‘You think this is what’s happening here?’ Amelia crosses her arms, frowns. ‘It’s all just a joke?’
Lucy shrugs. ‘Has to be. What did the invite say? “Luxury island adventure” or something like that? And it’s been nothing of the sort. Top secret. Limited info. Then all this weird tech stuff . . . which, I have to say, I still can’t explain. There’s no doubt that my big secret is real. We’ve all confessed the same, right? Well, except you, Amelia. We’re still waiting for that.’
‘We’re waiting for Scott’s too,’ Amelia snaps, turning away from the cave and letting her headlamp shine a path ahead. She starts walking and James catches her up, leaving Lucy to continue to wax lyrical with her theory, a few paces behind – with Scott avidly agreeing and adding his own thoughts on it all. They sound happy, now that they’ve convinced themselves it’s a game. Scott is talking about the Michael Douglas movie now. The Game was a genius piece of cinema, to be fair. So realistic. So terrifying.
‘You don’t agree, do you?’ James says quietly.
They are walking at a steady pace, being careful to follow the lamplight. On their right, the sea is barely visible, just a dark expanse with occasional breaking white waves, and that rhythmic lull as they crash into the rocks.
‘I want to believe it,’ she says. ‘It’s just that . . . well, I thought I had it worked out earlier. A very different scenario to the one that Lucy and Scott are painting right now. One that involves my big secret. Someone I knew – a long time ago.’
He doesn’t look at her. ‘But why? Everyone’s got a horrible secret. We’re all the same . . . what makes you think otherwise?’
She frowns, unsure about whether to say more. She glances across at the blinking lights of the bigger island in the distance. She wants to be wrong, but the longer she’s been here, the more her own long-buried memories have pushed their way to the surface. It sounds narcissistic, but it makes sense. She’s the only one who has a real link to this place. All that Famous Five stuff had swung it for her in her mind. This is about George, trying to get a message to her. She knows it. But she also knows that if she says it out loud she’ll sound crazy.
James lays a hand on her arm. ‘You don’t have to tell me. It’s obviously not going to be forced out of you, like it has been for us.’
‘That’s the thing. That’s why I’m sure I’m right and Lucy is wrong. You see . . . I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my tracker didn’t work. I think our host wanted me to remember it all for myself.’ She sighs. ‘That’s why I’m sure this is all about me. And the rest of you . . . the rest of you are just pawns.’
James looks back at the other two, and she does the same. They’ve got their arms linked and they’re walking carefully, laughing at something. Both sure now that everything is going to be OK. ‘Well, whatever you do,’ James says, dropping his gaze, ‘don’t tell the others.’
‘Oh?’
He looks like he wants to say more, then he stops, shakes his head. ‘Forget I said anything.’
She frowns. She wants him to continue. Wouldn’t it be better if she told the others now? At least then they could arrive at the house together, safe in the knowledge that everything will be fine, and that their secrets will be safe from the wider world. Because they might not know it yet, but Amelia does. This is all just a game. The host is showing off – toying with them all. Because the host doesn’t care about them or what they’ve done.
The host only cares about Amelia.
She stares at James from the corner of her eye, taking in his expression. For a moment, she thinks he looks scared. ‘James . . .’
His expression shifts again. Then he points at something up ahead. ‘Look!’
She follows his line of sight and she can see what he’s pointing at. Right there in front of them. Nestled into a dip in the wide expanse of dark, undulating grassland. Smoke from a chimney. Lights.
They’ve made it to the big house, at last.
Amelia
T - 1
The house looms bright before them. Hidden away from the rest of the island in this dip, with its own small bay. The lights around the building give it an eerie glow, and the water rolling up to the private beach twinkles in the moonlight. The big house is certainly that. Painted white, with ornate pillars on either side of the huge doorway. Two large windows split up by a grid of tiny frames. The interior light is muted, the view in obscured slightly by gauzy fabric hung at the windows. If it wasn’t so dark outside, it’s possible you wouldn’t be able to see inside at all – but as they get closer, Amelia makes out shapes and shadows in the window to the left, the outline of various pieces of furniture and occasional movement inside. Behind the window to the right all is still.
