Come Back For Me

by Heidi Perks

  ‘I need to talk to people,’ I say, turning to my soup. ‘This is lovely, thank you.’ My cheeks flush as I feel her eyes boring into the top of my head. I realise I’d hoped Annie would unreservedly be on Danny’s side. If she’s not, she’ll want to know exactly who I want to talk to and why.

  ‘I used to worry about your mother,’ Annie says, and I glance up. Her eyes are still focused on me but they have misted over. ‘She had something inside her you don’t often see. Sometimes it can be mistaken for bravery.’ She pauses. ‘I see it in you, too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Annie waves her spoon in the air. ‘She thought she knew best but I didn’t always agree. I worried about her then and I do for you now. Who are you planning to talk to?’

  I don’t answer. I don’t want to involve Annie, and I also don’t want her trying to stop me. I intend to borrow a torch and wait until she has gone to bed before looking for Bob and Ruth. I need to speak to them tonight. Before it’s too late and they charge Danny with murder.

  ‘If you are so certain your brother didn’t kill Iona then I assume you know something. Or you think you do,’ she continues. ‘Tell me, my dear, what is it?’ Her hand flutters as she brings the spoon to her mouth again.

  I sigh, shaking my head, as Annie continues to watch me. I know she won’t give up. But at the same time I’m scared that if I tell her too much, she might not believe it.

  ‘I think Iona came to Evergreen looking for someone,’ I say eventually. ‘I want to talk to Bob and Ruth.’ My words are lost amid a crack of thunder that fills the room. The sky illuminates with bright white streaks, the lights in the room cutting out instantly.

  ‘Bother,’ Annie mumbles. Lit by the dim flickering of the gas fire, I watch her get up and wander out of sight. Soon a torchlight spears its beam across the room. She lays the torch on the sideboard and sets about finding candles and matches which she lights and places on the coffee table.

  ‘Well, you won’t be talking to anyone until morning, my dear,’ she says and I sense her relief. ‘Not in this storm.’ She wanders over to the window and holds a candle up to the glass, shielding her eyes as she peers out. ‘A tree has gone down,’ she says, picking up the telephone that perches on the windowsill. ‘Damn it. I’ll have to get Graham over when the worst has passed. He can fix the phone lines. Now let me get you some bedding.’

  Annie disappears out of the room and I wait while she rummages in a cupboard at the top of the stairs. When she comes down she is carrying two heavy woollen blankets and a plump white pillow which she leaves on the edge of the sofa. She bends over at my side, gently touching my hair.

  ‘I did miss your family when you all left,’ she murmurs. ‘Your mother was like a daughter to me.’

  ‘I know she was, Annie. She thought the same.’

  ‘I never wanted her to go. Nor you, Stella, you always had a special place in my heart.’

  I smile. ‘I know,’ I say gently.

  She takes her hand away and sits back in the armchair opposite. ‘Why do you think you need to talk to Bob and Ruth?’ she asks. Her eyes don’t leave me.

  ‘It’s just a hunch,’ I end up saying, shrugging. ‘No reason in particular.’

  I wait for Annie to accept this but the way she continues to watch me, leaning back in her chair, twisting around the gold watch that hangs off her wrist, I can see she’s having trouble with it.

  I want to tell her not to worry. That I won’t go anywhere until morning. That the idea of confronting Bob scares me too, but I don’t have any choice. Instead I say none of this as another loud crack of thunder explodes into the room.

  At just before nine Annie announces she is going to bed. She places a candle on the table beside the sofa and warns me to blow it out before I fall asleep. I promise her I will, but she wavers in the doorway so I make a pretence of pulling the blankets over me and stretching out. I sense she is about to leave the room when her eye catches sight of the torch and she wanders over and picks it up. My heart plummets as she takes it with her. ‘Sleep tight,’ she says, pausing again, and I can see how concerned she is that I might still try and go out in this weather so I sink deeper under the blankets.

  Her slippers pad slowly up the wooden staircase. Every few minutes the sky lights up, thunder growling overhead, and each time the candle beside me flickers, threatening to send me into darkness.

