The Island House

by Amanda Brittany

  It’s been busy though, so they’ve barely talked; a stomach-churning tension in the air between them, not helped by her invasive thoughts of Flynn House.

  By 4 p.m., Alice has sold nearly all her artwork. The shelves are empty, and her resolve to open the shop on Saturday and Sunday wavers. There’s little point when she has nothing to sell. Maybe she could work on her latest sculpture over the weekend instead. She hasn’t got very far with it, but the plan is in place, fixed in her mind. It’s going to be three ventriloquist puppets enjoying a macabre tea party.

  Leon heads off at five, brushing a kiss across her cheek before he leaves, lingering for just a moment, before grabbing his jacket. Ten minutes later she fastens Henry’s lead. She’s about to lock up when a text appears on her phone from Faith:

  Oh my God, Alice. You wouldn’t believe this place. It’s amazing! Scary in a good way. Totally fascinating. You would love it. Please, please come! I love Mitch, but not as much as you. X

  Alice laughs and replies:

  So glad you love it! I’m not jealous at all! Have you seen my sculpture yet? X

  A smiley face pings back, and then another message:

  YES! It’s in reception. It looks amazing. And there’s something else – a painting in the restaurant of a young man who looks so like your dad, even has his amazing eyes! X

  Another ping follows. An attachment.

  Alice gasps, taking in the photograph. The portrait doesn’t only look like her dad, she feels certain it’s him when he was a young. Central heterochromia – one blue, one green eye – is so rare, and the resemblance to her father is uncanny.

  *

  Alice and Leon sit by a flickering fire in the Black Squirrel, a pub just outside Whitby, a favourite haunt when they were a couple. Henry is sprawled on the rug in front of them. The sound of The Cranberries plays softly in the background, and a comforting smell of home cooking lingers in the air.

  Alice’s fingers dance on her phone screen. ‘Here,’ she says, eyes wide as she hands Leon her phone, the portrait Faith sent frozen on the screen.

  He stares for some moments.

  ‘Well?’ She takes a gulp of her gin and tonic. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It looks like him. The eyes mainly.’ He slides his gaze from the phone to her. ‘But it can’t be him can it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice cracks, as she takes the phone back. ‘It’s so like him. But if it is, how did it end up on the wall of a hotel in Suffolk? A hotel I just happen to have been invited to stay at?’ She shakes her head. ‘This is all too weird.’

  ‘Perhaps your dad had it painted when he was younger and it ended up in an antique shop or something, and the bloke who owns the hotel picked it up because it suited the house. Just like your sculpture.’

  ‘I don’t believe in weird coincidences. And Dad was practically a hermit all his life. Why would he have had a painting done, and then get rid of it?’ She looks once more at the screen, before putting her phone face down on the table.

  ‘I agree it’s odd.’

  Alice takes another gulp of her drink, the spirit warming her throat. ‘I mean, me making a sculpture identical to the hotel, and the owner inviting me to stay is odd enough. But now there’s a picture of a man who looks just like my dad when he was young on the wall there.’ She pauses, recalling her dad’s strange reaction to her sculpture of Gothic House. ‘And there’s this.’ She fishes the photo she was sent from her bag, hands over the black and white picture of Flynn House. ‘It came through the post.’

  Leon narrows his eyes, as he studies the grand Gothic building so close to the cliff edge.

  ‘It looks a bit creepy,’ he says, turning it over.

  She takes a deep breath. Since receiving the attachment from Faith, she’s known she has to go there, that the place holds some of the answers she’s craved all her life. ‘I need to go to Flynn Hotel, Leon. Will you come with me?’

  He stares for a moment, his eyes asking her if it’s a good idea.

  She claps her hands together as though praying. ‘Please.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Now?’ He hands back the photo. ‘Now?’

  ‘Tomorrow then? I’ve got the free room. We could leave first thing in the morning.’

  ‘But what about the shop? Isn’t this your busiest time?’

