Page 37 of Take Me Away

‘Jess was dying,’ I say, the words scraping my throat. ‘She was dying, and Maggie said she was going to contact you. She thought … she thought you might help. Even just a phone call. Just something. Because we were friends, right? Before everything else, above everything else, we were friends?’

Isla stops, her back to me, perfectly still.

‘But you never came.’

She turns slowly, her face pale under the night sky and net of stars hanging overhead. ‘Kit, I never knew. I found a postcard from Maggie when I got back here – this totally Maggie-appropriate postcard that I’ve only seen for the first time a matter of days ago. I swear to you, Marcus…’ She breaks off, shaking her head. I’m desperate for her to carry on, to tell me, to stop the thoughts sneaking into my head since the news broke about Isla and Vale. JUST TELL ME WHAT HE DID TO YOU … I want to shout. But I don’t.

She stops. Lips pressed tight. And I won’t ask.

‘Would it have mattered if you’d known about Jess?’ I ask instead. ‘Would you have come back if you knew what was happening here?’

Her eyes fill with tears. ‘Yes,’ she whispers, and her body slumps like I’ve kicked her. ‘It would have mattered. I would have come back in a heartbeat, Kit.’

We stand there, the night air cool between us, years of misunderstanding and hurt stretching like a chasm.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says finally. ‘About Jessica. About not being here. I’m so sorry, Kit.’

The sincerity in her voice scratches deep in places I try not to access. ‘Yeah. Me too.’ I nod, not trusting myself to say more.

And yet, when our eyes meet, it almost feels like the years never happened at all.

‘Goodnight, Isla.’

I walk away before I can make a mistake. Before I can let the past back in. I have Maisie to think about now.

Chapter Nine

ISLA

‘You’re going to do what?’ Piper stares at me like I’ve just announced plans to take up professional alligator wrestling.

I continue digging through the storage cupboard under Maggie’s stairs, continuing my morning promise of getting up, getting going, and doing something other than fixate on continents on the ceiling. ‘Help clear rocks at the lighthouse.’

‘Isla. Darling. Sweetie.’ Each word drops with increasing incredulity. ‘You understand that’s what people hire other people for, right? People with appropriate footwear and, I don’t know, tetanus shots?’

‘I’m trying to be part of the community,’ I say, voice echoing in the small space as I push aside boxes.

‘By giving yourself a hernia? Brilliant PR strategy. Very avant-garde.’

I emerge with a triumphant ‘Aha!’ clutching a pair of ancient Wellington boots. Maggie’s gardening wellies, mud still caked on the sides. ‘Have you considered that I might be past the point of a PR strategy?’

‘Are those from the Eighties?’ Piper asks, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched higher than should be physically possible. ‘And no. Nothing is ever too late in Hollywood.’

‘They’re Maggie’s.’ I blow dust off them, something catching in my throat that isn’t just particulates. ‘They’ll do fine.’

‘And you. Will you be doing fine, or is this more of the avoidance and general head-in-the-sand behaviour we’ve been discussing?’

We’ve discussed it a lot. Sitting in the damp of Salt Cottage. What should Isla Quinn do next?

Out with the truth, every measly, disgusting element of it, and hope for a heroine’s comeback? Or hide?

Unsurprisingly, I’m leaning towards hide.

Piper looks from the mud-caked boots to her immaculate cream cashmere sweater. ‘Well, you’ll be doing it solo. I’m heading back to London, I’ve got a car coming now. Richard’s threatening to have an aneurysm if I don’t update him in person, not that I know what to update him with.’ She peers at me, trying to read any cracks. ‘I really do feel, and I know I’ve said this at least fifty times, but this is unhealthy. I’m not asking you to be woo woo and go and join a commune to discuss your deep, dark, secret feelings, but just…’ She trails off. ‘Okay, fine.’ Hands up. Sanctioning me to continue on my own path of denial. ‘But you’ll be okay. Safe here, right?’

‘You’ve only been here four days.’ It’s a little petulant.

‘Four days surrounded by fishermen discussing tides and bait. Riveting stuff.’ She sips her coffee. ‘Though I’ll admit that brother of Kit’s has a certain … rugged charm.’