The Island House

by Amanda Brittany

Lori and Faith lie stretched full-length on benches like corpses, one each side of a table. Both awake, but so still and silent.

  There’s no sign of Gabriela, or Cameron, and Mitch is still in his room.

  Alice and Leon sit on a sofa, his arm draped around her shoulders. Her head is pressed against his chest, and he wonders if she can hear the fast thud of his heartbeat, or the sound of his mind whizzing and whirring with everything that’s happened – not only since they arrived at Flynn Hotel, but also before – long before. Despite this awful situation, he knows he must tell her what he knows. They haven’t been this close in so long. If he keeps this from her, it could ruin everything; though if he tells her, could it be worse?

  He takes a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Alice,’ he says quiet enough so the other women can’t hear. What he has to say is for Alice’s ears only. ‘It’s never going to be a good time,’ he goes on, ‘but I need you to hear what I have to say, before we get back to Whitby. Before the police come. Before it all comes out.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ She peers up at him with worried eyes. ‘You’re freaking me out, Leon.’

  ‘It’s about Tegan …’ He stops, takes a deep breath.

  ‘Tegan?’

  ‘The thing is, she told me she was in love with your dad.’ It comes out fast, the words falling over each other – as though they’ve been crammed into a dark cupboard, and the door has finally opened, springing the contents free.

  ‘What?’ Alice pulls herself upright, away from him, stares deep into his eyes. ‘What are you talking about? Of course Tegan wasn’t in love with my dad. She was his literary agent, for God’s sake.’

  ‘It was more than that, Alice.’ He tries to order the words he knows he has to say. ‘Apparently they had a thing.’

  ‘A thing?’ She screws up her nose. ‘A thing?’

  ‘A brief relationship – a fling – I don’t think your dad thought it was serious, but—’

  ‘No, no they didn’t have a fling.’ She shakes her head. She would have known. ‘That can’t be right. He would have told me.’

  ‘I’m only telling you what Tegan told me. That your dad broke it off with her the day he died. That’s where he’d been that evening, to Tegan’s apartment, to tell her it was over. She was gutted, thought he loved her, that it was more than it was, and—’

  ‘This can’t be right.’

  ‘Think about it, Alice – Henry wasn’t with him.’ He tries to take her hand, but she shakes it free. ‘Your dad never went out without him. Tegan was scared of dogs.’

  She shakes her head again. ‘No, you’ve got it wrong, Leon.’

  He runs his hand over his chin, takes a deep breath. ‘There’s more, Alice, much more—’

  ‘I don’t think they’re coming.’ It’s Christine. ‘The police, I don’t think they’re coming.’ She’s awake, standing by the window, her voice a blade cutting off Leon and Alice’s conversation. ‘It’s been well over an hour since Faith called them.’

  ‘What, Leon?’ Alice whispers, clearly trying to ignore Christine’s invasion. ‘What else is there?’

  ‘The rain has stopped,’ Christine goes on, turning to Leon and Alice. ‘Maybe we should go out there now. Go down to the jetty and wait for the police.’

  ‘Or, Christine,’ Leon snaps, ‘we can stay here where it’s safe.’

  ‘Leon?’ Alice’s eyes are locked on his. But Christine is heading over to them with quick steps, and Lori and Faith are sitting up now, Faith stretching her arms above her head and yawning.

  ‘I’ll tell you everything later, Alice. I promise,’ he whispers, as guilt surges through him that he’s still keeping things from her. But he can’t say any more, not now Christine is beside them, her plump body a shivering wreck. The words he wants to say to Alice have stumbled and fallen in a cluttered heap in his already confused brain.

  Alice

  ‘When will they be here?’ Christine’s voice is rising in volume; she wrings her hands. ‘The police – when will they be here?’

  ‘I’m sure they’re doing their best,’ Alice says, Leon’s words playing over in her head. Did her dad have an affair with Tegan? She tries to recall times she was with the two of them. Had looks passed between them that she’d missed? Had there been a spark of chemistry she didn’t register at the time? She can’t recall anything of the kind. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to see it. Had she been in denial, not wanting to share her father with anyone?

  ‘So where the hell are they?’ Christine continues, her body twitching.

