by C. L. Taylor
‘So.’ Jim runs his thumbnail down the side of his nose and scratches it vigorously. ‘Nice as it is to see you, Steve, this can’t happen again. Us going for a beer I mean.’ His eyes flit from Steve’s to the barman, wiping down the optics.
Calm on the outside, nervy on the inside, Steve thinks as he takes a sip of his beer. I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to go back inside again.
He sets his beer back down, rests his elbows on the table and leans towards his ex-cell mate. ‘It’s been a while,’ he says, ‘since we spoke and I just want to check everything’s in place. That it’s actually going to happen.’
It’s the silence he can’t stand. The trial was less than six weeks ago and, after the initial furore from the press and the calls and visits from friends and relatives, it’s as though it never happened. Like Freddy never died. Everyone’s just getting on with their lives like nothing’s amiss. But something is very much amiss and Steve seems to be the only one who’s noticed it.
‘Like I told you,’ Jim says, lowering his voice, ‘I’ve got someone in place up north.’
‘And …’ Steve feels a knot form in his stomach. He just wants it over with, quickly, so justice is done, so he can tell his boy he did him right. So he can sleep.
‘They’re biding their time, building up trust. No point storming in and fucking it up. If they can make it look like an accident, or suicide, they will. Easier all round that way.’
Steve’s chest is so tight he can barely get the words out. ‘And if they can’t?’
Jim shrugs and sits back in his chair. ‘What do you care? You want her dead. She’ll be dead.’
Chapter 14
Anna
Sunday 3rd June
Day 2 of the storm
Last night I didn’t fall asleep until after two. As soon as I shut my eyes Freddy, Peter and Mo’s faces emerged from the darkness behind my eyelids, slack-jawed and hollow-eyed. How can you sleep, Anna, after what you did? When I opened my eyes their faces remained, swimming through the gloom of my room. You did this, Anna, you destroyed our lives. I turned over and pulled the duvet over my head but that made me feel like I was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe. Neither can we, Anna, said the voices in my head. Neither can we.
I’d only been asleep for what felt like five minutes when there was a knock at my door. It was five thirty, David announced. Time to get up. I dragged myself out of bed and stood under the shower, eyes closed as the warm water smoothed my hair to my scalp and ran over my body. Afterwards, wrapped in a towel, I stood at my bedroom window and stared out at the roll of the hills and the huge expanse of sky that seemed to stretch into infinity. Even with rain hammering at the glass and the sky as black as slate it was breathtaking. I’d felt so small and trapped in London, like a mouse in a maze, speeding through tight, crowded streets, zipping underground on the tube, popping back up into the maze. Every day I took the same route to work, back and forth, back and forth, never finding the escape route because I never thought to look for it. Until the crash.
‘Excuse me.’ Now, a deep rumbling voice from the doorway makes me jolt in my chair.
‘You must be Gordon.’ I stand up as a giant of a man, with a woolly beard, a waterproof coat that hangs halfway down his thick thighs and a bright blue beanie pulled low over his face, drips his way across the lobby to the reception desk.
‘And you must be Anna.’ He winks as he shakes my hand. ‘Makes a nice change from David’s ugly face giein’ me the boak of a morning.’
‘I thought I heard your dulcet tones, Gordon.’ David pokes his head round the dining room door. Compared to Gordon’s thick Scottish accent he sounds almost plummy. ‘The guests are just finishing up breakfast and they’ll be right with you.’ He closes the door then opens it again. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with my face.’
Gordon laughs then crosses his arms over his thick chest and gives me a nod. ‘You’re not coming with us? The rain’s eased up a bit.’
I shake my head. ‘I’d love to but I need to clean the rooms, change the linen and prep for lunch.’
‘Change the linen and prep for lunch!’ He does a terrible impression of an English accent then laughs again. ‘I can see why David employed you. You add a bit of class to the aul’ place.’
‘Really? And there was me thinking he employed me because no one else wanted the job!’
‘Well, he cannae speak highly enough of you.’
I feel a swell of pride at the compliment and touch the back of my hand to my cheek. ‘No school caretaking for you this week?’
