‘I don’t need you to believe what I believe. I just need you to be yourself.’
‘That’s easy.’
‘Only you could say that, Rebecca.’ I tell her of my vision of the island. How it will differ from what it was, and how we’ll try to make it work.
She listens hard, nodding, frowning, then puts down the cup of water, and runs her fingers through her hair. I sense she’s decided to accept my offer; it’s in the way she looks around the room, this time with the fresh perspective, evaluating it as a home.
‘So what happens now?’ she says.
‘You can start whenever you’re ready.’
‘I’m ready now.’
‘What about your stuff?’
‘All in the bag.’
It occurs to me that there’s something more going on here than I had bargained for. ‘Rebecca, what’s going on?’
‘I told you – I’ve left Hamish. I really don’t want to go back and see him. It wasn’t amicable. He became…’ She bites her lip. ‘Listen, I can’t go into this. You’ll feed it into your fantasy and make it part of your reality, and… God, this is ridiculous! I can’t do this.’
‘What did Hamish become?’
‘I… Look, he set up a network of internet friends to monitor and report back on paedophiles. People they thought might be paedophiles. There was a man living on our street and Hamish thought he was… Well, he had been convicted of something, and Hamish got really concerned over it, and so did some others. And then he set up an online group and it just grew. It went from a few friends to thousands of them. All over the country. He said he was doing it to keep everyone safe, to keep our grandkids safe. When I pointed out we didn’t have grandkids he wasn’t even listening. And he always listens. We communicate. That’s who we’ve always been, as a couple. We communicate.’
She stops talking. I don’t try to break the silence that surrounds us. Eventually, she says, ‘See? I can feel you thinking it.’
‘I’m only concerned for you,’ I tell her, but I’m a terrible liar, and she shrugs it off.
‘You’re right, though, it’s all men. His group, all men. Doing vigilante things. Organised packs, on the streets. He said I needed to be protected, that all women and children have to be kept safe in these times. What kind of a person says things like that? That’s not Hamish. But I can’t fight him, I can’t stay and watch him…’ She shakes her head. Her grief and pain are waves that emanate from the core of her. I can feel it washing over me, dragging me down too. ‘I don’t know what’s gone wrong with the world. It’s the media, perhaps. The pressure of the news, the tabloids. It’s not what you’re thinking, Marianne.’
I try to focus, to not let my feelings for David get caught up in this. ‘But you don’t want to be out there any more, whatever it is. You want to be here. Where it’s safe. I can understand that.’
She clears her throat. ‘Oddly enough, I do feel safe here. Safe alone with the only certifiable loony I know. Sorry, I shouldn’t use such terms, should I? Very unlike a counsellor.’
‘Well, you’re not alone. Inger is here too. She’s very efficient. With her help we’re going to be back in business in no time.’
‘That’s great. Listen, I didn’t mean it, the loony thing. It’s just the stress.’
‘You did mean it. But it’s okay. I actually kind of like being called a loony. It makes me feel less boring.’
Rebecca straightens her skirt with the palms of her hands. ‘Marianne, no matter what you do, nobody could ever call you boring.’
The idea of this – that I am beyond the conventional in every way – appeals to me. ‘Thanks.’
‘It wasn’t exactly a compliment.’
I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, then Inger knocks on the open door and shoots me a look that I translate as concern. Do I look in need of help? I don’t feel it. ‘Inger, come on in. Do you remember Rebecca?’
‘We never met properly.’ They shake hands, a very businesslike gesture.
‘So you’re on board?’ says Inger. She’s so very direct. I hope Rebecca will respond in kind.
‘Yes, all right, consider me signed up.’ Rebecca lets out a long breath. ‘So where do we begin?’
I wait for them both to sit down again, so we are all gathered around the table. Inger has brought along a pen and paper, and looks ready to take notes. This has officially become a business. ‘We’re going to start by getting Moira back.’
‘The statue,’ says Rebecca.