  ‘I’m guessing the storm has made it impossible for them to get here,’ Faith says, stretching her arms above her head once more, before getting up, and making her way over to the rest of them. ‘But I’m sure we’ll be fine, if we stay together in the bar until the tide goes out tomorrow.’

  Christine nods and looks at her watch. ‘It’s gone three. Only another few hours before daylight.’

  ‘What was it like here when you were a nanny?’ Faith asks Lori, after a long silence. ‘What were the children like?’

  The woman looks agitated by the question. ‘Let’s just say they had a difficult upbringing.’ She rises to her feet. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, I desperately need the loo.’ She grabs her handbag, and goes to make her way across the bar.

  ‘Christ’s sake,’ Leon whispers, dragging his fingers through his hair.

  Lori flashes a look over her shoulder. ‘I heard that, Leon.’ But she continues on her way.

  ‘You really shouldn’t go alone,’ he calls after her.

  Lori swings round. ‘You’re right. What am I thinking? But you can’t all hold my hand. Christine, will you come with me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Christine jumps to her feet. ‘I could do with going too, if I’m honest.’

  ‘That’s incredibly kind,’ Lori says, with a smile, as Christine catches her up.

  ‘But what if one of you is the killer?’ Alice’s eyes move from one to the other, as they stop and turn, looking awkward.

  ‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Christine says, her face a mask of indignation. ‘I’m no killer.’

  ‘Well, I’m not saying it is you, Christine, but we have to keep an open mind here. Two people are dead.’

  ‘There’s a ladies’ room in reception,’ Christine says. ‘Let’s all go together. That way we’ll be safe.’

  Alice feels her body wobble as she stands up. Everything’s so bizarre. A party of five are about to trot to the loo together, for fear of being bumped off one by one by an invisible killer stalking a Gothic hotel on an island in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t make it up. How the hell had it come to this? A bubble of hysteria rises inside her, and as Leon takes her hand, she begins to laugh. Loud. Hysterically.

  ‘Alice?’ Leon says. ‘What’s up with you?’

  ‘What’s up with me?’ she cries. ‘What’s up with me?’ Her laughter turns to tears, as she bends over, holding her stomach, bile rising in her throat. ‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Once she’s sure she’s not going to be sick, she straightens. ‘We’re all going to be murdered aren’t we? Whoever’s doing this is going to pick us off one by one. Kill us all.’

  Leon pulls her to his chest, strokes her hair. ‘Try to calm down, Alice. This really isn’t helping.’

  ‘Yes, calm down, Alice,’ Faith spits, her eyes wide. ‘We’re all in a state here – all in the same boat. You don’t see the rest of us acting so bloody crazy.’

  ‘Bit harsh,’ Leon says, as Alice falls silent, her heart thudding. ‘This is going to affect us all differently, Faith. You need to allow a little.’

  ‘OK. Sorry.’ Faith raises her palms as though surrendering. ‘I’m just a bit …’

  ‘Crazy?’ Alice whispers, throwing her a daggering stare.

  ‘Give me time,’ Christine says with a forced smile. ‘I might be swinging from that crazy chandelier with you girls soon.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, folks
, but I still need to use the loo,’ Lori says, and heads out of the bar. They all follow.

  Once in reception, Lori takes the three steps down to the ladies’, straightening her flowing dress, and pulling her thick hair over one shoulder as she disappears from view, a door squeaking closed behind her.

  ‘Wait up,’ Christine says, following.

  Alice, Leon and Faith wait on the sofa, not making eye contact – none of them speaking. The house seems to be closing in around them.

  Eventually, the door to the loos squeaks once more, and Christine reappears, climbing the steps, tugging at her underwear.

  ‘I think I’ll go too, while we’re here.’ Alice gets up, passes Christine, before descending the steps.

  The ladies’ is immaculate. Black tiles on every wall, two pink sinks – the colour theme matching the rest of the house. Alice goes to the loo then washes her hands with the pleasant-smelling soap. She catches sight of her reflection in the oval mirrors above the sinks. If she had any doubts that this evening has taken its toll, her reflection confirms it has. Her hair hangs lank and damp, her eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale, all smacking of anxiety-fuelled exhaustion.

  She sets the dryer going, and moves her hands under it.

