Chapter Ten
Ten
It was her mother.
Skye breathed out, swore, then answered.
“Finally. Where on earth are you?”
“Hi, Mum.”
The line was faint. Skye pressed the handset closer to her ear, listening to the volley of tuts that followed.
“Glad to hear you’re alive,” her mother said sarcastically. “I’ve only called you, oh, eight times in the past two days.”
“Sorry.” Skye waved limply at Joy, who was back with a selection of cleaning products, including—rather alarmingly—a bottle of turpentine. “I meant to check in, I’ve just been busy.”
“Busy?” her mother said. “Busy where? Doing what? Are you abroad? The ringtone sounded strange.”
Skye made a murmur of disagreement that was quickly interrupted.
“I know you’re not with Sal. I’ve already spoken to her.”
“You called Sal?”
“Well, you weren’t picking up. I thought if you’d run off anywhere, it would be to her. Wouldn’t exactly be the first time.”
“What did she say?” Skye asked, to which her mother sighed.
“That she had no idea where you were, although I got the distinct impression she was lying to me. Lies are like rotten eggs—they always leave a bad smell.”
She should not have answered the phone. Cassandra MacKinnon, corporate lawyer, business owner, and breaker of the world’s balls, was not accustomed to being ignored. Now that the worry over her daughter’s safety was gone, Skye guessed her mother would go on the attack.
“I’ve told you time and time again,” she said, “running away from your problems never solves them.”
What was it Skye’s father had once said? Your mum is full of so much fire that she could easily have earned herself a walk-on part in Game of Thrones.
The phone was hot against her ear.
“I know you lost your job, but so have a lot of people, and not all of them upped and fled the country as a result.”
“It’s got nothing to do with that,” Skye said truthfully, moving to one side as Andreas appeared.
Seeing her on the phone, he raised a questioning brow, and she flashed a smile, watching as he crossed to the truck and lifted down another box.
This one had “Adam’s office” written on the side and several cables trailing from a rip at the bottom.
“Listen, Mum, this isn’t really a good time—”
“Are you going to be back by the tenth?” she said tersely, and for a moment, Skye was lost.
“The tenth?”
“Yes, of June, as in six days from now. It’s Jonathan’s sixtieth. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Skye said nothing.
“For goodness’ sake. The table plan is done. You RSVP’d a yes.”
Had she? Skye cast her mind back, tried to recall an invite arriving.
“And are you getting him the cuff links or the silk tie? Please stick to the list I sent over. You know how particular he is when it comes to gifts.”
Skye could feel heat rising through her, and it had nothing to do with the soaring afternoon temperatures.
Jonathan, her mother’s partner—Cassandra abhorred the term boyfriend—was a priggish bore of a man with an ego the size of Belgium.
It had been loathing at first sight for each of them, and matters had not much improved since.
Skye’s phone buzzed with a notification, and checking the screen, she saw that another message had come through, this time from her friend Sal.
Your mum is on the hunt, she had written. Call me when you can. Love u.
Too late, Skye realized her error. By reading Sal’s text, she had shown herself to be online.
“Shit,” she muttered, fumbling in her belated attempt to change the settings.
“Charming,” her mother barked.
Victoria came out through the open front door.
“Oh great,” she said to Skye, “you’re still here. We thought we’d all wander down to the taverna—lunch on us, to say thanks for helping out.”
Skye clamped her hand over the phone, nodding furiously.
“Are you still there?” Her mother sounded disjointed, as if she were underwater. “The line is breaking up.”
“I really have to go,” Skye said, her tone rising as Adam, Andreas, and Joy filed out into the yard. “Sorry about the dinner. I’ll explain everything when I can, OK?”
“No,” her mother said imperiously. “It is not OK. Tell me where you are.”
Joy paused by the path.
“You coming, chook?” she asked. Skye gave her a thumbs-up, trying to communicate through gesture alone that they should all go ahead without her, that she would catch up to them. Tears were beginning to threaten; her neck and face were hot, hands clammy.
“I can’t,” she whispered into the phone.
“Can’t? Can’t what?”
“Tell you where I am,” Skye said. “I’m sorry, Mum, but I can’t.”
“Are you in trouble? Is someone holding you against your will?”
“No, Mum—I’m fine. I’m safe. I just needed to get away.”
“Oh.” She let out an arduous sigh. “Have you and Martyn fallen out again?”
Martyn.
At the mention of his name, Skye went cold. Bile rose in her throat as she croaked out a faint “No.”
“I’m happy to call him if you want,” her mother went on. “I’m a proficient mediator. Did it enough times when I was working my way through the divorce court ranks.”
“No.” Skye practically shouted the word. “Please, Mum. Leave it to me to sort out.”
Cassandra MacKinnon launched into another tirade, but her words were breaking up.
Skye moved away from Adam and Victoria’s house, passing her cracked front door and heading up the hillside beyond, where she slipped, scrabbled, and almost fell to her knees.
The signal was lost, her connection to her mother severed, and through her ragged breaths, Skye tapped at the screen, blocking first Cassandra’s number and then Martyn’s.
Only then was she able to breathe normally again, though her dash up the stony slope had left her chest burning.
She had done it again, the thing her mother had so callously accused her of doing whenever life became tough.
But this time, Skye had not run away out of selfishness; she had run out of necessity.
Mindlessly, she continued to climb over tufts of grass and sand-blasted hulks of rock.
The sun beat down against her shoulders, dappling sweat across her neck and back.
There was nobody in sight, though she felt pursued.
She saw a narrow ridge a short distance ahead and half fell to the ground below it, blinking away dust as an image of the village and sea beyond swam into view.
She saw the roof of her house with its missing tiles, the glint of a faraway attic window, the pale walls and chipped blue paint.
Her phone was still in her hand, and for several still minutes, she contemplated hurling it as hard as she could down the mountainside.
What was it, in the end, if not a portal to the past?
Skye shut her eyes as a memory swirled, the image tarnished by shame.
She pressed the heel of her hands against her temples, a scream building that she released through gritted teeth.
She could hear him now, the ominous tone of the quietly furious, his mouth set as he crouched beside her, a cup and spoon in hand.
Behave like a baby, and I’ll treat you like a baby.
Skye shied away now as she had then, a whimper escaping as she once more felt the hard edge of the spoon against her lips, the cold smear of pureed food on her chin, the mocking taunt of Open wide.
The trembling began, every part of her quivering.
Skye curled into a ball, dropped her head onto her knees, and began to weep.