‘Yes.’
‘The statue that got destroyed in the basement.’
Inger and Rebecca exchange looks. Well, let them both think I’m mad, as long as it unites them. They have to learn to work together.
‘It didn’t get destroyed. It’s in Crete.’
Rebecca gives me her best maternal, disapproving look, as if she’s just walked into the kitchen to find me smearing jam on the walls. ‘What would it be doing in Crete?’
‘You have to trust me on this.’ Or perhaps I’m asking too much. ‘No, okay, you don’t even have to do that. You just have to get this place up and running while I go to the cave in Crete, find her and bring her back here where she belongs.’
‘The cave in Amelia Worthington’s story?’ says Rebecca. ‘Seriously? Why would Moira – the statue – be back there, anyway?’
‘Because women go round in circles.’
Inger and Rebecca stare at me, and then we all burst out laughing.
‘It’s not safe to be travelling alone,’ says Rebecca, finally, and the atmosphere in the room changes, thickens, into a sense of uncomfortable possibility. I really am going to Mount Ida.
‘You sound like Hamish,’ I tell her. ‘And I’m not asking you to condone my decision. I’m asking you to run this place. That’s what you’ll be good at. The two of you, together – the unstoppable administrators.’
‘I don’t think much of that as a super-power, do you?’ she says to Inger.
Inger leans forward and takes my hand across the table. It’s such an unexpected gesture that I feel my cheeks flush and tears prick my eyes. For all Rebecca’s objections, it’s Inger’s compassion that could undo me. I could ask them to go with me, to risk walking into that cave.
And then I force myself to remember what Moira did to the last people who entered the cave in Mount Ida, and I know I have to go alone. I stand up and pull my hand free. ‘Listen, it’s going to be fine. Inger, can you show Rebecca to the staff accommodation? I’ve got to organise my flight.’
I walk out of the room before anything more can be said. Between them, they will do everything that must be done to get this place running. They won’t need me at all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In the back of Sam’s Mini, he crouched: cold, squashed, numb.
They had agreed on 8:30 p.m., but David didn’t dare check his watch for fear that the light on the dial could possibly be spotted from outside. It was so dark, beyond what he had imagined when he pictured this moment. It made him sure that he had failed to envisage other happenings – what hadn’t he planned for? How could he keep Sam safe in every circumstance? It was impossible to guarantee.
He tried to push such thoughts away, and forced his mind to return to the plan.
Sam would return from the supermarket laden with carrier bags at 8:30 p.m. She would walk through the deserted car park, and then open the boot to her Mini to load the bags. She would slam the boot and walk around to the driver’s seat, and if nothing happened in that time span, she would simply get in and drive away.
But if something did happen, David was ready.
Except that his legs were slowly turning to stone in this position. He had no sensation left in his cramped thighs. That was what he hadn’t counted on – he wouldn’t be able to get to her, to leap from the car in time to save her. Surely his body would never respond.
He had to trust it. His body would automatically respond to Sam’s need. It would wake up, come to life, as it did wheneve
r she walked into the room. They had been living together for three weeks now and he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. He only felt sure of her safety when he was inside her. At all other times, from morning to night, he watched her, trying to protect her. If she was threatened, he was certain something in him would awaken. Something primitive, violent.
‘I hear you’re shacked up with the policewoman,’ Arnie had said last night, over a pint in The Cornerhouse.
‘Yes, I, um…’
‘Good on you.’ Arnie clapped him on the back, a strange, congratulatory gesture that belonged to a different age. ‘She’s a pretty little thing. Going to help you catch that bastard, is she?’
‘How did you know that?’
He tapped the side of his head. ‘Saw it. Geoff’ll be coming along too, just as back up.’
‘No, I think I’d rather handle it alone,’ David said, his eyes on Mags, who was slumped over the bar, her hands in her hair, her white blouse dishevelled. Every time he saw her she looked smaller, greyer.