  ‘Everything OK, Lori?’ she calls, over the whirring dryer, glancing over her shoulder at the closed cubicle. When there’s no reply, she feels a small sensation of panic. She crouches down, peers under the door, sees Lori’s bag propped against it, and relief surges through her. ‘We’ll wait for you outside,’ she says, straightening up.

  She exits the ladies’ and goes to sit with the others. Faith jumps to her feet – almost as if she has taken a baton from Alice in a relay race. She makes her way down the steps.

  ‘Should we check on Lori, do you think?’ Faith says when she returns five minutes later. ‘I called out to her, but she didn’t reply. She’s been in there a long time.’

  Alice shrugs. ‘I think she may have a tummy upset, or something.’

  ‘Too much information,’ Leon says, but he doesn’t smile.

  Faith and Alice head back to the ladies’, leaving Leon and Christine in reception.

  ‘Lori? Are you OK in there?’ Alice calls, her head close to the cubicle door. She crouches once more and peers underneath. ‘Her bag is still there.’ She rises, using the door for support, and it eases open. ‘Lori?’ She looks round the door. ‘Oh God, where is she?’

  ‘What the …?’ Faith cries from behind her.

  Alice covers her mouth with her hands. There’s a small window behind the loo, but hardly big enough for Lori to climb out of. And anyway, why would she?

  Faith, eyes wide, spins round and bangs open the other cubicle.

  Feeling cool air on her neck, Alice turns. ‘Was the window open when you came down here earlier?’ She can’t recall if it was when she was there before.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Faith moves towards it, bites down on her lower lip. It’s only open a few inches, but it isn’t latched. It’s big enough to climb through.

  Alice pads across the room, approaches the open window. Her head spins. Has Lori climbed out? Has she left of her own accord through this window, or has someone taken her?

  She thinks back to when Lori didn’t respond when she called out earlier. Had she been lying in the cubicle then? Had someone attacked her? Cameron? Mitch? Gabriela? Everyone is suddenly a suspect. And worse, did Alice miss her cry for help?

  She pushes open the window, letting a whoosh of cold air in. Looks out into the darkness, a shiver trailing down her spine as she scans the area. There’s no sign of her.

  ‘The window’s cracked,’ Faith says, and Alice’s gaze moves back to the glass. There’s a smear of blood on the frame. She goes to touch it, but Faith grabs her hand, and pulls it back.

  ‘Don’t,’ she says. ‘The police will be here soon. It’s evidence.’

  Chapter 32

  1994

  Tiger

  I still don’t see Daddy much, and that makes me sad. But Aunt Verity says he loves me, and I must believe that, and never forget it. One day, she says, he will wake up and smell the roses, and we will all live happily ever after as a family. The trouble is, I do worry about this very much, because there are no roses at Flynn House, and there are no roses in Daddy’s garden either. There are only spiky, stingy bushes that prickle and burst my skin, and the poisonous white flowers with purple blotchy stems that I must never ever touch.

  Today I am happy because I am in Daddy’s garden, and it’s just Daddy and me. And I’m wearing my red shorts. And I’m wearing my yellow T-shirt too. Aunt Verity has never bought me swimmies. She says the sun will burn me and make my skin crispy if I don’t wear shorts and a T-shirt.

  ‘The sun has got its hat on, Tiger,’ Daddy says, and I look up at the bright blue sky. The sun is big and shiny, and because it might make me blind, I squeeze my eyes so they are nearly closed. I can just about see through the slits.

  I’m having the best fun ever in my paddling pool, splashing, splashing, splashing. I can’t actually swim in the pool because it’s too small, but quite a long time ago, Daddy took me down to the sea. And I swam and swam, and he clapped his hands and said I was amazing. I like it when Daddy calls me amazing. And I like days when it’s just Daddy and me, when Aunt Verity is busy at the big house doing her jobs, like washing or mowing the lawn – or she’s painting her pictures.

  ‘Can you hear the birds singing, Tiger?’ Daddy says, looking up again from writing in his notebook. He likes to write. He says it makes him feel better, and one day, when I’m bigger, he says he’ll read all of his stories to me. But for now they are a bit too scary. Instead he reads me fairy tales. My favourite is Rapunzel.

  ‘Shh, Tiger,’ he says, when I splash again. ‘Stop and listen to the birds.’