  ‘Yes. Normally. But you saw how empty the shelves were by the end of today. I’ve barely done any new work since Dad died.’ She leans forward, her emotions controlling her words. ‘I need to go there, Leon. Please come with me. You know I have so few childhood memories, that my father kept things close.’ Her voice cracks up a notch, trembles a little. ‘That sometimes I feel I never knew him at all.’ She buries her face in her hands for a moment, before adding, ‘I can’t explain it, but it’s as though Flynn Hotel holds the key. I’ve got to go there, Leon, and I’d rather not be alone.’ She doesn’t want to beg, but she will, if she has to.

  He bites down on his lip. ‘OK.’

  ‘OK?’ She flings her arms around his neck. Holds him close for a moment, then releases him. ‘Thank you.’

  He glances down at Henry, who seems to be listening, sitting upright now, watching them.

  ‘Oh God. Henry,’ she says, covering her mouth. ‘Maybe we could take him with us.’

  ‘Or my parents could look after him. You know what they’re like – the more dogs the merrier.’

  Alice feels a pang. She loves Leon’s parents, and misses not seeing them. They always made a fuss of her. Made her feel welcome. She loved her dad with every part of her, but her upbringing had been far from typical. She never doubted her father loved her, but she would have given anything to have a brother or sister, cousins, grandparents – a mother; more noise – more life – within the quiet walls of Butterfly Cottage.

  The normality of Leon’s life was always refreshing: two sisters, two dogs, a dad who taught at the local primary school, a mum who worked as a classroom assistant. Alice loved being part of their world. If only Leon hadn’t pushed for marriage and kids, if it could have stayed just the two of us.

  ‘Do you think they would mind?’ she says. ‘Henry’s no trouble. But it seems a bit cheeky.’

  ‘They won’t mind at all. We can drop him off in the morning.’ He shrugs, looks down at the menu. ‘Now can we order some food? I’m starving.’

  Chapter 9

  Halloween Weekend 2019

  Alice

  Leon’s parents’ spaniels race to greet Henry, tails spinning like sycamore seeds caught in the wind.

  Leon closes the back gate behind him, as Alice strokes the dogs, telling them how gorgeous they are.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, Alice,’ Leon’s mum calls from the back door. She’s wearing her usual black leggings, faded at the knees, and a thigh-length sweater, her silver-grey hair pinned up loosely, her face stretched into a wide smile. Within moments she’s dashing up the neat garden towards Alice, her arms wide.

  ‘It’s good to see you too, Laura,’ Alice says rising from fussing the dogs, and falling into the woman’s arms, enjoying the warmth of them closing around her. There was no doubting Laura and Joe had hoped Alice and Leon would get married one day, have children.

  Laura releases Alice and stares deep into her eyes. ‘We were so sorry to hear about your dad, sweetheart.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Alice wishes the mention of his name didn’t still have the power to reduce her to tears. She coughs to clear her throat, and Leon puts his arm on her back, as though keeping her upright. Laura is simply being loving and supportive, as always – his parents are the kindest people she knows. ‘And thank you for the card and flowers.’

  ‘You are more than welcome.’ Laura touches Alice’s arm, before turning her attention to her son, giving him an equally big hug. ‘Have you got time for a cheeky brew? Something to eat?’

  ‘We’ve had breakfast, Mum, and we should probably head off,’ Leon says, as they step into the kitch
en, the smell of recently cooked bacon in the air. ‘It’s a long journey.’

  ‘And the tide is only out between midday and four,’ Alice adds, as Joe appears, a hands-free magnifier around his head.

  ‘Alice,’ he says, and more hugs ensue. ‘How are you, love?’

  ‘I’m good thanks. You?’

  ‘Better since I retired.’

  ‘You’re retired already?’ She knew he was counting down the days to when he left the junior school where he worked for thirty years, but it had seemed ages away when she last visited with Leon. It makes her painfully aware of the time she’s been away from him.

  Joe nods. ‘And I’m loving every minute. I’m not saying I don’t miss the little monsters, but the time was right to hang up my cane.’

  ‘Joe!’ Laura says, and rolls her eyes.

  ‘What’s with the magnifier, Dad?’ Leon opens the fridge door, and peers inside like a teenager searching for food. ‘Ooh, fairy cakes.’

