by J. M. Hewitt
Willow shook her head. ‘In a few days, maybe. She’ll be up and about soon.’
Willow made to move away. Alice reached out and grasped her arm. ‘And the rest of you are feeling okay? None of you have caught this stomach virus?’
Willow shrugged. ‘We’re okay.’
Alice narrowed her eyes at the girl’s apparent lack of empathy. ‘It’s odd, though, isn’t it?’ she pressed. ‘Highly contagious but you three are all fine.’
Willow bared her teeth in what Alice presumed was a smile. ‘We’re fine,’ she said. She pulled away, Alice had no choice but to let her arm go. She watched Willow tread lightly down the footpath, vanishing into the fields that lay below the land upon which the cottages sat.
She looked at the house next door. Gabe was out, checking the snares for rabbits. Alice rolled up her shirt sleeves and picked her way over the thistles to the Hadleys’ door.
‘Liz?’ She pushed open the door, moved quickly inside.
It was the first time she’d been in here, she realised. And wasn’t that strange, that they ate around Harry’s damn campfire every night, but never entered each other’s houses? Alice sniffed. It smelled bad; dry, unclean air and a mustiness that had been present in her own cottage when they’d moved in. But they had cleaned it; even without conventional cleaning fluids they’d scrubbed and mopped and the scent of an unused home had vanished. Stalking over to the windows, she pulled back the rugs that covered the glass. The weak sun flooded in, the shadows disappeared, and Alice looked around in disgust.
Nobody had cleaned here. Dust, dirt and grime covered every surface. How could they live like this? No wonder the woman had got sick.
Spying a closed door, Alice hurried towards it, pushed it open. It was a bedroom, with two mattresses on the floor. A tangle of blankets were heaped on an old wooden chair. Someone slept in here, but there was no sign of Liz.
Alice backed out of the room, tried the door directly next to the one she’d just looked in. Another bedroom; this one had no bed, no mattress, no blankets or sheets. Alice closed the door softly. Harry had given the Hadleys this cottage because it had three bedrooms, yet clearly they were only using two.
Jesus. Alice wrinkled up her nose. What a weird family.
One door left. Wishing she’d left things alone and hadn’t started this crusade to check on Liz, Alice stalked up to it and pushed it open.
It wouldn’t budge. Alice tried again. Standing back, she looked at the frame. Was it locked? But there were no locks anywhere on this damn place. No privacy, not even on the front doors or bathrooms. She put her shoulder to the door and shoved again, tilting her head back as she pushed.
Then she saw it, almost at the top of the door. A sliding bolt. The door was locked.
From the outside.
Alice lurched back into the main living area, her feet skidding over the dusty concrete. Her fingers flew to her mouth.
Why was there a lock on the outside of the door? Was Liz locked in her room? She squinted up, wondering where the lock had come from. Was it old, new? It was coated in dust and grime like everything else, impossible to tell how long it had been there.
A slow burn started within, an anger. She rushed forwards, stretched up and slid the bolt back before reaching for the door handle and shoving it open. The door flew from her grasp, banged back against the interior wall.
Breathing heavily now, Alice headed to the window, yanked the dirty blankets from the glass. She held them in her hand, feeling the dirt encrusted on the material, before screwing them up and clutching them tightly.
Only then did she turn and look at the bed.
Liz. The few times she had seen Liz, Alice had been struck by how thin and gaunt she was. Now, standing by the window, her heart thudded as she wondered if the woman in the bed was even alive.
‘Liz?’ Her voice cracked and she didn’t even recognise it. Who was this shrill woman?
The figure under the sheets stirred. A hand emerged, creeping over the bed cover.
The drapes fell from Alice’s hands to the floor. She stepped on them as she walked over to the bed.
‘Liz?’ Alice’s voice a whisper now. Unconsciously she covered the lower half of her face. The smell … earthy and raw and rancid. ‘Liz, can you sit up?’
The woman opened her eyes into narrow slits. ‘I don’t know.’
