The Island House

by Amanda Brittany

  But, for the main part, Verity was glad Pippa was out of her life – gone. Vanished in a puff of smoke, the way her father had made women disappear in his magic tricks. Though Pippa hadn’t exactly vanished. Pippa was buried in the wood. A cross, which Verity had made, placed on her grave. Not that Verity or Hugh were religious. How could they believe in a God who had dropped them into Felix Flynn’s world when they were too young to fight it? But the cross felt like the right thing to do, for Hugh’s sake. Verity was a good person like that. The thing was, Pippa had no family. She had nobody to miss her but Hugh, so it seemed foolish to involve outsiders in her loss. They might even blame Verity for Pippa’s death, and she couldn’t have that.

  What Verity hadn’t expected when Pippa died, was how devastated her brother would be. The way he was drowning in unbearable, inconsolable grief had come as a shock. She would have expected him to be sad, yes. That she would have to care for him as she always had done, yes. Rebuild him, yes. But this was different. This was a road – Anguish Avenue or Bereavement Boulevard or Sadness Street – and he was travelling it alone, on a desperate journey without her.

  *

  ‘Are you going to name the child?’ she asked her brother, when the baby was two weeks old, but Hugh, cocooned in his duvet, humming of body odour, didn’t reply.

  When the baby was three weeks old, Verity stood in the doorway of Hugh’s dark bedroom once more. ‘The child needs a name, Hugh,’ she said.

  He peered out from under his duvet, still sick with grief, his face pale; cushions of darkness under his eyes and said, ‘I can’t do it, Verity. I want to. But I can’t.’

  The baby was a month old when Verity took hold of her brother’s hand and squeezed. He was flopped on the sofa, had been drinking heavily. ‘You still need to give your child a name,’ she tried once more, showing him the baby pressed against her body in a sling.

  ‘Tiger,’ Hugh said, his voice a slur.

  ‘Tiger?’

  ‘Strong. Brave. A survivor.’

  ‘Really? You want to call your baby after a wild animal?’

  He turned to face Verity, looked deep into her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, but it’s not enough to just name the child after a predator, Hugh. This baby needs you.’

  He stared long and hard at the child snuggled against Verity, his eyes – those eyes – melting her stone heart. He was the only one who could do that. He looked up at Verity. ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to be a crap dad for a while,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know how to begin. Give me time, V. I will get there. I just need your support. Help me get through this, and when I come out the other side, we’ll be a family – you, me and Tiger. Will you do that for me?’

  ‘I will,’ she said, her mind churning, spinning, planning. ‘If you’re sure it’s what you want.’

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘It really is.’

  Chapter 26

  Halloween Weekend 2019

  Alice

  Christine shuffles into her anorak, pulls on her beanie, and grabs two torches from behind the reception desk. She tests they both work, and says, ‘Right, I’ll wait here for you folks, while you get your coats from your rooms.’

  Once upstairs, Faith continues along the landing to her room, as Alice and Leon unlock the door to theirs. ‘See you in a bit,’ Faith calls, raising her hand in a wave.

  ‘I’m so sorry this has turned into a nightmare,’ Leon says, once they are inside.

  Alice turns. His eyes are wide, helpless. ‘It’s hardly your fault.’ She takes his hand, and he pulls her to him. ‘This was about me searching for my past. I was a fool, and I’m scared, Leon,’ she whispers into his chest.

  ‘It’s going to be OK,’ he says, but his rapid heartbeat tells her he’s worried too. ‘We’ll find a phone, get help.’

  ‘Are you sure going to the cottage is such a good idea?’ There’s a tremble in her voice. ‘I just thought if we stay in the bar overnight – all together—’

  ‘But there could be a landline.’ He releases her, looks towards the window. He’s pale, his fair hair tousled. ‘We need to get off the island, Alice. As soon as possible.’

  ‘I guess.’

  They leave the room, and head down the stairs, Alice pulling on her Parka, still damp from earlier.

  They stand with Christine, who is togged in her anorak and beanie. The tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock telling them it’s twenty-five to one in the morning. And as soon as Faith appears, they head towards the main entrance.

