The Island

by Mary Grand

  ‘Yes, Dad. Remember all the times me and you sat together in the workshop? We’ll have to do that again when you come home.’

  Again, his eyes widened in alarm. ‘Don’t let Rosalind have her box, she mustn’t have it.’

  Mystified, Juliet answered, ‘Um, okay.’

  ‘And the key, the one I gave to Mira, get rid of it.’

  Juliet blinked; she had no idea what he was talking about, but she wished she could help him relax. She spoke gently as she said, ‘I will take care of everything, Dad.’

  The words of comfort, however, failed to soothe him. If anything, he became more agitated. ‘You must be very careful. Anyone can kill.’

  Juliet sat up, alarmed; was her father delirious? She glanced around to see if a nurse was close. But she felt his hand move under hers and looked back at him.

  ‘I know what I am saying. I’m sorry, but I have to warn you. You think you know them, but you don’t, even people close to you, even family.’

  ‘Dad, no one we know would hurt anyone.’

  ‘Anyone who has the motive can kill. And if they have killed once, they can kill again. Remember that.’

  Juliet scratched the back of her hand, digging her nails in hard. She felt hot; her heart was racing. The words and the intensity with which her father spoke was horrifying. It wasn’t like him; he was the one she turned to for comfort and reassurance.

  Her voice shook as she said, ‘Dad, please. I am home now. I promise you; everything will be all right.’

  He let out a long breath. When he spoke, his voice was weaker, the words came slower. ‘If it all comes out, it will break them, but you are strong. It will be down to you to look after them all.’

  Juliet’s eyes burned with tears, her throat hard, too many emotions making it difficult to swallow.

  ‘I don’t feel strong, but I will try to be brave, Dad.’

  Juliet saw his shoulders relax into the pillow. He closed his eyes, his breathing slowed down. His skin was paler, and she knew then that he was leaving her. Desperately, she squeezed his hand and said, ‘Don’t go, Dad,’ but she knew it was useless, he was slipping slowly through her fingers and there was nothing she could do to make him stay. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see her mother.

  ‘I’ll sit with him for a bit now,’ her mother said gently.

  Juliet stood up and her mother took her place.

  ‘I’m here Ian,’ she heard her mother say. Her father didn’t open his eyes, but there was a whisper of a smile on his lips, no words needed now between him and her mother.

  Juliet walked away quietly, not wanting to disturb them. As she went, a nurse glanced over at her parents and gave Juliet a sad smile. Juliet knew then that she would not hear her father’s voice again.

  Outside the ward, Cassie had returned and was sat in her chair.

  Mira looked up, a glint of hope in her eyes but Juliet shook her head.

  ‘Is Rhys around?’

  ‘He’s in another ward. He went to see one of his parishioners. I’ll go and get him.’

  Juliet sat down next to Rosalind, who was scrolling mindlessly through her iPhone, but not typing.

  Eventually, Mira returned with Rhys. As always, he wore his clerical collar; he was never off duty. Usually he walked quickly, purposefully, with the slightly self-important air of a doctor on call. But today he appeared to be almost sleepwalking, as if he could walk straight into a wall, fall down a step, without noticing. However, as he came closer, he seemed to notice her.

  ‘Ah, Juliet, welcome home.’ His words were coated in a deep, silky Welsh accent.

  Juliet stood up, and they faced each other, but didn’t hug.

  ‘Mira told me you’ve spoken to your father; that’s good,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. He had a long talk with you?’

  Rhys removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘Um, yes, but, well, I don’t know…’ He replaced his glasses and looked around.

  Juliet wondered what exactly her father had said to Rhys, but now wasn’t the time to ask. She sat back down, and they all waited in silence in that timeless world you enter when you go into a hospital. Finally, her mother came out, tears falling down her cheeks. Cassie stood up, put her arm around her.

  ‘We can all go in,’ said her mother.

  They walked slowly onto the ward. Juliet saw the screens had been pulled around her father’s bed, and she reached out, grabbed Mira’s hand. The machines were silent, her father lay motionless, his eyes closed.

