‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to take us.’ Leon runs his hand across his chin. ‘Has nobody told you? The boat’s slipped its mooring. It’s a long way out at sea.’
Her eyes widen, as she places her anorak slowly back on the hook. ‘Good God, that’s all I need. Mr Patterson will—’
‘I wouldn’t worry about him.’ Alice notes the irritation in her own voice. ‘He should be here helping you, Christine. Leaving you to cope on your own like this, especially in a storm, is a bit much, if you ask me.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’d be here if he could. Let’s not jump to conclusions.’
‘So why isn’t he?’ Her voice cracks up a notch. ‘Has he given you a reason?’
Christine shrugs, tears filling her eyes, and Alice realises she’s been a bit heavy-handed. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m just a bit agitated. Sorry.’
‘If I’m honest, I can’t get hold of him,’ Christine says with a sniff. ‘I haven’t been able to since I arrived. All instructions have been emailed or were left here for me, and—’
‘And you’re doing a great job.’ Leon’s voice is calm and even. ‘Against the odds.’
She smiles, as though grateful for the vote of confidence, but Alice feels uneasy. Where the hell is the mysterious Cameron Patterson? The man who invited her here in the first place, praised her sculpture, bought it for a high price?
Leon looks about him, grabs a pink box of tissues from the chest where Alice’s sculpture still stands, and hands them to Christine. ‘Do you know if there’s a boatyard on the mainland that might send a boat out?’
Christine pulls one, two, three tissues from the box, lifts her glasses, and dabs her damp, tired eyes. ‘Well, there’s a small boatyard a bit further down the coast, but they would be closed at the moment, I expect. I can try calling them, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind trying.’
‘Of course.’ She turns, picks up the land phone, pins the receiver to her ear. ‘That’s odd,’ she says, looking back at them. ‘The line is quite dead.’ She hangs up. ‘It must be the storm. Not to worry, I’ll grab my mobile.’ She reaches under the desk. ‘Oh God,’ she says.
‘What?’ Alice makes her way round the desk to where Christine is now crouching. Christine looks up, her red-framed glasses vivid and harsh against her pale face, a severed phone wire in her hand.
‘Who would do this?’ Christine drops the wire as though it’s hot, and rises, straightens her cardigan.
‘Something’s so wrong here.’ Alice hears the tremble in her voice, as she returns to Leon’s side. ‘We need to get off this island as soon as possible. All of us.’
‘That’s a bit of an over-reaction, surely,’ Christine says. ‘A mouse might have bitten through it. I’ve seen a few scampering about. We really mustn’t over-react.’ She picks up a black handbag, places it onto the stool she just vacated, and unzips it. ‘I’ll call the boatyard on my mobile.’
But Alice knows by the bewildered look on Christine’s face as she rummages in her bag exactly what the woman is going to say when she looks up, and her heart thuds.
‘Problem?’ Leon says, as Christine stops searching.
‘My phone,’ she says, staring at him. ‘It was here. It’s gone.’
‘Not you too.’ He sounds agitated. ‘This is bloody ridiculous. What the hell is going on here?’
‘Maybe Gabriela has a phone.’ Alice glances over her shoulder towards the bar.
‘Well let’s ask her, shall we?’ Christine places her hand on her laptop, as though about to close it.
‘No wait.’ Alice pulls away from Leon’s stare. ‘Look up the number of the boatyard first. It will save time.’
‘Yes, good idea.’ Christine picks up a pen and jots down the word ‘boatyard’ on a Post-it Note, in small, spiky letters. Alice knows she’s seen the handwriting before. It’s the same as the writing on the envelope she received a few weeks ago that contained the photo of Flynn House.
‘You sent me the photo,’ Alice says, her tone challenging.
Christine looks up, the pen suspended in her hand, her neck flushing. ‘Sorry?’
‘The photo of Flynn House, you sent it to me.’
‘What’s this about?’ Leon’s eyes flick from Alice to Christine.
‘I recognise her handwriting. She sent me a photo of Flynn House, to Butterfly Cottage.’ Her narrowed eyes bore into the woman. ‘Why the hell would you do that?’
‘Is this true?’ Leon asks.
