The Island Read online

  Juliet watched as Rosalind continued to throw pebbles with force. It wasn’t a game; it was an expression of frustration and disappointment. Clearly Rosalind had been hurt, but Juliet had no idea how. When Juliet had told her father she’d look after them all, it hadn’t seemed anything out of the ordinary. It was what she always did, act the mini-mum, the substitute elder sister, but everything seemed to have changed. She felt distant from them, as lost as those pebbles Rosalind was throwing out to sea. She was meant to have answers and yet she felt even more confused, more in the dark that anyone else.

  She looked around and saw Lola pulling at some seaweed. ‘I need to call Lola back. Hang on.’

  Lola came back as soon as she was called. Juliet made a fuss of her, and they all walked back up the path.

  ‘You were going to check your car – I would if I were you. There’s been a few problems at the car park, break ins, that kind of thing,’ said Rosalind.

  Juliet walked over to her little blue car and touched it with fondness. She had driven it to the school where she taught every day for those years at home between uni and going to China. The first car she had owned; it had seemed very grown-up and independent, as well as rescuing her from the tyranny of an ever-decreasing bus service.

  She took her car keys out of her bag, opened the driver’s door, sat inside, and blinked at the acrid smell of fake lavender from the air freshener she guessed Mira had put up. Juliet opened the driver’s door wide to try and get some of the smell out.

  ‘It may stink,’ she shouted to Rosalind, ‘but I have never seen it so clean. No crisp packets or wrappers from diet bars on the back seats. I think they’ve hoovered it out or paid someone to do it. I’ll never keep it to this standard!’

  Juliet got out, slammed the door, relocked it and zipped her car keys in her bag. It was good to have the car. It would give her independence for however long she was back home.

  Out of excuses for staying away, they headed back to the house.

  The evening dragged on. Rosalind, ignoring Cassie, put the television on and they all drifted in and out of the living room between answering the phone, putting flowers in vases or opening cards that had been pushed through the letter box.

  Eventually, Juliet felt she could go to bed. In her room, she opened her window wide and heard the familiar noises of crickets, chirping, a robin still singing long after most of the other birds were silent. There were lights over in the car park, voices, the occasional car on the main road. Only in August would there be so much happening out there. Usually, it was black and silent.

  It seemed to Juliet that she had returned to a family far less at ease with itself than the one she left. Of course, they were all devastated by the loss of her father, but there was more, nuances not conveyed in emails, texts and the very occasional video call.

  Mira was unhappy; her father had been right, and what was this mistake Mira had said she’d made? Why wouldn’t she tell her? Juliet’s mind drifted to Rosalind, pictured her throwing those pebbles into the sea. She was clearly hurting and angry, but not just with grief. And then there was Cassie. She was even more uptight than usual. What had Dad said about her? That it was so lonely being forced to keep secrets. It had never occurred to Juliet that Cassie might be keeping secrets, be lonely. It had always seemed Cassie’s choice to cut herself off from them all, shut the door of the music room and never come out. Surely Cassie’s life had been exemplary: the gifted, the exceptional, never putting a foot wrong.

  Juliet stared into the darkness and shivered. Underneath all the grief and sadness, the anxiety over her sisters, she recognised another emotion – fear. It had taken root when her father had spoken to her in the hospital. And that fear was telling her something was very wrong, that ahead lay uncertainty and danger.

  4

  Early the next morning, Juliet went for a long walk on her own down on the beach. She had that feeling of walking in a cloud of cotton wool, numbing the pain of loss. The anxiety of travelling, the grief, it had all left her exhausted.

  She sat down on the pebbles at the top of the beach and watched two young men with their surfboards running into the sea.

  Juliet closed her eyes, let the sun rest on her cheeks, felt the breeze in her hair. She needed to spend a few moments alone thinking about what she would do next. As she’d told her mum, she didn’t want to go back to teaching. What she longed to do was get back to her art and a possibility, that she hadn’t told the family about yet, had opened up. A friend from university, Alistair, had started an online business taking commissions for portraits. This was getting to be so successful that he’d asked Juliet to share the work with him. He’d handed her a commission for her to see if it was the kind of thing she’d enjoy doing.

