Come Back For Me

by Heidi Perks

  Suddenly a key turns in the lock and the front door swings open. Her perfume wafts in before she does. The familiar scent of Poison that always catches in my throat.

  Olivia steps inside and slams the door shut, her eyes flicking between me and Dad and then trailing down to our clasped hands. ‘What’s happened?’ she says, dropping her handbag and grasping my dad’s elbow. She twists him to face her in a practised manoeuvre that leaves us automatically letting go of each other. She’s got him again.

  ‘What’s going on, David?’ she demands.

  Olivia and I both watch in horror as a tear escapes the corner of his eye and rolls down his cheek.

  ‘Will one of you tell me what the hell’s going on?’ she demands, turning to me.

  ‘I just came to speak to my dad.’

  ‘David, why don’t you go and get yourself dressed.’ He nods and obligingly makes his way up the stairs. Olivia continues to glare.

  ‘I needed to talk to him.’

  ‘You’re worse than the police,’ she hisses. ‘Hounding him.’

  ‘His son’s in prison,’ I cry. ‘Having confessed to murder. I need to know what Dad knows.’

  ‘I have doctors and solicitors working for your father,’ she says flatly. ‘Clearly he isn’t in a state to get hauled into their stations and sit there for hours being asked about something that happened twenty-five bloody years ago. He can’t remember my name some days,’ she adds, slapping a hand against her chest.

  ‘But he does remember the past,’ I say. ‘And you know that.’

  Back in the car I slam my palms hard against the steering wheel, accidentally hitting the horn, which makes an old lady stop and look at me. I ignore her as I fling my head against the headrest and close my eyes. My teeth are gritted so tightly my jaw aches.

  As I reach into my pockets for my phone, my hand brushes against the piece of paper that is still inside. I pull it out, unfolding it.

  STOP DIGGING. YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT YOU FIND.

  The warning doesn’t make sense. If someone knew my brother had killed Iona, then why would they want to keep it a secret? Why warn me off and not go straight to the police?

  I glance up, looking out of the front windscreen. Unless there’s something else they don’t want me finding out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Early Saturday morning I am called back into the interview suite to see Detective Harwood and this time he seems more agitated. ‘Your brother is adamant he killed Ms Byrnes,’ he tells me. Like me, he is grappling for the truth but can’t quite get to it, and he’s feeling the pressure.

  Danny has now been held for nearly forty-eight hours and my limited online research tells me they only have ninety-six in which to question him. This means by Monday morning they need to either charge my brother or let him go.

  ‘He says he arranged to meet her at a point on the island by the edge of a cliff.’ Harwood passes a map of Evergreen to me, prodding his pen at a spot. I pull it closer and peer at the mark his pen has left, taking a deep breath and then passing it back to him.

  ‘I know exactly where that cliff is.’

  ‘Why do you think he might have arranged to meet her there?’

  ‘I can’t think why,’ I say, refusing to acknowledge it’s the exact spot I used to meet Jill. Our secret place. The only reason I can think of is that Danny didn’t want to be seen.

  But it is also, of course, the spot where I saw my dad and Iona, and an unwanted image of them flashes in my head. Even when I blink it doesn’t disappear. Dad was so adamant yesterday that he didn’t have an affair. And yet I saw him – I’m sure I did. I see his cap vividly and it is this I keep coming back to.

  ‘Daniel says this is where he and Ms Byrnes fought and then he shoved her. He saw Iona fall back over the edge.’ He prods again at the map; this time his pen marks a spot on the thin stretch of beach below.

  ‘But what your brother describes is inconsistent with what we know. And where she was found. This area, here.’ He points to the spot just outside my house where Iona’s body was dug up. This time he uses his finger to circle around it. ‘Who had access to it?’

  ‘Well – everyone,’ I say. ‘It’s on the edge of the woods. Anyone could go there if they wanted: islanders, visitors …’ I trail off.

  ‘So day visitors would pass by the end of your back garden?’

