Geoffrey: I’d been at the hospital and hadn’t seen everything that had happened. I love my daughter and I wanted her to be well.
Emma: Dad told me that I had to return what I’d taken from his room. He wanted me to give it to Daniel.
I’d guessed before – but that was the moment I knew for sure that Dad and Daniel were in it together. I asked what they were up to.
Geoffrey: I wish I could tell you that the conversation went like that – but my daughter has a wild imagination.
Emma: Dad wouldn’t say – and neither would Daniel. I wanted to try to get something, anything, out of them, so I said: ‘I think Daniel might have pushed you off the cliff.’
Daniel was right there. I said it to his face.
Geoffrey: Emma said things that she might regret now. I hope she does.
Emma: Dad said ‘no’. I asked again what was going on – but he said it was none of my business. I said it was my business if he wanted me to return it.
He blew then.
Geoffrey: I had just returned from hospital and the last thing I wanted was to deal with a daughter who was having… problems.
Emma: He shouted: ‘You stole it.’
It was true, I suppose… but it felt like he’d stolen from me, too. That the childhood memories I had of being on the island were no longer true. They weren’t family holidays for us to enjoy together – there was something going on under the surface that I’d known nothing about.
I said that I needed to put on some clothes – and there was satisfaction in making them wait as I went into my cottage.
My suitcase was still on the floor by the sliding doors in the kitchen and I grabbed a cardigan, before I stood and waited under the vents for a short while. It was cooler inside and my thoughts felt sharper.
I could have sneaked out the back and made some sort of run for it. Dad was in a wheelchair and Daniel couldn’t catch an arthritic sloth. I don’t know where I would have gone – but I wouldn’t have had to listen to them.
I thought about it.
I didn’t, though.
I went back through the cottage until I was on the lawn with Daniel and Dad. I told Dad I could take what I’d found to the police. I think they’d half thought I might have been going into the cottage to fetch the envelope – and the second of silence made it clear my continued disobedience wasn’t what they expected.
Dad said: ‘You wouldn’t,’ so I told him I absolutely would, unless he told me what was going on.
Daniel and Dad exchanged a look and it felt like they’d been talking while I was away. They didn’t need to say anything more because they had already decided.
Dad nodded to his cottage and said: ‘Inside.’
I felt like a little girl then, as if I’d been grounded. I was almost past him when Dad coughed and I realised he wanted me to wheel him inside.
It felt strange doing that. I had never pushed anyone in a wheelchair before and the chair would have been heavy, even without Dad in it. Those few seconds gave me the tiniest glimpse into what it must be like for someone who’s disabled. I had to open their front door, find something to wedge it in place, then go back and wheel Dad across the lawn, over the path and through the threshold. It would have taken me five seconds to walk by myself, but probably took at least two minutes to do everything. I was gasping by the end, not as fit as I thought.
A part of me pictured this life for Dad in future – and I knew it would drive him mad. Any novelty there might be because of the wheelchair would wear off the moment he had to try to get upstairs in his house. I wondered if they might shift the main bedroom to somewhere downstairs, or if he’d need someone to drive him around for a while. Or forever.
I felt sorry for him – but I was so angry, too.
Daniel hadn’t followed us in, so it was just me and Dad. He bumped himself into the corner of the table by accident and then spent a few seconds trying to turn himself around. By this time, he was getting frustrated with the chair as well as me. I felt power, knowing I could walk away from him because of his condition – but knew it would be awful to do that.
Geoffrey: I’ve read the transcript of what my daughter told you and don’t know what else to say, other than that there is no truth within it.
We did talk in the cottage that afternoon – but not about the things she mentioned. I said that I hoped we could get back on track as a family and that I forgave her.
I’ve considered legal action over her claims – but have decided that the weight of evidence against her statements should be enough to speak for itself.
I do not want to sue my daughter – and you are lucky in the sense that you are protected through her.
Emma: Dad told me that he and Daniel had money invested on the island, which is something I’d more or less figured out by that point.
I asked him why he had the fake driving licence, which is when he explained that Alan had opened accounts years before. After he died, the business’ money was stuck. Only Alan could withdraw, except that Alan was dead. It took him nine years to come up with a plan to get it – and, even then, I figured it was spurred on because of Mum’s condition and his resulting spending spree.
None of that was a surprise – but I suppose the barefacedness was. He was literally trying to do the thing I thought he was: rob a bank.
It also answered the question as to why Barak knew Daniel. Daniel would have come to the island a while before to try to claim the money. He’d have needed a car to get to wherever the bank was. Lander mentioned the fishing villages to the north, near the volcano.
Once Daniel got there and realised he needed an ID he couldn’t possibly have, he’d gone home and hatched the rest with Dad. Somehow, they had got hold of a fake driving licence – and here we were. They were all set to claim the money, except that Dad went over that cliff and everything was at risk again.
That’s when I knew for certain that Daniel had nothing to do with Dad falling. It was the opposite of what he would have wanted. He needed Dad to claim the money for the business.
