Chapter Forty-Six
Forty-six
Skye stared down at the tarpaulin.
The wind had picked up, tugging at its corners, the plastic snapping softly against the rocks that held it in place.
The mood among those gathered around her was one of excitement as Theo and Dusty traded ideas about who was in the grave and how they’d ended up there.
“It could be an Ottoman pirate,” he suggested.
“Or his wench!” she chimed in.
“I think it’s a time traveler,” George said. “Someone from the year 2050. Maybe they came here and got stuck? Or someone in the olden days saw their futuristic clothes and got so scared that they killed them.”
“Brilliant idea,” Adam enthused. “What do you think, Vic? Time traveler, pirate, or wench?”
Victoria looked up from where she had been scrolling on her phone.
“I think this game is dumb,” she said.
Skye caught Louisa’s eye. They exchanged a quick, awkward smile, then Louisa turned away, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear.
“It’s getting late,” Skye said to no one in particular.
She hadn’t shown the pouch to the others yet nor what was hidden inside it.
A quick online search had returned numerous matches for the name Giulio Muti, though nothing relating either to wartime or any person missing since.
Could the bones beneath the tarpaulin belong to him?
Or was the Italian linked in some way to the remains that had been uncovered in her own garden?
She must read more of Katerina’s correspondence, scour the letters for clues.
George began to yawn widely.
“Come on,” Theo said, putting his arm around his son’s shoulders.
Mia pulled up in Dusty’s truck as they were walking back to their respective houses, a comatose Bruno beside her on the front seat.
“How is the poor little mite?” Joy asked.
“His back paw is fractured,” Mia said, her voice strained.
Theo offered to help her carry the dog inside, and Joy looked on, wringing her hands.
“What a bloody day it’s been,” she said. “I’m ready for a beer. Anyone else?”
“I’m afraid we can’t,” Cassandra cut in before Skye had a chance to reply. “My daughter and I have things we need to discuss.”
Darkness was closing in. The moon shone bright in a cloudless sky, while far beyond, the sea churned, silvery black beyond the hillside.
“I sent Martyn a message.”
Skye froze in the process of unlocking her front door.
“Saying what?”
“Telling him to come back here.”
“What?” Skye drew back as if the words had struck her. “Why would you do that?”
“He has a suspected concussion,” Cassandra replied. “It’s not safe for him to spend the night alone. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened.”
“Well, I hope you’re willing to sit up all night with him, then,” Skye said, slamming the door behind them and going through into the main living area. “Because I won’t be.”
“You still haven’t told me what all this is about,” her mother persisted. She removed her straw hat and held it in front of herself like a shield. “According to Martyn, you gave him no prior warning. He says you simply up and left in the middle of the night.”
Skye went into the kitchen. A dustpan and brush were hanging from a hook by the back door, and she set about sweeping up the shards of broken glass and crockery. More smashed items, another scene of devastation. She had dealt with so many. Too many.
Her mother appeared in the archway, lips pursed.
“It wasn’t the middle of the night,” Skye told her.
“You still left. Still treated him as if he was some kind of sordid one-night stand rather than your husband.”
“I wish I had stopped at one night,” Skye retorted, tipping the contents of the dustpan into the bin. “If I’d known what he was really like, I’d never have gone on a second date, let alone married him. It was the worst mistake of my life.”
Cassandra said nothing, her jaw tight, gaze pointed.
“I mean it, Mum. Martyn isn’t the man you think he is.”
“Do you want to know what I thought when you introduced me to Martyn?”
Skye steeled herself.
“I thought, thank goodness. She’s found a man who has his life in order, a man who will provide for her, who has the means and the maturity by which to do so. An adult, essentially.”
“But he—” Skye began.
“No, let me finish. Fact is, I fell for your dad because he was a dreamer. And that, well, that turned out to be my biggest mistake. You have no idea what it was like being married to a man like Cosmo. I know he could do no wrong in your eyes. But let me tell you, he did.”
Skye strode right past her mother without a word. Her body trembled, adrenaline radiating as she braced for the next blow.
“You need to hear this,” her mother said, her hand on Skye’s arm. “The truth is hard to hear sometimes, but you can’t keep on living in this pattern of denial and avoidance.”
The air caught in Skye’s throat, her mouth falling open.
“Nothing Dad did was ever good enough for you, was it? I was there, Mum. I saw it every day, saw the way you found fault with everything, correcting his grammar when he spoke, talking down to him as if he were a child. For God’s sake. He was miserable—you made him miserable.”
Cassandra’s eyes went wide, her nostrils flaring.
“I don’t know why we’re discussing Dad anyway,” Skye said, snatching the cushion off the floor.
The blood from Martyn’s head wound had stained right through the cover, and with a muttered curse, she threw it in the direction of the kitchen.