Christine puts down the pen. Runs a finger around the collar of her dress and nods. ‘I recall sending an envelope to you Alice, to Butterfly Cottage. The address stood out, because it was the home of the author … your father, the one who was in all the papers when he … but—’
‘Why? Why would you send it without saying why?’ Alice’s legs feel weak. This is ridiculous.
Christine shakes her head. ‘I didn’t. Well I did. But I didn’t know what was inside the envelope. You have to believe me. Cameron Patterson left out the envelope and your address, asked me to send it.’
Leon furrows his forehead, takes hold of Alice’s hand. ‘But you said you’ve only just started here at the hotel. That you haven’t met Cameron.’
‘I haven’t met him.’ She pressed one hand to her flushed throat. ‘Officially I’ve only just started. But he asked me to come here on a couple of occasions before the place opened, to help with the admin, ordering supplies, that kind of thing. I’m so sorry if the picture upset you, Alice.’ She sounds sincere. ‘But I promise you, I had no idea what was inside the envelope.’
Alice stares at the woman, unsure what to believe.
Christine returns her eyes to the screen, her face tense. ‘So, do you want me to search for a boatyard or not?’
Alice’s heart is beating too fast. She casts a look at Leon, comforted that he is here beside her, but anger sweeps through her; she’s angry with Cameron Patterson, angry with Christine, and angry with herself for being stupid enough to come here.
‘I’ll try a Google search, shall I?’ Christine goes on when Alice doesn’t speak. Her fingers tap the keyboard. She pauses, furrows her forehead as she looks at the screen. ‘Oh my word.’ She rubs her hand across her forehead. ‘It seems the Internet is down too.’ She taps the keyboard again. Scans the screen, finally looking up at Leon and Alice, shaking her head.
Through the double doors of the bar, rain slashes across the bay windows with enough power to shatter glass. Alice releases Leon’s hand, and heads towards the doors to the bar, glancing back once. ‘We need to ask Gabriela if she has a phone.’
Leon and Christine catch Alice up, as she makes her way across the bar. Faith, Mitch and Lori are sitting in the corner, but there’s no sign of Dane and Savannah Winslow.
Gabriela is standing behind the bar, her blue eyes vivid in the pink lighting. She’s tall and slim, her eyes circled by heavy black eyeliner. Her shiny dark hair hangs like curtains about her pale face. Either she’s a Goth or has made herself up in a way that suits the hotel.
‘Are you OK, Alice?’ Faith calls, and Alice turns to see her friend rising. Within moments she’s by her side. ‘I’m so sorry about Tegan, and the awful way you found out.’ She touches Alice’s arm. ‘I feel so guilty. If I hadn’t dragged you into the TV lounge—’
‘It’s hardly your fault, Faith.’ Alice takes a breath. ‘I’m sad, of course, but Tegan and I weren’t close – not after Dad died.’ Her voice trembles, her eyes focused on Gabriela. ‘Truth is, I feel drained right now. I’m hoping to go home.’
Faith turns to the window. ‘It won’t be easy in this weather.’
‘No. I know. But we’re going to try to get a boat to collect us tonight.’
Faith touches Alice’s arm once more. ‘I don’t blame you, lovely.’
‘It’s this place, Faith. Don’t you feel it?’ She looks about her, her eyes dipping into the shadows, making out shapes in the darkness. ‘It’s suffocating.’
; ‘I know what you mean.’ Faith gives a little shudder of agreement. ‘If I’m honest, I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t come either.’
‘Really?’
‘Mmm – though for different reasons.’ She glances over at Mitch who is deep in conversation with Lori. ‘He isn’t who I thought he was. In fact, he’s a complete dick.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Alice takes her friend in her arms, and her mind briefly drifts from her own worries. She could have told Faith that Mitch was a dick when she first saw him in the pub in Whitby – but would her friend have listened?
‘Maybe you can choose the next bloke for me,’ Faith says, sounding close to tears, but managing a smile all the same. ‘You’ve got a good one in Leon.’
Alice releases Faith and turns to see Leon standing at the bar with Christine and Gabriela. She knows she messed up the last time they were together, with her fear of commitment, and now she’s messing everything up by acting like some kind of crazy woman. ‘We’re friends, that’s all,’ she says, but knows, deep inside, she wants more. That she loves him.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Faith says, as though reading her mind. ‘You two are made for each other.’