  ‘Don’t touch those, they’re for your nieces. They’re coming later.’ Laura smiles. ‘I’ve got biscuits, if you’re hungry.’

  Leon pulls a face, and closes the fridge door. ‘So, what’s with the magnifier?’ he repeats.

  ‘Your dad’s taken up stamp collecting,’ Laura says.

  ‘I have indeed.’ Joe nods. He’s shorter than Leon, and always seems to be dressed in polo shirts and knee-length shorts, whatever the weather. ‘It keeps me off the streets.’

  Henry and the spaniels suddenly barge through the kitchen like a herd of buffalo, and into the lounge. ‘Oh God, Henry’s made them excited,’ Alice says. ‘Are you sure you’re OK to look after him?’

  ‘Of course – he’ll be no problem at all.’ Laura smiles. ‘They’ll calm down soon enough.’

  ‘Well, we’d better love you and leave you then, Mum,’ Leon says, placing his hand on the back door.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Joe asks, as they head into the garden.

  ‘Suffolk,’ Alice says. ‘An island just off the coast of Dunwold.’

  ‘How lovely,’ Laura says. ‘We used to holiday in Southwold when you were young, Leon. Do you remember the multi-coloured beach huts, and the gorgeous pier?’

  ‘I do, Mum. Good times.’ Leon nods, and leans down to kiss his Mum’s cheek. ‘We’ll pick Henry up on Monday, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Of course, no problem at all.’

  ‘I hope he behaves OK,’ Alice says, as the dogs dash into the garden as one.

  *

  ‘Hey, Faith, me again, we should be at the hotel around two.’ It’s the third time Alice has left a voicemail. ‘I hope you picked up my other messages, and everything is OK. See you soon, lovely. Can’t wait.’ She ends the call, and turns to Leon, whose eyes are glued to the heavy traffic building on the A1. ‘I still can’t get hold of Faith,’ she says, moving her gaze up towards the dark sky that looks like a duvet over the motorway.

  ‘She’s busy having fun with her bloke, I expect,’ Leon says, running a hand over his chin.

  ‘Mitch?’ She thinks of the man she met a week ago. ‘Maybe.’ She bites her bottom lip hard. Turns her phone over in her hands, a weird sense of unease she can’t quite explain washing over her. ‘But, that’s the third time I’ve called. I texted her last night too, to let her know we were coming, and nothing – zilch. It’s not like her, Leon. She would normally send me a stream of smiling emojis and a couple of hearts.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s no signal on the island.’

  Alice shrugs. ‘But she texted me yesterday from there – sent me the picture.’

  ‘Well … maybe the signal’s erratic. Why are you making a big thing of it?’ He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

  ‘I’m really not.’

  ‘Yep, you are.’ She remembers this side of Leon. He’s clearly hungry. She pulls a bag of crisps from her bag. ‘Call the hotel if it’s bugging you.’

  ‘It’s really not bugging me, Leon.’ She tries for a smile, opens the crisps, and shoves a handful into his mouth.

  ‘You know me so well,’ he says with a laugh, once he’s finished munching.

  ‘Are we on target to get there for two?’ She glances at the satnav.

  ‘Should be. I’m guessing there’s a car park.’

  ‘Yes, on the mainland. We’re to park up, and call the hotel. Someone will collect us.’

  Leon suddenly brakes hard, and throws his hands in the air. ‘Christ, look at this.’

  The traffic is stopping, red brake lights flashing everywhere. As they come to a halt, hail, the size of marbles, clatters against the windscreen. ‘Looks as though we could be stuck here for a while,’ Leon says, taking the bag of crisps from Alice. ‘Did you bring a book? Playing cards? Game of Cluedo?’

  *

  ‘Alice!’ She can hear Leon’s voice, but struggles to free herself from her vivid dream, where she’s being pulled up a staircase towards a red door. She can’t escape. ‘We’re almost there, Alice … Alice?’

  With determination, she opens her eyes, looks up at Leon, and out of the car window at the darkness. ‘God!’ She pulls up in the seat. ‘What’s the time?’

  ‘Gone six.’

  An accident on the A1 stole four hours of their day. Alice tries to console herself that it was far worse for the poor souls in the minibus that ended up on its side.