‘So much for our welcoming party,’ James mutters.
They stop walking, waiting for Lucy and Scott to catch them up.
‘Nice house,’ Scott says when they arrive. ‘Bit smaller than I expected.’
‘You Yanks and your crazy McMansions.’ Lucy punches him playfully on the shoulder.
They walk closer.
‘Whatever. But the whole point of our big houses is we’ve got the space. Plenty of space here. Coulda made it twice this size.’ He walks over to the window on the right and cups his hands around his face, pressing up close to the glass to peer inside. ‘Nothing in there but a bookcase and a bunch of armchairs.’ He takes a step back, turns to them, grinning. ‘Maybe that’s where we go for the after-dinner cigars.’
Amelia heads towards the window on the left. It’s harder to see closer up, the curtain obscuring what’s inside. But she can see a long dining table set with goblets and plates, candelabras in the centre, light flickering from the flames. The chairs are high-backed, and they are all unoccupied.
‘Wonder where the others are?’ James says, joining her.
‘I don’t care about that right now,’ Amelia says. Her earlier vulnerability is gone. ‘I just want to get in there and give the organisers of this whole stupid thing a piece of my mind. I’m not impressed. I want to go home. Right now. And when I get there, I’m going to be making some calls about this. Non-disclosure agreement or not.’
James raises his eyebrows at her, but says nothing.
She’s done a good job of keeping herself in check, trying to do the best for the others, but the relief of finally making it here is tinged with anger over the ridiculous day they’ve had, and all that’s happened along the way. It’s hard to believe that they arrived here this morning, in glorious sunshine, all bursting with excitement for the day ahead – and now, several of them are injured, and all of them are mentally broken. All the arduous aid work she’s done over the years, all the things she’s seen – none of it has prepared her for this deliberate form of torture.
She’s about to continue her internal tirade when there’s a soft creak, and a shaft of light spills across them as the door swings open and someone appears in the porch.
‘Well, hello!’ Harvey says. ‘What took you so long?’ His voice is playful.
Amelia wants to punch him. ‘Is this some sort of joke? What took us so long? Have you any idea—’
Harvey raises a hand. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I know you’ve had a tough day. I understand it’s probably not what you expected of your time here. Please, come inside. Everything is ready for you.’
Bone-tired, they trudge inside, removing their headlamps, which Harvey collects from them. They move through the porch into a wide hallway, unbuttoning their jackets as the warmth hits them.
‘Well, this is nice.’ Lucy looks around, taking it all in. Patterned tile flooring, grandfather clock, oil paintings and high ceilings.
There are several doors leading off the hallway, and a grand spiral staircase takes pride of place. Amelia’s gaze follows the thick cream carpet upstairs to the landing, where she can just make out a series of doors separated by expanses of gold-papered walls adorned with more oil paintings. She brings her eyes back down, tries t
o find something aesthetically pleasing amid the gaudy decoration of the entrance hall, and fails. She stares at one of the paintings hanging on the wall next to her and takes in the scene: low, tumbledown cottages with high marsh grass all around. Just behind, in the distance, the murky grey of the sea – and in the foreground a stern-looking couple, both dressed in drab tweeds, she holding a bucket and he a long pitchfork. They don’t look happy about being painted, and the scene is not uplifting in any way. It’s executed well, but there is something horribly dark about it that gives her a small shiver down the back of her neck.
She looks away.
‘Just one moment, please.’ Harvey disappears through one of the doors, leaving them standing there.
James shrugs. ‘So, what now? Dinner and bed?’
‘Netflix and chill?’ Lucy laughs.
Amelia shakes her head. ‘I don’t like this place. It’s giving me bad vibes.’
‘Whooo,’ Scott says, wiggling his hands in front of her face. ‘Heebie-jeebies.’
