My working day has been spent on tedious police paperwork, so it’s a relief to take a stroll across my native island to see a brand-new building project. I’ve been summoned by the architect for reasons unknown, but she’s an old friend, so I’ve got no complaints. A walk on Bryher is always a pleasure in early summer. The island unfolds before me as I head north from the Town, through a network of small fields where goats bleat for food, more in hope than expectation. I take my favourite path over Shipman Head Down. The site was once a Neolithic burial ground, but the only sign that I’m standing on ancient graves is a scattering of cairns rising from the moss, heather and ferns that lie underfoot.
Badplace Hill fills the sky, where Maeve Trenwith stands near the top, waving her arms in a vigorous greeting. Her long black hair is striking even from a distance. Maeve looked different at school; she was head girl back then, a brainy geek with frizzy curls and braces on her teeth. She was born on Bryher a couple of years before me, but her career has taken a different path. Maeve is a ground-breaking architect now, with her own TV show. She has designed glittering apartment blocks in Dubai, a prize-winning theatre in LA and hideaways for billionaires worldwide, but her latest project is small-scale. She and her husband are devoting six months to building an outdoor activities centre on Bryher. It’s mainly self-funded, yet it’s caused huge anger in the community. Many are afraid it will spoil an area of outstanding natural beauty. The Trenwiths only managed to get planning permission by stressing that a hundred per cent of the profits will be ploughed back into the island’s infrastructure.
Maeve’s appearance may be sophisticated, but up close her eyes sparkle with naive pleasure. She appears to be dancing on the spot, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The excitement on her face reminds me of a kid at Christmas. Maeve looks the same when she presents her architecture programme on TV. Her strong features are highlighted by crimson lipstick, and she’s dressed head to toe in black despite the day’s warmth.
‘Thanks for climbing up here, Ben. Come and see our progress.’
‘How are the foundations going?’
‘Great so far, but it’s complex work. The building will project from the cliffs like it’s floating on air. It’ll look like a cascade of glass running down to the shore.’
‘If it matches your drawings, it’ll be impressive.’
‘The TV team are coming back tomorrow to film the next stage. You’ll have design nerds flocking here all year round.’
‘I can’t wait for my island’s peace to be shattered.’
She grins at me. ‘No sarcasm, please. This project means a lot to me and Danny.’
‘Is that why you called my police number to get me here?’
‘The building will affect everyone on Bryher. I need your help to persuade the doubters.’
‘Why? You’ve got planning permission, you can go full steam ahead.’
‘It doesn’t work like that here, as you well know. People can refuse to work for us, and block our supplies. We need everyone on board.’
‘That won’t happen overnight. Your plans only scraped through when the island council voted.’
‘Don’t they remember the hotel chain that wanted to build on the same spot? We moved heaven and earth to stop them dumping tons of concrete here.’
‘People don’t like change, that’s all.’
‘It irritates the hell out of me. Our team will learn precision building skills, the community gets the profits, and six islanders will have full-time jobs when the centre opens. What more do they want?’ She musters her widest smile. ‘Everyone trusts the deputy commander of the island police. If you support us, they’ll follow suit.’
‘I’m not that influential.’
‘They respect you, Ben. Your opinion matters.’
‘You brought me here to twist my arm?’
‘Come and see our work. I promise you’ll be blown away.’
Maeve enthuses about her project as we approach the cliff edge, but most of her words pass me by while I enjoy the scenery. The island is only two miles long and half a mile wide, yet the landscape never bores me, because it’s ever changing. We’re standing on Bryher’s northernmost tip, where sunshine bleaches the stones underfoot as pale as chalk. When we reach the building site, there’s only one house looking down from the peak of the hill. Retired businessman Louis Hayle lives in the imposing granite property; it’s three storeys high, commanding a bird’s-eye view of the entire island. His home is situated just fifty metres above Maeve’s building site. Shipman Head lies directly beyond it, the open land littered with boulders. It’s the island’s last piece of solid terrain before the Atlantic takes over.
Danny Trenwith stands inland, consulting a clipboard. His appearance is the opposite of his wife’s glamour. His clothes look grubby, his padded jacket and jeans spattered with mud. He was born here too, but unlike Maeve, he’s still recognisable from our school days, when his uniform was always messy. Evidence of the builders’ hard work lies everywhere I look. Giant moles appear to have left a trail of devastation across the downs, with earth heaped in huge piles, a mechanical digger parked near the cliff edge.
The ocean can play cruel tricks at this time of year, with storms rising from water that seems unnaturally calm, but there’s no breeze today, the gulls wheeling overhead in slow circles. It’s peak breeding season for the island’s birds, and no one can visit Shipman Head until the fledglings depart in mid-August. Sabine’s gulls and shearwaters are nest-building on the cliffs, dozens of them hovering over the dark green Atlantic Ocean.
