by C. L. Taylor
‘Where’s Gran?’ he asks.
His grandmother was the first of his family to see him after the accident, the first face to peer into his that didn’t belong to a nurse, doctor or police officer. Her face gave him more comfort than the powerful drugs that had been pumped into his veins and plunged into his muscles. His grandmother was the rock he could cling to. She was the exact opposite to his mother – solid rather than neurotic, stable rather than emotional, and reliable rather than flighty. He’d never seen his gran cry, not once. Not when Granddad had died, not when she’d battled illness and certainly not that day, when her eyes searched his and she asked him how he felt. He knew he could tell his grandmother the truth and she wouldn’t judge him and she wouldn’t flinch.
‘I’m angry,’ he told her. ‘I’m so angry I could scream.’
‘That’s normal,’ she said. ‘That’s okay.’
‘Is it?’ he bit back. ‘Do you know what I told the doctor when he said that Freddy was dead? I said I was envious. That I wished I was dead too.’
‘Do you still feel that way?’ His grandmother’s cool, steady eyes searched his.
‘No.’
Her face softened just the tiniest bit and her hands, gathered tightly in her lap, unknotted.
‘Your gran couldn’t be here today,’ his mother says now. ‘But she sends her love. So does Tim. He said to take all the time you need. He did tell me that Anna’s not going back …’ His mother presses a hand to her mouth, smothering the second half of her sentence. She’s said something she shouldn’t.
‘Please,’ Mo says. ‘I told you not to talk about her.’
Why did everyone want him to talk about Anna all the time? It’s like she’s haunting him. No, taunting him. She was the only one to walk away from the accident unscathed. Literally, walk away.
Logically he knows that the crash wasn’t her fault, that there was no way she could have known a lorry would career across the motorway and smash into the car she was driving, but he doesn’t want to see the sorrow in her eyes as she walks up to his bedside and tells him how very sorry she is. And he doesn’t want her sympathy. He doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He wants to close his eyes and wake up at home, in his bed, back in his normal life. But sleep is more torturous than consciousness. Sleep is hope. Cruel, cruel hope. He’s lost count of the number of dreams he’s had where a doctor tells him they’ve made a mistake, there’s nothing wrong with his spine and he’s free to go home. So now he fights sleep, not because he can’t cope with the dreams but because it hurts too much to wake up.
Chapter 17
Anna
Tuesday 5th June
Day 4 of the storm
‘Any sign of the key?’ I ask David as we carry armfuls of plates, bowls and cutlery from the kitchen into the dining room. It’s breakfast time, the guests’ fourth day on Rum, and lightning is slashing through the dark sky beyond the windowpanes. When I opened the front door earlier the wind nearly sucked me straight out of the hotel. Anyone who was hoping to go hiking today is going to be sorely disappointed.
‘Nope.’ David shakes his head. ‘You did go through all your pockets, didn’t you?’
‘I told you, I put it back on the board.’
Yesterday lunchtime, after Trevor had stomped back up the stairs to his room, David asked me where the spare master key was. He jangled his keyring at me, the one he wears on a chain that clips to his trouser loops. It holds all the master keys for the hotel. The spares, including the one I’d used to open all the guest bedrooms, are kept behind reception.
‘It’s on the…’ I pointed at the board. There was no key on the top left hook.
‘But I’m sure I…’ I darted behind the desk and checked the carpet, the desk and the drawers. ‘I definitely put it back, David. I hung it up before I took the rubbish out.’
‘You didn’t accidentally drop it into the bins?’
‘No, I’m sure I didn’t.’
But I wasn’t completely sure. If I’d forgotten whether I’d changed Fiona’s bed maybe I’d forgotten where I’d put the master key too. Lack of sleep hadn’t just robbed my body of energy, now it was playing tricks with my brain. As David watched I checked the pockets of my work trousers and my coat. He waited patiently at reception while I checked both the cleaning cupboard and the linen cupboard and didn’t once criticise or pass comment when I pulled on my outdoor gear and headed out to the bins. When I returned, empty-handed and smelling faintly of rotten food, he shrugged.