  ‘Jeez,’ Alice says, as she opens the door, and the wind grabs it with force. ‘Are we really sure this is a good idea?’ She stands in the doorway, watching the others head into the blustery night, Faith’s ponytail thrashing across her face. ‘It’s getting worse,’ she yells above the wind sweeping through the trees, and rattling the metal sign, confirming Alice’s doubts.

  ‘At least it’s stopped raining,’ Leon cries.

  Alice darts from the doorway to catch them up, and Christine hands her a torch. She flicks it on, slicing the beam through the shadows, her stomach churning as she imagines a killer lurking in the darkness.

  They make their way across the front lawn, past the French doors to the bar. Mitch and Lori sit behind the glass, appearing to be lost in their own worlds, Lori’s elegant posture juxtaposed against Mitch’s body slumped in the chair, legs splayed, still knocking back brandy from the bottle.

  Alice’s gaze moves away from the window and across the area, past the flattened wire fencing where Leon almost lost his life, imagining her yellow dress floating across the night sky in the wind. She swallows her fear, and takes hold of Leon’s hand.

  As they step onwards, she catches sight of an amber glow radiating from the attic window. ‘The light’s on,’ she says to Leon.

  He looks up. ‘Is that the attic?’

  She nods. ‘You didn’t turn on the light when we were up there, did you, Christine?’ she calls out, trying to make herself heard over the howling wind. But she knows the answer already. When Christine locked the door to the attic room earlier, the light was out. Muddy-brown walls. Grass-green carpet. Outside, inside. She pushes away the invading confusing thought.

  Christine glances up at the window. ‘That’s odd. Maybe the storm’s messing with the electrics.’

  They pick up pace as they make their way through the wood, Alice still clinging to Leon’s hand. He’s jittery, his palms sweaty. She wants to say something to comfort him, but has no words.

  ‘The cottage isn’t far,’ Christine calls, her voice shrill. ‘Come on, you two. Keep up. We must stay together.’

  There are lights up ahead, and, as they emerge into a clearing, a pretty cottage appears, every window glowing orange, beautiful, yet there’s something equally eerie about the place that Alice can’t put her finger on.

  The gate squeaks as Christine opens it. She hurries up the path towards the front door, and starts to hammer on the rusty knocker. ‘Cameron! Cameron! Are you in there?’

  Leon and Alice join her on the doorstep, as Faith steps over a small white picket fence onto the lawn. She presses her nose against the window, and rests her fingertips on the glass as she peers in. ‘There’s someone in there,’ she says, her voice quivering. She looks about her, as though searching for something to use to break the glass.

  Christine continues to bang the knocker. ‘Cameron. It’s me – Christine. Please let us in.’ She presses the heavy wrought-iron handle down. The door eases open. ‘It’s not locked,’ she says, entering the house, everyone close behind her. ‘Cameron?’ She switches off her torch as the brightness of the lounge engulfs them. ‘Cameron?’

  Leon

  ‘There’s nobody here,’ Leon says, looking about him. Under different circumstances, the room might seem cosy, if a little dated and worn. Two floral sofas and a wing-backed armchair cup an open fireplace. A small TV stands in the corner, and a lamp gives off the orangey glow they’d noticed from outside. A heavy-wooden sideboard under
the window has a photo of Cameron and a woman smiling from a silver frame, and there’s a shelf full of books. Leon peers closer, noticing all of Alice’s father’s novels.

  He turns and takes the narrow staircase two at a time. ‘Cameron,’ he calls, peering into a bathroom, heart thudding. He steps into the room, which smells faintly of bleach, and yanks back a stained, polka dot shower curtain stretched full length across a lemon-coloured bath. There’s nobody there.

  Floorboards creak as he makes his way across the landing towards three more doors. Two stand open with lamps on inside the rooms. The third is closed.

  ‘Is there anyone up there?’ Alice calls from the foot of the stairs.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  He searches the first bedroom decorated in blues and yellows, pine furniture, and a double bed. It’s homely, yet gives nothing away about the cottage’s owner.

