison, you learn a couple of things that can help you. Body position helps a lot more than you might think.
…
I suppose what I’m saying is that I wasn’t that bothered about him coming towards me. He’s big – but it’s not like it’s lean muscle.
Daniel: Body-shaming fat jibes. Is that what I’m here for?
Emma: He said: ‘Listen, girl, this isn’t about you. It’s about your family and your father.’
I was ready for that, so I replied: ‘I thought I was a disappointment to my parents?’
He bit his lip at that, probably wanting to tell me that I was – but also knowing he wanted something from me.
I decided then that there was no point in holding back any longer and that I might as well try to get some answers. I said: ‘Why has Dad got an ID for a dead man with his face on it?’
That was the end of any pretence we’d been going through. He knew that I had the envelope – and that I’d looked through what was in it. He clenched his teeth and moved so close that I could smell the wine he’d been throwing down his throat all day.
He said: ‘I want that ID and I want that key.’
I replied: ‘I want a lot of things. You can’t always get what you want.’
Daniel: I might have asked this before – but did anyone ever see this key and ID she’s talking about?
Emma: He wanted to know what I’d done with the key, but I suppose he was really asking if I knew what it was for. The only clue was that sheet of paper with ‘Ag Georgios’ and the PO box number.
I didn’t answer, but he must have seen something because he quickly added: ‘You’ve been there, haven’t you?’
That was when he really lost the plot. He’s not the sort who builds slowly up to a rage. He goes right to eleven. He shouted: ‘Where is it?’ or maybe: ‘Where are they?’
I was in the doorway of the bedroom and told him that he wouldn’t find what he wanted in the safe, or the whole of my cottage. I stood aside and told him to keep looking.
He started to seem worried then.
I asked what he and Dad had been arguing about at the airport. Julius had told me there was something about money, but Daniel shook his head and said he didn’t know what I was talking about.
He stood in the bedroom, looking between me and the safe, not knowing what to do. I don’t think he doubted that I was telling the truth about the envelope being somewhere else. That’s when I pointed him towards the back door and told him to get out. I said I’d call security if he didn’t leave.
Daniel shuffled past me, huffing and puffing like an asthmatic walrus. He shoved across the curtain and stood in the doorway at the back of the cottage and then said: ‘I’ll get what I wa
nt sooner or later.’
I don’t know what he thought might happen, but I said: ‘You won’t’ – and then he marched out.
It would have made more of an impact if he hadn’t turned the wrong way after leaving. About two seconds after he left, he ended up walking past the doorway for a second time.
That’s the story of him, I suppose. He’s a windbag who is all bluster and, when it really comes down to it, he’ll make the wrong choice every time.
Daniel: It’s the biggest load of rubbish I’ve ever heard. She should be writing books with an imagination like that.
Here’s a question you should be asking. She’s created an entire fantasy and conspiracy that’s backed by no one but her – but, even within her own rantings, she’s admitted she’s a thief. If she stole something from her parents, then what was it?
Emma: Doesn’t that make it more likely I’m telling the truth? If it was a lie, I could have easily come up with something that didn’t involve me taking the licence and key from my parents’ room. I told you those things because that’s what happened.
Daniel: If this happened like she says, then how did I get into the cottage? I bet she can’t answer that.
Emma: I… I don’t know how he got in. Maybe I left the sliding doors unlocked, or perhaps the cleaner did.
I don’t know.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Day Six
THE DYED HAIR AND PERMATAN
Emma: I didn’t go to dinner on that fifth night. I didn’t want to be a part of Mum’s sit-down-and-pretend-everything-is-fine party. She knocked on my door, but I told her I was having stomach cramps. I don’t think she was convinced, especially after the talk we’d had a bit earlier, but she told me she hoped I would feel better soon – and then she left.
It was the first group meal I missed, though I doubt anyone particularly noticed. Claire had been long gone by that point, plus Dad was at the hospital. The holiday was winding down and I wanted to go home.
Julius: Everyone noticed that Emma wasn’t there. Those dinners were Mum’s big thing on the trip. It was likely to be her last major holiday, so it wasn’t much to ask that everyone could sit together in the evenings. It was maybe an hour out of every day, but Emma couldn’t even do that.
It’s unforgiveable, really – but then you could say that about so much of how my sister behaved on that holiday.
Emma: I know people will ask why I took the key, the licence and the letter. It’s a question I sometimes wonder, though I’m not sure I have a good answer. Maybe it was a sense of loyalty to Scott and his dad? Maybe I wanted to cause trouble? Maybe it’s somewhere in between?
Julius: Emma is chaos. This whole thing – the reason she’s talked to you and the reason I’m talking now – is an example of it.
If the licence, the key and the letter existed, then why did Emma cause so much trouble by poking her nose into business that wasn’t hers? Why didn’t she just leave them?
If she’s making everything up – which she is, by the way – then she’s conned all of you into making a film about her.
You can believe whichever of those two things that you want, but the conclusion is still the same: Emma is chaos.
Emma: I double-checked all the locks and windows before settling down to sleep that night. I also dragged my suitcase into the kitchen and laid it in front of the sliding doors, figuring that someone would trip over it if they were trying to break in.
I didn’t sleep much that night. It was half an hour here and twenty minutes there. I tried watching a bit of telly, but all the channels seemed to be full of those adverts that pretend to be actual shows. It doesn’t matter where you are in the world, there’s always someone with dyed hair and a permatan trying to sell kitchen utensils at three in the morning.