‘Up to you. But it won’t work out in your favour without Geoff.’ Arnie took a sip of his pint. ‘It’s just how I’ve seen it. Tomorrow night. You in the car, her as bait. Geoff’ll just happen to be walking past, like.’
And, because Arnie had seen it, David went along with it.
The world had gone crazy anyway. Crime rates were rising, the internet was filled with talk of taking matters into your own hands, forming groups, taking stands. It had become, so quickly, a world of them and us, retribution and revenge, derisions and decisions that would affect thousands. It was a pandemic of punishment; believing that one old man could see the future seemed like the least of David’s worries.
He shifted his weight and rubbed his legs. Where was Geoff? It was impossible to see anything outside the car, now that the timed safety light on the library wall had switched back off. Sam had assured him that the police had moved on from their patrols in this area. Crime was everywhere – they couldn’t afford to sit outside one building while gangs of teenage boys staged battles in the streets.
There was still no sign of Sam.
Maybe his enemy had been waiting in the alley instead. He could have grabbed her while David crouched there, like an idiot, could have dragged her to a quiet place where he could take his photographs and work up the courage to put his fingers where his lens had gone. The thought was enough to make David move. He stretched up, reached for the inner handle of the car.
Footsteps.
The steps, quick and light, approached the car. The safety light switched on, cast shadows around the back seat. He heard the blip of the key fob, and the locks in the Mini slid up. The boot opened. Cold air poured into the car and the rustle of plastic bags, so close to his head, made him flinch.
The boot slammed shut. He heard Sam’s feet move to the driver’s door, not too fast, taking her time.
‘Excuse me?’
A man’s voice, low, in a local accent, close to the car. ‘Excuse me, have you dropped this?’
It had to be him. David felt it, knew it, as adrenaline uncurled in his stomach and spread through his veins; it was him.
‘No, no, that’s not mine,’ said Sam.
‘Oh right… Only I just found it on the ground over there… What do you think I should do with it? Should I hand it in somewhere?’
‘Leave it on the rail next to the library, maybe?’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Just up—’ David could picture her turning, pointing. Then nothing. Her voice simply stopped. He waited on, expecting something to happen: the sound of a struggle, a scream, anything to galvanise him, send him into action. The silence enveloped him, bringing its own inertia. But then the enormity of the moment stung him, like an injection into the heart, and he leapt up, ignoring aching muscles and doubt, and sprang out of the car.
There was nobody there.
The ground crackled underfoot from the cold, and the air was tight in his lungs. On the bonnet of the Mini rested one red knitted glove, without an owner. No noise, no sound, no sense of proximity to anyone, anything living.
The surreality of it was so strong, he wondered if he’d fallen into a flashback from the cubes. Maybe everything was a lie, a dream. Maybe Marianne had never gone back to the island and all this was a game in his head. He could walk home, now, at this moment, and find her there, curled up in their bed, dreaming of books and beauty.
A flash of movement from the alleyway, the glint of the safety light on glass. Geoff stepped forward, his glasses illuminated into two small, round mirrors, and shook his head. David read his meaning – They didn’t come this way.
Where, then? Through the hedge? Unlikely, without making any noise. To another car? Then Sam was still here. Nobody had pulled away. David jogged around the car park, between the rows, looking into each window, narrowing down that avenue of escape to an impossibility.
There was only one place left.
He walked up to the library door and was unsurprised to find it ajar. He pulled it open, walked into the darkness, used his memory to take him around the displays of paperbacks on circular stands to the front desk.
The door to the back office was closed and a yellow sliver of light crept from under it.
David put his hand to the handle. He took a breath, and opened the door.
The light confused him, made a jumble of the small room, and then the space began to pull into sense, and – Sam. Alive, still clothed, untouched – the relief of it, of being in time, took him over. His eyes held hers, tried to comfort her. She was sitting on the desk, her arms crossed over her stomach, her shoulders hunched. Beside her stood the man he had come to stop.