  He’d gone; her father had left her. Juliet’s body started to tremble. She covered her face and broke down. There was no need to hide the pain, the panic, from him any more.

  Juliet felt an arm around her. She knew it was Mira and they hugged each other; her mother, Cassie and Rosalind were together, each comforting the other. And then, to one side, she saw Rhys standing alone. Their eyes met. She saw a flicker of compassion, but his gaze went back to her father and he stared at him.

  She looked at her mother and sisters, stood together. Why had her father made that comment about not knowing the people close to you? Of course she did.

  If only she could forget that look in his eyes, if only she could dismiss all he said as the ramblings of a very sick man. But she couldn’t; her father had meant every word. And with that certainty came fear. Because if her father’s words were true, there were secrets she knew nothing about, and the future had become an uncertain, frightening place.

  2

  Juliet suggested a taxi home, but her mother, who seemed, as always, unnervingly in control of herself, had insisted on driving them.

  Rosalind and Cassie were travelling together; Mira and Rhys had to pick up something at the vicarage but would be with them soon.

  Juliet was relieved to be driven in silence; she needed to still the emotions raging around inside her head. She looked out of the window, and soon the business of the town roads was replaced by the quieter roads of West Wight, and she remembered that this small diamond-shaped island had many facets. Back in Cowes, it was loud, brash, over in Sandown and Ryde, it would be a bucket and spade, chip-smelling family holiday, but over here, she had always believed, was the real soul of the island.

  Over here, it seemed to expand, become endless. The squawking gulls of the tourist towns were transformed into things of beauty, gliding across empty sky, their white wings spread, catching the sunlight. Nature was free, could breathe here. Away from the crowded pubs, coaches and tacky souvenir shops, the island could be itself.

  As she soaked in the sights, Juliet could feel her breathing slow, her mind still, and she could hear the island whisper, ‘You’re home.’ Juliet could have cried with relief; it hadn’t forgotten her.

  Eventually they approached the village. They drove past the thatched pub that Juliet had worked in as a teenager and arrived at a crossroads. To their right was the road leading to the village church where Rhys was vicar, but they turned left down the main road through the village, past houses, and a small green with a tiny stream where they held the annual duck race.

  At the bottom of the street was the junction onto the busy military road, and across from that the beach and the sea. Juliet’s family home, an old farmhouse, occupied a large plot on the corner. It faced the sea, and there was a sprawling front garden surrounded by hedges and trees, giving them their privacy.

  Juliet’s mother pulled into a small parking area behind the back of the house. There was very little garden here, and no one used the old back door. And so, once out of their car, Juliet had to pull her case a short distance along the pavement-less road until they reached the garden gate that led to the front of the house.

  Her mother was about to open the gate when Juliet saw one of the neighbours come towards them.

  ‘I am so sorry to hear about Ian’s accident,’ she said to Juliet’s mother.

  ‘Thank you, Kath. I’m afraid he passed away this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, Helena, I am sorry. Such a lovely man, you
must all be devastated.’ She smiled at Juliet. ‘I’m glad you’re home to look after your mum now. You’ve been gone a long time.’ She turned back to Juliet’s mother. ‘Now, anything we can do, you know where we are.’

  Juliet’s mother thanked her, and they pushed open the gate.

  ‘Well, that’s told the village,’ her mother said with a sad smile.

  The gate squeaked open, and Juliet stepped onto the long gravel path that ran the length of the front of the house.

  Juliet glanced at the expanse of garden, flinched when she saw her dad’s workshop and the old oak tree next to it. It wasn’t a tidy, planned garden, but rambled, with apple and pear trees down the bottom where they would make dens and have picnics when they were children. The smell of salt and seaweed reminded them the sea was very close by, and their dens would be decorated with shells and pebbles.