I couldn’t help but think of what Lander had told me – that there were no branches on the street and that the Bank of Galanikos was almost a myth of an institution. It was only useful for people wanting to hide money.
I asked Dad why he needed a bank account on the island and that’s when he started scratching his arms. It wasn’t a casual brush, he was digging in his nails and raking them, to the point that I could see red marks. I asked if he was all right, but his head twitched, as if he had some sort of tic.
It was… frightening, I suppose. I didn’t know what to do and ended up hurrying across to him and trying to hold his hand. I kept saying ‘Dad’, but his eyes were glazed and his attention gone. I was ready to start shouting, to try to get him help, but then, from nowhere, he was back. His eyes zeroed in on me and he grabbed my wrist so hard that I could see the veins bulging in his forearm.
It hurt.
He was squeezing so tight, that it was like he was trying to rip off my hand. By the time I pulled away, there were fingermarks embedded in my skin.
He said: ‘Give it back’ – and he wasn’t messing. I’m not sure he’s ever spoken to me like that before. It was pure anger. His eyes were narrow and his nostrils flared.
I hadn’t been frightened of Daniel – but I was scared of Dad in that moment. Any thoughts I had of continuing to do my own thing were gone.
It was one of those moments where you realise afterwards that things can never quite be the same again. I’d never been hit by either of my parents – it wasn’t that sort of upbringing – but a line was crossed that day.
Julius: I never saw any marks on Emma’s wrist when we were at dinner later that day. If it was as bad as she claims, surely there would have been something…?
Emma: Dad must’ve realised what he’d done. I was rubbing my wrist and probably a bit emotional. He said ‘sorry’ – and then there was a stand-off for a few seconds. I don’t know if he was worr
ied about me, or worried that I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.
He started to tell me that the money on the island was ‘investments’, but that felt like such a cop-out. I asked why a straightforward ‘investment’ couldn’t have been put in a British bank, which didn’t get much of a reply. I asked where the money had come from in the first place – but that didn’t get an answer, either. I think the lack of an answer probably said more than an actual one. It clearly wasn’t money from their rentals back in the UK.
We were at a stand-off again. I didn’t know what to say because it was clear I wasn’t going to get a better reply.
Dad said ‘give it back’ – and that was the end of the conversation. I walked out of the cottage without another word.
What happened next is a bit of a blur. I think I ran out of the hotel – and yet I don’t remember changing into proper shoes and I doubt I would have run in sandals.
The dry-cleaning bag with the account numbers, key, and driving licence was hidden in the ruins of the abandoned, unfinished Grand Paradise Hotel. It’s like I was outside Dad’s cottage and then, the next moment, I was at the Grand Paradise.
The grass was up to my waist and the unfinished walls were crumbling. The heat felt more intense out there and the sound of the crickets was deafening.
There were so many places to hide things on that site – and also no reason for anyone to go there. I’d tucked the bag underneath a pile of bricks, where nobody would have found it unless they knew it was there. When I pulled it out, it was as if it had never been left. The bag was clean and the contents untouched.
I walked back to the hotel and kept going through the lobby until I was at Dad’s cottage. I let myself in with the key Mum had given me – and she was in there this time. She was on the sofa, with Dad sitting across from her in the wheelchair. They both looked up to me and it felt like the end of something.
I put the cottage key on the table and then dropped the dry-cleaning bag onto Dad’s lap. He didn’t check it, he simply said a quiet ‘thank you’.
I was looking at Mum the entire time, wondering if she knew, or approved. Wondering if she cared.
I said: ‘Is this why we’re here? It’s nothing to do with Mum’s final trip, or an anniversary, or birthday. We’re here for money…?’
Mum looked at the floor and Dad didn’t answer. We stood there, saying nothing to one another – because what was there to say?
My family was a lie – and it had taken me three decades to work it out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
THE TWO STRANGLED CATS
Emma: Mum knocked on the door to my cottage a few minutes before half-past seven that night. She was dressed for dinner and she stood there for a moment, before she said: ‘Will you come?’
With the exception of the twins, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see any of them again. I certainly didn’t want to listen to Dad and Daniel backslapping one another and reminiscing about old times.
I couldn’t let down Mum, though.
It was our final night on the island and there was a good chance it would be the last time we all sat down together.
I put on my shoes and then Mum and I walked across to the hotel restaurant together. The evening was a bit cooler than the previous ones. The sun had dipped across the other side of the hotel and orange was starting to spread across the sky.
The pool was silent, except for the gentle hum of the filter. The restaurant had its own soundtrack: the scraping of chairs and cutlery, the clinking of glasses and the low rumble of chatter. It felt ominous as I was walking there, but I’m not sure I can tell you why. Maybe it was those memories of a prison canteen, or perhaps I knew something was going to happen that night?
Julius: Everyone was waiting for Emma – and even Victor had got there on time. It was our final night – plus Dad’s first one back from hospital. I think everyone except her was up for having a good time.
