by J. M. Hewitt
‘It’s going to be tight,’ Ben said from between clenched teeth. ‘The wind is getting up. I wouldn’t normally risk it.’
Paul, perhaps sensing that Carrie was near to exploding, stepped up to Ben. ‘We really have no time to waste, lives may be in danger.’
Ben put his phone down, his blue-eyed gaze pierced Paul. ‘Alice is in danger?’
Carrie regarded the change in Ben, as soon as he thought that Alice might come to harm. Interesting, she thought. Why fixate on Alice, rather than the children, or any of the others that were on the island?
‘You know Alice?’ she barked. ‘As something other than a passenger, I mean?’
Ben tugged at his beard. The moment was gone, he turned his back to them again.
‘Ben?’ Carrie prompted, her tone firm.
‘We’re having… an affair I suppose you’d call it.’ Ben spoke but kept his back to them.
‘Ah.’ Carrie exchanged a glance with Paul. ‘How, if you’re not living there? Do you mean you were having an affair until she moved here?’
Ben shook his head. ‘I go over to see her, she gets away from the others and spends an hour on the boat.’ His face reddened and he glanced down at his feet. ‘It wasn’t planned.’
Carrie didn’t know what to say. Keep focused, she reminded herself, and sensing an opportunity she moved to stand next to Ben. ‘So you understand our concerns, that we don’t want any harm to come to Alice or anyone else.’
‘Right.’ Ben started the motor, flicking instruments and craning to look out of the small window in the direction they were headed. There were a few, long moments of silence before Ben spoke again. ‘What sort of danger?’
His voice was almost fearful, and to Carrie he sounded very young all of a sudden.
Carrie didn’t answer his question, instead she asked, ‘What did they seem like to you when you sailed them to the island the first time?’
Ben looked at her sideways on. ‘I barely spoke to them; they were just passengers, paying a fare. Then the other family arrived, they weren’t even supposed to come but they turned up on the quay, literally moments before we set sail.’
‘Did they say anything to you?’ asked Paul.
He shrugged, repeated, ‘They didn’t speak, any of them. I thought Harry was mental for wanting to do this, and I think Alice and Melanie weren’t too keen. They were hostile, you know?’ he glanced at Carrie. ‘The other guy seemed okay, his family were… quiet.’
Carrie looked at Paul.
‘Were they in on it together, some of them, all of them?’ Carrie thought out loud, the terrible idea springing to mind.
‘Like a paedophile gang?’ Paul spat the words.
The boat lurched, Ben cursed, swung it back on course before staring at Carrie. ‘A paedophile gang?’
‘We don’t know that,’ said Paul, hurriedly. ‘We’re just trying to get information on how many people are involved.’
‘But we need to get there as quickly as possible to figure this whole thing out, before someone gets hurt,’ said Carrie.
‘Fuck,’ muttered Ben.
And it seemed to Carrie that the boat suddenly began to move a lot faster.
‘You’ll have to be quick, I can’t keep her steady for long in the current unless we tie up,’ called Ben as he inched the Barnard Castle as close to the quay as he could. ‘The cottages are straight over the field above the dock, that’s where they’re all staying.’
There was a hint of worry in his voice. To hear that from the unflappable, stoic Ben chilled Carrie. She lurched out of the cabin, pulled herself up and onto the quayside, waited impatiently for Paul as he stepped up to join her.
‘Wait here!’ said Carrie, but Ben, down in the hull, didn’t acknowledge her.
‘Did you call this in?’ Carrie asked as they made their way off the concrete platform.
‘No, there wasn’t time.’ Paul pulled his phone out, glanced at it once before slipping it back in his pocket. He swore. ‘No signal,’ he said.
Carrie turned back to the Barnard Castle. ‘Wait here!’ she shouted again.
There was an answering shout from the boat, but the wind whipped Ben’s words away.
‘Hopefully this won’t turn out to be a Wicker Man situation,’ commented Paul as they reached the edge of the field.
