by J. M. Hewitt
Carrie looked around the hallway. The smell of fresh paint lingered, the walls smooth and pristine. The decorator had done a good job, but what else had he been using this house for? She turned back to Ganju. ‘Look, Ganju, I’m going to have someone stationed near here, a patrol if you like. In the meantime, please try and think of any details of this decorator that you can, okay?’
He nodded, moved towards the door again. It didn’t go unnoticed when he drew back the curtain and peered through before opening it. Carrie felt her lips twist bitterly. He shouldn’t be living like this, fearful in his own home.
‘Where’s your brother?’ she asked, suddenly. ‘Might he have any ideas on who this decorator was?’
Ganju, caught off guard with the door open, hurriedly closed it again, banging her elbow painfully. He muttered hasty apologies as she rubbed her arm.
‘Thaman,’ he called. ‘Thaman, come out here.’
Movement, scraping from within deep inside the house. Unconsciously Carrie wrapped her arms around herself.
He filled the doorway, Thaman, Ganju’s brother. He was as broad as his brother was lithe and slender. Bullish, huge, he stared at Carrie, brown eyes thin, deep-set in his face.
‘Yes?’ he said, and his whispery voice was such a contrast to his stature that Carrie blinked.
‘This is the Detective.’ Ganju sounded weary now, and he leaned against the wall as he gestured to Carrie. ‘Thaman, please try to remember the name of the decorator, the police really cannot do anything without something to go on.’
Thaman took two steps down the hall towards them. ‘I never knew his name, you had me get the payment and put it in an envelope. I did all that, all you had to do was give him the key and tell him where the cash was,’ Thaman’s eyes slid over to Carrie, ‘and remember his name, and yet, you cannot.’
Irritation caught at Carrie. These people wanted her help, but by their own fault they couldn’t find the details of the man who she was pretty sure was responsible for whatever had happened here. She threw her hands up, palms to the ceiling.
‘I’ll station some patrols in the area. Ganju, Thaman, if you recall anything, please let me know.’
She yanked open the door, slipped outside, felt the door against her back as Ganju fumbled to slam it closed against the people he presumed were still outside, waiting to lynch him.
But the street was deserted. Carrie stepped carefully over the broken eggshells and made her way back to her car.
14
The boat was too small for their things, surely, observed Alice as she stood at the cold quayside. But case after case went on, basic bedding, a toolbox, canned goods, bulk-bought bottles of water, all stowed in hideaways that Alice hadn’t seen during the brief walk around on deck.
She fingered her iPhone in her pocket. It was fully charged, but once they were across this thin strip of water it would last no more than a day. Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades.
‘Harry.’ She caught his arm as he strode past her. He stumbled, allowing the box he was carrying to tumble to the ground. A flash of annoyance in the look he shot her as he righted it.
‘Harry …’ she pulled at his arm.
‘What is it, Alice?’
‘What if one of us gets ill, or has an accident?’ She twisted the material of his sleeve in her fingers. Impatiently he pulled his arm free. ‘Nobody can get to us over there, we can’t even summon any help.’
He seemed to soften, releasing her grip and moving his hand up to cradle her face. His hand felt ice cold on her skin.
‘Alice, we’re going to live so healthily over there, no sickness, no illness, I promise you.’ He stooped, picked up the box and clambered onto the boat.
She stared after him, no longer feeling cold but suddenly white hot with anger. She hated it when people did that, dismissed her worries and concerns with an airy ‘you’ll be fine’. She didn’t want platitudes or placating, she wanted solutions and suggestions.
‘Bastard,’ she whispered as tears stung her eyes.
She moved off, away a little from the horrid boat that would take her away from the life she knew into the unknown. Separate from her family and her possessions she watched as Melanie wandered around the boat, running her small hands over the weatherworn wood. Melanie would be all right, with her father, in spite of her concerns that she’d confided to Alice. Harry would be in his element, living the sort of adventure he’d always dreamed of.