  The house had been built on in a haphazard way over the years. The front door was far to the right, the rest of the downstairs taken up with windows into the large kitchen diner. Juliet looked up and saw her bedroom window, tucked above the front door and the wooden gate – prime position to watch everyone coming and going on the long summer evenings when any time before ten felt far too early to be in bed.

  Her mother unlocked the porch and the inner front door. The porch was full of the usual clutter. Juliet was pleased to see her wellington boots neatly standing next to her dad’s, but then the pain shot home. The whole house was going to be like this, constant prods and reminders that her father had gone.

  As she stepped into the hallway, there was an uncanny silence. Her father had been a quiet man, so why did the house seem to shout his absence? It was as if it was in mourning.

  The hallway was scruffy with old oak parquet flooring, white walls. There was that individual smell that every house has, the one you only notice when you have been away. She breathed it in, then heard the deep ticking of the grandfather clock. Like the smell, it was so intrinsic to the house that it largely went unnoticed in the daytime. It gained its significance for Juliet at night, when she would lie in bed, even as an adult, counting the ticks, the chimes on the hour.

  Her eyes were drawn to a framed picture on the wall.

  ‘Where did you find that?’ she asked her mother, feeling emotion tighten her throat.

  Juliet stepped closer to the picture. She’d drawn it in her teens, even then preferring pencil to paint. The four sisters were sat together on ‘their beach’, Brook Beach, and even now, Juliet could hear the seagulls overhead, the shouts of other children playing, running in and out of the sea. Rosalind sat, the princess, her white golden curls shining, little chubby legs stretching out from her short pink dungarees, while Juliet, aged ten, was close by filling a bucket with sand ready to make sandcastles for the baby to knock down with a spade. Mira, eight, was watching sand seep through her fingers. Apart from them sat Cassie, nearly nineteen, serious in shorts and T-shirt, reading a book.

  ‘I have so few pictures of you all together,’ said her mother, ‘and that was such a happy day. As I get older, it’s good to be reminded of days like that.’ Her mother looked around as if the house had become a stranger to her. Juliet saw the vulnerability, a confusion she’d never seen in her mother before. ‘Um, now, put your things there, you’re in your room, of course.’

  Juliet felt a wave of relief at the words ‘your room’. She guessed everyone, whatever age, when they went to their childhood home, wanted to find that they still had ‘their’ bedroom. Of course, it would be more practical for the room to have been turned into a guest room or a study, say, but what you really wanted was for it still to be your room, a place that gave you access to your history, your childhood, that showed you were still that child.

  ‘Come and have a drink.’ Her mother glanced at Juliet’s case. ‘Where are the rest of your things?’

  ‘This is everything. I was determined to come back as I went, with everything in one case.’

  Her mother smiled. ‘Rosalind takes more than that for a night away. You might as well leave it there for now.’

  The kitchen was to the left of the front door, and Juliet, leaving her suitcase in the hall, automatically followed her mother, still holding her handbag. Juliet passed the large living room. Being at the back of the house it was quite dark and her parents still only had the one, small television. Filling one shelf of the bookcase was a beautiful set of the complete words of Shakespeare, each play, each book of poetry in its own leather-bound book. They had belonged to her grandmother, handed down to her mother.

  The room next to it was Cassie’s music room, and Juliet glanced in. On the wall were photographs of Cassie playing the violin, and in the cabinet, cups and awards; the room was a shrine to Cassie. Juliet looked away, and went into the room opposite, the kitchen. As she entered, she blinked; it was lighter than before. She looked over and recognised why. New patio doors led out onto the garden. ‘Wow, when did they happen?’ She was irrationally upset that her parents had made changes to the house while she was away.

  ‘Only about a month ago. It was something I always wanted when you were all little instead of always having to go in and out of the front door. This would have been so easy. I was thinking with Dad retiring soon it would be useful for him getting to his workshop.’ Juliet looked out at the old wooden building, her father’s sanctuary. Her mother took a deep breath. ‘We should have done it before… you always imagine there will be more time.’ She walked over to the kettle and filled it up.