  The second room is empty apart from an easel, and a desk and chair facing the small square window looking out at the sea. A palette of paint, and a jar full of brushes are on a small table; paintings are propped against the wall. He steps closer, and stares at one of the paintings. ‘Oh God,’ he whispers, as he takes in the portrait. It’s Alice’s father – but this time there’s no doubting it’s him. It’s exactly how he looked when Leon first met him. How he looked just before he died. This painting isn’t as good as the one in the hotel dining room. It’s as though the artist in still honing their skills. He grabs it, relieved it’s not wet, and shoves it under his arm.

  The third room is locked.

  ‘There’s nobody up there,’ he says lumbering down the narrow staircase, and into the lounge. He looks at Alice, and opens his mouth, ready to tell her about the painting, when Christine appears in the doorway that joins the lounge and kitchen.

  ‘Nobody in the kitchen,’ she says, hands on her hips, eyes flashing behind her glasses. ‘The back door’s unlocked, and I’ve checked outside, couldn’t see anyone.’

  ‘That’s weird, because I could have sworn I saw movement when I looked in through the window,’ Faith says, eyes leaping about as though she thinks someone will jump out of the sideboard, or from behind the floral curtains that drape each side of the window. She shakes her head. ‘I must have been mistaken. My mind playing tricks.’

  ‘Not surprising with what we’ve all been through, love,’ Christine says, touching her arm gently. She looks at Leon. ‘What have you got there?’

  He tugs the painting from under his arm. ‘I found it upstairs.’

  Alice stares at it, tears filling her eyes as she clearly recognises her father’s face. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  Leon wishes he could transport her far away. Make everything right. He hands her the picture, and she continues to stare at it.

  ‘Look, a phone,’ Christine says eyes widening. She points to a small table in the corner, where a cumbersome old-fashioned phone sits. ‘Is it for real or some kind of ornament?’

  Faith dashes over, picks up the receiver, and pins it to her ear. ‘Thank God, there’s a line.’

  A collective sigh of relief echoes through the cottage, as Faith taps the phone keypad set in a panel resembling a dial. She waits for a moment, biting her lip. ‘Hello, my name is Faith Evans. I’m a guest at Flynn Hotel on Seafield Island, just off the coast of Dunwold.’ Her voice wobbles, her eyes darting from Alice to Leon to Christine. ‘We’re cut off from the mainland, and need police here urgently. Some people have been murdered … Dane and Savannah Winslow. They are, were, guests at the hotel … There are seven of us … maybe eight; we can’t be sure.’ Her voice cracks at the mention of the invisible Cameron. She listens for a moment. ‘I really don’t know.’ She gulps back tears, drags the back of her hand across her nose. ‘Yes, yes we will. Thank you. OK. Yes.’ She hangs up the phone, and drops down on the sofa. ‘They’re sending help.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ Alice says, propping the picture against the wall. Leon moves closer to her, takes her in his arms. He’s relieved when she rests her head against his chest. That she lets him hold her. Her thundering heartbeat telling him she’s far from OK.

  ‘They said we’re to stay together until they arrive,’ Faith says. ‘So we should probably head back to the hotel and wait.’ A crash of thunder rattles the house, and heavy rain follows, splattering the window.

  Faith gets to her feet and heads towards the door, ‘The sooner the better,’ she says.

  Chapter 27

  1990

  Verity

  The birth of the now chubby-limbed infant with bright blue eyes and a tiny rosebud mouth – a beautiful creature so totally helpless and dependent on Verity – evoked feelings that had confused Verity at first. But now, six months after the baby’s birth, she was aware that this love – this feeling – was as intense as the love she’d always felt for her brother. It was a protective kind of love, an unbreakable love. She knew, even then, she would do anything for this child. That she would never let her go.

  *

  Over the months, Hugh hadn’t wanted to see Verity or his baby, so when he called, quite out of the blue, and asked her to bring his daughter to the cottage, Verity had felt a surge of happiness.

  She bundled the baby into her little white coat, and pulled up the fur-trimmed hood. ‘You are so beautiful, my precious girl,’ she said, kissing the child’s tiny hands.