Alice shrugs. ‘Maybe.’ A pause. ‘So, will you tell Mitch it’s over?’
Faith looks over at him and screws up her nose. She shakes her head. ‘I’ll probably wait until I get back now. It’ll be easier at home when I can walk away and never have to see him again. Though the thought of spending tonight with him isn’t appealing.’ She cringes. ‘So if there’s room for a small one in that boat you’re hoping to hire, I’m your gal.’
Alice watches Faith head back to Mitch and Lori, her shoulders slumped as though defeated, before catching up with Leon and Christine at the bar.
The clattering sound of Gabriela rummaging through the contents of her canvas bag is jarring. ‘Moj telefon,’ she cries. ‘Moj telefon. Gdzie jest moj telefon?’
‘Let me look,’ Christine says, reaching for the bag.
‘Nie, nie.’ Gabriela holds the bag to her chest. ‘Moj telefon.’
If Alice wasn’t sure already, she is now. Someone at Flynn Hotel doesn’t want them to have contact with the mainland.
Leon
Everyone is squeezed into a booth near the window, apart from Mitch who is out on the patio puffing on cigarettes, the burning tip glowing, darting up and down in the darkness, as he paces. The rain has stopped for now.
Christine has had her arm around Gabriela’s shoulder for some time, and the young woman is now sipping from her second glass of brandy.
‘Prezent,’ Gabriela says again. ‘Telefon, prezent. Od mojego tata.’
It doesn’t take much to work out that her telephone was a gift from her father, and Leon feels desperately sorry for her. He observes her pale tear-stained cheeks, the black smudges of make-up under her eyes. Her black nail varnish is chipped on her short nails. Heavy silver rings clutter her fingers. Faith claimed earlier that Gabriela looked too young to be serving behind the bar, but Leon doesn’t see that. Her Goth-like image could be deceiving. Leon’s sure this woman is in her mid-twenties. She’s one of those people who will be asked for her ID in an off-licence way into her forties.
‘Prezent,’ Gabriela repeats, her voice less frantic than earlier. ‘Telefon, prezent. Od mojego tata.’
‘We will find it, love,’ Christine says, as though Gabriela understands what she’s saying. ‘I promise.’
‘Do you think there’s any chance Dane or Savannah might have a phone?’ Desperation drips from Alice’s voice, as her gaze drifts towards the bar doors.
Leon looks at Christine, who didn’t seem to hear what Alice said, too wrapped up in caring for Gabriela, and then back to Alice. He rises, rubs his neck. ‘Which room are Dane and Savannah Winslow staying in?’
Christine looks up. ‘Umm, number 5, I think.’
‘Well, we need to ask them if they’ve got a phone. And if they have, we should call the police. All these mobiles going missing, the cut phone wire, Alice’s dress on the rocks—’
‘I agree.’ Alice rises, and Lori and Christine get to their feet too.
‘Not sure it needs four of us,’ Christine says looking from Alice to Lori. When they don’t sit down she glances at Gabriela. ‘Will you be OK, love? We’re just popping upstairs.’
‘I’ll take care of her,’ Faith says, putting her arm around Gabriela’s shoulder as they walk away.
Leon glances back as Gabriela shuffles away from Faith, looking helpless, her arms knotted across her slim body, as though holding herself together.
On their way past reception, Christine grabs the spare key to number 5. ‘Just in case,’ she says, jiggling it in her hand.
‘In case what?’ Alice furrows her forehead, but Christine doesn’t answer, just waltzes up the stairs at speed.
A ‘do not disturb’ sign hangs on the handle of number 5. Christine bangs on the door three times. ‘Dane? Savannah?’ she calls through the wooden panelling. ‘Are you in there?’
‘They must be,’ Alice says. ‘I haven’t seen them around the hotel since before the tour.’
‘Dane, Savannah, we need to know if you’ve got a phone we can borrow.’ Christine shoves the key in the lock, turns it. ‘Hello,’ she says edging the door open. ‘Dane? Savannah?’
Christine steps into the room and flicks on the light, Leon follows close behind.