  However, there was another proposition from Alistair that she was more torn about. Although the commissions could be done remotely, he had suggested she work in a studio with him in Edinburgh. Although this sounded exciting to Juliet, she was unsure about the move.

  Firstly, there was her love of the island and the fact her mum might need her to stay with her. There was also the question of Gabriel. He was the son of the local vineyard owner, Maddie, and after years of just being friends, Juliet had had a brief but intense fling with him before she left for China. She’d hoped he’d visit her out there, but he’d never made it and now she felt she had to find out just how serious this relationship was.

  Juliet opened her eyes, took a deep breath of sea air, and then reluctantly stood up. She ought to go back to the house.

  She walked over the pebbles and up the steep path, smiling at the families excitedly making their way to the beach.

  When Juliet returned, she saw her mother’s car and concluded that her mother and Cassie had returned from the hospital.

  She found them in the kitchen, along with Mira. Cassie was reading texts, Mira was making coffee, and her mother was arranging yet more flowers in a jug.

  ‘Some more came this morning and I’ve run out of vases,’ her mother explained.

  ‘A lot of people loved Dad and they care about you. How are you this morning? How did things go at the hospital?’

  ‘As well as they could have. They had everything ready for me.’

  ‘Did you get any sleep?’

  ‘Not really. How about you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t either. It’s hard to believe yesterday wasn’t all a horrible dream, isn’t it?’

  Just then, Rosalind came in.

  ‘You look dressed up,’ Juliet said.

  ‘I’m going down to Cowes, to work. I had a lot of appointments booked, so I thought I’d better go and do them.’ She looked over at their mother. ‘Mum doesn’t mind, do you Mum? You know you can phone me any time.’

  ‘Of course, you go now,’ said their mum.

  Rosalind picked up her bag and left through the patio doors.

  Juliet was shocked. ‘Rosalind shouldn’t be going to work.’

  ‘Why ever not? She’s best kept busy,’ her mother said firmly. ‘Some people, like Mira, find their own thoughts comforting, but Rosalind will just get depressed. She needs people, she needs to talk. At least if she’s in work, people will be kind, give her attention. She can always come home if she finds it too much.’

  It still seemed odd to Juliet, but she didn’t say any more.

  Mira poured coffee, and they all sat at the kitchen table in silence.

  ‘So, on the whole, you enjoyed your time in China?’ Cassie asked finally.

  ‘Yes, it was good, the children were lovely, but as I said, some of the days were long, as I was expected to teach adults in the evenings as well.’

  ‘The language school got their money’s worth out of you then?’

  ‘I guess, but I was working those hours over here at school anyway, and at least in China I didn’t have the paperwork. Everyone is so keen to learn English that my students were all very attentive.’

  ‘I thought the flat you were living in looked a bit bleak.’
>
  ‘Yes, it was a bit, but everywhere was very clean and the transport and shops were good.’

  ‘But you wanted to come home?’

  ‘I missed everyone and, like I told mum, I want a break from teaching.’

  ‘I’d not realised. So what will you do?’ Cassie asked.

  Juliet took a deep breath. ‘I’ve a few ideas; I want to go back to doing my own art.’

  ‘But it’s very hard to earn a living that way. Teaching is safe, pays the bills,’ said her mother, the words boringly familiar.

  Juliet didn’t reply, refusing to be drawn into the same old argument.

  ‘You’ve always loved drawing and painting; if that’s what you want to do full time, I don’t see why you shouldn’t at least give it a go,’ said Cassie.

  Juliet blinked with surprise; her sister hadn’t been interested in her art before. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, now is the time in your life to try something new. You’ve no mortgage or kids. Have you any ideas how you might go about it?’

  Juliet tugged at a short strand of hair, avoided looking at her mother. ‘A friend, Alistair, has offered me some work which I am considering,’ she said nervously.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘Apparently, people are starting to want to have real drawings again, pencil portraits. I think they are fed up with selfies and photographs.’

  ‘But you can’t earn a living doing that, unless you charge a fortune, surely?’ said Cassie.