‘Naw. It’s half term. Though if this weather gets worse again,’ he glances back at the narrow window by the front door, ‘I might have to go to the school to check on the roof.’
As I open my mouth to ask him another question the door to the dining room opens and Katie appears. She stops in her tracks at the sight of Gordon, then is jolted into the lobby as Melanie gives her a gentle shove.
‘You can’t just stop walking halfway through a door, Katie. You nearly tripped me up!’
She nods at Gordon and says a cheery hello as she nudges Katie to go up the stairs. Malcolm, following directly behind her, strides over to us.
‘I take it you’re the guide,’ he says, holding out a hand.
‘You tek it right.’ Gordon wraps Malcolm’s hand in his huge paw. ‘Gordon Brodie.’
‘Malcolm Ward. I don’t suppose I could ask you a few questions about the route we’ll be taking today, could I? It’s just we have a fourteen-year-old with us and …’
As he drifts away from reception with Gordon smiling bemusedly down at him, Fiona, Christine and Joe file out of the dining room. They all nod and smile at me then traipse up the stairs. Five minutes later they all troop down again, day packs in their hands and thick jumpers pulled over their clothes. David pops his head round the door as they all put on their hiking boots and waterproof jackets.
He does a head count, then looks over at me and frowns. ‘We’re missing one.’
‘Trevor Morgan. He headed out about half an hour ago.’
Gordon, still flanked by Malcolm, raises his eyebrows. ‘Alone?’
I nod.
‘Well, I hope he knows what he’s doing. It’s pretty treacherous out there if you don’t know the lay of the land, especially in this weather.’
Malcolm snorts through his nose. ‘We’re not afraid of a bit of mud and rain, are we, girls?’
Melanie smiles and shakes her head. Katie, the sleeves of her jumper poking through the cuffs of her parka and covering her hands, doesn’t look quite so sure.
‘Come on then.’ Gordon opens the front door and a blast of cold air whooshes into the lobby, making me shiver.
As the guests file out, closing the door behind them, David rests a hand on the door frame and grins at me.
‘How are you doing? Desperate to get the next ferry out of here yet?’
‘God, no!’
He laughs. ‘You might change your mind once you’ve seen the state of their rooms!’ He inclines his head back towards the dining room. ‘Let’s grab a quick coffee and I’ll show you what’s where.’
David told me that it wouldn’t take me more than twenty minutes tops to strip and change the linen and clean a room but I spent nearly twice that doing the first one – Joe Armstrong’s – because my perfectionist streak kicked in and I wanted everything to look just right. But it did feel weird, fitting the spare master key into his bedroom door and letting myself into his private space. I felt like a burglar, standing alone in front of his crumpled, unmade bed, his rucksack resting against a wall, his dirty clothes flung over a chair and his possessions scattered on the bedside table, desk and bathroom shelf. The feeling wore off though and, after I’d stripped and remade the bed, I didn’t have any compunction about lifting the books, earplugs and bottle of water on his bedside table and wiping underneath. In the en suite I snatched up his washbag, not looking to check whether it was closed or not, and swore under my
breath as something fell out and clattered to the floor. It was a small white box with ‘Accu-Check Mobile’ written across the top. Test cassettes only for Accu-Check Mobile blood glucose meter it said on the bottom of the packaging. I tucked it back into the washbag, desperately hoping I hadn’t broken anything and that Joe had spares in his rucksack. There were first aiders on the other side of the island but if any of the guests had serious medical issues we’d have to radio to the mainland for help. I’d tell Joe about my clumsiness, I decided as I finished his room, just as soon as he got back from his hike.
I cleaned Christine Cuttle’s room next (very neat, nothing on any of the surfaces apart from a large bottle of Bowmore whisky) then, as I opened the door to Melanie and Malcolm’s room, a wave of exhaustion crashed over me and I had to sit down. I hadn’t had more than two or three hours’ sleep and, after frenetically cleaning two rooms, my energy levels were running on empty. All I wanted to do was drag myself up to my room, lie down on the bed and go to sleep but there was no way I could do that. Not when I was still trying to make a good impression on David. Sighing, I launched myself up and out of the chair, splashed water on my face in the en suite then popped a Pro Plus into my mouth.