‘Hello?’ Christine peers round the door at the bed. ‘Oh my God,’ she cries, grabbing her chest, her legs going from under her.
Leon reaches to catch her, sees what she’s seen.
‘Stay there,’ he yells at Alice, raising his hand. ‘Don’t come in.’
But it’s too late, Alice is in the room, has seen the awful sight. Retching she staggers towards the chair. ‘Who did this?’ she manages, her voice hoarse, thick. ‘What sick bastard did this?’
But however much Leon wants to; he can’t support her, his mind and body frozen by the horrific scene, and the terrifying knowledge they are sharing the island with a killer.
Chapter 23
1989
Verity
Mikolaj let Verity down – told her their relationship was claustrophobic, that she was obsessive. Said he couldn’t live with her constantly checking up on him, asking him where he’d been, what he was doing, who he’d been with. He said she was suffocating him.
After he broke things off back in early January, she fell apart. Spent days waiting outside his work, his lodgings, begging him to come back to her. She would resort to screaming, sobbing. He called her a stalker – threatened to report her. A stalker? Verity wasn’t a stalker – she loved him – every part of him. She loved him with all her heart.
And then he was gone, left his job, his lodgings. Nobody would tell Verity where he was. She searched endlessly, showing his photo in all the places they’d frequented. She’d lost him. He was untraceable.
*
She stayed in Poland, facing things alone, until, in early August she couldn’t cope any longer, and returned to England, to Flynn House. Her trip to Europe smashed, broken into tiny pieces, her dream of a new beginning gone. Hope shattered.
*
She’d been back at Flynn House a day, when she grabbed her front door keys, the Cher cassette she’d bought in Poland for Hugh, and the tin of fairy cakes she’d made earlier. She stepped into the blisteringly hot day, closing the front door behind her. She wouldn’t be gone from the house long. Just long enough to let her brother know she was back.
She knew Pippa’s heart would sink at the sight of her turning up unannounced at the cottage, after so long away. She couldn’t wait to see her face. Pippa wanted Hugh to herself. Well that was too bad. Verity wanted him back.
She walked round the side of Flynn House and across the lawn towards the wood, pulling on her floppy raffia sun hat over her dark hair.
The wood was gloomy, towering trees blocking out the light. She kept up a quick pace as she pushed through the br
ambles, excited that she would soon see Hugh for the first time in over a year.
She emerged on the other side of the island to see Pippa in the front garden of the cottage, seeming oblivious to Verity’s presence some distance away, frozen as she watched from beside a mature oak tree.
Verity felt dowdy in her long, baggy, grey vest top, and loose-fitting joggers, and couldn’t help the surge of jealousy at how beautiful Pippa looked. The woman suited sunny days. Her blonde hair shone like gold. Her pretty floral maternity dress matched the flowering borders, as though she’d planned it that way.
Had Mikolaj left her because she wasn’t beautiful like Pippa?
Hugh threw open the front door and waved at his sister.
‘Hey, V, you’re back. Are you coming in, or are you going to stand there all day?’ He was happy to see her. And that was good. She wanted her Hugh to be happy – just not with Pippa.
‘Our plan,’ he’d told Verity a few months back when she’d called from Poland, ‘is to have three children, a chocolate brown Labrador, and maybe a rabbit called Flopsy. Pippa loves Beatrix Potter.’
Now, Verity hurried towards the house, itching to hold her brother in her arms after so long. Pippa looked up as she opened the squeaky gate, her face dropping for a moment before bursting into a smile. ‘Verity. You’re back.’ She lifted her hands, showing Verity how muddy they were. ‘I would hug you, but …’
‘It’s fine.’ You’re the last person I want to hug.
‘I’ll be in in a bit.’
*
‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ Hugh said, taking his sister in his arms as she stepped into the cottage. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Missed you too,’ she said as he released her. She touched his face, stared into his eyes. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you.’
‘Coffee first?’ He led the way into the kitchen.
‘Please. Though I can only say for a short while.’ She handed him the cake tin, the cassette. ‘I’ve made fairy cakes.’
‘Thanks.’ Hugh filled the kettle, and flicked it on. ‘You look well, V.’
She laughed. ‘No I don’t. I’ve never looked worse. I’ve taken overweight to a whole new level. But thanks.’
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