‘I’m sure it’ll turn up.’
‘But what if one of the guests took it and let themselves into Trevor’s room?’ I said, keeping my voice low as Joe popped out of the lounge, nodding at us as he crossed the lobby and opened the toilet door.
For the first time that day David looked genuinely stressed. ‘Then they can let themselves into every room in this hotel.’
He’s still worried now, I can tell by the hunch of his shoulders and the tight, pained expression that crosses his face whenever he thinks I’m not watching. I swiftly change the subject.
‘Did you know,’ I place the plates and bowls I’ve been carrying on the sideboard, ‘that the storm would be this bad?’
He gives me a sideways glance as he does the same. ‘Of course I knew. You can’t live on Rum and not check the weather regularly. But business is business. If I cancelled a booking every time there was a storm I’d have to sell up and get out within a year. It’ll pass by the time they’re due to get their ferry back and if they’re lucky they might get a day or two of hiking, if they don’t mind a bit of mud.’
‘You know the Wi-Fi’s down, don’t you?’
He sighs. ‘Aye. The guest with the wife … the bald bloke … what’s his name?’
‘Malcolm Ward?’
‘That’s the one. He came down to reception just before breakfast to tell me. His wife was watching a programme on iPlayer when it suddenly stopped streaming.’ He shrugs. ‘You just wait for the carnage when they all realise they’ve got no way of contacting their families.’
‘But we’ve still got the landline, right?’
‘For now.’
‘Doesn’t it worry you? The thought of being cut off from the world like that?’
‘Isn’t that why people come to Rum? For the most part? To get away from all that crap. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
‘Pretty much, yeah,’ I lie.
‘There you go then. Anyway, Gordon down in the cottage has a satellite phone if we get really stuck. Not that I’ve heard from him today.’ He reaches into the sideboard and takes out the plastic containers full of cornflakes, Rice Krispies and muesli, raising his eyebrows as he places them on the top. ‘Did you fill these up already?’
‘Yes, last night.’ I don’t mention that it was at one o’clock in the morning because I couldn’t sleep.
‘Well done.’ He gives me an approving nod then gestures towards the kitchen with his thumb. ‘Don’t rest on your laurels, girl, there’s bread that needs to come out of the oven.’
The first guest appears in the doorway of the dining room at 7 a.m. on the dot. I’m not surprised that it’s Trevor. He doesn’t say a word to me or David; instead he weaves his way through the tables and takes a seat nearest the window.
‘You take his order,’ David says, smoothing his apron over his belly. ‘I’ll get to the kitchen.’ He laughs. ‘Where I belong.’
Ignoring the strange, strained silence his disappearance leaves behind, I reach into my pinny for my notebook and pen and approach Trevor.
‘Good morning.’
He doesn’t look up.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Sausages, bacon and a fried egg. No beans, no tomatoes, no black pudding, no toast.’
‘Okay.’ I write it down. ‘And what can I get you to drink?’
‘Coffee.’
Would it hurt you to say please? I nearly say it but catch myself just in time.
‘Great. I’ll bring it over in
a second.’
As I turn, all the other guests, apart from Katie, appear in the doorway to the dining room. Joe heads for the table he sat at yesterday while Christine, Malcolm, Melanie and Fiona chat animatedly. I wait for a gap in the conversation, then ask if they’d like individual tables or to sit together. Melanie glances back into the lobby.
‘Or would you like to wait for Katie?’ I add.
She shakes her head. ‘She said she wanted a lie-in today. She might not be down until ten.’
I smile but inwardly I cringe. David won’t be pleased when I tell him. He’ll have to keep the kitchen open for another few hours, just for one person. He’s been making noises all morning about checking the generator in the basement, just in case we lose power.
‘No worries. So, table for four then or …’
Christine looks at the other three, who nod in approval. ‘Table for four.’
‘I don’t think this storm is going to lift,’ Fiona says as they follow me across the room. ‘Before Google went down the Met Office report said it’s only going to get worse.’