It’s only when I look over my shoulder that the scale of Maeve’s project hits home. Huge steel pylons jut out from the rock like the prongs of a forklift truck.
‘How do you stop the whole thing tumbling into the sea?’
‘Computer modelling, and tough materials. The place will last for centuries, despite tidal erosion, thanks to reinforced steel. Those supports penetrate eight metres into the rock. You could drop the Houses of Parliament on them and they still wouldn’t buckle.’
‘Pity. Most politicians deserve a good dousing.’
‘Our site beats all their ecology targets. The design’s carbon neutral, there’ll be nothing like it anywhere in the world.’
‘I voted for it, remember? Save your breath for the diehards.’
She releases a slow laugh. ‘Sorry, it’s my new obsession. Can Danny and I buy you and Nina dinner at the Rock tonight? I want Zoe to come too, I haven’t seen her for ages.’
‘You’re charming everyone with free meals so we stay loyal?’
‘That could be a tiny part of it,’ she admits, grinning.
‘I’ll text Zoe and see if she’s free.’
Zoe Morrow was my closest friend when I was growing up, but her life’s in India now. She’s only home for a short break.
‘I promise not to rant about the build tonight, Ben.’
‘Why do I feel like I’m being recruited?’
‘Because you are. Can’t you see it’s exciting? Don’t you feel like rolling up your sleeves and getting involved?’
‘I’d sooner relax with a book.’
‘We’ll change your mind tonight. Is eight okay?’
‘That should work.’
I’m already waving goodbye. My cottage lies half a mile away, a ten-minute walk from the hotel owned by Zoe’s parents. Hell Bay Hotel has expanded over the years to accommodate guests that flock here each summer to birdwatch, walk, or dive the local shipwrecks. I feel a pang of guilt for not rushing over to greet Zoe and her husband Dev when they arrived from India two days ago, but tonight’s dinner will make up for my neglect. It’s lucky that Zoe’s always been hard to offend.
The coastline opens out when I reach the path down to the beach, and the reason for Hell Bay’s name becomes obvious. The shoreline is guarded by a dozen jagged outcrops that vanish underwater at high tide, causing many ships to founder over the centuries. I’m about to head home when a man’s cultured voice calls out my name.
‘Benesek Kitto, I thought it was you. Can I have a word?’
Louis Hayle must have marched down from his hilltop property. His reputation as one of the island’s wealthiest benefactors is long established, even though he’s only lived here full-time for the past few years. He was a big presence in the days when he only summered here, investing heavily in the local economy and setting up a mentoring scheme for local kids. He made his millions from haulage, with vans, lorries and planes travelling all over the world. I remember the huge yacht he owned when I was small, and the helicopter he flew down to Bryher. He looked like a movie star back then, tall and athletic, with a wife who avoided the limelight. He’s in his seventies now, but still well groomed. His expensive windcheater is zipped up to his chin, despite the mild weather, his grey monobrow giving him a look of permanent fury.
‘How can I help, Mr Hayle?’
‘I saw you talking to Maeve Trenwith; I hope you’re not taking her side. Her husband was a protégé of mine, years ago, but now he’s tormenting me.’
‘Meaning what, exactly?’
‘I’ve warned them to move their wretched building away from my property. If they don’t, I’ll sue their company.’
‘Your case won’t succeed, I’m afraid. The council approved the build.’
‘I objected then and I object now. My view will be ruined, and the islanders who claim to be spiritual will be horrified.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Ancient settlers climbed up Badplace Hill for rituals, and to bury their dead. We’re standing on thousands of graves.’
‘I know it was a burial site, but the Archaeology Council says that’s well away from the cliff edge. They agreed the designs.’
‘It’s pushing the margins, don’t you think? Graveyards should be respected no matter how old. I’ve even heard a folk tale about the perils of digging on Badplace Hill.’
‘That’s news to me.’
‘I’m no great believer in myths, but the story goes that disturbing sacred ground here brings bad luck. The Trenwiths will live to regret their actions if there’s any justice in the world.’
He marches away before I can say goodbye. His manner was just as arrogant when I was a kid, which is why I only attended one of his summer schools. He expected every child to follow his edicts slavishly. I preferred the clear rules of rugby and boxing, or to spend my weekends running wild around the island with Zoe. Something’s changed, though. I don’t remember him being so angry back then. His complaints are a reminder that the building divides my community down the middle, between passionate supporters and those who resist change. Maeve Trenwith may have plenty of charisma, but she’s been away too long to command much loyalty. She’s forgotten how determined the islanders can be. If her building fails to win them over, their outcry will wake the dead, without any need to dig up the ground.