  So I stop splashing, and look up at the trees. ‘Chirp, chirp, chirp.’

  *

  Later, when Aunt Verity comes to get me, she starts shouting at Daddy, her face turning red, and she throws a whole deckchair and its leg breaks off, and Daddy marches like a soldier up and down the garden, rubbing his head, and making growly noises like a big bad bear.

  ‘I don’t want Tiger to end up like us, V,’ he yells.

  ‘And you think you have a right to an opinion? I can count on my hand how many times you’ve seen Tiger in the last five years.’

  I grab my cuddly tiger, that Daddy bought me for my birthday, and curl up into a ball and roll under the hedge, like an invisible hedgehog. Listening.

  Daddy shouts that he wants me to go to school, to be normal. Be like other kids. But I know what school is like because I’ve seen Grange Hill on the television, and I don’t want to go there, not one little bit.

  ‘Home schooling will work out fine,’ Aunt Verity shouts. ‘Tiger is so clever, Hugh.’ And then she shouts some more about how she looks after me all of the time, and that Daddy rarely sees me. And that it will be her decision, and hers alone. And Daddy says it isn’t up to her, and that he is my daddy, so he chooses what happens to me. He says he will come to Flynn House and take me away if she isn’t careful.

  But Aunt Verity says, ‘You know you’ll never set foot in the place, Hugh. You’re too afraid of the past.’ And I realise Daddy has never been to the big house, and that makes me sad.

  And then Aunt Verity grabs my arm and drags me out from under the hedge, and all the prickly branches scratch my arms and legs and blood bubbles everywhere.

  ‘Aunt Verity!’ I scream, and then I cry so hard my nose runs.

  ‘Oh, Tiger,’ Aunt Verity says, and she wraps me up tightly in a grey beach towel. ‘Let’s get you home, sweetie. Let’s get you away from Daddy; he’s in a very grumpy mood.’

  *

  I like making fairy cakes with Aunt Verity. It’s my third favourite thing in the whole world. My first is being with Daddy, my second is being with the puppets, but this is my third.

  ‘Are you OK now, Tiger?’ Aunt Verity says, as I spoon
the mixture of eggs and sugar and flour into paper cases, and lick my fingers.

  I nod. ‘I like making cakes.’

  ‘I’m sorry I got cross with Daddy earlier. And I’m so sorry you hurt your legs and arms.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ I scoop more mixture onto the spoon. ‘When the cakes are cooked, please may I have three?’

  She smiles. ‘That’s a little bit greedy, Tiger.’

  ‘But I have got sore legs and arms.’

  ‘Well just this once, then,’ she says with a big smile.

  I plop the mixture into the last case, and Aunt Verity puts the tray into the oven while I lick the bowl. It’s not long before the whole kitchen smells sweet and sugary and my tummy grumbles.

  *

  Later, in my room, Aunt Verity straightens my yellow duvet, and karate chops my pillows, and lays my cuddly tiger on top of my red pyjamas.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ I ask, looking up from building a house out of Lego on the floor. I hear it a lot. Tap, tap, tap above my head.

  ‘I can’t hear anything, sweetie,’ Aunt Verity says, bending down and stroking my cheek. She says this every time I ask her about the tap, tap, tap. ‘You’re imagining things again, Tiger. You have a good imagination, just like your daddy.’

  I like it when she says I’m like my daddy.

  Maybe it’s the puppets in the attic, I nearly say. But I know I can’t say that because Aunt Verity doesn’t know I go up there to see my puppet friends, and, if she did, she might be cross, and take away the key.

  The noise gets louder. Why can’t she hear it?

  ‘Dinner will be ready in an hour, darling.’ She leaves the room with a wave. ‘I’m going to have a little drink now.’

  Tap, tap, tap.

  *

  When Aunt Verity is flopped on the sofa asleep, with an empty glass in her hand, up the attic steps I go – one, two, three, four, five, seven, eight, nine.

  ‘Hello,’ I say to the brass dogs that guard the room.

  I open the red door, and look inside.

  Aunt Verity comes up to the attic lots of times, and one time I saw where she hid the key, and ever since, I’ve been coming too. Aunt Verity doesn’t know I’m here, behind the red door, and neither does Daddy. They have no idea at all.