Chapter 9
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.’
‘Jude?’ I laugh. ‘He’d eat you alive. Or you him. And I’m not sure what’s worse.’
‘Promises, promises. I can’t believe you’ve never told me how exceptionally fine his older brother is. Was he really your summer fling?’
‘We were friends, kids.’
‘Babe, people who were just kids together do not have the sizzling chemistry that was zapping between the two of you at the café the other day.’
‘There was nothing zapping anywhere.’
One of her perfectly arched eyebrows lifts again. ‘I reckon the force of that chemistry could have been felt out in the North Sea.’ She scrunches her face and points in the direction of the front door and the lane that leads down to the harbour. ‘That is the North Sea, right?’
‘Atlantic, but good try.’
I grin at her, and the motion feels almost natural on my face.
Until her expression turns serious, hand reaching for mine and giving it a squeeze.
‘You know you can’t hide here forever, right?
The Winter Brothers are getting antsy about your statement.
You have to make one, Isla. Work out what it is you want to say, and say it. ’
I pull on the wellies. They’re a size too big, but with thick socks, they’ll do.
‘I’m not hiding. I’m regrouping. And it’s not that easy.
I don’t want everyone thinking I’m weak.
Still some little girl who can be taken advantage of.
At the moment I don’t have the strength to tell the truth and stand strong while I do it. ’
She stares at me, pensive. Thoughtful.
I haven’t even told Piper the whole truth.
Truth is a complicated thing when you start peeling back the layers.
‘That’s what Richard is for. Remember, you hired him for crisis management and so far, you haven’t really let him manage anything.’
I scrub at my face and Piper winces as my skin gets pulled beneath my fingertips. She’ll be booking me in for more Botox soon.
‘Because he wants me to carry on, pretend that I’m above all of this, when the truth is, Piper, I’m not.’ I pull my hair up from my neck and slide it through an elastic. ‘I feel exposed. Weak. Silly. Naive. How am I supposed to walk around London, New York, anywhere, acting like I’m above it all?’
Piper’s lips flatten. ‘Babe, this is hurting all my feminist instincts too, but Hollywood, my love, it’s not built that way.’
I nod but I’ve run out of things to say. All I’ve got is this aching emptiness.
Piper stares at me, but her phone buzzes before she can argue further. ‘That’s my car. Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me? Hot showers with actual water pressure. Restaurants that serve more than fish and chips.’
‘I’m good here.’
She eyes the chipped teacup in my hand, then the cottage itself, and frowns faintly.
‘How long are you planning on staying?’
This is the question I don’t want to answer. Can’t answer. ‘I don’t know.’
She sighs, ‘I’ll try and see what I can do, with Richard’s help. I just—’ She hesitates, which is very unlike her. ‘I just think this could all go horribly wrong and I want to help you. Really want to help you.’
I reach for her, lean down and give her a hug. She stiffens, but that’s Piper, all sharp edges but underneath is a heart of gold. ‘I know you do. And I’ll let you. But can I just pause to breathe first before I face whatever comes next? Pretty please.’
‘Okay, okay. What are we talking here? A week? Two weeks?’
I shrug, and it’s a bit helpless.
‘Fine.’ She shuts her laptop with a snap. ‘Just answer my calls. Promise you’ll answer my calls.’
‘I promise.’
After she leaves, the cottage feels both emptier and somehow more mine.
I pull on an old jumper of Maggie’s I found in the wardrobe, thick wool that smells of mothballs and faintly of her lavender soap.
With the wellies and my oldest jeans, I look nothing like the woman who graced the cover of Vanity Fair eight months ago.
I look like no one at all.
The path to the lighthouse is windy and wild, the grass slick with what looks like a fine mist but feels more substantial when it hits my skin.
It’s afternoon, but the autumnal sky is petulant with clouds.
It’s not dark, not yet, but it wants to be.
The sea crashes against the rocks below, temperamental and moody.
In the distance, the lighthouse stands sentinel, its white tower stark against the grey sky.
Maggie’s boots squelch in the mud as I make my way towards the small crowd already gathered at the base. My stomach knots as I approach. Most of these people have known me since I was a gap-toothed kid with scraped knees. They’ve also seen me leave.
Nina spots me first, waving enthusiastically. ‘Isla! You made it! I wasn’t sure you’d come.’ The invitation had arrived yesterday with some lavender shortbread. Another reason I think Piper has run back to London: with me only picking at the crumbs, she was concerned she was going to eat the lot.
Several heads turn. I recognise faces from the pub, though names escape me for many.
Dot from the post office gives me a measured nod.
Bill and Frankie offer cheerful waves. Reuben Harding’s scowl deepens at the sight of me, his hand tightening on Maisie’s shoulder, although she gives me a wave and bites her lip when it’s clear that her grandad won’t let her run over to see me.
‘We’re working on the pathway,’ he says gruffly, guiding her towards the opposite side of the site.
The message is clear: keep your distance from my granddaughter.
I scan the group instinctively for Kit, relief and disappointment warring when I don’t spot him.
‘Don’t mind the stares,’ Nina says, approaching with a tall, lean man whose kind eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘Small town. Big news. You know how it goes.’
‘Too well,’ I say, attempting a smile.
‘This is Tom,’ Nina introduces. ‘Our local vet and my partner in crime since we met in sixth form.’
‘Pleasure,’ Tom says, handshake firm. ‘Nina’s been telling me you’re staying in Maggie’s old place.
She was quite a woman. Helped me nurse my first dog when everyone else said he was too far gone.
In fact, she inspired me to become a vet.
Said I had to follow my heart, when everyone else was telling me I had to do what the rest of the men in the family do. ’ He eyes the sea. ‘Fish.’
‘That sounds like Maggie.’ My smile feels more genuine now. ‘Never one to give up.’
Nina links her arm through mine. ‘Come on, I’ll show you what we’re doing today. I’m so glad you came.’
She leads me towards the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, a small stone building adjacent to the tower itself. Windows boarded, roof sagging, it’s seen better days.
‘This will be the exhibition space,’ she explains. ‘Photos, artefacts, the history of Sea Salt Bay’s maritime heritage, all that kind of thing. But first, we need to clear all these rocks from the last cliff fall.’
She points to a considerable pile of rubble against one wall. Several villagers are already at work, loading stones into wheelbarrows.
I glance around the crowd of volunteers, and then drop my gaze back to the debris the collapse of the lighthouse has left behind.
‘Kit’s out on the boat today,’ she adds casually, though her eyes assess my reaction. ‘I think him and Jude have both the boats out because the weather is changing later.’
I nod, ignoring the urge to scan the horizon. ‘Where do you want me?’