by Lara Dearman
‘Luke had nothing to do with it.’
Advocate Bradford had aged five years in five minutes. ‘Ms Groves, I have to advise—’
She held up her hand to stop him. ‘The night that Catherine’s remains were found, that constable had been in the pub, telling everyone about it. There were always rumours about my disappearance. I suppose people presumed it was me in that cave. One of Luke’s friends phoned him to break the news. Luke called me. I took the boat over at first light.’
‘You went to see Reg?’
She nodded.
‘Why?’
‘His mind had been wandering, I wanted to make sure he knew to keep quiet, that as long as no one said anything, it would all be fine. When I saw him, he was very distressed. He was insisting that we told Luke everything. Said Luke had a right to know. I went to the bathroom, to think. Luke’s diving gear was hanging over the shower rail. He’d been over a couple of days earlier—he often left his stuff at Reg’s. His bag was there too. His fishing knife inside it. I just . . . It was my only option, don’t you see? I put on the wet suit, the mask, to protect my clothes, my hair and . . . afterwards, I changed, went back to the boat, but it wouldn’t start. I had to take the ferry back. I called Luke that evening, asked him if he could go over and fetch the boat for me.’
‘He knew that you killed the man he believed to be his father?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Luke has done nothing wrong—you have to believe me. He must have suspected, when he saw his things on the boat, but he didn’t know for sure.’
‘And what about Reg? What did he do wrong, eh?’
‘He was going to tell Luke that I wasn’t his mother. Reg took my son away from me once. I wasn’t going to let him do it again.’
43
Jenny
She joined him on the bench looking out over Bordeaux Bay, the ruins of Vale Castle behind them. It was the same spot where she’d first met him, what felt like a lifetime ago. It was strange even to think of a time before she’d known Michael.
Fishing boats dotted the horseshoe-shaped harbour, their hulls splashes of bright blue and red against a pale sea. A haze hovered over Herm and Sark in the distance; seagulls rose high over pockets of warm air looking for the first of the day’s catch to arrive.
‘It’s ice-cream weather.’ Michael stretched his legs in front of him. He’d already rolled up his shirtsleeves, and his jacket lay across the wooden tabletop.
‘I’ll get them.’
She ordered two cones from the kiosk. Guernsey ice cream was like the butter, dense, dark yellow, the rich cream providing most of the flavour, just a hint of vanilla. She carried them carefully back to the picnic bench.
‘You’re just about wrapped up, then?’
Michael nodded. ‘Suppose you want an exclusive?’
‘I’m a bit tired of them, to be honest. Everyone hates me at work. No one else has had a look-in at front page for days.’
‘No one else was running around Sark like a lunatic getting the stories.’
‘There is that. Did you confirm the identity of the woman? Luke’s mother?’
He shook his head. ‘We’ve only got a first name and Helen’s description of her, which was vague to say the least. We’re going through missing person reports. Although, Helen seemed to think this woman had been in and out of foster care, had spent some time homeless. There might not even be a report.’ Michael looked troubled at the thought. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? Walking this earth for how many years and leaving no trace, no one to miss you.’
‘Plenty of people would miss you, Michael.’
‘I wasn’t talking about me.’
‘Weren’t you?’
He gave her one of his looks.
‘What about Fallaize and Langlais? Anyone going to miss them?’
‘Hm. Sure Langlais’s wife will miss him. No kids thank God. As for Fallaize.’ Michael sighed. ‘Always had him down as a bit of a wally, but I actually thought he had the makings of a good copper. Beneath all the bragging and bravado. Never for a minute thought him capable of—what happened with your dad. And then the lies. So many lies.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, love.’
She and Michael had not talked about Charlie since she’d sat with him in the hospital and he’d told her what Tanya had said, what he’d seen, out on the cliffs.
‘You think he’s dead.’
‘I do.’
‘Something must be looking out for you Michael.’
‘How so?’
‘Three men went into those woods. Two of them likely wanted you dead. And yet you were the only one who made it out. Maybe all that praying really works.’
‘Don’t joke about things like that Jenny.’ He looked rattled.
‘I’m not joking.’ She said, gently. ‘How’s your recovery going? The recovery after the recovery you messed up, that is.’
‘Didn’t mess it up. Not unusual to have a wound like that re-stitched. Even the nurse said.’
‘Passing out cold after an interview usual as well, is it?’