‘Seriously?’ Malcolm says. ‘I’m not sure how many more rounds of Gin Rummy I can play without going stark raving mental.’
‘It is a disappointment,’ Christine says as she sits down and tucks in her chair. ‘I was really hoping to go to the castle today. Anna, I don’t suppose you or David could take a few of us to the castle in the Land Rover?’
‘I’ll ask him for you.’
When I walk back into the kitchen David is wiping the edges of a plate with a dishcloth; two sausages, three rashers of bacon and an egg sit awkwardly in the middle.
‘There you go.’ He hands it to me then wipes the back of his hand across his damp brow.
‘Are you okay?’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s boiling in here. I think the heating might be screwed. Have any of the guests complained?’
A single bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. It’s warm in the kitchen, it always is, but it’s no warmer than normal. And the dining room’s actually a little cold.
‘David, I think maybe you should get yourself a glass of water and have a sit-down for a bit. I can take over here.’
‘No, no.’ He waves me away. ‘You need to look after the guests. I’m fine. Probably got a cold coming or something. Hope it’s not the bloody flu.’
David appears in the doorway to the kitchen as I head towards him with Trevor’s empty plate. Our first breakfast guest left the dining room about ten minutes ago. When the other guests called ‘good morning’ as he crossed the dining room, he nodded and raised a hand but said nothing.
‘David,’ I say. ‘Would you like me to—’
‘Hang on.’ He holds up a hand, lips moving as he does a quick head count. ‘We’re missing one.’
‘Katie Ward. Her mum said she’s having a lie-in. She should be down for ten o’clock.’
David glances at his watch and groans. It’s only seven thirty-five.
‘I’m happy to make her breakfast when she comes down,’ I say. ‘I can do a fry-up no problem.’
‘Okay, but I’ll have to show you how to use the dishwasher.’ He pushes at the swing door, then pauses and grips the door frame instead. His brow and upper lip are glistening with sweat.
‘David? Are you all right?’
He presses a hand to his chest and stares at me with wide, frightened eyes. ‘I can’t …’
‘Sit down.’ I grab a chair from the nearest table and drag it along the carpet but, before I can reach him, he crumples to the floor.
‘David? DAVID!’ I drop to my knees, vaguely aware of the guests rushing across the room towards us, and reach for David’s wrist. His eyes are closed and his chest is still. ‘Call an ambulance!’
I hear a shout, footsteps pounding the wooden floor in the lobby, and then I’m surrounded by people pressing against me, all talking at once.
‘What happened?’
‘Did he faint?’
‘Is it a heart attack?’
‘Is he breathing?’
‘Please!’ I find my voice. ‘Please be quiet.’ I slide my fingers back and forth over David’s wrist. I can’t find a pulse but I don’t know if that’s because my own heartbeat is pounding in my ears, I’m doing it incorrectly … or there isn’t one.
Behind me the guests are arguing about who’s the most experienced at giving CPR.
‘The landline’s not working,’ Joe says, appearing by David’s head, out of breath with panic etched across his face. ‘I tried pressing nine but there’s no dialling tone. And my mobile hasn’t got a signal. We need to find Gordon.’
‘I can’t leave David.’
‘Anna, it’s okay,’ Malcolm says. ‘We’ve got this.’
He hauls me off the ground and onto my feet as Christine leans over David’s lifeless body and pulls on one of his shoulders so he slumps onto his back. ‘Some space!’ she shouts as she interlocks her fingers. ‘Please, everyone, give me some space!’
I stare at the scene before me as though in a dream. It doesn’t feel real.
‘Anna?’ Joe shakes me by the shoulder and peers into my face. ‘Anna, we need to find Gordon. We need to get David an ambulance. NOW.’
As he drags me across the dining room all I can hear is the rhythmic sound of Christine pumping David’s chest.
