by Heidi Perks
‘It would be a shame if you left, don’t you think? Especially now we’re such good friends.’
‘Well, I suppose …’ Tess was clearly as confused as Maria. What was Iona up to? Maria was certain this bizarre friendship had absolutely nothing to do with Iona wanting Tess to stay.
‘Maybe you could have a word …’ Iona was saying when Maria stumbled forward, colliding with a rail as she did so. She stopped quickly, grabbing on to it to steady herself. The girls hadn’t noticed, but when the door pinged open and a woman entered, she took the chance to flee before they saw her. Her heart was in her mouth as she ran to the ferry, so betrayed by the girl she’d invited to sit around her dining table every night.
Danny had taken his drawing pad and pencils and headed towards the slip of beach that ran alongside Pinecliff Walk. He knew the small clearing was where Stella and Jill liked to meet. They called it their secret place, even though anyone could find it. Mostly no one wandered past because it wasn’t on a man-made path, and today Stella was at home so he knew he wouldn’t be disturbing her.
He liked the spot, too. Right by the edge of the cliff, there was a great view of the sea and the other islands. It was a good place to go when he needed to get away completely.
Only today, just as he was getting his pencils out of their case, he heard a sound behind him. By instinct he scrambled into the gorse. He knew it was probably a stupid thing to do, but often he did these things without thinking.
His heart somersaulted when he spotted Iona. She must have come back on the last ferry. He’d watched her go that morning, and now she was strolling along, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, humming an unrecognisable tune.
He pulled back deeper, praying she wouldn’t see him. He’d tried to be more careful since he’d fallen out of the tree. She carried on walking towards him and then, as she drew near, she crouched down and stopped humming.
Danny held his breath, but she must be able to hear it coming out short and sharp. He waited for her to pull back the branches and demand he tell her why he was watching her again.
But then she stood, sliding her glasses on to the top of her head, smiling that beautifully weird smile of hers that at first he’d found so difficult to draw.
He’d got it now, though. He’d learnt just to make the eyes much darker so you couldn’t see into her. How to twist the lips at a slight angle and then the resemblance was uncanny. Danny wondered whether anyone else saw as many faces as he did, but he had captured every one of hers in his book.
‘I hope you’re not following me,’ she said, which was clearly absurd when he’d been there first.
David pulled out the chair beside him for Iona. She was such a pleasantly warm girl. He enjoyed her company and had been about to ask after her day on the mainland when Maria leant over the table and said, ‘David, can you light the candles?’
He smiled at his wife as he looked up, but she was glaring back at him. She’d been in a funny mood for the last couple of weeks and he was tired of it. It was summer, their favourite time of year, and they should be happy. If she didn’t want Iona to join the family every night, which he suspected was her issue, then why didn’t she just say so?
He lit the wicks as Maria ladled chilli into Stella’s bowl, passing the spoon to Bonnie. Iona must be able to sense the frostiness, but she was covering it up nicely with a level of maturity his wife wasn’t showing.
Picking up the bottle of wine, he popped out the cork and sniffed it though he had no idea what it should smell of. As soon as he placed the bottle on the table, Iona took it and poured herself a large glass.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught Maria’s intense stare. And now Bonnie, who was glowering at her friend’s glass. David opened his mouth to tell Bonnie she could try a little drop if she liked, but something stopped him. Maybe it would only bring attention to the age difference, and he didn’t want to encourage it.
Instead he settled in to enjoy his meal when Maria suddenly demanded across the table, ‘Tell us where you were living before you moved here, Iona?’
For heaven’s sake. She was on that again.
To eliminate any atmosphere, he played along. ‘Maria’s right. We know nothing about your family.’ He smiled warmly as the pinkness on Iona’s neck turned a hue darker.
‘My mother moved around a lot since I was five,’ Iona said.
‘Like a traveller?’ Stella piped up.
‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Do you live in homes?’