  ‘No, I said they could. There was access to it. But they rarely did, and usually it would have been because they’d got lost. The people that came to the house that way were friends, though most of the islanders used the gate. I think it seemed like a more polite entrance. Mum preferred it.’

  Harwood nods, though I sense his impatience. ‘So, who in particular do you recall coming to the house via the woods?’

  ‘Annie Webb and Susan Carlton usually, but they lived in that direction.’

  ‘Anyone else?’ he asks.

  ‘Not that I recall.’

  ‘Did anyone used to spend a lot of time there?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Or avoid it?’

  ‘No.’ I look at him quizzically.

  ‘Did either of your parents have a strong affinity with the place?’

  ‘It was on the edge of our garden,’ I say. ‘But neither of them went there more than anywhere else.’

  Harwood nods but I can see he isn’t getting what he wants. ‘What about over these last few days? You’ve just been back to the island, did you see anyone hanging around there more than you’d think usual?’

  ‘There were loads of people there the day we all found out it was Iona, a huge crowd,’ I say.

  ‘Who did you recognise?’

  I list the group lingering by the trees: ‘Annie Webb, Ruth Taylor, Susan and Graham Carlton, only Graham …’ I falter as I recall it ‘… he didn’t stay. I was going to talk to him but he’d already walked off.’

  ‘Okay.’ Harwood nods, watching me carefully, as if this is at least a nugget of interest. ‘Was anyone in particular missing from the crowd?’

  ‘Bob Taylor wasn’t there. Neither was Emma Fisher, though I saw her right after in the village with her daughter. They were having an argument,’ I add. ‘I don’t know what about.’

  ‘Great. This is all very helpful, Stella,’ he tells me, though his face is deadpan and I’m not entirely sure it’s getting him anywhere.

  ‘Also …’ I pause, still unsure if I want to pass on this information. ‘Someone sent me a note. With everything that happened with Danny, I forgot to tell you about it on Thursday. It told me to stop digging.’

  ‘Do you still have it?’ He looks up as I dip into my coat pocket and pull it out.

  An hour and a half later I have finally finished answering the detective’s questions. I tell him I need the toilet, so we say goodbye and I turn right, passing the hushed voices spilling out from other rooms. My mind is so focused on what he has asked, and what he may do with the note, that it’s not until I’m heading for the exit I suddenly stop.

  ‘… not just even the fact the body was found somewhere else entirely,’ a man is saying. I duck back against the wall, making sure I’m out of sight. They must be talking about Iona but their words are low and I strain to hear only snatches of the conversation.

  ‘… injuries from falling could have killed her …’

  ‘… not sure?’

  ‘No. Doesn’t seem like it …’ someone says before their voices fade. I press closer.

  ‘… to make it look like she hit a rock?’

  ‘Yes. More like a blunt instrument.’

  A door at the far end bangs and a woman comes out, eyeing me suspiciously. I peel myself away and follow her to the main door.

  Is this why Harwood thinks Danny isn’t guilty? Do they know more that means his story doesn’t stack up?

  My heart is hammering as I step outside and on to the street. The sun is trying to break through the clouds, but the wind has picked up. I wrap my coat more tightly around me. The forecast for
the next few days isn’t good. Storms are coming, they say, though right now the white clouds don’t seem to threaten rain.

  From inside my bag my phone is ringing and Freya’s number flashes. ‘I’ve just had an interesting conversation,’ she tells me before I’ve had the chance to speak.

  ‘Really?’ I rub a hand over my sleep-deprived eyes, dodging a cyclist who swerves on to the pavement and then back on to the road without any awareness.

  ‘With Iona’s mother.’

  ‘Oh?’ I stop short. There was only one time I remember Iona mentioning her mum and her words had been so cold they’d made me shudder. The same mother who hadn’t noticed her daughter was missing for twenty-five years.

  ‘I’m going to meet her,’ Freya says excitedly. ‘I’m catching the train up now. I get the sense there’s something she’s holding back on. I’m hoping she might tell me, but—’ Freya breaks off. ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t know how much I can trust what she’s saying, and I thought you might like to come.’

