The Islanders
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One Kimberley Sunday 13th July
Chapter Two
Chapter Three Kimberley Sunday 13th July
Chapter Four
Chapter Five Kimberley Saturday 26th July, 11:05
Chapter Six Saturday 26th July, 13:15
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight Kimberley Saturday 26th July, 18:45
Chapter Nine Saturday 26th July, 20:00
Chapter Ten Saturday 26th July, 21:00
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 9:01
Chapter Thirteen Sunday 27th July, 9:17
Chapter Fourteen Sunday 27th July, 9:47
Chapter Fifteen Sunday 27th July, 10:23
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 11:21
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 11:40
Chapter Twenty Sunday 27th July, 12:01 59 Minutes Until The Next Murder
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 12:10
Chapter Twenty-Three Sunday 27th July, 12:31 29 Minutes Until The Next Murder
Chapter Twenty-Four Sunday 27th July, 12:55 5 Minutes Until The Next Murder
Chapter Twenty-Five Sunday 27th July, 13:00 1 Hour And 0 Minutes Until The Next Murder
Chapter Twenty-Six Sunday 27th July, 13:25 35 Minutes Until The Next Murder
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 13:37
Chapter Twenty-Nine Sunday 27th July, 13:46 Clock Stopped At 22 Minutes Until The Next Murder
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 14:00
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 14:20
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 14:35
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven Kimberley Sunday 27th July, 15:35
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine Kimberley Sunday 27th July, Time Unknown
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One Kimberley Sunday 27th July, Time Unknown
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three Sunday 27th July, Time Unknown
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six Kimberley Sunday 3rd August, 21:40
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight Kimberley Sunday 3rd August, 22:15
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty Kimberley Sunday 3rd August, 23:07
Chapter Fifty-One Sunday 3rd August, 23:25
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three Kimberley Monday 4th August, 00:01
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five Kimberley Monday 4th August, 00:53
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven Kimberley Wednesday 6th August, 9:33
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Canelo Crime
About the Author
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
For my Gran, who loved whodunits but loved me more.
Prologue
Spyland.co.uk – News, Scandals and all the latest Gossip from your favourite celebrities
LoveWrecked to be axed from air after the horrific events that took place on their show
Posted on 1st August
It was less than one week ago when all of us at SpyLand, along with the entire nation, watched in horror at the gruesome scenes that unfolded live on our television screens. But despite the many eyes of the world, we still don’t have answers for what the hell happened. This morning, the producers and management team of the hugely popular summertime show finally released a statement to the public after significant criticism for their silence over the past week.
A spokesperson said: ‘I speak for everybody at the channel when I say that we are devastated at the events that took place on the show. We are working closely with the police to understand who committed these horrific crimes and will do everything in our power to ensure they face justice. It is with a heavy heart that we also announce that this season will be our last; we feel that it would be inappropriate for us to continue. We would like to thank the public for their continued support of us and our thoughts go to those affected.’
We at SpyLand aren’t overly convinced this constitutes a sufficient response to what happened on the show, but we will reserve judgement until the perpetrator of these heinous crimes is caught. As always, stay tuned and SpyLand will bring you the latest news as we have it.
Chapter One
Kimberley
Sunday 13th July
I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and let out a moan of frustration. This month is on-track with predictions to be the hottest since records began and my tiny apartment is like an oven.
‘Where the hell are my keys?’ I ask my bedroom, spinning around on my heels as I scan the surroundings. ‘Please don’t do this to me, I can’t deal with this right now.’ My head pounds, as if the beat of last night’s club music got trapped in my brain and is replaying over and over again. My need for pain relief soon overpowers the search for my keys and I drag myself to the bathroom, my feet throbbing from the indignity of being forced into high heels all night. I wince, remembering how I walked barefoot along my street, my high heels clasped in my hands. I dread to think how much dirt I brought into bed with me. Well, I think to myself, better than a stranger.
In my bathroom, I deliberately avoid looking in the mirror. I don’t need it to confirm what I already know: I am a mess. I open the cabinet beneath the sink and rummage for some painkillers; my new position causes blood to rush to my head and my brain gains its own heartbeat. Bile rises in my throat and I twirl around to hover over the toilet. Just in time. The orange-tinged liquid burns my throat as much on the way up as it did on the way down. Tequila.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and retrieve a silver-foiled packet from the cabinet, depositing two powdery white pills into my hand. Popping the pills in my mouth, I dip my head, so my open mouth is under the running tap. I’m careful to swallow the tablets with small gulps of water as I can already feel my tender stomach threatening to erupt again.