  ‘It’s not the old idea of people sitting for portraits. People send you photos, and you use them. I know it’s not exactly the kind of thing my tutors would have raved about, but it means you can charge very reasonable rates for what is actually a decent portrait and people love them. Alistair has so many commissions he can’t cope, and that’s why he’s asked me to work with him. He’s sent me a commission to have a go, see if I enjoy it.’

  ‘I have to admit, it sounds like you’ve given it a real thought through. Maybe you should give it a go,’ conceded her mother.

  Juliet smiled, relieved her mother seemed to at least accept the idea, and decided the discussion about the move to Edinburgh could wait for another day.

  Seemingly placated, her mother turned the conversation to Mira. ‘Has Mira told you about her new venture?’

  Juliet shook her head. ‘No, what’s that?’

  ‘Mira has organised a very successful retreat up at Gabriel’s new lodges, haven’t you?’

  Juliet turned to Mira. ‘You didn’t say,’ she signed.

  ‘It was for Deaf adults, just a week earlier in the summer, it went very well. Gabriel joined in as well, he even learned some signing,’ Mira signed back. ‘Everyone had a good time, the lodges they have built on that land by the vineyard are lovely. There are not many, but they are beautifully set out. The evenings were the best, having barbeques, watching the sunsets.’

  ‘You stayed up there?’

  ‘Yes, but just for a few nights. Gabriel organised things very well, it was… special.’

  Mira looked down, but through the curtain of hair Juliet could see her blushing, winding her wedding ring round and round her finger. What was going on?

  Oblivious to Mira’s discomfort, Cassie said, ‘I was surprised you decided to go to China in the end, Juliet… you and Gabriel were together before you left, weren’t you?’

  ‘Well, we went out a few times…’

  ‘I like him, he’s been such a support to Maddie. It’s good to see a young man look after his mother,’ said her mother.

  ‘You really know how to sell someone, Mum,’ Cassie laughed, and Juliet was suddenly aware of how seldom she’d seen her sister laugh.

  ‘How a child treats their parents matters,’ said her mother. ‘Juliet could do a lot worse. She isn’t getting any younger, all this jetting around has to stop sometime.’

  ‘I was teaching English, not backpacking around the Himalayas.’ Juliet tutted and then turned to Cassie. ‘So how is orchestra? Any tours coming up?’

  ‘I have a few weeks off now,’ Cassie replied and then pressed her lips firmly together.

  The conversation felt like a maze where Juliet kept reaching dead ends.

  She tried again. ‘Rosalind was talking about travelling or at least working abroad.’

  Her mother’s reply surprised her. ‘I think that would be good for her actually. She could do with getting away.’

  ‘I thought you’d want to keep your last baby at home for ever,’ Juliet said with a smile.

  ‘Even I realise Rosalind has to fly the nest sometime. She needs to get money together first though. She’s working hard, and she even does some restaurant work over in Southampton occasionally, which seems to pay very well.’

  ‘Restaurant work that pays well?’ queried Juliet.

  ‘I don’t know exactly what it is,’ her mother said quickly.

  Cassie and Mira both seemed to avoid eye contact with Juliet, and she wondered what was going on.

  Without warning, her mother put down her mug, placed her hands over her face and started to silently sob. Juliet moved next to her and put her arm around her.

  Her mother, eyes still covered, shook her head. ‘I can’t cope with all this… how do I manage everything without him?’ She put down her hands but still didn’t look at Juliet.

  ‘Mum, you have me, you have all of us, you’re not on your own.’

  Her mother finally turned to face her, her eyes wide, deep, dark, impossible to read. ‘You don’t understand, you can’t.’

  ‘Rhys is coming later to talk about the funeral… we can all help, Mum, you’ll see, we’re all here for you,’ said Mira.

  Cassie reached over to their mother, squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll sit with Mum now and sort some of the paperwork out,’ said Cassie. ‘Have you work to do, Juliet?’

  Cassie sat upright, business-like and Juliet sensed she was being pushed away again.

  ‘I suppose I could have a go at this commission Alistair sent me.’

