The Island House

by Amanda Brittany

  Inside the hotel, the grandfather clock tells them it’s twenty-five to two. Christine, Faith and Lori have congregated near the reception desk, talking in hushed, anxious voices.

  ‘Where are Mitch and Gabriela?’ Leon says, as he and Alice approach, interrupting their conversation.

  Lori looks up at him wide-eyed. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I was just telling Christine and Faith, I haven’t seen either of them for ages—’

  ‘So much for everyone staying together.’ Alice grabs a handful of her own hair and squeezes, water spilling to the floor.

  ‘Well I’m sorry, Alice.’ There’s firmness in Lori’s softly spoken American twang. ‘I didn’t realise I was left here to babysit.’ Her smooth cheeks flush pink. ‘And I might add, that they left me on my own. I’ve been in a terrible state ever since. It’s playing havoc with my asthma.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Alice unzips her sodden Parka, and removes it. ‘I didn’t mean to … This is all so awful. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Lori’s voice softens further. ‘We’re all very stressed out, and it’s not surprising. But please let’s try to support each other, shall we?’

  Leon removes his jacket too, and throws it down with a thud onto the sofa. He looks bedraggled, exhausted, and Alice wishes she could turn back time to the moment when they were sitting in their favourite pub in Whitby, Henry sprawled by the fire at their feet. If she could turn back time, never have come here, she would. This was all her fault.

  ‘So, when did you last see Mitch and Gabriela?’ Leon asks, his eyes steady on Lori.

  ‘About ten minutes after you took off,’ Lori begins. ‘Mitch went upstairs to his room. He’d had a fair few brandies.’ She bites down on her full lip, pulls away from Leon’s gaze. ‘Was worse for wear, stumbling around the place.’

  ‘And Gabriela?’ Christine chips in. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Lori clears her throat, her cheeks flushing. ‘I hadn’t taken much notice of her. She was behind the bar, and what with the language barrier, well it meant we couldn’t really have a conversation. I noticed she’d gone, just after Mitch went to his room.’ She looks down as though the chessboard floor has the answers, stroking her thick swath of hair that’s draped over one shoulder. ‘I hate this place, always have,’ she says. ‘When I found myself alone here, I wanted to cry. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid.’

  ‘Oh, love.’ Christine touches her arm gently. ‘It must have been so frightening for you.’

  ‘It was.’ Lori sniffs and nods, her voice a wobble. ‘What happened to the Winslows was playing on my mind like a horror film on repeat. I couldn’t get the fact they were upstairs …’ She looks towards the staircase and shudders. ‘I thought if I sat here in reception, I could have eyes everywhere. I’ve been a complete mess, quite honestly. I just thank God you’re all back safe.’

  ‘Well, we don’t have to worry for much longer, Lori,’ Christine says, her voice even as she pulls off her sodden beanie and wrings it out. ‘The police are on their way.’

  ‘Really?’ Lori’s eyes widen. ‘Well that’s fantastic.’

  ‘I called them,’ Faith says. ‘They’ll be here as soon as possible. But, we still need to make sure Mitch and Gabriela are OK.’ Her eyes drift up the staircase. ‘I’ll go and check on Mitch.’

  Before Alice can open her mouth to suggest Faith shouldn’t go alone, her friend heads up the stairs and disappears onto the shadowy landing.

  The silence stretches, tension building, seconds turn to minutes as the grandfather clock tick, tick, ticks into the quiet.

  Finally, Alice looks at Lori, narrows her eyes. ‘You said you’ve always hated Flynn House. Have you been here before?’

  Lori looks flustered, rubs a hand across her chest. ‘I have, yes. A long time ago.’ She clears her throat.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I was Hugh and Verity’s nanny in the late Seventies, early Eighties. It was my first job. I was here until their father disappeared.’

  Alice stares at Lori, trying to imagine this attractive American woman as a nanny, her heart racing once more. ‘If you hated the place, what made you come back?’

  ‘Panic over!’ It’s Faith galloping down the stairs. ‘He’s passed out on the bed – I couldn’t stir him, so I’ve locked him in.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Alice says, as Lori moves away, their conversation over, for now.