Why did I go out last night?
I sigh and press my forehead against the mirror; the glass is cool against my sweaty brow. I know the answer to my question, but knowing the answer doesn’t make me feel better about it right now. Catching sight of my reflection makes me cringe. Clearly, I didn’t bother to wash my face when I stumbled through the door last night; remnants of make-up still cling to my skin like a thick layer of grease, and the layer of fuzz that has gathered on my teeth tells me I didn’t bother to clean those either. The sound of my phone makes me jump as it screeches an alarm. The screen flashes an instruction: it is time for me leave.
Quickly, I pump hand wash into my palms, flick on the tap and scrub my face. The skin on my face tightens as the cheap hand wash strips it of moisture. I scrape my dark, curly hair into a low bun and give my teeth a quick once-over with the toothbrush. Overall, it’s not a huge improvement but at least I no longer look like an extra in Trainspotting.
There’s still the issue of finding my keys. Where would I, drunk Kimberley, have put my keys when I stumbled in at 3 a.m.? Then it hits me: they will be exactly where I left them. I dash to the front door and a pile of bills sits on the table next to the front door, waiting patiently to be opened an
d paid. I wrench the door open in a move that sends the letters flying into the air.
‘Ha!’ My keys are exactly where I left them, in the lock of my front door. I whip them out, grab my handbag, shove my sockless feet into plimsolls, slam the door behind me, and charge down the stairs of my building, my stomach churning uncomfortably.
Outside, the air is almost as hot and sticky as it was inside. The tree-lined park opposite my apartment is alive with activity; the shouts of children shooting water guns at each other are enough to raise the intensity of my headache. I glance at the time on my phone – it’s a twenty-minute walk to work and I have exactly that before my shift starts, so all being well, I should make it, no problem. I live to fight another day of employment. I wasn’t always like this; I used to be reliable, on time, sober, but you can’t help what life throws at you or how you react.
The sun blares down from high in the sky. Its rays scorch me as I march along the pavement, making me feel as if I’m on centre stage lit by a spotlight, as if all eyes are on me. The feeling of being watched makes me glance over my shoulder. The street behind me is empty apart from a man dressed in navy shorts and a polo shirt, and he wears a baseball cap pulled low, so his face is in shadow. This is nothing out of the ordinary – it is very sunny – but it isn’t the hat that makes my muscles tense; it’s the way he is holding his phone out in front of him, his stubbled chin lifting upwards as he looks at me and then retreats into the shadows as he looks back down at his phone.
‘I’m going to get you for this!’ A voice shouts from my left and my head whips round, searching for my assailant. Another man stands at the edge of the park; his shoulders heave up and down, his fists are clenched. I take a step away from him, so I’m pressed up against the side of one of the houses, but before I can run, the man’s face breaks into a wide smile and he whips round to chase a little girl, who squeals as he pursues her, an empty bucket swinging in her hand. A father and daughter playing and nothing more. Shaking myself, I continue onwards, commanding myself to get a grip. I’m not being followed, and I have no idea why I thought I was.
The road dips downwards as I hurry past the cathedral, tall and imposing, but its austerity seems somewhat out of place in the summer sunshine. Cars zoom past me as I walk alongside the main road, their speed creating a welcome breeze in the still air. It isn’t long before I reach the crossing to get to the docks where the pub and my boss, Gary, await my arrival. I’m close and I should make it in time. The air is cooler as I enter the docks, a combination of a breeze coming off the Mersey and the shade of the covered colonnades. It’s quieter, too; without the noise of the cars, all I can hear is the sound of my footsteps against the flagstones.
‘Kimberley?’ A voice calls to me, its echo reverberating off the brick. I whirl round to find the man wearing the baseball cap standing several metres behind me, my heart leaping at the sight of him. My instincts weren’t wrong; he was following me. ‘Kimberley King?’
A small bark of fear leaves my mouth involuntarily as the man strides towards me. Part of me wants to run but I’m rooted to the spot.
‘Are you Kimberley King?’ the man asks again.
‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘I’m so glad I found you.’ The man is close now; he lifts his hand to his head and pulls the cap off his head, so I can see his face. He gives me a dazzling smile. ‘And you’re going to be glad I did too.’
Chapter Two
Spyland.co.uk – News, Scandals and all the latest Gossip from your favourite celebrities
BREAKING NEWS: LoveWrecked producer confirms its return after hiatus and announces massive twist
Posted on Sunday 13th July
One of the producers of the hugely popular show LoveWrecked has announced that it will return to our screens this summer after a five-year (and rather sudden) break from the air. Chill the champagne!