Emma: Dad was at the head of the table, with Mum on one side and Julius on the other. There was a space next to Mum, so I sat with her on my left, and Victor on the right. The twins were opposite me, with Daniel and Liz further down the table.
All of that became so important in the end. I was certainly happy that I wouldn’t have to tolerate Daniel all night.
It felt happy and jovial, I suppose, although I was feeling none of that. I wanted to leave – and would have already gone if it wasn’t for the fact that I couldn’t afford a new flight home. I was going to have to wait until the next day, like everyone else.
I had just sat when Mum touched my hand and asked if I’d fill up Dad’s plate for him. I almost said he could do it himself – but then remembered the wheelchair, plus the fact that I wanted Mum to enjoy her last night.
I squeezed her shoulder gently and then headed across to the buffet. There’s a stack of clean plates, so I took two and then got in line.
That time of day is the most popular for eating and there was a long stream of people shuffling along. There’s always someone who seemingly can’t figure out how tongs work, or who wanders off with the spoon that’s meant to be used for scooping pasta. Someone is having a breakdown because there is a temporary shortage of potatoes, or there’s a person who will only eat margherita pizza.
I could easily live with never seeing another buffet again. It’s another of those things that bring out the worst in people.
I was near the front when Julius slotted in alongside me. He’d skipped the line and made it look as if I’d let him in. He was holding two plates as well, saying that he was getting food for Mum.
I probably asked how the twins were, but perhaps we didn’t speak at all? I don’t remember much other than shuffling along in the line.
When we got to the front, I loaded Dad’s plate with the same pork paella that I got him on the first night. I put on a small scoop of chips, plus some chunks of meat. I don’t remember what I got for myself – but I doubt it was much. Julius was next to me the whole time, loading up his pair of plates. I wish I’d paid more attention to what he was doing – but who would? It’s the drowning dog again – decisions we make seem so different in retrospect.
Julius and I got back to the table at the same time and we spread around the four plates. Dad saw the rice I’d got him and said something like: ‘My favourite!’
I was being polite and said he was welcome. The happy family pretence was very real in those moments.
I sat – and we were about to begin eating, except that Julius was still standing. He said there was a surprise, which is when he turned to the stage.
Julius: The girls had been talking about doing something like that all holiday. They had been practising in the room – and then, when Dad came back from the hospital, they asked if I could arrange something. I had a word with the manager, slipped him thirty euros, and that’s what made it happen.
Emma: After dinner, the tables get cleared away and they turn the restaurant into a dance floor. It’s not every night, maybe two or three times during the week, but they have a singer on who belts out hits from the seventies and eighties. It’s where singles hook up and couples slobber over one another.
This time, Amy and Chloe were on the stage that’s at the back of the restaurant. There was a screech from the microphone and most of the people who were eating looked to see what was going on. The stage was always empty during dinner itself, so this was something different.
The stage was behind me, so Dad, Mum, me, Victor and Liz all had to turn to look. That’s important – because the only people who didn’t have to twist were Julius and Daniel. The empty seats on that side were Amy and Chloe’s.
The manager was holding the microphone and he said: ‘We now have a special surprise for a special guest.’
Julius: The girls sang ‘Granddad We Love You’ for Dad. They’d been watching the video of the song on YouTube and learned the lyrics from that.
Emma: It was… well-intended.
…
Look, it was bad. I do
n’t feel any happiness telling you that – but it was what it was. People were quietly going about having their evening meal and, from nowhere, two young girls got up and started singing a terrible song. The twins might have just got away with it if their singing was any good but… they were eight years old.
It wasn’t great. It was like two cats being strangled.
Sorry…
Julius: Everyone loved it. Mum was clapping along and I think there was probably a tear in Dad’s eyes.
Chloe: We didn’t know the song. Daddy showed it to us and helped us with the words.
Amy: There were a lot of people.
Chloe: I don’t want to be a singer when I grow up. There are too many words to learn.
Emma: Dad was in the chair and he’d wheeled himself a little away from the table to be able to see the stage properly. When the girls finished singing, he was definitely in tears – and banging his hands together, shouting ‘More, more, more!’.
The reaction from the other tables was… muted, for want of a better word. A few people clapped, but I think most were relieved it was over. Nobody had paid thousands to come on holiday and listen to that on an evening.
Even though the singing had been bad, it was hard not to be touched. It was a classic thought-that-counts moment. The twins came down from the stage and weaved around the tables before they got back to Dad. They perched on either side of his chair and he gave them a huge squeeze. Mum was crying too.
Geoffrey: One of the best moments of my life – which was soon to be followed by one of the worst.
Emma: After Dad let them go, Amy and Chloe went back around to their seats and everyone sat again. Dad kept saying things like ‘wonderful’ and ‘superb’. He said it was the best recovery present he could have hoped for – and that the girls could have as much ice cream as they wanted.
After the Accident: A compelling and addictive psychological suspense novel Page 20