Chapter 18
Trevor
The ground squelches under the thick soles of Trevor Morgan’s hiking boots, spraying his trousers with mud with every step. He shivers beneath his thick Gore-Tex jacket and looks back at the Bay View Hotel. He’d only just set off on his morning walk and was crossing the driveway when he saw the commotion in the dining room out of the corner of his eye. He paused by the window, watching as the guests jostled around the kitchen door. It wasn’t until they moved away that he noticed the hotel owner lying on the floor with the older lady kneeling beside him, her hands clenched over his chest, her white head bobbing up and down.
He continued to watch as the dining room door was pulled closed from the lobby and Christine – he vaguely remembered her telling him her name – stopped pounding the hotel owner’s body and instead took his hand in one of hers. Trevor couldn’t see her face but he saw her lean over him and tenderly stroke the hair from his brow. Trevor turned sharply away, hands shaking as he pressed them over his eyes. When he looked back the woman had shifted her weight and was stroking her hand from the hotel owner’s forehead to the bridge of his nose. She was closing his eyes.
The man was dead then.
Trevor had looked death in the face dozens of times. Mostly men, but he’d watched women die too. He’d cried the first time it had happened, drank himself into a stupor to numb the pain, barely slept for days. The second time was easier, but only marginally. The last time he’d seen a man die he’d barely blinked.
But he did when Christine whipped round, sensing him watching. Her eyes fixed on his and he hurried away.
He’d just turned left at the edge of the hotel and was heading towards the cliff top when he heard footsteps crunching on gravel and two figures, one male and one female, hightailed it down the drive. He continued to watch them until they were too small to see clearly, then raised his binoculars. They seemed to be heading towards the small cottage at the foot of the hill. He’d already checked it out the day before. Unoccupied. The owner hadn’t returned. If the running couple thought there was any chance of an ambulance, or a hearse, crossing the flooded road they were very much mistaken. The Bay View Hotel was completely isolated from the rest of the world, something that made him very happy indeed.
Chapter 19
Anna
‘Gordon?’ I pound the door of the cottage with both fists as Joe runs to the nearest window, cups his hands around his face and peers inside. The rain has dissolved the feeling of shock and disbelief at seeing David collapse in the dining room. Now all I feel is cold-blooded terror.
‘Hello? Is there anybody in there?’
&n
bsp; Joe disappears around the side of the cottage, then reappears next to me seconds later. His dark hair lies flat on his forehead and rain drips off his nose and clings to the wiry strands of his beard. We couldn’t have run for more than ten minutes but the rain has soaked through my jacket, jumper and T-shirt and is plucking at my skin with icy fingers.
Joe says something but the wind whisks his voice away and I shake my head.
‘There’s no one in there,’ he shouts, thumping the door with a fist. ‘All the lights are off. And there’s no car.’ He extends an arm towards the small rectangle of gravel, striped with dark tyre marks, to the side of the cottage. ‘He can’t have come back from the school yesterday.’
‘Try your phone again,’ I shout back.
He shakes his head. ‘No signal.’
‘Shit.’ I thump both fists on the door then rest my head on the wet wood. I don’t know what to do. I tried to get the landline behind reception to work but the phone lines must have gone down in the storm. Everyone tried their mobiles – Malcolm even ran upstairs to wake Katie to try hers – but no one had any reception. With no internet our only option is to get hold of Gordon’s satellite phone but he’s not here. God knows when he’ll be back.
‘We’ll have to put David in the Land Rover and try to drive across to the village.’
Joe touches me on the shoulder. ‘What?’ he shouts in my ear.
‘Drive.’ I mime holding a steering wheel.
He shakes his head. ‘The river’s flooded. I can see it from here.’ He points away from the cottage, in the direction of the valley between the mountains. Even from this distance I can see there’s a fast-flowing river where a shallow stream used to be.
‘We have to try. Come on.’ I gesture for him to run back to the hotel with me but I don’t make it more than a couple of hundred metres before a stitch gnaws at my side and I have to stop. Joe waits by my side as I double over, sucking in cold air, then touches a hand to my back.
‘We’ll get pneumonia if we stay out here much longer.’