‘Of course they live in homes,’ Maria snapped. She was still staring at Iona, and David felt incredibly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
‘Lots of travellers live in caravans,’ Stella went on regardless.
‘Well, I lived in a house, but it was nothing like this.’ Iona had leant in towards Stella now. ‘Nothing at all as grand as the one you and your brother and sister have all been brought up in.’
David cocked his head. It sounded like there was a hint of jealousy, but then it wasn’t hard to see why.
‘No, we lived in places much worse than this,’ Iona was stating.
‘Did your mum miss you when you came here?’ Stella asked, and Iona laughed loudly while Bonnie jolted upright, sitting so tensely that only her hands moved as they scooped up a forkful of peas that all tumbled back on to the plate.
‘No, I don’t think Mum missed me one bit,’ Iona said, smiling, which he found an odd thing to do given what she’d said. ‘My mother is not a nice woman. She’s done things you would never believe.’
‘Oh?’ Stella’s eyes widened and David decided to cut in before Iona said something inappropriate for a family dinner.
‘So where do you come from originally?’ he asked.
There was a pause and he waited, slightly apprehensively now if he were being honest.
When she turned to him she flashed another smile and said, ‘Birmingham, David. I come from Birmingham.’
‘Oh, how lovely.’ He smiled back, trying to avoid looking at Maria. He knew what would be racing through his wife’s mind and he’d have to defuse it later when she came to him, panicked.
They had left Birmingham and Maria’s mother, Joy, behind them seventeen years ago and if he never saw that place again it would still be too soon. He felt a slither of unease but he shook it off. This was Iona, after all. He couldn’t possibly have anything to worry about.
PRESENT
Chapter Twenty-One
I have managed to squeeze in four sets of clients back-to-back, but it means that by the time I get in the car to drive to Dad’s, I could do with climbing into bed instead. On the way I mull over whether I need to talk to someone, as Tanya suggested after she’d taken one look at my pale and strained face.
I’d agreed that it would ease my burden, but when she told me she’d found the number of my one-time counsellor I brushed off the suggestion. I don’t have the energy or the inclination to open up an entire can of worms. If I talk to anyone it has to be someone who at least knows part of the recent story. And there is only one person who springs to mind.
Before I can give it too much consideration, I press the number for the only other person who knows as much as I do right now.
‘Hey Stella, it’s good to hear from you,’ Freya answers. ‘I’m in the middle of something, but how are you doing?’
‘Fine,’ I say automatically, before admitting, ‘Actually I’m not.’ My fingers tug at a loose thread on the bottom of my cardigan as the other hand taps against the steering wheel.
‘Do you want to tell me?’ she says after a beat. ‘Maybe we could meet later?’
No. Because you’re a journalist and I shouldn’t trust you.
Yes. Because I don’t know who else to turn to.
I ignore her suggestion to meet and say, ‘I went to see Danny yesterday.’
‘Oh?’ Her interest is piqued.
‘He looks different to how I imagined he would. So much better.’
‘No. Well …’ I hesitate. ‘He says the police don’t believe him.’
I hear her suck in a breath. ‘Interesting.’
‘I haven’t a clue what to think.’
‘But Danny still says he killed her?’
I don’t answer her question, but say instead, ‘They asked me lots of questions about Iona. It got me thinking that there’s more to her than we knew.’
‘Right …’ Freya answers cautiously.
‘Forget I said anything. I’ve just got too many things going on in my head.’
I hear her tapping on a keyboard. ‘Are you writing down what I’m saying?’
‘What? No. Of course not. I’m sorry, I’m trying to get something done for my boss. Sorry. Where were we? So did Danny say he killed her?’
I sigh. ‘What he actually said was that he had to have.’
‘What does he mean by that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I wish I did.’
‘I’m sorry, Stella. I’m going to have to call you back. Is that okay?’
‘Sure,’ I say, but she’s already hung up, leaving me feeling I was wrong to think I could confide in her.
