I sit down, happy here on the grass-green carpet. I like the muddy-brown walls too. It’s like being outside inside. I don’t like the bars at the arch-shaped window, but I love the shelves full of magic tricks. There’s a huge red box that Grandpa Felix used to put ladies inside and cut them into three bits with the saw that’s hanging on the wall. I know he did that, because there are pictures all over the walls downstairs. But it’s OK. It wasn’t real. It was just pretend. Magic.
There’s a top hat too, but no rabbit, and there are lots of sparkly clothes that were my grandmother’s. And then there are the puppets. The puppets are my friends. Not my real friends. I haven’t got any real friends. But I know what friends are from watching children’s television.
I scratch my arm. The blood bubbles are now crusty scabs. I like to pick them off. See the blood again.
At this very moment exactly, I’m going to have a picnic – outside inside – with my puppet friends. I’ve brought them each a fairy cake.
I pour Rosie a cup of tea first because she’s my favourite. I named her after Rosie and Jim on children’s television. Rosie and Jim are puppets and they live on a boat on the river. My Rosie doesn’t live on a boat because she lives in the attic, and she doesn’t look like Rosie on the television either. Rosie on the television has black hair and black eyes, but my friend Rosie has yellow hair and her eyes are blue and her lips are shiny.
Then I serve Paulo some tea. I know his name is Paulo because Aunt Verity showed me pictures of him once and told me his name. I don’t like Paulo very much; he has a very cross face. But I mustn’t leave Paulo out of the picnic, because that would be unkind.
‘Would you like a fairy cake?’ I ask Ralfie, my third puppet, and he nods his head, and smiles. I named him Ralfie after a dog I saw on the beach once. Woof, woof, woof. He was a fluffy brown dog that jumped up at me and made me laugh. Puppet Ralfie has freckles across his nose and cheeks, and red hair made of wool, and he’s dressed in a black and white checked suit. I serve him his cake onto the plate, and he gobbles it down. ‘It’s fun being outside inside, isn’t it?’ I say to him.
I turn. ‘What about you, Rosie? Would you like a cake?’
I love being up here in the attic with my friends, outside inside.
Chapter 33
Halloween Weekend 2019
Alice
‘Lori’s disappeared,’ Alice cries, arms flailing, cheeks flushed as she dashes up the steps from the ladies’ and into reception, Faith right behind her.
Leon and Christine jump to their feet, eyes wide.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ Faith cries. ‘Christ! We have to do something.’
‘I agree.’ Leon massages his temples as he paces the chessboard floor tiles. ‘But what the hell can we do, but wait?’
‘The police should be here soon,’ Alice says, but she doesn’t believe her words, not anymore. Surely they would be here by now, if they were coming.
Christine takes off her glasses, rubs her watery eyes. ‘What are we going to do if they don’t?’ she says.
Faith flops down on the sofa, looks up, as though the ornate ceiling has the answers. ‘I keep going over and over the call I made at the cottage. Whoever answered the phone said, “Hello.”’ Her eyes dip, land on Alice’s face where they lock. ‘I mean, wouldn’t they have asked which service I require? That’s what they say, isn’t it? The emergency services. I’ve seen it on TV; they ask what service you require?’
Alice nods slowly. ‘I guess so.’
‘So, now I’m wondering if the call ever went through to the mainland. What if I didn’t speak to the emergency services at all?’
Alice’s eyes widen. ‘Why wouldn’t it have gone through, Faith?’
Faith bites down on her lip. ‘I know it sounds far-fetched, but hear me out. It was a man who answered, so what if it was Cameron Patterson? What if he pretended to be the emergency services?’
‘That makes no sense, Faith.’ Alice shakes her head, doesn’t want to believe her.
‘I think Faith could be right,’ Christine says, folding her arms around herself. ‘What if he set up the phone to go straight to his mobile, or something? I think they can do that, can’t they?’
‘You can do anything, if you want to bad enough,’ Leon says, but he’s shaking his head, as though he doesn’t believe it.
‘He would have known we would go to the cottage eventually, what with everything that’s been happening here at the hotel,’ Faith goes on.