  I close my eyes. I really don’t like the thought of going out in the storm but I have no choice. There are only two people who can give me answers and I need them before the morning. Before Danny’s time is up.

  The floorboards creak overhead and I wait for them to subside so I can search the house for another torch, but Annie’s footsteps pace interminably up and down the landing, disappearing into rooms, coming back out again, and at some point I drift off to sleep.

  When another large crack of thunder erupts into the room I jolt upright. The candle is now nothing more than a short stub. Wrapping a blanket around myself, I creep into the hallway, listening, but there’s no sound from upstairs, and once I’ve pulled myself together, I begin rooting through side-table drawers and kitchen cupboards, looking for another torch. When we lived on the island we had at least half a dozen. Everyone needs them as soon as darkness approaches and I know Annie must have more.

  Back in the hallway I turn to a locked door, the key hanging from its lock, and as I open it I’m unable to recall if I’ve ever been inside the small box room that lies beyond. A solid wooden desk sits in its centre; around the walls bookshelves are stacked high, clutter spilling from every surface.

  Before I go in I glance up the stairs, the candle in my hand threatening to burn out any minute. Placing the light on the desk, I check the drawers and scan the room, eventually finding a box on the bottom shelf of a bookcase with two torches in it.

  Switching on the larger one, I’m relieved as it floods the room with bright light and am about to turn it off when I see a tray beside the box filled with photos.

  The top one catches my attention. In it, a much younger Annie is looking at the camera, holding a baby. I pick up a handful of pictures, flicking to the next, one of my mum holding the same child, and as I look closer I see it is Bonnie. Their names have been scrawled on the back, dated 30 March 1976. Bonnie was less than two months old.

  All the rest in my hand are of my family. More of my mum and Bonnie, a few of Danny and me as young children. I lay them to one side, about to pick up more, when a sound stops me.

  Grabbing the torch, I creep to the hallway, quietly closing the door behind me, as I wait for a moment, listening again before pulling my coat off the hook. It’s not until I’m at the front door that I notice the white envelope lying on the floor. My name is slashed across its front in black capitals. I rip into it, pulling out a piece of paper.

  I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE. I WON’T TELL YOU AGAIN.

  I open the front door, swinging the torch frantically from side to side, but there’s no sign of anyone. I could well have missed the note when I headed straight for the box room, it could have been posted at any time during the evening but, more importantly, it means that whoever sent it not only knows I’m back, but they know where to find me.

  Someone is trying to stop me finding out the truth, and it’s with a sense of unease that I step out into the howling storm, leaving Annie alone upstairs.

  Evergreen Island

  7 September 1993

  Maria’s mind was a tumbling mess. So determined had she been to confront Bob about Jill that she hadn’t stopped to think about the repercussions.

  Her conversation with Iona continued to spin round and round in her head, and if she hadn’t faced up to Bob she would have told him Iona was a threat.

  But Stella’s revelation had overpowered her thoughts and she’d acted on instinct. And now she was almost certain she hadn’t done the right thing and was left with the unsettling feeling that she would have to do something about Iona herself.

  Maria p
aused at her kitchen window, spotting David through the trees at the bottom of the garden. She drew in a breath and considered telling him what she knew, asking what they should do.

  Confiding in him would of course have been the right decision. But as he lingered at the bottom of the treehouse, leaning his head back as he spoke to whoever was up there, Maria found herself grabbing her keys and scurrying out around the back of the house before he spotted her. There was someone else’s advice she’d seek instead.

  David waited for all three of his children to retire to their rooms that night and only when their doors were safely closed behind them did he ask Maria to sit down on a comfy chair in the living room.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ he said. She did – and normally he’d be worrying about her, but right now it wasn’t concern he felt. ‘What have you been up to today?’ he asked, though he knew damn well what she’d been doing. He’d seen her fleeing out of the house and had followed her to the edge of the woods, where he watched her run to Annie.