The show was a staple summer watch for the British public. Each year, millions of viewers in the UK would tune in to watch the contestants couple up before battling it out in survival-based challenges against the other couples. Their task was to win points and our hearts in order to be crowned King and Queen of the Island… and win a cash prize, of course! Before its break, LoveWrecked had a peak viewership of over 5 million and a revenue of over £80m.
‘Many people were devastated when we decided to pause the show,’ said Greg Barker, one of LoveWrecked’s producers. ‘But many reality TV shows won’t be remembered fondly because they didn’t know when to quit. So, we took a hiatus to make sure that when we came back we were the best version we could be. It’s been five years, so we think the time is ripe.’
But what will make this the biggest season yet?
For starters, the winners’ prize will be a whopping £200,000 split 50/50, which is double past prizes.
And the twist?
For this season of LoveWrecked, there will be no application process. Yeah, you read it right, no application process. Our sources have told us that applicants will be chosen completely at random from none other than social media, which basically means they could have chosen anyone in the entire country. We could have politicians or plumbers or hardcore criminals in the villa. Talk about excitement!
Greg Barker said, ‘Our scouts have spent months scouring social media for the twenty people that we think would make great television. We do, of course, have some back-up options if our chosen ones don’t accept.’
Greg told SpyLand that the so-called chosen ones will be contacted by scouts today.
Cue us scrambling for our phones!
Comments section
@trashqueen2000: OMFG new LoveWrecked contestants will be chosen completely at random. What does this even mean?!
@Jackboxxx: @trashqueen2000 Hope it means a welcome change from the usual crackpots that go on this show
@islandlife: @Jackboxxx @trashqueen2000 Members of the British public chosen at random? There’s gotta be AT LEAST one crackpot.
Chapter Three
Kimberley
Sunday 13th July
I stand open-mouthed as the man in the baseball cap tells me who he is and how I’ve been chosen. I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing, though maybe I shouldn’t believe what I’m hearing. The phone in my pocket vibrates against my leg and jerks me back to reality, back to the docks and, when I see the time on the screen, back to the fact that I have a job to get to.
‘Shit,’ I curse. ‘Look, Sam, did you say your name was Sam?’ He nods. ‘This is my boss calling me because I’m late for work so I have to go, but to be quite honest, I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for.’ Sam nods and produces a business card from his pocket. Sam Day, Talent Scout, Minerva Productions. I almost burst out laughing when I read what it says; surely this is a joke.
‘Like I said, Kimberley, you along with nineteen others in the UK have been chosen. Take some time to think about it but this is going to be our most exciting year yet and we’d love for you to be a part of it. Plus, a £100,000 cash prize shouldn’t be turned down without proper consideration.’ I follow his gaze down to my plimsolls, scuffed and muddy, and there’s an unspoken acknowledgement that we both know I could use the money.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ I say, shoving his business card into my handbag. Turning away from him, I swipe my finger across my phone to accept my boss’s call. ‘Two minutes away, Gary, promise.’
Glancing back, I see Sam raise a hand and wave as I retreat, his Hollywood smile firmly fixed in place.
I can’t believe I let myself get distracted by what is very probably a scam, and Gary isn’t going to be happy – ten minutes late would have been fine if this was the first time but it isn’t, so it won’t be. Pushing away the thoughts of Sam Day and the invitation to appear on LoveWrecked, I focus on getting to work. The pub is in sight now. It’s built from the same red brick that built the docks with a tall round funnel that reaches high into the blue sky. I break into a sprint, or as much of a sprint is possible given that my
feet keep slipping over the cobbles outside. The heat of the sun, the effort of my running and the stress associated with Sam’s interruption all conspire to make sweat trickle down my back and my shirt stick to it. The doors of the Pumphouse pub nearly fly off their hinges as I push my way through them.
To my relief the pub is empty: the sturdy oak tables surrounded by leather-seated chairs that are dotted around the pub floor are free from people. Clearly everyone would rather be out enjoying the sunshine than sitting inside a dimly lit pub, and, far as I can see, Gary isn’t even around, so I grab my apron, tie it around my waist and slip behind the bar. Hopefully, if Gary finds me here, ready to work, he’ll look more kindly on my lateness. I place my elbows on the wooden bar and cradle my warm cheeks in my hands, as my heart rate and breathing return to normal. What a morning this has been.
‘Well, hello, Kim. Nice of you to grace us with your presence.’ Gary’s voice hisses in my ear, making me jump. He must have slunk up behind me. I stand briskly to attention, accidentally knocking on one of the beer taps.
The Islanders Page 1