‘But why would he play games like that?’ Alice says. ‘And anyway, if he was pretending to be the emergency services, he would surely keep up the pretence and get it right, and ask what service we required.’
‘I don’t know, would he?’ Faith shrugs.
‘But it doesn’t make sense, Faith. He could have just disconnected the phone.’
‘Not if he’s playing games with us.’
A chill darts down Alice’s spine. Could Faith be right? Could Cameron have set this whole thing up? Taken their mobile phones? Cut the phone line?
‘What if he killed the Winslows?’ Christine says, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes shimmering as she looks about her. ‘What if he’s going to kill us all?’
‘But why?’ Tears prick Alice’s eyes. ‘Why would some man none of us know kill the Winslows? Do all of this?’ She looks around too, a stab of fear almost knocking her off her feet. She grips Leon’s arm, and he turns, stares deep into her eyes.
‘I have to get help,’ he says.
‘What? No, Leon, we need to all stay here, together,’ Alice cries, tightening her grip on his arm. ‘There’s no way to get back to the mainland until tomorrow. The boat’s gone, remember? The phone lines are down.’
‘I have to do something.’ He shakes off her hand, makes his way into the bar, and everyone follows, as though attached to him by invisible leads. He heads across the room, and throws open the French doors. ‘The storm’s almost over now,’ he says. ‘I reckon I can swim back and get help. It’s not that far.’
‘You can’t!’ There’s panic in Alice’s voice, the thought of him leaving sending a bolt of fear through her body. ‘What if the storm returns, Leon? You won’t be safe out there.’
He glances over his shoulder, meets her eyes once more. ‘I’m a good swimmer, Alice. You know that.’
‘I think it’s a good idea.’ Christine puts her arm around Alice, but she shrugs her away.
‘He’s a lifeguard,’ Faith says. ‘He can do this.’
‘While he’s getting help, the three of us can lock ourselves in one of the bedrooms,’ Christine goes on. ‘We’ll be safe together.’
‘It makes sense, Alice,’ Leon says. ‘You’ve got to see that.’
Alice shakes her head, her throat closing. ‘Please don’t go, Leon. The four of us can stay. We’ll be safe here until morning.’
‘I really think Leon should try to get us help, Alice,’ Christine says. ‘If he can.’
‘No!’ Tears fill her eyes. ‘Leon, please, this is ridiculous.’
But she knows from his determined look that Leon thinks he’s doing the right thing. He leans in, kisses her cheek. ‘I have to do this,’ he says. ‘Stay with Christine and Faith at all times. Go up to one of the rooms as soon as I leave, and don’t come out until I’m back with the police, whatever happens.’
He walks away, and as he disappears through the double doors into reception, Alice’s body shakes, memories of losing her father filling her thoughts. She can’t lose Leon too. She just can’t.
*
Alice unlocks the door to her room, and is about to press down the handle when it hits her, ‘Oh God, we should probably check on Mitch first.’
Faith slaps her hand to her mouth. ‘I totally forgot about him.’ She looks towards the end of the dimly lit hallway. ‘And if I’m honest, I don’t fancy checking. I mean, what if he’s …?’
‘What? Dead? The killer?’ Alice’s voice is high-pitched – neither option
sounds good, and she doesn’t fancy finding out.
‘Well I’m not going down there.’ Christine pushes past Alice, opens the door. ‘He’s locked in. We should lock ourselves in too, like we planned.’
Faith and Alice look at each other for a moment, before following Christine into the room.
Once the door is locked and bolted, Alice lowers herself down onto the hard, wooden floor, but she feels far from safe. Safe would be sitting in the tangled garden of Butterfly Cottage, Henry sprawled in the sunshine, her father, very much alive, telling her about the latest book he’s working on, her telling him how well her little shop in Whitby is doing. She loved it when they talked in the moment, not looking back, or forward – just that precious, safe moment in time – just the two of them.
She rests her back against the wall, and lowers her head, hair falling over her face. She cradles her knees, her mind drifting to Leon; still unable to believe he’s taken off, left her here in this nightmare, putting himself in danger.