  As the incredible sight of Flynn Hotel comes into view, a chill trails down her spine, and a strong sense of foreboding washes over her. Should they turn the car round? She looks at Leon. His eyes are fixed on the windscreen as he manoeuvres the final country road. He glances at her and smiles. She’s being ridiculous. And anyway, he would probably kill her if she suggested going home now.

  There’s no doubting it’s a stunning view from the mainland, every window of Flynn Hotel lit by an orange glow. The place is balanced on the cliff edge, as though with one nudge it would topple into the restless sea below.

  Leon pulls into the clearly signposted car park, where five other cars are parked – Alice recognises Faith’s Fiat – she’s here, thank God.

  ‘Do you reckon we’ll meet the Addams family while we’re here?’ Leon says with a smile, as he pulls on the handbrake.

  Alice laughs, grateful for his humour, for being here with her.

  He kills the engine. ‘So what now?’

  The shimmering sea separates them from Seafield Island, the causeway covered by the ocean. ‘I’m guessing we call the hotel.’ She shrugs, peers out of the side window. ‘Yes, look.’ She points at the contact number on a sign, and takes her phone from her rucksack. She dials the number, holds the phone between her shoulder and ear while rummaging for the paperwork she printed off before she left.

  A female voice answers. ‘Flynn Hotel, Christine speaking. How may I help you?’

  ‘Oh … hi, this is Alice Hadley. I have a room for tonight and tomorrow—’

  ‘Ah, yes, hello, Miss Hadley, we’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘We got stuck in traffic, so—’

  ‘No worries at all.’ She sounds pleasant and friendly, has a broad Suffolk accent. ‘Are you at the car park?’

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve come with my … friend. I hope that’s OK. Cameron said it was a double room.’

  ‘Of course, no problem at all. I will head over in the boat right away. Should be with you in ten.’

  ‘That’s great, thank you.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ She ends the call.

  Alice looks across at Leon, and lets out a breath. ‘Well, she seems nice enough.’

  Leon takes hold of her hand, and furrows his forehead. ‘Are you OK? You were dreaming back there. Crying out—’

  ‘A bit nervous, I guess, but fine. Honestly.’ Her eyes skitter towards the house on the cliff edge once more. She thinks of her sculpture, the picture Faith sent of the man who looks so like her dad, the photo that was sent to her, the receipt for a restaurant in Dunwold she found in
the loft. Suddenly the sirens she heard on the A1 earlier seem to ring in her ears – loud and piercing – and tears she can’t quite explain burn behind her eyes. Doubts rise, and she hears her father’s voice in her subconscious.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come, Alice. I told you to never come back. Go home. Go home now.’

  PART TWO

  ‘I am older than you, and must know better.’

  Lewis Carroll

  Chapter 10

  Halloween Weekend 2019

  Alice

  A powerboat propels through the dark sea, a stream of white surf trailing.

  ‘They’re on their way.’ Leon climbs from the car, opens the boot, and grabs their holdalls.

  Alice takes a deep breath, gets out too, and together – avoiding the many puddles – they head down a slope towards a small jetty lit by swaying lanterns.

  ‘Welcome,’ a portly woman, who looks to be in her fifties, calls over the wind. Waving from the boat, arm swishing to and fro, like a windscreen wiper. She’s wearing a beanie and sturdy anorak, a scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face. She slows the boat down and aims it towards the jetty, cutting the engine, though leaving the lights on. She climbs out, pulling the mooring rope hard so the white vessel rattles against the wooden planks of the jetty. The sea gurgles and splashes. ‘I’m Christine, Manager of Flynn Hotel,’ she says, pulling the scarf from her face, and holding out her hand.

  ‘We’re sorry we’re later than expected,’ Alice says as she shakes the woman’s hand. ‘There was an accident, and—’

  ‘No worries at all; that’s what the boat is for. Have you come far?’

  ‘Whitby.’

  After shaking Leon’s hand, Christine rubs her hands together as though to warm them up, despite her gloves. ‘Lovely place, Whitby,’ she says, grabbing their holdalls and putting them in the back of the boat.