‘That was the concussion. The trip to Sark was potentially a little too much movement for my already-jarred brain. All fine now, though. I’m officially allowed to be out of the house for an ice cream.’
‘How is Luke doing?’
‘As well as can be expected having basically lost three parents in as many weeks. He’s gone to Shropshire to try and sort things out with his wife. He’s been carrying around too many secrets, Jenny. Could never tell his wife about Helen, or about what happened all those years ago. You can’t build a marriage on that. Now everything’s out in the open, maybe they can start again. He’s only young.’
‘He’s older than me.’
‘You’re still a baby.’
They finished their ice creams in silence, the sounds of the water rippling on the shoreline tempered by the hum of traffic on the road behind them. The sharp, tangy scent of seaweed drying in the late-morning sun carried on the breeze.
‘I’m moving out of Mum’s.’
‘About time.’
‘Hey!’
‘I’m only joking, love. But your mum needs to start managing by herself. You know that.’
‘Hm. I’m pretty sure Mum can manage fine. She’s been different, since she found out what happened to Dad.’
‘Different how?’ Michael sounded worried.
‘Not in a bad way. Just, more settled. I think she needed to know, just as much as I did. It’s not in her nature though, to ask questions, to challenge authority.’
‘Lucky she’s got you then isn’t it? You moving in with Elliot, are you?’
She sighed. ‘We’re having a break. I think it might be permanent.’
‘Told him that, have you?’
‘It was sort of his decision. I need my own space anyway. At least for a while.’
‘Well. Good for you.’ He gave her one of his reassuring pats on the shoulder. Cleared his throat self-consciously. ‘I’m taking your mum out this weekend.’
‘I know.’ She smiled.
‘Thought we might go to that new Italian place at the top of Mill Street. Think she’d like that?’
She laughed. ‘No way. Absolutely not. I am not giving you tips on dating my mother. You’re on your own there.’
‘Well, don’t be asking me any more favours! Bloody ungrateful you are.’
‘Pretty sure we’re even on the favours front, DCI Gilbert. Seem to remember you being pretty grateful for your airlift to hospital earlier this month.’
‘Fair point. Suppose we’re even. And you can drop the “DCI”.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I finally decided it’s time to retire.’
‘Is this official?’
‘Will be in an hour or so. I’m heading to the station after this.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound disappointed. Prefer I work myself to death, is it?’
‘No! But I’ll miss this. And where
will I get all of my exclusives? I have a reputation to uphold now.’
‘You might want to start being nicer to that cousin of yours. I’ve a feeling a promotion might be in the works for him.’
‘The dog shit!’
‘That’s no way to talk about DC Marquis.’
‘You know what I mean! I can’t believe I nearly forgot about it. Was it that guy who worked for the seigneur? And why was he doing it?’
‘You’ll love this. Turns out Len Mauger, Reg Carré and Sir William had a long-standing card game. Sir William had been on a losing streak, ended up heavily in debt. Accused the other two of cheating. Apparently decided the best way to retaliate was to throw dog crap all over the place. There was a lot of it on the path outside Reg’s house—Luke even mentioned it when I first spoke to him. I should have connected the dots.’
‘What a horrible man.’
‘He’s not admitted it. He’s blaming his private secretary. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir William was responsible for the spate of vandalism on Sark. I think losing his role on the island unhinged him. Too much time on his hands. He decided to settle old scores.’
‘There’s a story there.’
‘I’m sure there is, Jenny. Right. I’ve got an appointment with my pension. See you later, love.’ He walked, slowly, back to his car.
Jenny looked out at the bay.
Just knowing what had happened to Charlie had quieted the hum in her brain. She was still angry, that he was gone, that he had been taken from them. Angrier still that his killer would never stand before a judge. But Michael was right. Fallaize was dead. He had to be. Maybe his body would wash up somewhere along the French coast. Maybe he was lost, for ever, to the sea. Either way, she had to accept that not all justice was handed out in a courtroom.
She went back to her car, opened the window, let the warm air in. She followed the coast road towards town. The sea shone. The traffic slowed behind a group of cyclists, bikes laden with buckets and spades. A cruise ship was moored in the harbour. Tonight the bars and restaurants would be full, people would spill out onto the streets, drinking chilled wine, eating freshly caught seafood, and for the first time in so long, Jenny felt like joining them. Guernsey in the height of summer. There was no better place to be.