Five minutes later, Christine is sprawled on the double bed, staring up at the ceiling. She looks different without her glasses – now on the bedside unit – her eyelids heavy. It’s the first time Alice has properly studied the quaint little woman who chirpily greeted them in the white boat, what now feels like weeks ago. Her face is lined by life, her eyes carrying dark shadows. Her cropped hair and trendy red-framed glasses gave her a younger vibe when they first met her, but now the harrowing day seems to have aged her a decade.
‘Do you live nearby?’ Faith asks, turning from where she’s sitting in the throne-like chair facing the window, to look at Christine. Alice can’t help thinking she’s trying to kill time, fill a void with pointless conversation until Leon returns.
‘I’ve lived in Dunwold on the coast all my life,’ Christine says, sounding nostalgic. ‘I remember Flynn House fascinated me as a child, but none of us kids ever went too close.’ She half-laughs. ‘The thought of Felix Flynn catching one of us trespassing – and putting us in one of his wooden boxes and chopping us up – was a pretty good deterrent.’ Her smile says she’s back there in the past, a child once more running along the beach without a care. ‘The place had a mysterious vibe back then.’
‘Still has,’ Faith says, turning her eyes back to the window and the view of liquid black, her blurry reflection in the glass haunting.
‘Do you remember the children, Verity and Hugh?’ Alice asks.
‘No, not really, they rarely ventured out – kept under lock and key by Felix.’
Alice picks up on something dark in her voice, or perhaps it’s the heavy mood in the room.
‘Hugh was a sad little creature, I vaguely remember,’ Christine goes on. A brief sigh seems to hold a note of regret. ‘I was strangely excited when I got the opportunity to work here. To finally set foot inside Flynn House, find out what it was like inside the mysterious mansion that fascinated us as kids.’ She paused for a moment, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Though I still miss working in my little shop on the mainland.’
‘You owned a shop?’ Alice asks.
‘Mmm, for many years – my parents owned it before me. Happy times. But when my Terry died six months ago, and my son moved away—’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband,’ Faith says, glancing over.
‘It doesn’t get any easier. Grief.’ Christine pulls herself up to a sitting position, her eyes shimmering as she props herself against the baroque headboard. ‘He had terminal cancer. Though the irony is, it’s not how he died.’ She looks down at her hands, entwines her chubby fingers. ‘He was on medication when we went for a break in Cornwall, and I wonder now if that’s what made him unsteady on his feet … He went out for a walk along the cliffs and … well … he lost his footing, tumbled to his death.’
Alice covers her mouth, holding in a gasp. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, hearing the pain in Christine’s voice.
‘A blessing some might say.’ Christine shrugs. ‘Saved him any suffering he may have faced at the end, perhaps? If I had to lose him, and it seems I did, it was better to spare him that.’
A silence descends for some moments, before Faith chirps up once more.
‘So, how did you end up working here?’ she asks Christine, her voice slicing through the quiet.
Christine pushes her fingers through her hair, and reaches for her glasses. Puts them on. ‘It was a while back. I’d closed the shop for the final time; was planning to sell up and move away, maybe join my son in France, when a leaflet came through my door. I’m guessing it went to all the residents of Dunwold. It was about the hotel opening the following October. They were advertising for a general manager.’
‘And you applied?’
Christine nods. ‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. The money was amazing. So I came over for an interview with Cameron Patterson. But when I got here there were only painters and decorators on the premises – nice group of Eastern European chaps. They showed me round, and I was sold on taking the position, should I be offered it. Later Cameron emailed apologising that he’d got stuck in traffic, and after an email exchange, he said I was perfect for the position.’
‘Just like that?’ Alice says, her eyes widening. ‘Didn’t you think it was a bit odd? I mean where was Cameron that day? Where is he now?’