Alice looked away, back towards the city. It was early, not even 6 a.m., but already she could hear the sounds of life. A lorry was collecting from the bottle banks, the noise of the glass smashing almost brought a smile. How often did the citizens of Salford complain about that, about the bin men emptying and causing a racket when most people were still in bed? It had always irritated her, but suddenly she found she would miss it. What noise would there be on the island? Birds screeching, Harry’s studious voice talking. She rubbed a hand across her face, moved her gaze to her car. A wave of emotion crept over her. Her car, the trusty, new-ish Toyota that Harry had bought for her and which she loved. Harry had driven it here, said he had arranged for someone to pick it up. What did that even mean? Had he sold it, given it away? It wasn’t fair; it might be registered in his name but it was her car.
Why do I let Harry get his own way all the time? It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it. Every time he had a crazy plan, she caved in. She, who was so strong in other areas of her life.
It was an uncomfortable thought, one she always pushed away whenever it crept into her mind. But this was different, this wasn’t arranging a surprise wedding, or buying a house or planning a holiday without her input. This was her life, and he was taking it away from her.
She could walk away, back to her home, back to her bank account and her old, familiar life. She shivered. But what old life? Her job was gone, by next week there would be strangers living in her home. A lifetime’s belongings put into storage. Harry and Melanie wouldn’t be there, back in Salford.
‘You coming now, Miss?’
The deep, gruff voice made her jump. Alice spun around, found herself staring into the brightest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
She steadied herself on the wall behind her. The boatman, the man Harry was paying to take them across the water to their new, solitary life. What did he think of them, this young sailor? She grasped in her mind for his name, recalling being introduced to him earlier, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember it.
‘In a minute,’ she said, keeping her eyes on him, taking in all his features, because in a few short hours she would not have any new faces to look at, or any new conversations to be had. Seized with a desperate need to cram in as much as she could she heaved herself up to sit on the wall.
‘What was your name again?’
‘Ben.’
She thought he was unsmiling, but through his thick, dark beard she realised she wouldn’t be able to tell. Hungrily she drank in the sight of him, the facial hair, fashionable once again, she knew, which told her this Ben was younger than she was. But old enough to navigate these waters and their currents which, so Harry had informed her, took experience and many, many years of practice.
‘Miss, are you coming now?’ he asked again, already taking two steps away from her, back towards Harry and Melanie and the boat.
‘Wait.’ She climbed off the wall, ungainly, swearing under her breath as she snagged her scarf on the concrete.
He stopped again, turned, waited.
‘How much do you charge to take the boat over to Pomona?’ He tilted his head a little and she moved closer to him. ‘How much is Harry paying you?’
‘Fifty quid,’ he replied after a beat.
Alice thought quickly. She had a grand in her bag, cash in twenty-pound notes. She didn’t know why she’d taken it, only that to go somewhere for a potentially long amount of time with no money on her person seemed wrong.
‘Ben, I’m worried.’ She stood in front of him,
maintaining eye contact as though he were a judge or jury and she was about to launch into one of her closing speeches. ‘Over on Pomona we have no way of contacting anybody, no phones, no internet, no way of sending letters. This makes me anxious: I have a small child,’ she paused, wondered why she had chosen that phrasing, when Melanie often seemed more adult and competent than Alice herself did. ‘If there’s illness, or an emergency…’ She trailed off, losing her train of thought. ‘Can I pay you to come to the island, to meet me, just once a week. I’ll pay you, more than Harry is paying you.’
Was he thinking about it? Alice peered at him, but he dipped his head, his hand, as weather-beaten as his face Alice noticed, rubbing at his jaw, the thick, brown bristles of his beard moving slowly underneath his fingers.
‘Sixty quid each way,’ he said eventually. ‘Cash up front.’
A moment of panic; which bag had she put her cash in? She looked towards the boat, saw all the cases and boxes were onboard now. No matter, she would find it, discreetly, without Harry or Melanie seeing.
‘Okay.’ She breathed out, offered him a smile that felt stretched and false on her face.