  The kitchen was two rooms knocked into one and retained that feel. To her left was the functional end, with cooker and cupboards, but at this end was the old pine table and dresser. Juliet put her handbag on the dresser as she always had done.

  ‘What have you eaten?’ asked her mum.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. I ate bits on the journey.’ She saw a tiny look of disappointment; her mother needed to know she was making things better for someone.

  ‘There is cake in the tin. I made some fruit one. Your dad’s favourite—’

  ‘Let me make us a cup of tea, Mum.’

  ‘No, I’ll make it.’ Her mother spoke sharply, but Juliet guessed she was only just holding on, and this was something concrete to ground her in the house.

  Juliet sat at the table, feeling again like the little girl after school being given squash and biscuits.

  ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ said her mother, blinking. ‘The first of my girls—’

  Juliet smiled at being called a girl at thirty. ‘I felt like a change. Do you like it?’

  ‘It suits you. I suppose Mira always wanted hers long to hide her hearing aids, not that it would bother her now. Cassie needs to be able to tie hers back for playing the violin, but the only one I’d be really upset if they cut their hair, is Rosalind. You all are so dark, but she, well, she is like Rapunzel, long fair hair…’

  Juliet thought someone looking on would think how odd it was that these two people, who had lost a husband and father just hours before, should be talking about haircuts, making tea. But then sometimes something is so huge the only thing to do is talk about the trivial, a kind of survival tactic.

  Juliet’s mother screwed up her eyes and scrutinised her. ‘It’s been good for you getting away, but, of course, it’s lovely that you are home. Now, I know you said you wanted a break from teaching, but I saw your old job at the high school is vacant – they’re still advertising. You could give them a ring, maybe even go on a temporary contract?’

  Juliet heard the eagerness in her mother’s voice. Now more than ever, she knew how much her mother would want her to move back to the island. She had to be gentle. ‘I don’t think so Mum. I have some possibilities of work on the mainland, nothing definite, but I won’t be going travelling again.’

  Her mother sighed, looked out of the window. ‘Me and your dad had planned to go out to Verona in November.’

  ‘I didn’t know—’

  ‘It was going to be a special holiday. You know, I w
as sixty in February, and Dad was sixty-five on Monday. We’d planned a holiday for the autumn when he’d retired. I know the weather might not have been great, but neither of us are much for the sun. He was going to take me to see the balcony, you know, where Shakespeare got his inspiration for Romeo and Juliet.’ Her mother gazed out of the window unaware of the tears on her face.

  ‘It would have been wonderful, Mum.’

  ‘It was a kind gesture from your dad. He was never that fussed with Shakespeare, or holidays for that matter.’

  ‘And he let you give us all Shakespearean names.’

  ‘I know. My mum, your grandmother, would have been so pleased. I used to get teased about the name Helena when I was a child. All my friends had names like Sarah and Susan, and they saw my name as a bit fancy. I was lucky. People were starting to give less traditional names by the time you were born. I love all your names. I do wish Cassie and Mira hadn’t shortened theirs. Such pretty names. At least you and Rosalind have kept yours. I had an awful feeling you’d end up as Jules and Rosy.’

  ‘I like my name. It’s a bit different, and somehow Rosalind’s suits her much more than Rosy. She’s too dramatic for a Rosy.’

  Her mother sniffed. ‘I’ll have to cancel the holiday. It’s covered by insurance, but I wish we’d gone before. I so wanted to see it with your dad. It’s too late now.’ She made tea in the bone china tea service that had belonged to her parents, set out matching cups and saucers, poured the tea and placed the cake tin on the table, but neither of them opened it.

  The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed four in the afternoon. Juliet realised how tired she was. It felt so much later. There was too much of this day still to get through.

  ‘He was waiting for you,’ her mother said.

  Juliet felt her throat tighten with tears at the thought of her father clinging onto life so he could see her one final time. ‘I wanted to get here quicker. It was a nightmare gathering all the things together to return home so quickly and I don’t think I’d really grasped quite how urgent it was.’