‘To be honest, I didn’t think anything of it at the time,’ Christine says. ‘I’d managed a shop for years, had a pilot licence for the boat. He said I was just what he was looking for.’ She looks about her. ‘But I don’t know anymore.’ She shakes her head. ‘What with everything that’s happened—’
‘I’m with you on that,’ Alice says. ‘I keep wondering if Cameron brought us all here for a reason. I wonder if … well … Hugh Flynn looks so much like my father, and I know so little about my dad’s past.’ The words are out there, swirling like toxic fog in the air. The fear that had been burrowing away, that her father, the father she has always known as Adam Hadley, had lived in this house as a boy and as a young man, and never told her. That he had a sister he never mentioned. But if that was true, why had he kept it from her? Why had he changed his name? Why had he kept his past hidden?
Faith leans over and touches Alice’s hand. ‘Is this to do with the portrait, sweetie? Because, the resemblance could be coincidental.’
‘Maybe.’ But Alice is sure there’s more to it.
‘Lori said she worked here as a nanny, didn’t she?’ Christine says, cutting through Alice’s thoughts. ‘But I have no connection to this house that I’m aware of, unless you count that I lived on the mainland all my life.’
‘And what about the Winslows?’ Alice says. ‘And what possible link could Gabriela have to Flynn House? I mean, she’s Eastern European, doesn’t speak any English.’
‘Cameron doesn’t know about her. She only arrived on Thursday. He left money in the safe to use for anything I felt I needed, so I took her on cash in hand.’
‘What about Mitch?’ Alice goes on.
‘And me,’ Faith says. ‘I only decided to come at the last minute.’
Alice shakes her head. She feels like crap, her temples pounding, her body so tired it aches. ‘I don’t know, perhaps I’m wrong,’ she says, sounding defeated.
‘Maybe we should try to get some sleep,’ Faith says. ‘I know it won’t be easy, but if we all have a little power nap.’
‘OK. But one of us should stay awake,’ Alice says. ‘Just in case.’
‘Nobody can get in here.’ Faith leans over and grabs a throw from the bottom of the bed, covers herself with it, and shuffles down in the chair. ‘I’ve pulled the bolt across. We’re safe.’
Christine removes her glasses once more, and eases down the bed, curls her legs up like she’s a foetus.
Alice wants to say, But what if it’s one of us? She hates that she’s even considering her friend as a possible killer. ‘I’ll keep an eye open, all the same,’ she says. ‘You two can go to sleep if you want.’ A redundant comment, as both
Christine and Faith have closed their eyes. Alice’s eyes are gritty and sore, her lids heavy. She’s exhausted, but her body buzzes like a beehive. She’s not sure she’ll sleep.
Five minutes later, Faith lets out a sudden shriek, and Alice bolts to her feet, races over to her. But her friend doesn’t wake, has fallen silent once more. In fact, the whole house is quiet, and a suffocating fear settles around her.
There’s no clock in the room, and without her phone, time seems to have lost all meaning. Surely it will be daylight in a few hours. She leans across to the bookshelf and grabs a book, sits back down, and opens it at the first page. But the words blur in front of her eyes. Her head is too full. It’s impossible to turn off her fear, the sadness.
You kept so many secrets from me, Dad. A tear rolls down her face, and plops onto the page. Didn’t you?
Chapter 34
1994
Tiger
The frothy waves roll towards me like big white wheels. I sit on the sand, legs crossed, halfway to Dunwold and halfway to the island, looking out at the sea on both sides of me. It looks like a giant grey cake with blobs of cream everywhere.
Daddy says I’m a good swimmer. That he is very proud of me. I want to make him proud again, so that he will love me. I’m wearing my swimming goggles. And I’m wearing my red shorts. And I’m wearing my yellow T-shirt.
Aunt Verity doesn’t know I am out here today, but I know Daddy will see me from his window. His desk is there. Facing the sea. He sits at it all the time, writing. I want him to watch me from his window. I want him to watch me swim like a fishy, fish, fish.
The sea creeps across the sand, looking like watery fingers. It starts to rain.
I look up at the cliffs, at Daddy’s cottage, but I can’t see him at the window. I look up at the grey and swirly sky. The clouds are like puffs of smoke.
I wait. I wait for a very long time.
The Island House Page 18