‘Shut up!’ She thrusts her hands into his chest and he flies back across the hallway, feet slipping on the tiles, and ends up crumpled on the floor at the foot of the stairs.
‘Jesus, what is wrong with you?’ Lucy barks at her, then rushes over to Scott and helps him to sit up. He’s muttering that he’s OK, rubbing the back of his head; he looks confused more than anything else. His eyes meet Amelia’s.
‘Scott, oh my God,’ she says. ‘I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. There’s no excuse.’
He shrugs. ‘No harm done, eh? We’re all a bit wired.’ He still looks wary.
James is looking at her oddly. ‘Amelia? Are you OK?’
She turns away from them all and walks towards one of the closed doors. There’s a narrow glass pane running down one side of it, giving her a perfect view of what’s inside. It’s another small reception room, like the one that Scott peered into from outside, with the bookcase and the armchairs. This one has a roaring fire and comfortable-looking couches. She can make out the faint sound of music playing. The couches are all facing inwards, towards the fire. Two people sit on one couch, and a third person on another, all facing away from her. The light in the room is dim, the candlelight flickering against the walls mixes with the flames of the fire, making shadows dance – making it look like the people are moving.
She gasps.
James comes up behind her and peers through the glass. ‘It’s the others,’ he says, with a long sigh. ‘Thank God . . .’
Amelia turns back towards Lucy and Scott. ‘I think you two were right. They are fine.’ Relief washes over her. She’d had a horrible feeling earlier, but seeing them here, alive and well, has pushed that feeling away. Maybe things are going to be OK after all? Well, they will be, once they talk to them. Make sure they’re all right.
‘Let’s go in and join them then,’ Scott says. ‘What are we hanging around out here for?’ He makes to stand up, but then falls back onto the bottom stair, gripping his ankle and swearing under his breath.
Lucy gently nudges Amelia out of the way and grabs the door handle. Turns it. Rattles it. But nothing happens. She tries again, but it’s locked. She raises a fist and bangs on the glass. ‘Guys, we’re here – we made it!’
‘Please step away from the door.’
They whirl round at the sound of the voice. Harvey is standing behind them, and his expression is stony. ‘The others are waiting for you, but they won’t hear you through that glass. The reason the music is so quiet out here is that the room is virtually soundproofed. Best way to have a music room, don’t you think? Please, come with me. We need to get you warmed up and give you a change of clothes. And a little time to decompress. Then you can join the others and the party will begin. OK?’ He’s smiling again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Lucy and James shrug and step away from the door, following Harvey towards the staircase, where Scott is still sitting on the bottom stair.
‘You all right there?’ Lucy says. She holds out a hand towards him.
‘I think my ankle’s gone for good now.’ He looks pained, but he takes Lucy’s hand and gets to his feet.
Amelia turns back to peer through the glass once more. No one is moving. In fact, they are all sitting quite still. Too still. Only the shadows caused by the naked flames are creating any movement inside the room. The feeling of relief is replaced by something else. A nagging dread, slithering slowly down her spine.
Their silhouettes are in shadow, and she can’t make out who is who. But as she continues to stare, she thinks she sees a movement on the back of one of their heads. A flickering that seems to bring the shape in and out of focus, a smattering of small coloured squares, just for a moment, before disappearing.
No . . . it can’t be.
‘Amelia, are you ready?’ Harvey is next to her now. He places a hand on her elbow, urging her away from the door.
But it’s too late. She’s already seen it. She’s seen it several times today. A glitch that they need to work on. Such a basic issue for a company so proud of its technology.
Pixelation.
Harvey looks at her as he leads her away, and she catches a hint of what might be fear in his eyes. He knows what she’s seen. He knows what she knows. ‘Please,’ he whispers, close to her ear. ‘Come with me now. Don’t make things more difficult than they already are.’
The dread slides around her body, rooting itself in the pit of her stomach. She feels a sudden urge to throw up. Sucks in a deep breath, trying to keep it together. She should say something – call over to the others. But the fear roots her in place. Because it’s clear now: those people on the couch are not their missing, injured friends.
