40

The girl standing in the reception area fidgeting and pacing like a bird trapped in a windowless room was familiar but not because Rebecca had met her before. She had seen photographs of someone who looked like her. Right away she knew the girl was Sonya Kerr. Even with the dark smudges under her eyes, her hair flat and lifeless and her skin pallid, Rebecca could see Mhairi’s features come to life.

‘Someone to see you, Miss Connolly,’ said Ash from behind the desk, darting a finger towards Sonya, who stopped pacing to give Rebecca a stare that was a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

‘Sonya?’ said Rebecca and saw the look turn to surprise.

‘You know me?’

‘No, but I know who you are. You look like . . .’

‘My mother? I know. They all say that.’

The girl not only looked but also sounded worn out. Rebecca could sympathise. She felt like someone had pulled out a stopper somewhere and drained her. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘It’s Donnie . . . my dad.’

Rebecca closed her eyes briefly. Don’t let him be dead, she thought.

‘He’s conscious now,’ said Sonya, sending a wave of relief washing through Rebecca’s weary body. ‘He wants to see you.’

Rebecca was glad Donnie was back in the land of the living, but she was done. ‘Sonya, I’m tired and I’m wet and I’m sure you know last night was—’ She sought the correct word. ‘Difficult. For everyone. All I want to do is have a hot bath and put on some dry clothes and sleep for a few hours, hopefully get off this island soon.’

‘He’s got something to tell you. About my mother. About the night she died.’

Rebecca told herself she didn’t care, that she couldn’t take any more of Stoirm and its secrets.

‘Please,’ said Sonya, a note of desperation creeping in. ‘He really wants to talk to you and I promised I’d bring you. I’ve got a friend outside with a car, we’ll take you right now.’

Rebecca told herself that as far as she was concerned all of this was over.

Sonya’s eyes hardened. ‘You caused all this. You came here and caused all this. The least you can do is hear what my dad has to say. He’s in that hospital bed because of you.’

That’s not true, Rebecca wanted to say, but she was too exhausted to debate the point. All she could say was, ‘Okay.’

She was at the exit to the small car park before Sonya realised she’d won the argument. Gus was sitting in a beat-up old Vauxhall Vectra and he gave her a shame-faced look as she climbed in the back. Sonya climbed in the passenger side. ‘This is my friend Gus,’ she said.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Rebecca.

Gus didn’t say anything. She hadn’t told the police it was Gus who had made the visit the previous night. He had been stirred up by the moron squad, most of whom were now safely tucked up in the police cells for what they had done to Chaz and Alan, although Ash told her one was proving elusive—He’s taken to the heather, was how he put it. On another day that phrase would have made Rebecca smile, but not that day. Some of the island’s limited police manpower was beating that heather in the south of the island. He had nowhere to go and they’d flush him out sooner or later.

Nothing further was said during the short drive to the hospital. The rain, propelled by the wind, splattered the windshield and hit the roof with such force it sounded like someone was playing a drum. Rebecca found herself looking across the moorland, staring at the hills, greyed and smudged by the rain, and thinking about Roberta Connolly and what she had done. Sonya had her face turned towards the window, as if she was staring at the hills too. Did she know about the Connolly clan? Fiona had said only the older generations knew, but had Molly told her? Probably not. It was something the islanders wanted to die and, as Fiona said, talking about it just gave it life.

Gus brought the pick-up to a halt outside the double glass-doors of the small hospital. ‘I’ll take you to him,’ he said.

‘You’re not coming?’ Rebecca asked Sonya.

The girl shook her head. ‘He told me and my grandparents already. He wants you to know, too.’

Rebecca searched her face for some kind of hint but saw nothing. Sadness, maybe, but at what she didn’t know. ‘You’re wrong, you know,’ Rebecca said.

‘About what?’

‘About me causing all this. This would’ve happened whether I came to the island or not.’

Sonya looked away again. She didn’t accept what Rebecca had said. She had to blame somebody and Rebecca was the easiest target. And Roddie Drummond. But Rebecca would bet a year’s salary that the girl had never met him.

Gus held the door open for her, polite compared to their last encounter, and then veered to the right. ‘I take it Sonya doesn’t know about last night?’ Rebecca asked.

He shook his head. ‘It was my idea. I told you. And I’d do it again.’

‘Good to know,’ she said.

Another few paces, then he said, ‘She wanted something done but Donnie, her dad, had some kind of seizure and they almost lost him. At least that’s what she thought. She blamed herself for thinking about doing something about you, for saying it out loud. She thought that he’d heard her. So I did it without her knowing.’ He stopped at a set of double doors. ‘He’s in the second room on the right.’ Rebecca thanked him and pushed the nearest door open, but stopped when he spoke again. ‘Why didn’t you tell the police about me?’

‘How do you know I didn’t?’

‘Because I’d be in the cells with the other guys.’

‘Well,’ said Rebecca, stepping through the doorway, ‘the day’s not over yet.’

* * *

Bill Sawyer was in a chair beside Donnie’s bed, a pair of crutches propped against the arm. His right arm was in a sling, his right leg, poking through a blue dressing gown, was bandaged from ankle to thigh.

‘Should you be up on that?’ Rebecca asked.

‘It’s not that bad,’ he said.

‘I heard you broke it.’

‘You heard right. Not got far to travel anyway.’ He jutted his chin towards the other bed in the room.

Rebecca looked at Donnie, still hooked up to machines but relatively bright-eyed, despite the bandages around his head. His face was mottled by bruising, and what skin she could see was wax. When he spoke his voice was rough, as if someone had taken a cheese grater to his vocal cords.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.

She kept her voice as light as possible, although she didn’t feel that way. ‘Who could resist the invitation of a man who came back from the dead.’

He gave her a smile, which was on the weak side of wan, but it was Sawyer who spoke. ‘You might as well know that I’ve advised Donnie not to speak to you.’

‘There’s a surprise,’ she said, pulling a plastic chair from behind the door closer to the bed. ‘Did you see who jumped you? Was it Roddie?’

Donnie gave a very slight shake of the head, movement still being painful. ‘It wasn’t Roddie. He was around, but he didn’t do it. It was one of Carl Marsh’s boys . . .’

‘I’ve brought Donnie up to speed on everything that’s happened,’ said Sawyer. ‘Terrible shame about that young lad. I’m glad he’s all right, that could’ve ended very badly.’

Rebecca said nothing as she concentrated on dousing the tears burning at her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of Sawyer. ‘Why did you want to see me, Donnie?’

Donnie gave Sawyer a look. Sawyer gave him a shrug. ‘You’ve got her here now. You know what I think, but it’s up to you.’

Donnie’s eyes swivelled back to Rebecca. ‘I didn’t tell you everything when I told you about that night. The night Mhairi died.’

He waited for her to say something. ‘Okay,’ she said, finally.

‘I couldn’t tell you everything, not then. But now, with all that’s happened, it’s time to set everything straight. The truth is, I didn’t meet Mhairi on the estate. There was work going on but not on the estate, as such.’ He paused, took a breath. ‘We met at Thunder Bay.’