That was twenty minutes ago and I’ve still got two rooms left to service. I swerve past Trevor Morgan’s – David told me he’d requested that I skip his room today – and unlock the door to Katie’s bedroom. By the time I walk out of Fiona’s room my back aches, my head hurts and I’m dripping with sweat. I check my watch – 12.30 p.m. David’s been prepping lunch while I’ve been cleaning but there’s no time for me to grab a quick shower; the guests will be back soon. Instead I stuff the mop, bucket and cleaning products back in the storage room at the end of the corridor and run up to my room for a quick sink wash and to change my shirt. As I hurry back down the stairs to reception, the front door opens and a very wet and windswept Christine walks in, closely followed by Melanie, her cheeks flushed pink. I shiver as cold air blasts through the small space.
‘Good walk?’ I ask as they peel off their coats and hiking boots and deposit them on the hooks and racks.
‘Exhausting,’ Christine blows, untying her shoelaces.
‘Slippy,’ Malcolm adds as he squeezes past her, the calves of his trousers spattered with mud.
His bald head shines with sweat under the ceiling spotlight as he whips off his hat. Katie trails into the lobby behind him, the picture of teenage misery. ‘I know!’ she snaps when Melanie tells her she needs to change her shoes.
Joe and Fiona are the last two to walk through the door, the former shouting a cheery ‘See you tomorrow, mate!’ to Gordon, who raises a hand from the doorstep then pulls the door closed.
While Joe looks exhilarated, Fiona seems irritable and worried. As the others peel off their wet clothing and stomp up the stairs to grab a shower and get changed she stands with her back to the door, still in her coat and boots, frowning down at her mobile phone.
‘Who’s ready for lunch?’ David says, suddenly appearing in the doorway to the dining room like the shopkeeper in Mr Benn. A warm, yeasty smell wafts out of the room behind him, filling the lobby. ‘We’ve got soup, freshly baked bread, jacket potatoes, cheese, ham, quiche, salad.’
There are nods of approval and murmurs of appreciation from the guests ascending the stairs. As Joe passes the reception desk, I raise a hand to get his attention. As I do so, Fiona calls out David’s name and crosses the lobby, waving her phone at him.
‘Yep.’ Joe flashes me a wide smile and passes a hand over his beard, still wet from the rain.
‘I cleaned your room earlier,’ I start, ‘and I’m afraid there was a bit of an—’
‘I was told by the booking agent that there’s mobile reception on Rum,’ Fiona says to David. He has his back to me but I can tell from the hunch of his shoulders that he doesn’t like her tone of voice.
‘I dropped something,’ I say, looking back at Joe, who’s patiently waiting for me to continue, ‘as I was cleaning your bathroom.’
‘I’m waiting to hear from someone—’ Fiona senses me watching. It’s a split-second glance but it’s enough to make her lower her voice so I can no longer hear.
‘Sorry.’ I look back at Joe.
He shakes his head. ‘She didn’t stop whining about the fact she couldn’t get a signal for most of the hike. Why she bothered to bring her phone with her I have no idea. She spent more time looking at it than she did at the view.’
‘There was some signal this morning.’ I reach into my back pocket for my own phone then tuck it away again when I see the ‘Emergency Calls Only’ message. ‘But not now it seems.’
‘Probably the weather,’ Joe says. ‘It didn’t stop raining the whole time we were out there. I feel like I’m half fish now.’
I laugh. ‘Sorry, I’m keeping you from getting changed, I’ll get to the point. I dropped something of yours on the bathroom floor by mistake, a blood-sugar testing kit or something. It fell out of your washbag. I was worried it might be broken.’
‘Was it the device or the cassettes?’
‘The …’ I rack my brain to remember what I read on the box but tiredness has clouded my brain. ‘The cassettes, I think.’