  Frost crunched under Verity’s boots, the cool air nipping her cheeks. Her little Tiger propped on her hip, cooing, and gurgling, blue eyes absorbing nature, tiny hands grasping Verity’s hair. ‘We’re going to see your daddy,’ she said, kissing the baby’s feathery dark hair, breathing in the sweet smell of the infant as she walked through the wood towards the cottage. ‘I’ve never been this happy,’ she whispered close to the child’s ear.

  This life – her life with this child – was almost perfect.

  ‘We’re nearly there, sweetie,’ she said, pushing through brambles, the winter sun’s rays slanting through tall trees, brightening their way.

  Finally the cottage came into view.

  A few paces on, she opened the squeaky gate. The garden was over-run with nettles and weeds – poison hemlock rife. Verity smiled at the thought of Pippa looking from beyond the grave, seeing the state of her precious garden. ‘This is where your daddy lives, Tiger,’ she said as she walked up the path.

  She knocked three times and waited.

  When Hugh finally opened up, she gasped at his scrawny body, the wild beard covering his chin. How had he let this happen? How had she let this happen? His creased, grubby T-shirt, hung over baggy jeans. His feet were bare. It seemed, despite her leaving a box of groceries on the step of the cottage once a week for the last six months, he hadn’t been eating properly and looked so much older than his twenty-two years.

  ‘So this must be Tiger.’ His dull eyes lit up briefly as the child threw him the brightest of smiles. Verity couldn’t help but hope they were on the verge of getting through this. That Hugh was about to emerge strong for the baby’s sake. And maybe, just maybe, they would become a family. A funny kind of family some might say – not the kind Hugh and Pippa dreamed of – but a family all the same.

  She stepped into the cottage, straight into the lounge. The floral curtains were pulled closed, half hanging from the rail, no light coming in from outside. The room was lit by a standard lamp in the corner, the pale green shade lopsided. Dirty cups and glasses were strewn over every surface; dust, as thick as insulation, covered the sideboard under the window, and the bookshelves.

  ‘Such a beautiful child,’ Hugh said, closing the front door behind them; a heavy sadness in his voice that Verity had feared for so long he may never lose. Will his grief always be so raw? ‘Come here, Tiger,’ he said reaching out his arms to the child. ‘Come to your daddy.’

  As he hugged the baby close to his chest, tears filled her eyes.

  ‘To new beginnings,’ Verity whispered.

  But Hugh was silent, and within moments, he handed Tig
er back to Verity. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I just can’t do this.’

  Chapter 28

  Halloween Weekend 2019

  Alice

  Tension surges through Alice’s body. Rain stings her cheeks like nettles. She holds onto Leon’s arm, her fingers pressed deep into the fabric of his wet jacket, as they hurry through trees that rock to and fro, their heads down against the blustery wind. And each time the wind settles for a brief moment, the tick, tick, tick of leaves falling through the branches is haunting.

  The journey back to Flynn Hotel seems longer than the walk there, intermittent flashes of lightning, and crashes of thunder not helping Alice’s anxiety. She sighs with relief as they push through the last of the bushes and brambles, onto the hotel grounds, their shoes squelching into the grass as they dash towards the main entrance.

  Christine and Faith turn the corner, disappearing from view, but Alice slows on the lawn, releasing Leon’s arm, her eyes moving up towards the attic window once more. The light is still on. Perhaps Christine was right and the electrics are playing up. Leon stops too, glances back at Alice, concern in his eyes.

  ‘You OK?’ he calls, the wind snatching his words, making them small. ‘Stupid question, I know.’

  Alice nods, catches him up, pointing the beam of her torch towards the endless sea. Waves are high – abandoned – casting shadows like frolicking demons. She’s never seen the sea so out of control. She shivers, raindrops rolling down her cheeks, her neck. Her eyes skitter towards the wire fence waving in the frenzied wind like it’s alive. She takes hold of Leon’s arm once more, hating how close she came to losing him.

  ‘We should go inside.’ Leon pushes back his soaked hair from his face, and she sees the fear in his eyes. He’s scared too.