I feel even more frustrated and despondent by the time I reach Dad’s. He opens the door, wearing a thin cotton blue dressing gown that comes to his knees, revealing his striped pyjamas beneath. He looks at me blankly and shakes his head, and for a moment we stand awkwardly in the doorway.
‘Dad, it’s five p.m. You’re still not dressed,’ I say gently.
‘You must be here too early. I didn’t think you were coming until later.’
‘I didn’t say I was coming. Can I come in?’ I nod behind him and he opens the door wider and lets me through while he lingers by the bottom of the stairs. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re surprised to see me?’ I say hopefully, as he continues to watch me cautiously.
He shakes his head again as I wander past. My heart thumps as I take a breath, considering whether I need to tell him who I am, when he suddenly cries out, ‘Stella!’
‘Yes, Dad?’ When I turn he is smiling at me and still I feel my skin tingle each time this happens. ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ I ask, smiling back. ‘I take it you’ve had your lunch?’
‘I, erm …’ He frowns.
‘Don’t worry.’ My heart splinters. ‘Shall I make a sandwich anyway?’
‘No. Don’t bother, love, I’m not hungry.’ He holds a hand against his flat stomach.
‘So what time were you supposed to be here, then?’ he asks as he follows me into the kitchen and watches me boil the kettle.
‘I didn’t say, Dad. This is just an extra visit.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘How are you feeling? Olivia says you haven’t been well. Is it a stomach bug?’
‘Yes, love, probably. I can’t stop sleeping and my head’s all fuzzy.’ His hands shake as they rest on the table. When the tea is made I pass him a mug and sit down next to him, taking his hands in my own, and for a moment all I can think is that there are so many years we will never claw back, and is it now far too late?
‘It’s a lovely day,’ I say, nodding outdoors. ‘Cold, but at least it’s stopped raining.’
He gazes out of his back door at the neat little garden beyond. ‘I had the, erm …’ he waggles a finger as he searches for the word ‘… you know, the man here yesterday.’
‘Man?’
‘Yes.’ He looks agitated. ‘He wasn’t wearing a uniform. You know what I mean.’
‘A policeman?’
‘Yes.’ He slaps his hand back down on the table. ‘A policeman was here yesterday wanting to talk to me.’
‘Did he ask you any questions?’ I say.
‘No, love.’ Dad screws his eyes up as if I must have known this. ‘I wasn’t well.’
‘Do you know what they want to talk to you about?’
He raises his shoulders, splaying his hands out in front of him.
‘I think it’s about Danny,’ I tell him. ‘And the body they found on the island.’
‘Do you remember that treehouse I built for you?’ Dad breaks into a smile. ‘I started thinking about that for some reason.’
‘I remember it.’ I smile sadly.
‘It took me a week and you and Danny were so impatient for it to be ready. I put it in the oak tree,’ he says. ‘I expect it’s still there.’
‘I expect so,’ I say, my heart sinking again.
‘You spent hours in it. Danny too. He was always up a tree,’ he says, but the light has faded from his eyes. ‘He spent more time up there than on the ground. Your mum always thought it best to leave him but I wasn’t so sure.’
‘Really?’ I ask, intrigued by this difference of opinion that I never remember seeing.
‘She over-compensated for both of them,’ he murmurs, adding in an even softer voice, ‘especially Bonnie.’
‘How do you mean, Dad?’ I say and he looks up at me sharply, like he didn’t realise he was speaking aloud.
‘She was always a good mother,’ he tells me. ‘She adored all three of you. Above anything you mustn’t ever forget that.’
I smile and lower my eyes. ‘I think the police wanted to talk to you about Danny.’
Dad studies his thin fingers which are covered in papery skin and dotted with too many sunspots.
‘Do you know anything?’ I ask, reaching out for one of his hands when they start to shake again, his fingers making tiny taps on the table. ‘About what happened to Iona?’
His eyes begin to water and I squeeze his hand gently. ‘She was found. On the island,’ he says.