  ‘It is.’ Faith nods. ‘I mean he’s a complete prick, but I would hate anything awful to happen to him.’

  ‘Let’s make sure Gabriela’s in her room, shall we?’ Lori says, her voice sounding stronger. ‘Make sure she’s OK too.’

  ‘Good plan.’ Christine moves across the lobby. ‘I’ll grab the spare key to Gabriela’s room.’ She leans over the desk, and picks it off a hook. ‘Let’s head upstairs together,’ she goes on, tucking the key into her cardigan pocket.

  ‘Gabriela’s room is on the upper floor,’ Christine says, leading the way towards the next set of stairs. ‘Her room is next to mine.’

  Once there, Christine knocks on the door of room 6. ‘Gabriela, it’s Christine.’ She presses her ear to the door. ‘Gabriela, I have a key and I’m coming in. I hope you’re decent.’

  ‘She won’t understand a bloody word she’s saying,’ Faith whispers into Alice’s ear.

  ‘Gabriela, I’m coming in after the count of three … One … two … three … here I come, ready or not.’ Christine unlocks the door, pushes it open, and heads inside. ‘Gabriela?’ she says, flicking on the light.

  Within moments, Christine is back on the landing. ‘She’s not there,’ she says with a shrug.

  ‘We should go downstairs until the police come,’ Alice says, her voice firm – she turns, makes her way down the corridor. Everyone follows as she descends the two flights of stairs and heads into the bar, where they congregate, seemingly afraid of losing one another, afraid of becoming prey to a killer. But as Alice looks at each of them in turn, she can’t help but wonder if the killer is one of them.

  Chapter 29

  1991

  Verity

  Verity sat cross-legged on the rug in Hugh’s lounge, watching the toddler dressed in jeans with an elasticated waist, and a bright yellow T-shirt, wander back and forth, clasping a yellow Duplo brick in each tiny fist.

  Hugh leant forward on the sofa, elbows on knees, dragging his slim fingers through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, Verity,’ he said, the pain in his voice tangible. ‘What more can I say? I can’t help who I am. How I feel.’

  ‘But, I still don’t get how you can reject your own child.’ Tears shimmered in her eyes. She so wanted – needed – him to love Tiger. Then they could be a family.

  ‘Not reject. You’ve got it wrong. I’m incapable, that’s all. I detest myself, the person I’ve become. I hate that I feel so little for the kid. But we had a crap upbringing; you more than anyone know that. What do you expect from me? Felix battered any true feelings out of me.’

  ‘But you loved Pippa.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, and look how that turned out.’ He stared at Tiger, who dropped down on her bottom in front of the TV, eyes glued to a kids’ programme, two puppets living on a canal boat.

  ‘Rosie! Rosie!’

  ‘Yes, Rosie and Jim,’ Hugh said, his voice dull and low. ‘Puppets.’

  ‘Puppets!’ Tiger said, looking over her shoulder at Hugh, her cheeks pink, eyes bright.

  Hugh turned to Verity. ‘I can’t invent feelings, V, and I can see the kid is cute. I get that. But I’m never going to be a good father; I don’t know how to be.’

  Verity’s heart sank. Hugh had barely wanted to see Tiger over the past year. In fact this was the first time they’d been to the cottage in ages. It was clear he was still mourning that ridiculous woman. How had this happened? They were meant to be together – happy – the three of them.

  ‘You’re a brilliant aunt, Verity. I thank God the kid’s got you.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘
I’m going to bed,’ he said, getting up. ‘See yourself out.’

  ‘How can you turn your back on us, like this?’ Verity cried, as he padded across the room.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Verity scooped the scattered Duplo into the yellow bucket, and stood it in the corner of the room. ‘Let’s go home, little one,’ she said, lifting Tiger into her arms. ‘It’s OK, you have me, and I will love you always. And one day, you will have a daddy too, and we will be a family. I promise.’

  PART THREE

  ‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’

  Lewis Carroll

  Chapter 30

  1994

  Tiger

  ‘Tiger?’ Aunt Verity shouts from the kitchen.

  I like being called Tiger. Daddy named me after a wild animal because I am strong and brave. He says I am a survivor, but I don’t really know what that means.