‘It’ll be once a fortnight though, I work away every other week. You need to be getting on board now, Miss,’ he said, turning back towards the quay once more. ‘It’ll be getting busy on the quay soon.’ He studied the water, his head moving slowly in a ninety-degree turn. ‘We need to hurry.’
For a long moment she considered stalling until it was too late to leave before abandoning the fanciful idea. Harry wasn’t giving up on this quest, he would simply insist they come back tomorrow morning.
A siren sounded in the distance, and as they walked towards the boat Alice wondered if she would still be able to hear them from the island. Behind her, a car made its way down the roadside on the quay. She resisted looking over her shoulder, but wondered if it was the police. Would they stop them? Who owned Pomona? Someone must, she should have looked that up. More than likely they would be trespassing if they set up home there.
‘Alice, come on!’ Harry stood on the boat, the bow, the stern? Alice realised she didn’t know and didn’t particularly care.
And then another voice rang out in the otherwise still morning. ‘Harry, wait up, mate.’
They all turned, Alice, Harry, Ben. Melanie’s head popped up over the side of the boat.
‘It’s Gabe!’ said Harry. ‘It’s Gabe and his family!’
Alice stared, hardly daring to believe it. But there they were, four of them, alighting from a battered old estate car.
‘More people going across?’ Ben looked at Alice, as though it were her fault, as though she had anything to do with this madcap idea.
She shrugged, turned to him as a thought struck her. ‘Do you have room for them, on the boat I mean?’ Suddenly she wanted very much for Gabe and his quiet, timid family to go along. They were not who she would have chosen, but at this point she was desperate for some company, any company would do.
‘It’ll be tight.’ He glared at Alice. ‘It’ll cost more.’
Who did he think he was? Alice held his gaze, her nostrils flaring slightly. ‘In that case I suggest you speak with Harry,’ she said.
As haughtily as she could manage, she climbed down onto the boat, stepping down the small ladder where she nearly landed on Melanie, crouched on the bench, peeping over the side.
‘I thought they weren’t coming,’ said Melanie, without looking at her mother.
Alice held up her hands in a gesture of defeat. Why did it sound like they were suddenly accusing her? None of this was anything to do with her. Harry clambered past them, making his way over to Ben, speaking in Ben’s ear before passing him something, money probably, thought Alice, and hailing the approaching Gabe heartily.
Alice moved to the other side of the boat, casting her eye over the crates and bags and cases, trying to remember which one she had put her cash in. She pulled them out, one by one, from underneath the little wooden seats, emitting a small exclamation of relief as she spotted the brown envelope nestled among a pile of towels.
‘What’s that for?’ Melanie bent over her.
Alice crammed the envelope in her coat pocket. ‘Ben will need more money if we’re taking more people over,’ she muttered, pushing herself upright.
‘Dad already paid him, I saw him,’ said Melanie. ‘And besides, shouldn’t they pay themselves?’
Alice’s nerves, already frayed, snapped neatly. ‘For God’s sake, Melanie, just… just leave it.’
Alice hurried back to the front of the boat. She shouldn’t snap at Melanie, but the whole situation was putting her on edge. It was irritating, and it would be a whole lot worse on the island. Taking six notes out of the envelope Alice sidled up to Ben. Keeping it concealed in her hand she shoved it at him. He opened his palm, and lazily licking his thumb he flicked through the notes.
‘Don’t count it,’ she hissed. ‘It’s all there. Just make sure you are too, a fortnight from today, yes?’
Before he could answer, Harry ushered Gabe onto the deck. ‘Look who’s decided to join us,’ he smiled.
Gabe offered his hand to Alice. She shook it reluctantly, felt her lip curling at his ridiculous gesture. His wife, Liz, followed behind him, head down, the twins silently slipping past her like ghosts. Alice only just managed not to roll her eyes. What a weird family.
‘All phones off now,’ said Harry loudly. ‘We should be able to move away from our old, confined lives. But,’ he held up one finger, ‘Pomona isn’t public property, and though I don’t imagine anyone will actually report us as missing, the last thing we want is to be traced to the island.’ He smiled at each of them in turn. ‘So, phones off now.’