‘Huh?’
‘You’ve not seen the film?’
Carrie shook her head. ‘What’s it about?’ she asked.
Paul snorted a laugh. ‘I’ll tell you when this is all over.’
It was an eerie feeling walking through a meadow towards the two grey breeze-block cottages. Not a soul in sight, and not a sound either. Carrie looked back towards the city, but the field had dipped and neither the skyscrapers nor the water were in view. I can’t see Ben’s boat, Carrie realised. She hoped he’d wait for them, for there wasn’t likely to be any other traffic passing by Pomona.
The cottages were in surprisingly good condition, despite being abandoned for so many years. She voiced this thought to Paul as they approached the front doors.
He raised a fist and hammered, while Carrie moved to the second little house and knocked. They waited, exchanged a glance. Nobody home.
Carrie lifted her hand, twirled her finger in the air, a signal for them to circle the cottages. He nodded, moved to the right, she went left. They met in the middle of the back of the houses, stopping to peer in the windows. Both houses were lived in, one of them tidier than the other. Carrie tried the handle on the back door of the house she’d walked around, pulling it closed as it opened.
‘Not locked,’ she said. ‘Shall we go in?’
‘You stay here,’ Paul said. ‘I’ll do a quick recce.’
She watched through the open door as he moved quickly and quietly around the cottage, holding her breath as he darted in and out of the rooms leading off the main living area.
‘Nobody,’ he said as he slipped outside. ‘Definitely people living here though.’
‘Any signs of… anything?’ Carrie finished lamely, unsure of what she was asking.
‘Nothing out of order.’ Paul looked at his watch. ‘What do you say we get back to the boat, come over here with a team?’
Carrie looked around, nothing but fields to see and some trees on the horizon. No massacre, no blood-thirsty murder. Just an uneasy feeling that caught at her over and over again. But Paul was right; Ben had been concerned about docking the boat. They needed to come back prepared, with a team like Paul said. She nodded once, sharply.
‘Let’s go.’
She could hear the water even before they’d got halfway across the field. Carrie stopped for a single moment before breaking into a run.
‘Carrie?’ Paul called behind her.
‘The water!’ she said, but the wind whipped her words away.
It sprayed up and over the concrete docking platform, so high, so ferocious Carrie couldn’t even get to the dock. Paul came up behind her, breathing hard.
‘Is he still there?’ he asked.
A spray of fine water hit them and they staggered backwards a few feet. ‘I doubt it,’ said Carrie grimly.
They moved to the side, away from the concrete but where they had a clear view of the water. Carrie, fearful of the sudden strong winds, went into a crouch, digging her fingers into the mossy grass as she peered towards the dock.
‘He’s gone,’ she said. ‘The boat isn’t there anymore.’
Paul knelt beside her, pulling the hood of his fleece up. ‘Will he come back?’
‘He’d better,’ Carrie said. She gestured to Paul. ‘Come on, let’s get away from the water.’
They stopped at the edge of a small copse of trees. Carrie held back, cast her eyes over the trees, their branches only just coming into bud, limbs held aloft, twigs like claws. She concealed a shudder.
‘Were we stupid, coming here?’ she asked Paul.
He stopped, sat down on a gnarled root as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. ‘I don’t thi
nk we expected Ben to abandon us,’ he said.
‘He knows he left us here, he knows Alice is in danger. Once the wind drops he’ll be back.’ She sincerely hoped this was true. ‘Anything?’ she asked, nodding towards his mobile.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. No signal.’
‘Ben said he comes over to see Alice,’ she remembered suddenly. ‘How often do you think he sails here? Daily? Weekly?’
Paul gave up on his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. ‘I really fucking hope it’s daily,’ he replied morosely. ‘But what do we do while we wait for him?’
Carrie pushed herself off the tree trunk she had been leaning against and zipped up her coat.
‘We try to find the kids, that’s our first priority.’
She turned a full circle, saw nothing but trees, and under her feet the ground shifted, soft mud, scattered with stones, twigs and dead leaves.