Either way, it didn’t feel right sleeping in that room, knowing that Daniel had invaded it. He has a way of poisoning everything he’s around. I bet Liz was a relatively normal woman until she ended up with him. I’d barely seen Victor since Claire left him – but you have to wonder what sort of chance he had in life when he had a father like that. Then there’s Claire herself. Good for her that she eventually saw through everything.
I was dozing on the sofa when there was a knock on the door. I was groggy and there was a newsreader on the TV screen, when last I’d seen it was the shopping guy with his knife set.
I must have been slow moving because there was a second knock on the door before I could get there. I was bare-footed and in the hotel dressing gown and almost opened the door before I realised I was on autopilot. It was only a few minutes after six in the morning and I wasn’t expecting anyone.
When I called to ask who was there, Mum said: ‘It’s me.’ I wondered if we’d ever be able to have another proper conversation – but she sounded chirpier than when we last spoke. I opened the door and the sunshine left me groaning as it surged inside. I was a vampire, cowering from the light, though Mum didn’t seem to notice.
She was already dressed for the day with a bag over her shoulder. I had to double-check the time, because she started speaking as if this was something we’d planned. She said she’d had a call from the hospital and that Dad was now off the strongest painkillers. I think her exact words were: ‘He’s woken up properly now.’
What that really meant was that he was restless and probably annoying the staff. He’s never been the sort of man for lie-ins, or going to bed early. He would say he worked hard and played hard – which was, admittedly, an embarrassing thing for a man of his age to be claiming. In his case, there was a truth to it. He hated things out of his control – and I suppose sleep was one of those things. He’d stay up ’til midnight or later and then still be up at six to go to work. It was almost a point of pride for him. Whenever there was some report about people needing eight hours’ sleep, he’d scoff and say that he’d been living off a maximum of five for decades.
I think he saw sleep as weakness… like a lot of things, I guess.
Anyway, as I stood in the doorway in the dressing gown, Mum asked if I’d go to the hospital with her. I said I would, and probably would have said ‘yes’ anyway, but I definitely felt I owed her one after skipping dinner the night before. Those meals were the highlight of the trip for her.
She said she’d wait by the taxi rank at the front of the hotel and then I headed inside to get changed.
Julius: Mum’s not the sort of person who would want bad feeling to linger. Because Emma skipped dinner the night before, Mum would have wanted to involve her the next day. That’s probably why Mum took Emma to the hospital that morning.
Emma: I don’t think we talked in the taxi. If we did, then I don’t remember what about. Mum used to talk about Amy and Chloe when there was a break in conversations. She wasn’t great with a phone – but the one thing she knew how to do was access her photos. She had thousands on there of the twins that went back years. If we did anything, then it was likely go through those pictures.
The next thing I remember properly is being at the hospital. The morning was stifling and even the short walk from the taxi to the sliding doors left me feeling sticky. The air conditioning was like a loving hug after a long day at work – and I know Mum felt it, too. She caught my eye as we walked through reception and there was a beautiful moment where we were thinking the same thing.
By this point, Mum had spent so much time at the hospital that the staff simply waved her through. I followed her along the corridors until we got close to that door where I’d seen Dad the previous time.
We didn’t reach the door.
Dad was bombing along the corridor in a wheelchair, almost giddy with excitement. It was like one of those men you sometimes see in supermarkets, who are hitching rides on the back of trolleys.
It wasn’t a particularly high-tech wheelchair and looked heavy and cumbersome. Dad didn’t seem to mind as he pushed the wheels as hard as he could and then spun round a corner.
When he saw Mum and me, the grin slipped
from his face, like it might do with a child who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t.
Perhaps he was still on a certain type of painkiller – but it had been a long time since I’d seen him enjoying something with such abandon. It might have even been one of the last times we were on the island, when he used to bomb the pool. I suppose I’d forgotten that there was still that side to him. He looked mischievous, which is something I’m not sure I’d been able to say about him in a long time.
He wheeled across towards Mum and me, then did this sort of half-skid so that he was side-on. He looked up to me and said: ‘Nice to see you, love,’ then he turned to Mum and shrugged a non-apology, before saying he’d spent too long in bed.
Both of his legs were in casts – but they weren’t the sort of big, white plastered ones I had pictured. It almost looked like two long brown and white bandages that ran most of the way down his legs. I could understand why he’d been going stir-crazy as soon as the drugs wore off.
Dad said he wanted to go back to the hotel to enjoy the last proper day of holiday, but Mum said we should wait to hear what the doctor said first.
It was a long fifteen minutes or so. Dad wheeled himself back to the private room and we followed. We ended up sitting in the chairs by the empty bed as Dad impatiently wheeled himself back and forth across the room. He kept saying: ‘Let’s just go,’ but Mum would give a firm: ‘No.’ It was all a little surreal. I think Dad was probably still high on the drugs.
I suppose that was why I decided to chance it.
Nobody was talking and so I asked Dad if he remembered what happened when he was on the cliff. It was almost as if I’d jammed the wheels on the chair because he instantly stopped moving. He glanced to Mum and then focused on me. I was sitting and we were at about the same level – although it felt like he was looking down on me. His brow rippled and wrinkles appeared as his eyes narrowed. There was a moment in which I wanted to get away. He seemed so… focused, I suppose. Focused on me. I felt like a naughty child about to be told off.
After the Accident: A compelling and addictive psychological suspense novel Page 18