‘They’ll be fine.’ His frown fades and he smiles. ‘No need to worry.’
‘Oh, good.’
He moves to climb the stairs then pauses and looks back at me. His eyes linger on mine and there’s something in the intensity of his gaze that makes my stomach twist in a way it hasn’t since I first laid eyes on Alex at a crowded house party. The room stills. Fiona and David’s voices fade away and the wind stops howling. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to.
‘I guess I’ll see you in a bit,’ Joe says, breaking the spell.
For a second I don’t know where I am or what we’re talking about.
‘For lunch.’ He gestures at the window. ‘Although if this weather gets any worse we might be seeing more of each other than we thought.’ He laughs and puts on a voice like a film voice-over artist. ‘And when the storm struck there was no escape …’
I had hoped that the exhaustion all the guests felt after their walk earlier would continue on to the evening and they’d all retreat to their rooms again. But no, after dinner, everyone apart from Trevor and Katie decided to retire to the lounge to have a few drinks. As it was David’s evening off that meant I had to stay on reception, fulfilling drinks orders, answering queries and dealing with issues until well after eleven. At a little after midnight, after tidying the lounge, locking up and checking everything was in order, I dragged myself up the two flights of stairs to bed. Somehow I pulled off my clothes, changed into my pyjamas, washed my face and cleaned my teeth. Then, with the tiny bit of energy I had left, I dropped onto my bed, pulled the duvet up around my shoulders and closed my eyes.
That was nearly two hours ago.
I don’t understand how my brain can go from ‘I’m about to black out with tiredness’ to ‘I did lock the front door, didn’t I?’ and ‘I must remember to tell David about Fiona’s lamp that isn’t working’ to ‘Have I been misreading the situation or is Joe interested in me?’ And then it’s one long dark swirl into ‘How can you even think about flirting with Joe when Freddy and Peter are dead?’
Guilt is such a furtive emotion. It lurks in the shadows of the mind, waiting for the chance to steal the limelight from happiness, contentment and peace, growing ever more powerful until it pushes them completely offstage. During the day I’m too busy to think about anything other than what needs to be done. My feelings about the crash curl up and sleep while the sun is up but, as soon the world around me slows and quietens, they yawn and stretch then bound around my brain, clamouring to be heard.
Sighing, I get out of bed. There’s no point even pretending to sleep. I may as well go downstairs and do some of the jobs I had planned for tomorrow.
As I pull on my dressing gown there is a flash of lightning, visible through the gaps in the curtains
. Thunder has been rumbling for hours and the rain that’s been falling steadily all day is now hurling itself out of the sky. I cross the room and open my door, stepping lightly. I don’t want to wake David. He looked shattered at dinner time and it wouldn’t do for us both to be exhausted tomorrow. I pad quietly down the stairs, pausing in the stairwell by the guest corridor to listen. There’s the faint rumble of snoring but no other noise. I continue down the stairs to reception, running my hand lightly over the polished wooden banister as I move further away from the orange glow of the emergency lighting and the hotel grows darker. I keep my gaze fixed forwards, blinking into the gloom. Once I’m at the bottom of the stairs there’s a light switch near the door that leads into the lounge and—
I freeze as a beam of light swings across the lobby, from left to right and back again, then disappears.
‘Hello?’ My voice is little more than a whisper.
There’s no reply but I hear the low creak of drawers being opened and closed. Someone is sitting in my seat behind reception, rummaging through the drawers of the desk, using a mobile phone torch as a light.
‘Hello?’
I cover my eyes with my arm as the light swings in my direction.
‘Oh God, Anna. You scared me!’
‘Could you …’ I wave my free hand around. ‘I can’t see a thing.’
‘Sorry, yes, of course.’
There’s a click of a light switch being pressed and I lower my arm to see Fiona standing at the bottom of the stairs, her blonde hair spread over her shoulders, her face make-up free.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Sorry.’ She shoots me an apologetic look. ‘I woke up with the most terrible period pain and I didn’t pack any painkillers. I didn’t want to wake anyone so I came down here. I thought there might be a first aid kit or something in reception.’