Author’s Note
I spent three weeks every Summer on Sark when I was a child. It is a truly magical place with its dramatic coastline, secluded beaches, hidden caves and dark, star-lit skies. I have been lucky enough to travel widely since I left the Channel Islands nearly twenty years ago but Sark remains my favourite place in the world. I have made use of its stunning scenery and unique history as a back-drop for Dark Sky Island but of course, the events and the people depicted in this book are entirely fictional.
Glossary
Advocate—An officer of the Royal Court in Guernsey who performs the role of both solicitor and barrister. An advocate must be qualified in English law, obtain the Certificat d’Etudes Juridiques Francaises et Normandes in France and pass the Guernsey bar exam.
Chief Pleas—Sark’s parliament, originally comprised of the seigneur and forty tenement landowners. Since 2008 has been made up of twenty-eight democratically elected members, known as Conseillers.
La Coupée—a natural causeway which joins big and little Sark.
Euchre—A trick-taking card game, originating in Cornwall. Popular in Guernsey where it is played competitively in leagues.
Grockles—Tourists
Loophole tower—Towers built by the British in the late eighteenth century to defend Guernsey from French invasion.
Quarantaine—The original forty parcels of land leased to tenants by Helier De Carteret in the sixteenth century. Leaseholders were given a seat at the Chief Pleas.
RIB—Rigid-inflatable boat.
Seigneur—Head of the feudal government of Sark.
Le Seigneurie—Ancestral home of the seigneur.
The States of Deliberation (commonly referred to as “The States”)—Guernsey’s government, made up of Deputies from each of the island’s ten parishes.
States’ house—Council house
Tchico—A large black dog with fiery eyes. Said to be a sign of death. Also known as La Bête.
Toast-rack—name given to the open sided carts which carry visitors to the top of Harbour Hill in Sark.
Acknowledgements
Dark Sky Island is the product not just of my overactive imagination, but of the love and support I find myself surrounded with on a daily basis. A non-exhaustive thank you list as follows:
To the inimitable Sam Eades, who as well as being (probably) the most approachable and enthusiastic editor in the world, over the last year has gone above and beyond the call of duty, accompanying me on not one but two trips to Guernsey and at this rate is in with a very real chance of being given ‘local’ status. A big thank you too to Lauren Woosey, Mireille Harper, Katie Brown, Laura Collins, Debbie Holmes and all of the Trapeze team who work tirelessly to turn sprawling Word documents into beautiful books.
Sophie Lambert at C+W has, once again, been a rock, guiding me through the terror that is ‘difficult second novel syndrome’ (turns out it’s no easier than writing the first) with grace, patience and good humour. Thank you also to Emma Finn and the rest of the team at C+W, and to Luke Speed at Curtis Brown who navigated the very exciting but equally complicated world of film and television rights on my behalf.
I am grateful to so many people in Guernsey—Mike Watson for answering my questions about Guernsey policing, Tim Bamford for the legal advice, Susan Ilie for championing The Devil’s Claw, Catriona Stares and all at the Guernsey Literary Festival, the Guernsey Geekon podcast and especially to the Guille-Alles Library, which is everything a library should be (i.e. full of books and people who love them). It is really something to have so much support from the very place I first dreamt of being a writer. Special thanks to Adam Bayfield—librarian, event organiser and interviewer extraordinaire.
Thank you to mum and dad for the summers in Sark. I remember the incredulous looks people would give us when we told them we were, once again, spending three weeks on Guernsey’s neighbouring island, but I have the best memories of endless sunny days spent bike riding, rock climbing, fishing, rescuing frogs from the swimming pool at Stocks Hotel and my first taste of Orangina (which I still think of as an exotic beverage). Magical.
Across the Atlantic, thank you to Anderson’s Books, the Larchmont Public Library and to Francine Ludicon at The Voracious Reader, whose love of books is infectious, and to Rhiannon Navin and Eloise Parker, who have helped to make writing a slightly less lonely pursuit.
I have lived an itinerant sort of life since I left Guernsey nearly twenty years ago. I find myself now far away from ‘home’ but home nonetheless, in Larchmont, New York. Thank you to the wonderful, strong, supportive women I have met here—I am so fortunate to call you my friends—you know who you are.
And finally, as always, thank you to Andrew, Lily, Charlie and Lena. How lucky we are to have each other. I love you all so much.