  My stomach flutters with the thought of meeting the woman who could tell me more than most about Iona. She’s become something of an enigma, and if there’s anything that can help me piece together what happened between her and Danny it’s worth pursuing. Especially if my brother’s version of the night she died isn’t accurate. ‘Okay. I’ll come,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Great. I’ll meet you at New Street station at three.’

  ‘New Street? Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s where Iona’s mother lives,’ she says. ‘Birmingham.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Freya told me she’d arranged to meet Iona’s mother, Ange, in a pub in Balsall Heath. When she added that she didn’t fancy walking into a bar like that on her own, I looked it up on my phone, silently agreeing with her while wondering why the area, Balsall Heath, rang a bell.

  Though my parents were originally from Birmingham, they never said much about their lives before moving to the island. What little I knew was that they’d bought their first house in Shirley, not far from Gran’s house where Mum had grown up. With their having no interest in returning, it meant I’d never visited myself.

  I drive to New Street where I meet Freya, whose excitement is bubbling off her. She strides across the station, looking for the taxi rank, leaving me trailing in her wake.

  ‘The police must have already spoken to her,’ I call as I hurry to keep up.

  ‘Of course they have.’ She briefly pauses by the exit before spotting a queue of cabs. ‘Her mother was the one who confirmed the body was Iona’s, so the police will have been all over her.’

  ‘Then what’s she going to tell us that she hasn’t told them?’

  Freya shrugs. ‘Maybe nothing.’

  ‘So, this could be a wasted trip.’

  She turns to look at me. ‘You can’t think of it like that. There’s always a possibility she’ll add something new.’

  ‘I’m surprised she agreed to meet you,’ I mutter as she leans forward to speak to a driver, reeling off the address.

  ‘What’s the matter with you today?’ Freya asks as we climb in the back.

  I shrug. I don’t feel like telling her that I’m anxious about meeting Ange. ‘I don’t know what to expect,’ I say. ‘I’m not used to this like you are. I’m not sure why you asked me along anyway, especially when I was no help to you on the island.’

  Freya looks at me quizzically.

  ‘You asked me to speak to people. So far you’ve pre-warned me about things you probably shouldn’t have, but I don’t know what I’ve given you. Except that perhaps I’m the centre of a story?’

  Freya sighs and rolls her eyes. ‘Is that really what you think? That I’m using you?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking about any of it,’ I murmur. ‘I’m so tired I could burst into tears right now.’

  She reaches over and squeezes my hand. ‘The night of the sleep-out I didn’t think Danny did anything wrong.’

  The image of Freya there flashes into my head again. She’d hung back from the small group of girls clustering around Tess. ‘What do you mean?’

  Freya pauses. ‘He looked scared stiff. I thought he was innocent. I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right about him confessing, either … Anyway,’ she adds, ‘I’m not surprised Ange is happy to meet. As soon as I mentioned a free lunch she jumped at the chance. Money talks, and for some a lot louder than others.’ Freya smiles, and I may be wrong but I think she is genuine.

  ‘Ange sounds revolting,’ I grumble. ‘Happy to discuss her dead daughter for a free lunch.’ I shudder at the thought. ‘The fact she didn’t know Iona was missing makes me feel sick.’

  ‘Well, we don’t know what went on.’

  ‘No, but still—’

  ‘And that’s what we’ll hopefully find out today. They could have been estranged for good reason. We can’t judge her before we’ve even met her. I thought you’d know that more than most.’

  Freya is right to a degree. People always have the ability to shock. I see it with my clients all the time and have learnt not to take preconceptions in with me. Plus I only have to look at my own family. Yet Ange is one person I don’t think I’ll be wrong about.

  ‘Anyway, she might be able to give us something that can at least in part explain what happened on that freaky island or why Iona was there in the first place.’

  ‘Why do you think she was?’ I ask. I don’t mention what Dad told me about her looking for someone because I’m still not entirely sure I trust what he says.