It wasn’t an ugly face.
The eyes weren’t too close together, the lips weren’t narrowed or cruel, and the hairline wasn’t receding. The nose wasn’t bent. It wasn’t an unremarkable face either; it was a shade beyond that, in the direction of pleasant, amiable, easy to like, with an upward curve to the jaw that suggested a permanent smile. He was the kind of man who could have had a girlfriend, if he wanted to. He could have had friends, a life, nights out down the pub.
David felt a pure white blast of hatred for him, this man who had choices, and had instead decided to hurt, to maim. It might have been possible to pity an ugly man. Instead David felt bloated, pregnant, with rage.
Sam made a sound in her throat, a whine, and he saw the knife at her thigh, level with the crotch of her jeans. It was small, straight, pointed. A paring knife, did they call it? For peeling fruit. There was a pair of handcuffs on the desk beside him.
‘Don’t hurt her,’ he said.
‘I just showed it to her in the car park and she came with me. I didn’t even have to do anything. What’s your name?’
‘David.’
‘I’m Mark.’ He had no sense of urgency. It was one of those slow, relaxed voices, almost like a radio presenter on a show late at night. ‘Listen, they always do as they’re told. I think they like it really, I mean, deep down. I’m not just saying that to try to wriggle out of it. If they said no I would stop, that’s my point. I’m not an animal, here.’
‘Yes, you are,’ said David.
Mark nodded. His smile widened. ‘All right. Let’s be honest. I knew who she was. I knew you’d be coming for me. I’m not scared of you. I’m more scared of myself. Where all this could go. I know it’s not right, but I’m not going to let you just… I bet women throw themselves at you, don’t they? Knight in shining armour.’
‘I’m just a normal man. You could have been that too.’
‘No, I couldn’t. I don’t want to be. Neither do you.’ Mark looked around the room. David followed his gaze – the computer, the swivel chair, the display of thank you cards pinned to a cork board. Thanks for finding that book. I’d given up all hope. ‘I took your wife here. With the camera. Just photos. I only wanted to look.’
David pointed at the handcuffs. ‘Then what are they for?’
Sam gulped, such a loud sound, surprising, and Mark looked at her as if he had forgotten she existed.
‘Do you want to go?’ he said. ‘You weren’t really my type, anyway.’ He let the knife drop from her thigh. She didn’t move, for a moment, a long breath, then she took a step towards David, and another, crossing the room in tiny increments, making such slow progress that David felt the urge to grab her and push her through the door. Instead he said, very gently, ‘Go, I’ll meet you outside. Honestly, go.’ She turned her enormous eyes up to his, and then she left.
‘What now?’ said Mark. ‘Now there’s no policewoman, are you going to perform a citizen’s arrest?’
David kept his attention on the knife. There had to be some kind of instinct within him that would tell him what to do.
‘I think it was meant to be like this,’ said Mark. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
‘There’s no excuse.’
‘How do you know? Did you choose to be here?’
‘Yes,’ he said, but it was impossible to believe it. Marianne had told him to be here, and Arnie had told him when to be here, and apparently this was all exactly as it was meant to be. Who was in charge? He was the vessel of other people’s decisions. And maybe Mark was the same.
‘Prove it,’ said Mark. ‘Don’t do what they tell you to do. Do what you want to do. I can see you don’t want to be here. Take my word for it that I’ll never do it again, and you go home, and I go home, and nobody gets hurt, do they? You don’t want to be responsible for this, not really. And I want to stop doing it, I swear. I can stop. I’ll just stop.’
But the terrifying revelation at the heart of his words was that Mark wouldn’t stop. He was right. It was beyond control, not Mark’s decision to make. And that meant David could do only one thing. The inevitability of it was breathtaking. It infused him, filled him with the conviction that the moment had come, all options had been reduced to one, and there was nothing left to do but kill him.
Skein Island Page 17