It was all too familiar, though it was a memory she rarely allowed herself to recall. She shivered, violently.
‘Let’s get out of these damn woods for a start,’ she snapped, and without waiting for Paul she hurried away from the copse.
Alice ran, legs pumping, breathing wheezy, in and out, all the time a grin stretched across her face.
She’d been on the most northerly point of the island, on the high ground, walking, deep in thought when the approach of the Barnard Castle caught her eye. She’d watched in shock, amazement and happiness spreading throughout her body.
An unscheduled visit from Ben!
As she dashed back across the island she wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t glanced up and seen the boat. Would he have come ashore looking for her? The thought of such a chivalrous and knightly act made her shiver in anticipation.
Alice didn’t glance at the cottages as she ran across the field, and when her bare feet pounded the concrete dock she pulled up sharply as an unexpected wave came up, up and over. She held her arms out, the shock of the wind-blown water and the slippery dock stunning away thoughts of Ben. How had he even docked?
But the thought of him misjudging the current, sailing away from her wasn’t an option. Gathering her full skirt to bunch at her waist she went down on her knees, crawling along the dock to the edge, thrilled and horrified in equal measure at the danger.
Digging her fingers into the concrete she peered over the edge.
The Barnard Castle was gone.
‘Ben!’ she called, but her shout went unheard against the wind.
She whispered his name instead, tasted it in her mouth. She put her hand on her face. Her fingers were wet.
The spray of the water, she told herself as she crawled back off the dock.
32
She returned to the high point of the island. Did the others know that from here the whole of Pomona was visible?
Probably, Alice concluded. They were all into exploring. The others knew every square foot of the place. Apart from Liz, of course, Alice acknowledged to herself. Liz knew nothing other than the cottage and the bench outside.
‘Ben,’ she said out loud. ‘Please come back.’
Alice picked up a small, white stone and scraped it across the boulder next to her. She stared at the jagged, chalky line.
‘I’m so lonely,’ she said to nobody. ‘I have to go home.’
She turned around, swivelling on her knees to look across at the skyline of Manchester. What was home? Not the house that Harry had sold. Maybe not Salford, perhaps not even Manchester.
She waited for the hope to spring forth, that anything was possible, that she could go anywhere. Instead a crushing weight came to rest in her throat.
She had spent too long being quiet, she realised. A quiet girl, just like Liz, like Willow, like Melanie. Quashed into keeping quiet to placate the men. And it was a new realisation, because always she had applauded herself for her feminism, for being the money-maker, the breadwinner, while Harry tended house and raised their child. And in the court rooms and in the office she hadn’t been a quiet girl, she had been outspoken and strong and loud.
Until the men in that office decided that she was no longer needed.
It was all of the men.
And even Ben had sailed away.
Alice pressed the white stone to the boulder again, so hard that it snapped in her fingers.
She stood up, wiping her hands on the front of her skirt.
Enough. The island life was over. She was taking Melanie home. And simmering with long-overdue fury she went to find her daughter.
‘How are you going to kill him?’ Melanie whispered into the darkness of the cave.
Lenon leaned over and retched in the corner. Willow absently rubbed his back.
‘It might be best if you don’t know too much,’ said Willow. ‘We’re not planning a prank, this isn’t some kids’ game, you know.’
Melanie blinked as Willow’s colours glistened when she spoke.
‘Does… anyone else know?’ Melanie asked.
Willow’s glittering aura dulled to a deep, dark green. She shrugged, sulkily. ‘Can’t depend on anyone else. Can’t tell our mother. She doesn’t know anything anymore.’
Her words were matter-of-fact, her tone flat and dead, her voice hoarse with a love lost the only sign of any emotion.
Melanie moved slightly so she was fully in the shadows. Willow’s sadness caught at her, but it also frightened her.
‘We can tell my mother,’ said Melanie. ‘She’s a lawyer, she knows all the legal stuff, she’s protected loads of innocent women and she’s put a lot of bad men in prison.’