Her voice was surprisingly strong, and it gave Alice hope. She reached towards Liz, tried not to think about the filthy sheets or the woman she was about to touch who looked like she hadn’t washed in weeks. She put her hands on Liz’s shoulders and cringed. A memory flashed; Ben’s hands on her own shoulders two weeks ago.
Ben.
She glanced at her watch. He should be arriving soon, in little over half an hour.
She had thirty minutes. But that didn’t matter now.
Alice slipped her hands under Liz’s arms, didn’t let herself register too deeply the dampness there. ‘You’re getting up, we’re going to wash you, get you outside in the fresh air. Get some food inside you. Liz, when did you last eat?’
‘Don’t know.’
Anger, sudden and rich, replaced the feelings of distaste. How could Gabe allow Liz to stew in her own mess like this? And Willow and Lenon, they were practically adults, what were they thinking?
‘Can you walk?’ she murmured.
Liz met her eyes then, blue on blue, one pair cloudy, unsure, the other, alert, with a quiet fury.
Liz could walk, it turned out. Unsteadily and very slowly, but she made it to the bathroom. No showers here, the same as in Alice’s cottage, just a big, claw-footed bathtub. Alice stared at it as Liz leaned on the sink. She wasn’t sure about bathing this woman that she barely knew.
And she’s not my mother, nor my daughter, thought Alice. She’s not even my friend.
Bending around Liz, Alice filled the sink from the water bucket on the floor. She wrinkled her nose at the green-tinged water, but deemed it clean enough to do the job. Spying a face cloth on the side she grabbed it up, sniffed it gingerly.
‘Wash your face, then we’ll get you into the lounge,’ she said.
Feeling suddenly drained and rather unsteady herself, Alice sat on the edge of the bath. She watched as Liz mopped at her face, wondering how to phrase a question that hadn’t even fully formed in her own mind. The lock… the lock on the outside of the door.
‘Liz,’ she began. ‘Why was—’
The door flew open, Alice shrieked and grabbed at the side of the bath. The door bounced against the wall and flew back. A boot, heavy and black, stopped its progress. A large, masculine hand opened it again. Gabe filled the doorway.
‘Liz,’ he said. Liz’s hand stilled, the face cloth fell with a splash into the sink. ‘Liz, are you feeling better?’
She met his eyes in the mirror above the sink. ‘A bit.’
‘Liz decided to get up for a while,’ Alice said. He looked at her again, gazing down at her. Hurriedly Alice stood up to put her on a more even height with him. ‘She’s feeling a lot better. She decided to have a wash up and get some fresh air.’ Alice stared at him the way she’d stared at men in the dock in her courtrooms. She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. ‘There was a lock on the outside of her bedroom door.’
She let it hang there, a not so subtle question. The echo of her accusation spun between the three of them in the small room.
He cocked his head, gestured for Alice to come out into the hallway. Wiping her hands on a towel she followed him.
‘Liz had a bad fever, she got… violent.’ His voice dropped on the last word, his eyes downcast. ‘She’s been really bad, Alice, we… we just didn’t know what to do.’ He passed his hand across his face, blinked once and shook his head. ‘She was scaring the kids, hallucinating.’ He turned away from her. ‘She went for the knives.’
Alice went cold. She darted a look towards Liz, still hanging onto the sink in the bathroom.
‘It’s not like her, she’s the most pl
acid woman I’ve ever met,’ Gabe said, raising his head to stare at his wife. ‘I don’t think she even remembers.’
Alice snapped her attention back to him. ‘God, Gabe, why didn’t you say something? We could have helped you!’
He pinched his lips together. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? Your family were kind enough to give us this chance, I didn’t want to spoil it for everyone.’
Alice reached out, squeezed his arm. The capable, cheerful and charming Gabe had problems. Somehow, it was reassuring. She returned her gaze to Liz, unable to see the normally calm, slow-moving woman as a threat to her family. But fevers and infections did strange things to people, she knew that.
‘I’m so sorry, Gabe, but you didn’t need to hide it. We’re all in this together.’
He smiled, nodded, and raised his hand to touch her hand, still on his arm. ‘Thanks, Alice, that means a lot.’ He cast a glance back towards the bathroom where Liz still stood motionless at the sink. ‘She’s much better now, the fever seems to be going, she just needs to get her strength back. I’ll take it from here. Liz, let’s get you in the bath.’