Those figures on the couch are not real.
Summer 2000
She’d been a bit put off by the kid being so full-on friendly so soon, but she decided to throw caution to the wind. Islanders probably have to be pushy if they want to make friends with the holidaymakers, and it’s not like she has anything else to do. The nickname thing seemed a bit silly, but she couldn’t really find a good enough reason to go against it.
You be Anne . . . I’ll be George.
Whatever.
She follows George away from the beach, around the back of the shop that sells everything from buckets and spades to small kitchen appliances, to an overgrown track with a broken wire fence. She stops, swinging her canvas satchel around her back and out of the way. It looks like a treacherous path – she imagines it will be lined with gorse, and she doesn’t want the thorns catching on her bag. She looks down at her legs, pale and skinny in too-short shorts, and wishes she’d brought a pair of tracksuit bottoms with her.
‘Is it very far?’ she says.
‘Not really,’ George says. ‘Why? Are you feeling particularly wimpish today?’
‘No, of course not,’ she snaps. She doesn’t want this islander kid to think she’s some spoiled city brat who doesn’t know how to look after herself in the wild. She glances up the path as it snakes its way up the hill. It’s only a stupid hill. It’s only a few thorns. It’s not going to kill her. ‘Let’s go then.’
George reaches back to push some overhanging twigs and leaves out of the way, holds them up to let her through, then sets off at a pace. She takes a deep breath and follows.
The first bit of the ascent is tricky, the gradient and the pace causing her lungs to burn, and she soon gets a stitch and has to stop. ‘Wait. Just a minute,’ she says, panting. She swings her bag out of the way again. Takes a few deep breaths. ‘OK, coming.’
George laughs. ‘You mainlanders just don’t have the stamina.’
‘Well, you islanders have nothing better to do than climb up your one silly little hill all day long.’
‘Aww . . . our silly little hill, eh? Just you wait until we get to the top.’
She starts walking again, leaning into the hill to try and make it easier. George is right though, about stamina. She’d thought she was fairly
fit with her four-times-a-week swimming, but hiking at a steep incline is something else altogether. Her legs will be aching tomorrow, but it might give her more strength to the back of her thighs if she keeps it up. Imagine how strong her freestyle would be if she could power it even more with her legs? The coach is always telling her she needs to do more land training.
She powers on, and before long she’s caught up with George, who turns to her and grins. ‘Nice work, city girl. Are you looking forward to the secret place?’
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Although I’m kind of surprised that anything is secret on this island. It’s not exactly difficult to explore it.’
‘Yeah, but no one comes up that path . . . couldn’t you tell? An old woman slipped on loose stones there a few years ago and fell down it and died. The island council said it wasn’t to be used anymore. Only they couldn’t afford to block it off, so they just put up that wire fence and a “Keep Out” sign – but that’s long gone, and so is most of the fence.’
‘So who comes up here now?’
‘Mostly just me . . . although Jago follows occasionally. He likes to take pictures,’ George says with a shrug. ‘The others obey the rules of the island council . . . and also, they’re kind of scared of me, so they think if I’m up here, they’re better to stay away.’
‘Scared of you? Why?’ She looks George up and down and doesn’t find anything particularly scary. But then, they’ve only just met. For all she knows, anything George says could be a total fib.
George sighs. ‘I’m not going to tell you, because it’s nonsense, but you’d probably be scared too, and I’d quite like to have you as a friend . . . I think we were meant to meet, Anne. I think bumping into you was meant to be. Today is only the start.’
She thinks about this for a moment. She stops and turns. Looks back down the path, then takes in the view from being so high up. It’s enough to snatch your breath away. The beaches, the beautiful blue sea. The seagulls swooping by, shrieking their cries – letting them know who’s boss around here. It’s all so far removed from her real life. Alone, she’d been bored, and despite the intensity and that wild gleam in George’s eyes, the island has come alive for her since they met.
The Last Resort Page 20