  His wife glanced up at him, her eyes wide with fear. Once upon a time he would have sat beside her, wrapping his arms around her, but he carried on standing by the fireplace. His arms were linked tightly across his chest, his feet planted apart, and he knew she would notice all this. He wanted her to.

  When Maria didn’t answer David said, ‘I’ve been with Iona.’ He knew this would get her attention.

  Her mouth snapped open. ‘What were you—’

  ‘She’s barely more than a child, Maria,’ he interrupted. ‘You should never have gone running to Annie.’

  ‘I didn’t, I—’ Maria broke off. She must have realised he knew she was lying.

  ‘I am your husband. You should have come to me first. We should have spoken about it.’

  ‘I tried, David,’ she said. ‘You know I did. Only you never listened.’

  ‘You didn’t try.’

  ‘I did. Many times over the summer I told you something wasn’t right, that we knew nothing about Iona, and you brushed me away like you always do. Making me think my concerns are nothing to worry about, only this time they were.’

  David sighed, looking away. This time she had been right to worry. He crouched in front of her. ‘But what do you think is going to happen now, Maria? You’ve run to Annie and she’s already spoken to me. She’ll tell Bob, too.’

  ‘He doesn’t know.’ Maria shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes, and he wanted to touch her but he couldn’t. Fear bled through him. Everything was about to come crashing down.

  ‘If I could go back and redo it,’ he cried, pushing himself back to his feet and holding his head in his hands.

  ‘No.’ Maria shot out of her chair. ‘Don’t say that. Don’t you ever talk like that, David.’

  ‘We should never—’ He broke off. He had never truly admitted how, for their entire lives on the island, he’d felt like he was running on a thin rope. That any moment they could all slip and everything they’d built would collapse around them.

  He had never told his wife that every day he prayed to God for forgiveness and begged him not to take it all away from them because they didn’t deserve that. Surely.

  In many ways David admired his wife’s strength, because despite her worries he doubted she was crumbling inside like he was.

  ‘There’s only one thing we can do,’ he said. ‘Make sure Iona gets off this island. She needs to leave before Bob gets to her. She’s down by the quay. At least she was when I left her.’

  What David omitted to tell Maria was the depth of the conversation he’d had with Iona. Perhaps he should have been honest and revealed his admission, but he didn’t want her turning everything on him right now.

  He scraped a hand through his hair, drawing her eyes to the top of his head.

  ‘Where’s your cap?’ Maria asked.

  ‘What?’ he said distractedly. ‘I left it behind. Graham picked it up. Maria, have you been listening to a word I’ve just said?’

  Maria nodded. ‘You want me to talk to her?’

  ‘Yes,’ he cried. ‘Now. Sort this out, Maria.’

  PRESENT

  Chapter Thirty

  I leave Annie’s house as the sky illuminates with another flash of lightning. Rain drives in slants, slapping my face as I avoid the woods, racing along the sodden path, my heart thumping, my mind spinning with thoughts of what I’m doing.

  Annie had said I was like Mum, her actions often confused with bravery. I don’t recall seeing that side of her, but I see it in myself now.

  Am I being brave or completely stupid? The reality is I’ve lately been so driven by a need for the truth that I’ve become blind to its fall-out.

  My feet slap against the ground, mud splattering up my legs, clothes sticking like glue to my skin.

  There’s no point contemplating alternatives because there no longer are any. I won’t stop until I find out if my brother killed Iona or whether someone else is happy to let him think he did.

  I won’t stop regardless of what else I find.

  A dim light flickers behind Bob and Ruth’s thin curtain. I knock on the door and wait only moments before Ruth opens it. Like Annie she is dressed for bed, with a long purple velvet dressing gown tied around the waist. Her face pales when I remove my hood, but she stands aside without speaking.

  When I step in she closes the door, swooping past me to the kitchen where she stops short at the table, sweeping a hand across it, gathering photos which she piles in one hand.

  ‘Jill?’ I ask.

  Ruth nods.

  ‘Is Bob here?’ I look around.

  ‘He’s out back. A tree came down. It shattered a window.’

  ‘Ruth, I need to speak to you both.’