‘I know, but do you know any more?’ I persist. ‘Do you think Danny had anything to do with it?’
He looks up at me, his lips parted, as he groans, ‘Ohhh. Oh dear, Stella. I don’t know. I think maybe. I think maybe he did.’
‘Oh.’ I pull my hand away, my pulse racing wildly. Now that he’s said it I realise it is so far from what I expected.
Dad frowns, his brows furrowed deeply, and he circles his fingers on the table like he wants to add something but he doesn’t have the words. When he does, it’s a non sequitur. ‘I used to love my ferry. I was very happy on that boat.’
‘You were, Dad.’ My words are no more than a whisper. ‘I used to come and meet you when you came back. I’d wait at the end of the jetty for you.’
‘You were always there. Waiting for me. We were very happy there once,’ he says. ‘You more than anyone. You were born on that island.’
‘I know. Annie Webb delivered me.’ I smile at the memory of the story I always begged my parents to keep telling me. ‘You said we would never have made it to the mainland.’
My dad’s shoulders rise ever so slightly.
‘Thank goodness she was there,’ I go on. ‘Her being a midwife.’
‘Annie was always there,’ my dad says, but he is no longer wistful as he stares at the table, and for a moment I think I’ve lost him until he adds, ‘We would never have gone in the first place if it wasn’t for her.’
‘You knew Annie before you went to Evergreen?’ I ask, completely surprised.
‘No, maybe it wasn’t her doing,’ he continues, circling a finger anxiously on the table as he ignores me, clearly irritated by whatever thought has come into his head. ‘It was Joy’s doing.’
‘Gran?’ I ask.
Dad shrugs. ‘Yes, but that’s something you’d have to ask your mum about.’
‘But I can’t, Dad,’ I say, leaning towards him. ‘I can’t ask Mum any more, can I?’
He purses his lips. ‘I don’t suppose you should, anyway.’ He sits back and looks at me. ‘How is she doing? Is she well?’
‘She’s …’ I shake my head. ‘Dad, she’s …’
‘I am sorry about what happened between her and me,’ he says quietly. ‘I never wanted to see her hurt. I never wanted any of it to turn out like it di
d.’
‘Oh, Dad. What happened to us?’ I say, tears pooling in my eyes now.
‘I loved her very much, you know.’ He frowns, asking, ‘Are you staying for tea? I imagine Olivia will be back soon.’
I glance at my watch as Dad gets up and walks to the sink, looking out at the back garden. ‘Dad, you remember Iona, don’t you?’ I say.
‘Yes,’ he answers quietly.
‘Do you know why Iona really came to Evergreen? I know she wasn’t at university.’ I watch him closely, certain I can see his shoulders tighten.
‘She came looking for someone,’ he says. ‘But I don’t believe she ever found them.’
‘Who was she looking for?’
Dad shakes his head. When he turns he looks agitated, pressing the heel of his hand into the edge of the sink. ‘None of that matters any longer,’ he says. ‘It was all such a long time ago.’
‘Some things do matter,’ I say and he looks at me quizzically. ‘I saw you, Dad,’ I blurt as my client’s words come back to me. I can’t not know it now, can I? ‘I saw you with her,’ I go on, less sure. ‘Were you and Iona – were you having an affair?’
Dad stares at me, incredulous. ‘What? No!’ he cries. ‘How could you even …’ He shakes his head, almost manically, his eyes wide as he pushes himself up, scanning the room like a frightened child. ‘Where’s Olivia?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as I stand up too and approach him. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
He stalks out of the kitchen and I quickly follow, finding him standing by the front door, his fingers curling and uncurling around the bottom of the banister. ‘I don’t …’ He looks up the stairs and then back at me, his eyes searching for something, but I don’t know what to give him. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ he says eventually, and he looks so scared.
I take both his hands and squeeze them between my own. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I tell him, and as he keeps watching me I feel the weight of what he’s expecting – that somehow I can make this better.