Alice glanced at her watch, saw the time was ticking fast. Liz, Gabe and their troubles diminished. All was well; Liz was on the mend, Gabe had confided in her. It comforted her, that they’d pulled together a little bit, even if it was only in words. She offered Gabe a smile and moved past him.
‘I’ll come by tomorrow, Liz. I’ll bring some breakfast, we need to start feeding you up.’ She darted to Gabe, embraced him in a quick hug, hoped the strange, mournful look in his eyes would disappear once his wife recovered. ‘We’re all a team here, Gabe, don’t forget that,’ she said. A quick, embarrassed laugh. ‘God, I sound like Harry!’
This time, Gabe joined in her laughter.
She climbed down the rocky inlet, crouched under an overhanging branch that seemed to be growing out of the wall and checked her watch.
Ten minutes to spare. Realising she was shaking, Alice wrapped her arms around herself. Still the tremors rocked her body. An aftershock, she knew, of the horrible state Liz had been in, the thought of Gabe, lovely, genial Gabe and his kids struggling to handle her illness all on their own.
In the distance she saw Ben’s boat coming and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. She stayed where she was, watching the progress of the boat on the choppy water. She wondered if he realised none of the others knew that he came here. She wondered what he made of it, or if he even cared.
When Ben docked, she could hardly clamber down into his boat. Seeing her difficulty he reached for her, helping her off the dockside, and then pushing her down into the little galley.
‘Something’s wrong?’ His voice was clear and loud in her ear, his breath played over the side of her face.
‘Liz has been ill,’ she said, her words a rush. ‘Really quite badly sick, and I didn’t know.’
That was it, she realised. I didn’t know. The fact that she had been so wrapped up in her own loneliness and her own fears that she hadn’t paid any attention to anything going on with anyone else.
Poor Liz, and poor Gabe, dealing with it all on his own, not wanting to burden her or Harry.
She leaned into Ben. He didn’t seem to mind. His arms encircled her, and suddenly he was closer than he’d ever been. She breathed in deeply. He smelled of sea air and a cleanliness. She inhaled sharply, trying to dispel the aroma of Liz and her room.
After a few moments Ben pulled away. Alice thought about gripping his arms, forcing him to hold onto her, but his limbs slipped through her fingers and she sat back, a blush staining her face.
‘Drink?’ he asked, roughly, his eyes piercing hers.
Alice nodded, unable to meet his eyes. ‘Yes, please,’ she whispered.
22
Carrie and Hattie – 1998
The woods were denser than Carrie remembered. Or maybe, when she’d come here with the school, they hadn’t really gone into the woods. She slowed her steps as she thought back. The memory was fuzzy; a warm day, childhood friends, ice-creams, laughter, horses. Nothing of the actual park or the attached forest at all. And the field where the horses were seemed to have vanished.
‘It’s a bit cold,’ said Hattie.
Carrie stopped walking and turned around to study her little sister. As she did so, she rubbed her hands over her own bare arms. Hattie was right; the trees were thick here; no sunlight came through. To Carrie it was a welcome change from the scorching sun that had burned down on her pale skin. But Hattie, she noticed, had goosebumps. Hattie’s liquid brown eyes stared mournfully up at her. Carrie put her arms around Hattie, squeezed her tiny frame affectionately.
‘Walk faster,’ said Carrie. ‘You’ll soon warm up.’
She dropped her arms, walked away, hurrying now, eager to get out of the woods and to the other side. She stopped so suddenly that Hattie crashed into the back of her legs. If they came out the other side of the forest they’d be even further from home, and they were far enough away as it was, much further than Carrie had ever been on her own.
‘We’re going back,’ announced Carrie, grabbing at Hattie’s hand. ‘Come on.’
Somewhere to their left, the sound of a cracking branch echoed around the trees. Carrie stopped again.
‘What was that?’ Hattie’s voice was high, the hint of a tremble present that promised tears were near.