  Freya shrugs. ‘No idea. We moved there because our cousins were there and Mum thought she wanted that kind of life, but why do other people decide to move somewhere so remote?’ She spreads out her fingers and starts to count on them. ‘Work; or because they’re running from something. Or someone,’ she adds. ‘A nineteen-year-old girl on her own coming over to live on that island …’ she pauses ‘… there’s got to be a reason.’

  I mull over the thought that Iona could have been running from someone.

  ‘Ange was insistent we meet in this pub,’ Freya says, peering out the cab window as the driver pulls up outside. ‘Apparently it does good food, though I don’t know what bar it’ll be set at.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not expecting much,’ I say quietly. ‘Balsall Heath sounds so familiar,’ I tell her as I climb out, looking around and then up at the red-brick pub that sits on the street corner. ‘But I don’t know why.’

  I follow Freya closely as she swings open the heavy doors and marches in, totally unfazed by the look of the pub and its clientele. A row of men perch on stools along the bar. One of them glances over his shoulder but his body barely moves enough for him to see who’s come in. In the far corner a woman raises her head and looks at us questioningly, and when Freya lifts a hand she nods in return.

  ‘Who have you said I am?’ I whisper, grabbing Freya’s arm as she strides over. ‘Am I supposed to be working with you?’

  ‘She doesn’t know you’re coming. Tell her you were a friend of Iona’s if you like.’

  I don’t have time to answer as we reach the table and Freya shakes the woman’s hand. I quickly offer to get the round, which consists of a large white wine for Ange and two Cokes for Freya and me. When I return to the table they’re already deep in conversation, Freya saying how grateful she is for the woman’s time, even though it’s quickly apparent Ange has little else to do. I slide in silently beside Freya and as they talk I study the woman, trying to find any resemblance to the young girl I remember.

  Ange’s fingers are yellowed from nicotine, the same shade as her teeth. Her greying hair has flecks of auburn and is scraped back into a ponytail. There is something familiar about her green eyes that flick nervously between the two of us, but it’s not Iona’s I see in them. They settle on me as she warily watches me sipping my Coke.

  ‘My name’s Stella,’ I say, smiling. Ange’s hands shake as they grip on to the stem of her wine glass. ‘I’m a
friend of Freya’s and I knew Iona too. I’m so sorry about what happened.’

  ‘Your fault, was it?’ she says.

  I open my mouth but I have no words. She laughs at me in a deep cackle. ‘Joking with you, love.’

  I smile again but her inappropriateness makes me feel nothing more than revulsion. Freya glances at me but I can’t look at her.

  ‘Already had the police asking a load of questions,’ Ange says. ‘So don’t know what you want.’

  ‘Well, I’m just interested in Iona’s back story, what happened before she went to Evergreen. Have you always lived here, Ange?’ Freya asks.

  The woman nods. ‘I was born here. Same as Iona,’ she says. ‘She got away but I never did.’

  ‘So, when did you stop seeing her?’

  ‘A while before she went over there. Can’t remember how long.’ Ange takes a quick slug of wine. Her eyes peer over the rim of the glass, focusing on the table, and I’d bet she knows exactly how long it was.

  ‘And did you know she planned to go to Evergreen?’ Freya asks.

  Ange gives a slight nod, slowly looking up.

  ‘It’s a funny place to go,’ Freya says, leaning her body forward as if whatever Ange tells her is in complete confidence. ‘I’m surprised she’d even heard of it, living in Birmingham, so far away. Many people don’t know it exists. It’s not a big island.’

  ‘No,’ Ange says. ‘One hundred and two people.’

  I lean forward myself. So, Ange knows about it.

  Suddenly the door swings open and Ange looks up at whoever’s just walked in. I go to turn as she says through gritted teeth, ‘Don’t look over.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Freya asks.

  ‘Someone I owe money to. I can’t pay it yet. Haven’t got it but I will.’

  I flick Freya a look but she’s watching Ange. ‘How do you know about Evergreen?’ she says and Ange turns back and shrugs.

  ‘Ange, what was Iona doing there?’ Freya asks again. ‘This could be really important. Maybe I could help out with whatever issue you have with that man who’s just walked in.’