  ‘Yes, best get on with that then. You go upstairs, it’ll be quieter up there,’ said her mother.

  Juliet felt hurt. Her mother clearly wanted Cassie. She looked out in the garden and saw the workshop.

  ‘Do you mind if I work out there?’

  ‘Of course, not, it should be used.’

  ‘Right, okay, Mum. If you need anything though, get me, okay?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Juliet went upstairs to find her drawing equipment and her laptop, and then went out into the garden.

  She opened the door of the long rectangular building. It was hot and dusty inside, the familiar smell of wood, shavings and dust almost overwhelming her. Along one side was the main workbench with her father’s tools still set out, all very neat and clean. At the end was an old armchair where she’d often sat and done her sketching.

  She perched on one of the stools at the workbench and looked out of the large window. To the left, the house and kitchen leading to the gate; to her right, the rest of the garden leading down to the hedge that separated them from the main road that ran along the side of the beach, and in front of the oak tree.

  Her father had always loved the ancient tree, and together they’d imagined it growing up from the young sapling planted over a hundred years ago.

  Juliet left the workshop and went over to touch the bark of the tree. If she could feel her father anywhere, it would be here. A vertical white line ran down one side of the trunk, from the night it was struck by lightning. At the bottom was a small wooden plaque she had made with her father. Sunday 20 August 1995, 10.30 p.m., I was struck by lightning, but I survived, and now I am standing tall.

  Juliet sat on the grass in front of the tree, her hand still on the bark.

  ‘Remember that night, Dad? It had been such an exciting day. I remember seeing Mum and Cassie arrive home, Mum carrying Rosalind – she was so tiny wasn’t she! It must have been so emotional for you, seeing your Rosalind for the first time. Mira
and I had spent the morning making that banner. I remember being so desperate for the sun to shine for Mum. And it did for a short time. But then, much later, after we went to bed, the storm came in. I remember how scared I was. The thunder seemed to shake everything in my room and then as I looked out, I saw a flash of light and a crackling sound as it hit the tree. I was terrified and crept out of the bedroom and looked down the stairs, saw the light on in the kitchen and went to find you. “Our tree, Daddy – it’s been struck by lightning,” I said. You looked out of the window and said, “You’re right.”

  ‘“We have to go and save it.”

  ‘“No, it’s too dangerous out there, but it’s not on fire.”

  ‘“On fire?”

  ‘And then you told me all about what happens when lightning strikes a tree. You told me that because it was struck on the side, you were confident it would survive, and you were right.’

  Juliet took her hand away from the tree, closed her eyes, remembered the warmth of her father’s hand as he held her, and she’d sat with him, talking. Eventually he’d said it was time to go back to bed, and as a treat he’d heated up some milk and given her a biscuit and taken her back to bed just as the grandfather clock chimed eleven.

  Juliet remembered the feeling of being warm and feeling safe, and then like that flash of lightening the realisation shot through her that all the reassurance, that feeling of life making sense had now been snatched away. Her father had gone. She’d known it as a fact yesterday but it was only slowly sinking in. Was this how nature helped you cope with losing someone? They took them away from you piece by piece?

  Juliet returned to the workshop and walked around, touching things lightly, smelling them. One large drawer had been hers, and when she opened it, she saw spare sketchbooks, a range of sketching pencils, and other equipment still there safely. However, there was also a key that she didn’t recognise. It was an ignition key with a beautiful old Volkswagen fob, the VW logo, silver on black leather… odd. This must be the key her father gave to Mira. What on earth was it all about?

  Juliet chewed on her thumb and, confused, returned the car key before shutting the drawer. Then she remembered Rosalind’s musical box and opened the cupboard where she guessed her father would have put it for safekeeping. There it was, like the others, a polished walnut box, with exquisite marquetry on the top. On the sides were slots for photographs just like on hers, except here there were photos of Rosalind as a baby, when she was ten, fifteen, an adult. Juliet turned it around in her hands, why had her father wanted to keep this from Rosalind? The box was clearly finished, it was beautiful; her father would have been happy with it, she was sure. So why didn’t he want Rosalind to have it?