Suddenly Melanie was hopeful. They could hand it over to the adult, the way kids were supposed to when they had a problem. Her mother could sort it out, make an arrest, she had the power to do that, didn’t she?
‘You’re not telling your mother anything.’ Willow’s voice was loud, echoing around the rocky chamber. Willow pushed Lenon off her and crawled over to Melanie. ‘You don’t tell your mother anything, okay?’
Melanie shifted as far back as she could, away from Willow’s wild eyes, fierce breath and exposed teeth.
A rustle at the entrance, a shadow moved across the room.
‘Tell me what?’ said Alice. And then, as her gaze landed on each of them in turn, she said, ‘what the hell is wrong with Lenon?’
‘Has the wind changed?’ Carrie asked Paul as they walked back towards the concrete dock where Ben had dropped them.
He moved close to the edge to check, and even the movement confirmed to Carrie’s that she was right. The wind was not as strong here; the water was still agitated, but it was no longer coming over. Paul wouldn’t have been able to stand that close to the quayside an hour ago.
‘Do you reckon he’ll come back?’ Paul asked as he came back to walk beside Carrie.
‘If he doesn’t…’ Carrie didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she paused, sinking down to sit on the concrete edge now it was no longer covered in water.
She rubbed at her temples, fighting off the panic of being lost. She’d been lost once before, and terrible, life-changing things had happened. How was she here again?
Paul sat down beside her. ‘You okay?’ he asked quietly.
She forced her head to nod, still massaging the sides of her face.
‘Is this…’ Paul hesitated, shot a single glance at her before trying again. ‘Is this what happened to Hattie? Someone like this, I mean.’
She sucked in a breath, not enough air, nothing coming in, and a steel fist gripping her chest. She panted, suddenly, leaning over, feeling even more constricted, changing to tilt her head back. A hand on the back of her neck, moving to snake around her shoulders. She shrugged Paul off her, shook her head fiercely.
‘I never told you her name,’ she hissed the words, the only way to get past the blockage in her chest. ‘How do you know her name?’
He moved away, giving her one last uncomfortable pat on her shoulder. ‘I looked up the case,’ he said.
She
glared at him. He had the good grace to look embarrassed, but he pressed on regardless.
‘The newspapers said you saw it, witnessed it, but you couldn’t recall it.’
Carrie stared at him in disbelief. What did he want her to say? Yes, Paul, you’re correct, I failed my baby sister, my stupid, idiotic brain blocked it, so there was no chance of catching the man who killed Hattie?
And, oh God, what else had he read? What else had the newspapers said? Did they report that her mother had slumped into a living, breathing coma, unable to care for herself or her one remaining child? Carrie swallowed. She genuinely didn’t know; she’d never read the reports, never looked back at them, even when she was an adult.
‘We need to find the girls,’ she said, pushing herself to her feet. She hooked two fingers into the neck of her T-shirt, pulling it away from her neck.
‘Carrie––’
She spun to face him, barely resisted the urge to plant her hands on his chest and push him into the water. ‘What?’ she snarled. ‘What do you want from me?’
He held his hands up, and his brown eyes locked on her, sad, filled with a sympathy that she hated. ‘I don’t want any––’
She moved closer to him, covered her mouth with her hand so he wouldn’t see her lip trembling.
‘I can’t go back in time, but we’ve got young girls here, on this island, with a man who is going to hurt them. Those girls are here, and they are alive, and it’s our fucking job to get to them before he does.’ A jagged, internal breath escaped from her, like a gasp, and she walked backwards, away from him, away from the possibility of losing herself so completely that she did something she would regret.
He nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
Melanie closed her eyes and pinched her lips together. In the darkness behind her closed lids she heard the shifting ground, felt it underneath her as her mother wedged herself into the already cramped cave.
‘Willow?’ Alice’s sharp voice rang out. ‘What is wrong with your brother? And what are you not supposed to tell me?’
