May 2020, Benevolence Day One
It turned out to be a long day. In the afternoon, Nina had spent some time answering questions from the volunteers about Island Heritage and how the organisation worked. Most of them seemed keen to do this all over again, if they had the chance, or even spend three months caretaking. Brian soon took over the conversation, explaining how he had mapped out the areas in most need of repairs and decided that all of the cottages could do with painting. There was some joking about the colour scheme, but Brian was firmly on the side of white. They had the tools and equipment they required—most of it was already stored here. And really, this wasn’t Nina’s area of expertise. That was Brian’s call, and she stayed silent, not about to step over the line. When he announced his team would start work at six am the next day and only return for breakfast after putting in a few hours, she expected a few grumbles, but no one said a word.
Although Nina felt as if she’d had a good day, ticking off the items on her team-leader list, there was still more to do. Kyle had informed her this morning before she left that he wanted to hear from her via the satellite phone at the end of the day. She felt a spike in her heartrate as she waited for the connection, but after asking her some pointed questions, he seemed satisfied with her answers. ‘Well done, Nina,’ he said. ‘I knew you could do it.’ As if she was five years old and had just won the egg-and-spoon race. Then he went on to tell her that he would be away for a few days—‘My wife’s mother has had a fall’—and she tried to sound sympathetic and not relieved.
‘I’ll give you a call when I get back,’ he said. ‘I’ll expect a full report then. You might want to ask Jude Rawlins if he needs anything from our end. There’s been plenty of interest from the media. An interview, maybe?’
‘I’ll do that,’ Nina lied. ‘I hope your mother-in-law recovers quickly, Kyle.’
She set down the handset. By the time Kyle rang her again, she hoped to have plenty of good news to tell him. With any luck, he’d forget about the lost donation and start seeing her as integral to the organisation.
As the evening drew on, they watched the light changing over the sea. The air grew chillier, and despite their sheltered position there was a nasty little breeze, but it was nothing that a couple of extra layers of clothing couldn’t fix. Elle had been taking photos, no doubt capturing the sense of camaraderie—she was focused and serious when she was working. Reynash had found a bike from somewhere and bumped over the rough ground, carrying messages from one part of their campsite to another. He made a comical sight, and the tired faces around the campfire were full of laughter.
Darkness had fallen now, the velvet sky clear of clouds and awash with stars. While they had eaten their dinner, there had been plenty of talk, but now the conversation was intermittent at best, and yet no one seemed to want to retire. There was something almost cosy here in their sheltered spot. Arnie brought out a guitar and was playing it softly, his voice low, and the sound washed pleasantly over Nina. It was almost as if the ghosts of the past had gathered around them, eager for company. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t believe in ghosts.
Only the living could hurt you.
She hadn’t seen Jude after their meeting at the bell. Paul mentioned that he had asked for some sandwiches and taken them with him back to his cottage. No doubt he had scripts to write and video to film. Just like her, he had a lot riding on his time on the island. Fame and fortune awaited him, but then it always had. Jude had been destined to be famous, it had just taken a bit longer than they all expected.
Paul was chuckling at something Arnie said, and Nina smiled. Paul deserved some happiness. His last relationship had ended in tears—she’d taken him out on the town to drown his sorrows. Maybe he and Arnie would strike up something more than friendship. Elle was with the younger volunteers, nodding at something one of them was saying, her expression engaged. Finally Brian Mason yawned and stood up, murmuring a goodnight, and after that the others began to drift away to their beds.
Nina followed. She was so tired she expected to go out like a light. Instead, she tossed and turned in her sleeping bag on the narrow, creaky bed, trying not to wake Elle, who breathed softly nearby. The sea washed against the cliffs, as if it too was breathing. Deep and regular. The wind got up as the night went on, and an occasional gust moaned around the verandah outside her window.
She hadn’t done much research on the island, but she had seen some black-and-white photographs, with the various lighthouse keepers standing proudly before the tower, their wives and children gathered around them. It had been a different age, when the only help for those in need was to flag down a passing ship. Time had moved more slowly and those who lived here had to learn to be resilient and self-sufficient. And in the end, both those things were likely not enough, as evidenced by the crosses in the graveyard.
She remembered the flowers then, and wondered again for whom they had been laid. They were wilted, the sort of eclectic bunch you could buy at a 7-Eleven rather than a florist. Someone on the island had done that. Brian? He had ties to the island but hadn’t wanted to discuss them with her.
The window rattled. Something ran along the stone-flagged verandah, light steps. An animal. Were there possums on Benevolence? Or more likely rodents of some sort, living on the birdlife. She knew there were no foxes or rabbits, as both had been eradicated by Island Heritage before they could declare the island a nature reserve.
Uncomfortably, that was when she remembered the reports of a stranger on the island, wandering at will and hiding himself from the visitors staying here. Someone had seen a boat moored on the west side, in the shelter of the small, uninhabited island that lay off the rocky coast. There was always the possibility that Benevolence was being used as a meeting place by criminals. Drugs or guns came to mind.
Nina stopped her imagination before it could run riot. She told herself that whoever had been lurking was probably long gone, and if not then surely the arrival of her team would have sent them running. Or sailing. They were perfectly safe.
She heard another sound, and this time the approaching footsteps were heavier. Definitely human. They paused just beyond her window, and stood a moment in silence, listening, just as Nina was listening. There was a scratch, the flick of a lighter perhaps, and then the distinctive smell of cigarette smoke.
Her heart began to pound. She froze, unable to get up to see who was outside wandering around in the dark. Fear swamped her even as she heard the steps leave the verandah and crunch over dry leaves and twigs, climbing the steep incline that led to the upper track and the lighthouse, before they were lost in the wash of the sea and the moan of the wind.
Nina struggled to overcome her panic, breathing evenly, telling herself everything was perfectly all right. But despite her heart rate slowly returning to normal, she knew it was too late. Already the past was wrapping its arms around her, squeezing, and it was inevitable she would dream of it.