  One time, I drew a picture with my blue and yellow and black and orange crayons. It was of my daddy and my mummy and a tiger. ‘That’s me,’ I said to Aunt Verity, pointing at the tiger, when she leant over my shoulder to look at my picture.

  And she said, ‘And is that me?’

  And I said, ‘No, that’s my mummy. Her name is Pippa.’ I know that because Daddy told me her name, and he said I must never forget her. Ever. So I don’t.

  But then Aunt Verity cried. Big fat bubbly tears rolling down her face.

  ‘It is you,’ I said, because I don’t like it when she cries. ‘I love you.’ I said that too, because I do.

  And she pinned the picture to the cupboard. ‘I love you too, Tiger,’ she said.

  ‘Tiger,’ she calls again from downstairs. ‘It’s time for tea.’ I smile and think of my very favourite book The Tiger Who Came to Tea, which Aunt Verity bought me when I became five years old.

  I’m not that hungry right now, and want to play with my red bus. It’s got one, two, three, four yellow wheels. I know all of my numbers, and Aunt Verity says I am very clever. She says I am a brilliant artist too – just like her. She paints all the time. She likes painting pictures of Daddy.

  ‘It’s hereditary,’ she said about me being an artist. At least I think that’s what she said. I don’t know what that means, but I think it’s good because she was smiling.

  I jump up when she calls me again. My arms out like an aeroplane, I whiz and whirr and whoop from my bedroom and down the stairs, ‘One, two, three, four, five, six, six, eight, twelve … what’s for tea?’ I say, running into the kitchen.

  Aunt Verity has made me baked beans on toasty soldiers. I jump onto the chair at the table. Pick up my knife and fork. I like toasty soldiers. Aunt Verity has cheese on hers. I don’t like cheese. It makes my tummy feel sick.

  While we eat she tells me about my grandpa – her daddy, my daddy’s daddy. ‘He’s dead now,’ she says, as I munch – dead means he’s not here anymore so I can’t see him or talk to him – ‘but when he was alive he was on TV. His name was Felix Flynn and he did magic tricks. He had puppets too and he could make them talk.’ She tells me this story a lot.

  I like my grandpa’s puppets, and, even though he’s dead, his puppets talk to me.

  ‘Grandpa used to get cross with your daddy,’ Aunt Verity says. This is always when her voice goes sad and crackly. ‘And one time he hit your daddy so hard he broke his arm. That’s why we have to look after your daddy.’

  I want to hug my daddy all of the time, because he’s sad all of the time, and it makes me sad that his arm got broke. But Aunt Verity says he doesn’t want to see me too much.

  ‘He’s fragile.’ She says this a lot too, especially when her voice goes all slurry. Aunt Verity says fragile means breakable, and I don’t want to break my daddy, so I stay away – even though I want to be with him all of the time.

  ‘Maybe, you can see your daddy later today,’ she says as I carry on munching. ‘If you are very, very good.’

  ‘I will be good.’ I nod one, two, three, four, six, seven times, knowing I will be very, very good for the rest of the day.

  ‘But first we need to go across to the mainland, to stock up,’ she says.

  I don’t like the mainland anymore. I used to like going to the village shop, as everyone was friendly there, and people would ruffle my hair and say, ‘How are you today, Tiger?’ But we’re not allowed to go there anymore. Not since the boy with the strawberry-blond hair kicked me. He was much bigger than me, but I wasn’t scared, I spun round and kicked him back very hard, and he toppled over onto his big fat bum.

  ‘If you come in here again, you little rat,’ the shop lady yelled, hugging the big boy with the strawberry-blond hair as he cried, ‘it will be the last thing you do.’

  ‘I’m Tiger, not Rat,’ I said, but she grabbed a broom and shooed us out onto the pavement, and everybody looked at us, and the nice people who said, ‘How are you today, Tiger?’ shook their heads and pulled angry faces.

  ‘I’ll set my Terry on you if you ever come back,’ the shop lady said before slamming the door.

  So that was that.

  I wasn’t sure what a Terry was, but I think it might be a big dog.

  I cried, and I needed a wee wee badly, but when Aunt Verity cried too, I had to stop crying and cheer her up. I had to be strong and brave, just like a tiger.