  She nods again, her eyes dropping to the photos clutched tightly in her hand. ‘She didn’t like it on the clifftop, did she? Jill. She never liked it there. I knew that, but he insisted it was where we put the bench. “Everyone will see it here,” he said. But she never liked it.’

  ‘Jill liked the whole island,’ I say. Water slides off the end of my coat, making tiny puddles at my feet. I take it off and lay it in a heap on the doormat. She sinks on to a chair and I pull out one opposite.

  ‘But it wasn’t her favourite place,’ Ruth insists. ‘Where was that?’ Her glassy eyes look right through me.

  ‘The lakes,’ I say. ‘Jill liked the lakes.’

  Ruth fights back tears, holding a hand over her mouth. ‘We drifted apart. When she was little we did everything together, but at some point—’ She breaks off. ‘I never stood up to him. Jill knew that. I saw in her eyes she’d lost faith in me and still I did nothing.’

  ‘Jill knew you loved her,’ I say. Ruth’s pain is obvious and, regardless of what she’s done, my heart still tears for her.

  ‘My mother always told me to make my husband my priority and for years Bob was all I had. I never expected Jill would one day come along. When she did I still carried on putting him first. Even when I knew he was wrong.

  ‘You know, despite everything, I admired your mother for that,’ Ruth goes on. ‘Your mother always did what was right by her children.’

  My breath catches and I want to ask what she means, but Ruth doesn’t give me a chance. ‘I shouldn’t have always put him first,’ she murmurs, dropping the hand that clutches the photos to her lap as the other reaches up to clasp her dressing gown closer together.

  ‘Ruth …’ My heart is reverberating in my ears. ‘I know the truth about Jill. I know you’re not her birth mother.’

  Her hand slips from her gown, her fingers trailing down until they hang midway to her lap. She looks as if she has stopped breathing. Only a slight rise in her chest gives her away.

  I wait for her to question this but she looks like she’s been expecting it for a long time. ‘I had every right to be a mother,’ she says, her words barely audible. ‘It was all I ever wanted. I looked at people like her and I thought, how could she have been given two babies and I can’t even h
ave one? It wasn’t fair.’ Her eyes dart up to find mine, challenging me to contradict her. ‘Annie told you,’ she adds, quietly. ‘I didn’t think she ever would.’

  ‘No.’ I cock my head. ‘I didn’t realise Annie knew.’

  ‘Then …?’

  ‘I met Iona’s mother. Iona came to the island looking for Jill, didn’t she?’

  Ruth gives a short laugh and shakes her head. Ignoring my question, she says, ‘She was never a mother. She didn’t want either of her children. She wasn’t interested in whether they had enough food or that the stench of their nappies filled the room because they hadn’t been changed all day. Her daughter was seven and was still wearing one,’ she continues, her eyes widening, glaring. As the realisation dawns on both of us that she must be talking about Iona, Ruth looks away.

  ‘She was too high or drunk to care. Being a mother is a gift and she didn’t deserve it.’ Ruth sticks her chin out defiantly.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask, grateful that she clearly wants to talk and eager she does so before Bob walks in the house.

  ‘Bob blamed himself for the fact I never got pregnant, though we never actually knew if it was him or me. Then one day he came home and gave me a solution. A baby girl who needed a good home and good parents. And a chance to live on a perfect island. What was I supposed to do?’ she asks, splaying her palms upright, like she thinks anyone would have done the same.

  ‘Adopt?’

  ‘And what’s the difference?’ She shakes her head. ‘We’d tried that anyway. I’d already done everything by the book but someone was still looking down on me, deciding I shouldn’t be a mum.’

  Or perhaps that Bob shouldn’t be a father, I think.

  She carries on, proving me right. ‘Bob came home drunk for one of the adoption visits, saying he couldn’t get away from work, though it was obvious he’d forgotten. I saw my last chance fly out the door with the social workers as they left. But it wasn’t my fault. The system failed me, and it would have failed Jill too, and I knew I could give her a wonderful life. And she had one. She didn’t spend precious years worrying about where her next meal was coming from or sleeping on a damp mattress.’