“He has nothing to do with me and Martyn. Dad never even knew him, more’s the pity.
If he had, I bet he’d have seen straight through him. ”
“Straight through what?” her mother asked. She folded her arms, crushing the straw hat in the process. “For Christ’s sake—what has been going on with you two?”
Skye’s shoulders sank.
“I don’t know where to start,” she said wearily.
“Start with why you ran away, why you entered a lottery to win a house on a remote Greek island?”
“I needed to get away.”
“From what, Martyn? Because of his job? Were you lonely, is that it? I assumed he must have been unfaithful, but he’s assured me that isn’t the case.”
“And you take his word as gospel, do you?” Skye said.
Her mother bristled.
“His word was the only word I had. You had done a flit.”
Skye rubbed her temples. Only Cassandra MacKinnon could reduce what had been a desperate escape into something as whimsical as “a flit.”
“OK,” she said, drawing in a breath. “I entered the lottery because I wanted a place to run away to, somewhere Martyn wouldn’t know to look. I had to leave because…because…”
Why was it so hard to say the words?
“I was lonely,” she said finally. “But not in the way you think.”
Skye walked across to the built-in seating area and lowered herself down against the cushions. After a few moments, her mother followed.
When had they last done this? Sat together side by side? Never as adults. Skye had always gone to her dad. It was he who’d lend a sympathetic ear, ruffle her hair, pull her close for a bear hug. Her mum had been there sometimes, but only ever on the periphery.
“I’m listening,” she said now with such unexpected tenderness that Skye felt a lump rise in her throat.
“It’s hard,” she began. “Talking about it, about him.”
Her mother nodded slowly.
“Martyn was— He preferred keeping me all to himself. After I was made redundant, it got worse. I’d noticed a few things, and there was an incident one night when he came home early and found me reading a magazine in the bath.”
Her mother leaned closer.
“A magazine?” she repeated. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Skye said, with a bitter-sounding laugh. “But he took offense to it. We had an argument, a glass got broken, and, well, it was scary. He scared me. I put it down to stress or him having a bad day, but honestly? That was me making excuses, hoping it was a one-off.”
“And wasn’t it?” her mum asked.
Skye sighed deeply.
“No,” she said. “It wasn’t. He never actually hit me, but he was violent.
There were plenty of occasions when he shouted and made threats.
A few nights before I found out about this house being available, he dragged me upstairs, locked me in the extra room.
I’d made us this special meal, and he blended it up into mush, as if it was baby food, force-fed me with a spoon.
It was so awful, so humiliating. I knew then that if I didn’t get away from him, I might not be so lucky the next time.
He enjoyed it. The bastard took pleasure in tormenting me. ”
Her mother had gone very still.
“How long was it going on for?” she asked.
“Over a year, almost to the day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. The words were thin, breathless. “You should’ve told me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“But you should have told me sooner.”
Skye fell silent, caught in her mother’s unyielding gaze. The skin around her pale eyes held only the faintest lines, her barely there brows darkened with pencil, a sharp Cupid’s bow, and the faintest trace of freckles across her cheekbones. Delicate, beautiful.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” she admitted. “Not until I got confirmation on this house. Then I told Sal. I wanted at least one person to know where I was in case you needed to reach me.”
“I have been trying to reach you,” her mother said.
“When I realized you’d blocked me, I didn’t know what to do.
I know you’re angry with me for showing up here with Martyn, but I had no idea he was the reason you’d left.
There was no one else willing to do anything.
I only had his word. If I’d known…” Her expression hardened.
“If I’d had even the slightest inkling of what he’d been subjecting you to…
I wish you’d told me. I would’ve helped you, protected you—”
“Really?” Skye said. “You’d have believed me? Without question?”
“Of course I would.”
“That last dinner party we came to, Martyn and me, did you not notice that I barely spoke? That I barely ate?”
“I did, actually.” Her mother looked suddenly thoughtful. “I wondered if something might have happened, if perhaps you were pregnant even. When I was expecting you, those first few months were torture. I was so sick.”
Skye had heard this tale of woe before. She didn’t want to listen to it again.
“You didn’t say anything to me,” she pointed out.
“No, but I assumed if there was something to tell, then you’d tell me. I didn’t want to speak out of turn, mention the P-word in case I was wrong. That sort of thing is private, and—”
“But you’re my mum,” Skye said quietly, firmly.
“Yes.” Cassandra turned to face her. “I am, and when you become a mother, you’ll see that nothing matters more than your child.”
Skye’s throat thickened.
“How did we get here?” she murmured. “How did we stray so far apart from each other?”
The smile her mother offered was watery, a tremor running through her lips as she tried to hold it steady. She began to speak, but before the words could leave her mouth, Skye’s attention was snatched elsewhere.
A dark shape moved past the window, its limp unmistakable.
Her husband, the enemy, had returned.