‘A bear,’ deadpanned Carrie, stifling a giggle. ‘Come on.’
The little girl squealed, pulled her hand out of her sister’s and flung her arms around Carrie’s legs. ‘I wanna go now, I’m scared!’
Carrie nudged her away with her knees, but when Hattie didn’t move she grabbed her shoulders and pushed her. Hattie flew backwards, landing on her back on the forest floor. She burst into noisy tears.
‘Hattie, I’m sorry, but…’ Carrie pulled at her own hair in frustration. ‘Please, come on!’
The younger girl sniffed, drew in a deep breath and released it in a scream.
‘Oh my GOD!’ Carrie looked around, mortified that someone she knew might witness her inability to look after her little sister.
What if the cool kids in the years above her at school were hanging out here? She would be so embarrassed. She stamped her foot as Hattie wailed on. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that Hattie always did this, it wasn’t fair that their mother expected Carrie to do this. Fury, red and hot scratched at Carrie’s skin. There were no more words, no more cajoling, pleading, reasoning or bargaining. This was it.
Carrie spun on her heel and stalked away, leaving Hattie still on the ground, the dry, dusty dirt smudging through the little girl’s clothes. Hattie’s cries followed her. Carrie began to run.
She didn’t go far, she’d run for less than a minute, she figured, before the guilt set in. And was it guilt, or was it the sudden realisation that she couldn’t hear Hattie crying any longer?
She turned back to where she had left her sister alone.
The earth was dry, crumbling under her feet. The ground was split where no rain had fallen for weeks. Brambles snagged her ankles, growing in snake-like trails along the forest floor. Carrie stopped and turned in a full circle.
Am I lost?
‘Hattie!’ she called, an edge to her voice. ‘Hattie, this isn’t funny, come out now.’
There was no reply. No sound; even the birds were quiet. Carrie stopped. A familiar smell reached her on the hot air; coconuts; the scent of sunny days.
Hattie’s sun cream that their mother had made Carrie put on them both.
Carrie turned, to the left, to the right, but the scent was all around, enveloping, consuming.
‘Hattie?’ Carrie moved forward on legs that shook terribly. One step, two. With the third she fell to her knees. Frozen, statue-like. Nothing worked any longer; not her arms, not her legs. Her lungs were numb nothingness. She tried to call, to shout, to scream her sister’s name but nothing worked, nothing came out.
They
found her that way, the dog walker first, who summoned the police who brought along her mother. They picked Carrie up, her legs bent as though she were still kneeling in the undergrowth. Her mother, Mary, up in her face, asking for her youngest daughter, over and over again.
A dog brushed past her, a huge tan-coloured Alsatian. It paid Carrie no heed. Its handler held the leash tightly, a crumpled piece of material in his other hand. Hattie’s shorts, pink and white and red.
Red?
They hadn’t been red, they had been pink and white striped.
Red.
Carrie vomited onto the dry earth. She waited for her mum’s arms to encircle her, to rub her back. But her mother didn’t step forward. Nobody did.
Carrie was alone.
23
Melanie had often felt that her family was fragmented. Different pieces, she’d mused in the past, with her mum being out all the time and bent over her laptop even when she was at home. Harry would be at Alice’s beck and call, or ‘making life easier’, as he’d explained it. And with all his help and all their money, still they were never aligned as a family.
Now, on the island, things were even worse.
Moodily Melanie kicked at a pile of leaves. It was supposed to be different here, no laptops or jobs, just two families working together, enjoying a life free of everyday problems. Instead they spent all their time apart and barely speaking. Willow and Lenon spoke only to each other, shunning Melanie, their mother, their father, and not even sparing a glance at Harry or Alice. Not that Alice was there to be glanced at, thought Melanie.
Where did she go, her mother? Not making friends with Liz, that was for sure. Liz remained unseen, hidden away. Melanie couldn’t understand it; was she ill? Was she dying, and that was why her family had brought her here? Gabe seemed to be the only normal person, along with Harry. Together the two men did the everyday chores; trapping, skinning, cooking, collecting. And no matter how hard Melanie tried to lend a hand, she felt pushed out.