Obediently they did as he asked, one by one their connections to the outside world lost. Alice pressed the button down on her mobile, unable to prevent a shudder as the screen went black.
Harry was hardly able to stop himself rubbing his hands together. He stood at the bow of the boat, beside Ben, eager for his first sight of Pomona, for his new life, the life he’d always dreamed of living.
‘You ever been there before, not just past it but actually been on the island?’ he asked the big, silent Ben.
Ben’s beard dipped in confirmation. ‘A stag party, a few years ago.’
Harry’s face fell. ‘A stag party?’
Beneath the bristles he saw Ben’s teeth flash in the gloomy dawn light. ‘Don’t worry, they don’t do it anymore.’ Resting one hand on the helm Ben turned to Harry. ‘Pomona’s off limits to visitors now, while they decide what to do with it.’
Harry nodded quickly, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Alice wasn’t listening in. She was a lawyer by profession, she would never have agreed to this if she knew they were breaking the law.
He touched the bulk in his pocket, the hard edges of the Fluoxetine, and considered hurling them overboard. He wanted nothing like that in his new life. Everything would be natural; from the food they ate to the water they drank from the running stream to the vegetables he would grow himself.
‘See that buoy there.’ Ben gestured with his head. ‘It’s a marker, it’s at this point I always realise I can’t hear the sounds of the city anymore.’
Harry closed his eyes. A smile spread over his face. Ben was right; there was nothing to be heard except the sound of the water lapping in gentle waves. Sweet, blissful, peace. He gripped the cool, metal rails on the side of the boat.
‘And there she is.’
He looked where Ben pointed, through the slight mist that clung to the water’s surface he saw a grey mass, looming out of the water. The concrete surrounds that protected Harry’s new haven. Pomona.
He drank it in before spinning on the balls of his feet, his wife and daughter’s names on his lips to call them over and share in the magical moment of first sight.
They sat huddled on the stern of the boat, Alice, Melanie, the strange new family he’d invited beside them, all of them watch
ing as Manchester faded into the distance.
They’re not looking forward, he thought to himself, disappointment abundant inside him. They’re looking back. Back to where they were, where they’d always lived, to what they’d always known.
He turned back to Pomona, no longer wanting to share the moment with those he loved best.
Solitary, he drank in the view himself and held it all inside.
15
Carrie and Hattie – 1998
Mr Lacey’s car had a strange smell. Carrie opened the window a crack, lifting her face but the air that came through the window was stale and hot.
She faced the front, and in the rear-view mirror she saw Mr Lacey’s eyes, sludge-coloured, like mud. His eyebrows were grey, long threads that almost touched his eyelashes. Carrie looked away, back out of the window once more.
‘Mandale Park you say you’re going to?’ His voice, scratchy and thin, rang out in the silence of the car. Carrie wished he would put the radio on.
He caught her gaze in the mirror again. Carrie nodded.
‘Our uncle is meeting us there.’ The lie came easily, automatically. She didn’t know why she’d fibbed to him, but it was instinctive.
Hattie shifted in the seat beside her. Before she could begin with her endless questions about an uncle she didn’t know she had, Carrie gripped Hattie’s hand and shot her sister a warning look.
Hattie stared at her, wide-eyed.
‘That’s nice, is he her side of the family or yours?’ said Mr Lacey in a conversational tone.
Carrie felt a dull blush stain her cheeks. People always did that, just because she was white and Hattie was black. She hated it, even though half the time people didn’t mean anything by it, but Carrie saw it as a separation. Oddly, it never seemed to worry Hattie, though Carrie supposed it might when she was older.
She looked at her sister, wondering if it would be worse for her in the years to come. After all, Carrie and her mother were a pair; they fitted in. Hattie, without her black father, was the anomaly. Her heart contracted painfully as a rush of protectiveness flowed through her. Moving her hand to Hattie’s shoulder she pulled her sister into her embrace and smiled at the little girl’s look of surprise.
