Epilogue
AMBER
The captain’s voice crackles over the intercom.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just begun our descent into London Gatwick. The local time is seven forty-five p.m. and the weather is clear and mild. We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes. Cabin crew, please prepare the cabin for arrival.’
I stifle a yawn and stretch, careful not to knock the plaster cast on my right wrist. To my surprise, I managed to sleep for most of the three-hour flight.
It was as if I was finally able to relax once the plane left Greek airspace.
No, not relax, because there’s nothing relaxed about the numb state I’ve been in since that terrible morning.
Maybe I felt I could finally drop my guard.
I no longer had to pretend I was shinier, posher – better – than plain old Amber from the South Langley Estate. I could just be me.
Willow and her mum flew home yesterday. Victoria and Barney were on the same flight. I couldn’t leave until today because I had to wait for Demetriou to officially rule me out of the murder investigation and release my passport.
As I signed my final witness statement, Demetriou admitted Simone had been on his radar from day one.
Something about her ice queen demeanour had troubled him.
But all the time she had a solid alibi – Dominic – there was little he could do except continue to build a picture of what happened the night Felix died.
‘I did wonder if he was lying to protect her, but why would he do that when there was a chance the finger of suspicion would fall on you?’ he said, mystified.
Why indeed.
‘Call it misplaced loyalty,’ I said, shrugging. ‘He was a dependable kinda guy.’
Coastguards found Dominic’s body on a tiny beach accessible only by boat not far from the lighthouse that evening.
Simone’s body washed up at high tide the following morning.
When Demetriou called us all onto the terrace of Villa Paradiso to tell us, he assured us they would’ve died instantly, and the others seemed to take some comfort in that.
Not me.
The Greek police had more than enough evidence to prove Simone’s guilt in the end.
When they recovered her body, they found my phone on the rocks below the lighthouse.
Thankfully, the recording I made survived the fall.
They also found a pair of latex gloves in her bathroom bin, streaked with Felix’s blood and speckled with marble dust from the bust of Athena.
‘Why the hell would she have left such damning evidence in her bin?’ I’d asked Demetriou, even though I knew the answer. Simone’s hubris made her careless. As long as Dominic stood by her, she thought she was untouchable.
If she had lived, she’d be facing two murder charges by now. As it stands, the file will go to the prosecutor, but without a living suspect there can never be a trial and the case will be officially closed.
My grief is heavy and disorientating, like being enveloped in a thick fog that has deadened my senses. I keep telling myself the fog will clear and one day the sun will come out again.
Occasionally, I believe it.
Dominic dominates my thoughts, awake or asleep.
I’ll feel the lightest kiss on my bare shoulder.
I’ll hear his deep chuckle from the next room.
A couple of times, I’ve even thought I caught sight of him in my peripheral vision.
Grief does that to you. It gives you the gift of hope, then fucks you over.
One question comes back to me again and again. Was Dom my soulmate? Probably not. But he was a kind and honourable man who didn’t deserve to die. And I loved him.
The tannoy buzzes into life again. This time it’s the lead flight attendant telling us to make sure our seats are upright, our tray tables are stowed and our seat belts are securely fastened.
I bend down and pull Nessa’s knock-off Louis Vuitton from underneath the seat in front of mine and rest it on my lap.
Without thinking, I open the side zip and feel inside for my amber pendant.
The stone feels cool to the touch, the shape of it as reassuringly familiar as my own reflection.
I haven’t worn it since Demetriou gave it back to me.
I’ve become surprisingly fond of the mati amulet I bought at the market in Thalassia.
My protection from the evil eye. I’ll save Gran’s amber necklace for special occasions.
Barney wasn’t charged with stealing Felix’s Rolex and Simone’s diamond earrings. Demetriou said that as both items had been recovered and Barney repaid the market seller the money he’d lost, it wasn’t in the public interest to prosecute him.
As the last man standing, Barney has been a bit of a revelation.
He took on all the admin a death abroad involves, from contacting the British Consulate in Athens to organising the repatriation of the bodies.
It’s just as well, as Victoria is a shell of the polished, self-possessed woman she was when I met her on the quay in Thalassia just over a week ago.
She’s stepped down from her job at The Anchorway Trust after a story broke about her kicking tenants out of a property she inherited from her grandmother.
My first thought when Willow told me was, serves her right.
Perhaps I should be more sympathetic, but you reap what you sow.
She was almost pathetically grateful when Barney stepped up.
I have a funny feeling their marriage might be the better for it.
As for Willow, I think she’ll be all right. She’d hate to admit it, but she has the same steel core as Simone. Strong-willed and decisive, opinionated and clear in her mind about what really matters. I could do with being a little less Amber, a little more Willow.
The plane tilts and begins its slow descent. Thinking about Willow reminds me of the envelope she handed me back at the villa the night she found me in the kitchen. She told me to wait until I was home before I opened it, but we’re minutes away from landing. We’re as near as dammit.
I slide my index finger under the flap and pull out the sheet of heavy cream paper inside. It’s embossed and official-looking with some kind of coat of arms at the top, and my eyes widen when I read, ‘Certified Copy of an Entry Pursuant to the Births and Deaths Registration Act 1953’.
It’s a birth certificate.
My eyes grow wider as I scan the page, taking in the neat black type.
Date and place of birth: Twenty-sixth June 1981, Lewisham Hospital, High Street, Lewisham
Name and surname: Simone Skylar Jones
Sex: Female
Father: —
Place of birth: —
Occupation: —
Mother: Traci Jones
Place of birth: Lewisham
Occupation: —
Usual address (if different from place of child’s birth): Flat 38, Chiltern Tower, Highfield Estate, Catford
I know the Highfield Estate. I used to skirt round it on the walk to school every day.
Never through it: if South Langley had a reputation for being rough, Highfield was lawless.
I stare at the birth certificate until the words blur, wondering what it means.
Why Willow decided to give me a copy of Simone’s birth certificate.
A birth certificate that shows she was not from some leafy Surrey street or swanky suburb of London, but from a tower block on a notorious estate less than a mile from mine.
I remember Willow’s words by the lighthouse and suddenly it all makes sense. I know who you really are. You’re a liar, Simone. You’ve been lying all your life. And I can prove it.
To think I’ve spent the last week feeling like some kind of second-class citizen – not worthy, not good enough. Simone might have had polish and sparkle, but underneath it all she was from the same place – the same postcode – as me.
I stare at her name for one last time, then carefully fold the birth certificate and slide it back into the envelope. Something Gran used to say comes back to me. She’d been talking about her neighbour Marj, with whom she had a love-hate relationship.
‘Marj? She’s no better than she should be. All those airs and graces. She’d do well to remember we all come from dust, and to dust we return.’
Gran was right. We’re all dust in the end.
The plane lands with a small bump, jerking me back to the present, and people start unclipping their seat belts and pulling bags from overhead lockers. The cheap phone I bought in Corfu buzzes with a text from Nessa.
I know you said not to come. Like that was ever gonna happen lol. I’m the one in arrivals holding the ridiculously big banner. Seriously though, I hope you’re OK xx
I smile for what seems like the first time in days as I tap out a reply.
Maybe not yet. But I will be. Xx
* * *
If you were racing through the pages of The Greek Island then you will love The Baby – a completely addictive psychological thriller with a jaw-dropping twist by A J McDine.
Get it here or keep reading for an exclusive extract.