  So now we go to a big supermarket called Tesco. It’s scary there as there are lots of people who never look down, or smile at me and say: ‘How are you today, Tiger?’

  Sometimes, as Aunt Verity pushes the trolley up and down and up and down, I pretend I’m invisible. But nobody notices. Not even Aunt Verity.

  ‘Go and get your trainers on,’ she says now.

  I slide down from the chair like a slippery snake. ‘OK,’ I say, but I really don’t want to go to the supermarket. I want to stay here with the puppets.

  I don’t like Tesco very much.

  Chapter 31

  Halloween Weekend 2019

  Alice

  Faith presses her nose against the window, eyes skittering across the darkness. ‘It’s still raining, but looks calmer out there.’ She glances over her shoulder at Leon. ‘Should we go out there and look for Gabriela?’

  ‘Yes, we really ought to find her,’ he says, his voice heavy with tension. ‘Make sure she’s OK.’

  ‘I’m not sure we should go outside anymore tonight,’ Christine says, shaking her head and lifting her palms as if to say, I’m out. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for the police?’ She drags her fingers through her hair, making it spike. ‘Two people murdered, one gone AWOL, Cameron nowhere to be found. I just don’t think going out there again is the best idea. We should all stay in here, together.’

  Faith rubs the back of her neck. Her dungarees are crumpled, and tendrils of dark hair fall loosely from her sagging ponytail. ‘I still think we should look for her, is all. She’s only young. Doesn’t understand English.’ She opens the French doors, letting cold air in, and steps out onto the terrace. Leon follows.

  Alice looks at Christine and Lori who don’t move. She shrugs and follows Faith and Leon out into the darkness once more.

  ‘Gabriela!’ they all yell, Faith veering away from Alice and Leon, heading towards the wood and disappearing into the shadows.

  ‘She’s not out here is she?’ Alice looks up at Leon, her arms around herself like a straitjacket, shivering from cold and fear. ‘This is so awful. I’m so sorry I dragged you here.’

  Leon takes hold of her hand. ‘You weren’t to know, Alice. You can’t blame yourself for this.’

  They continue across the lawn. ‘Gabriela!’ Leon cries once more. Alice strains her ears for a response, but there’s only the sounds of the trees, branches creaking, leaves whispering, and an animal cry somewhere in the distance.

  Faith appears, running back towards Alice and Leon. ‘God knows where she is,’ she says, panting. ‘If she headed into the woods, we’ll never find her tonight.’ But her eye
s have focused on the wire fence. ‘Should we check on the rocks below?’

  Leon shakes his head. ‘There’s no point. I know this sounds cold, but if Gabriela went over the edge, and we’ve no reason to think she would have … she wouldn’t have survived.’ He pauses for a long moment, as they all stare out to sea. ‘Let’s go inside. Stay together.’

  *

  Later, back in the bar, Christine and Lori sit opposite each other in a booth, upright and serious, as though they’re about to play a game of poker. Alice and Leon are on the sofa, silent, their faces pale like ghosts, eyes heavy. Faith is looking out of the window, eyes flicking across the darkness.

  It’s a long ten minutes before Christine speaks. ‘What exactly did the police say, Faith?’

  Faith glances back over her shoulder. ‘They said they’ll send someone over to the island as soon as possible.’

  ‘By boat?’

  Faith shrugs, and shakes her head. She looks back through the glass and whispers, her voice sounding defeated, ‘They didn’t say.’

  ‘Helicopter maybe?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Not in this weather.’ Faith, cups her hands over her eyes, and continues to look out. ‘A boat seems the likely option, but I can’t see any sign of one, and it’s still pretty rough out there, even though the storm’s died down a bit.’ She turns and heads towards the bar. ‘Anyone else need a big drink? Because I do.’

  Leon

  The grandfather clock chimes three. Time is passing painfully slowly – as though every second is a minute, every minute an hour. Christine is dozing in a chair by the window, talking in her sleep, mumbling something about fairy cakes, though most of her words are inaudible. How she can sleep at all is beyond Leon’s understanding. The thought of closing his eyes against this fear feels impossible. His whole body is on hyper-alert, his eyes darting the shadows.