“Is that Anya’s car out there?” I heard Gerry say as I’d just left the room.
Pausing because I didn’t want to go back to the annex yet, not quite ready to see Gabe and see the questions in his eyes, I moved up the wide staircase instead, the original banister still intact and polished to a shine, memories of sliding down it still clear in my mind, my father’s furious words embellished in the grain. The stairs went up four floors before coming to a small landing, and then a door that I had to unlock to get through. On the other side of the door the carpet was plainer than that on the other floors and the corners were without adornment. It was simpler than anywhere else in the house and hadn’t changed much other than to be now stripped and ready to renovate, increasing the space for paying guests. This was the floor where most of the family had once had their own rooms, the area of the guesthouse that had been reserved from the beginning for the owners. I went to the room that had once been my own. My brother’s room – Michael – was next door and had been left as vacant as mine for the past few months. The rooms were situated off a long corridor; instead of white paint the doors had been sanded down to the natural wood and polished. I remembered my father having the task of restoring them to the original design one winter, out of the holiday season. I had been a sullen teenager and had protested about having a room with no door for three days. Michael had persistently annoyed me by running into my room whenever our parents had their backs turned, and then I had gotten into trouble for hitting him. We hadn’t changed much.
I opened the door, the room now empty, wallpaper stripped. I’d had a view of the sea, something me and Kim had fought hard over. Kim’s room was bigger, but looked onto the track that led up to the guesthouse. My view was of the endless blue sea, looking over the cliff and the steep drop down to the slim beach and then into the water. In the early morning, with the curtains open, I could see the lights of the fishing boats as they trawled their way back from the depths with their haul. Now, with the light of day, I could see the boats bobbing on the water near the small marina, the tip of the wooden jetty visible to my left. I gazed out of the window, breathing in the fresh sea air, and let the atmosphere of being home seep back into me, some of the past few months of pain floating away like the clouds. The sun was lowering in the sky, its yellow hues being cast through the clouds on the horizon, like someone had spilt daffodils over the sky. Recent events started to fade for a moment, the mysteries of the sea overtaking everything, like they had ever since I had been big enough to sit on the bed and look out of the window. The only person to invade my thoughts for those precious quiet few minutes was Gabe with his tattoos and the expression that contained a sadness that mirrored my own.
Gabe
“Another?” Tim asked me, standing at the bar and pointing to my empty pint pot.
It was still early. Hollywood hour had come and gone; I’d made the most of the light and taken a few photographs while the sun was at the angle where everything looked good, and now it was starting to dip into the horizon. The sky was painted with colour, another fine island day promised tomorrow.
“One more. Then I’m heading home.”
Home. It was a word that felt foreign still. I didn’t get how the fuck I’d ended up on the island, Ynys Môn to give it its Welsh name, working as help for the crews of fishermen that went out, and a handyman to the locals. Yet, this washome.Wherever I’d lived before I couldn’t return to. I’d been exiled from my history.
I’d exiled myself.
“You out on the boats tomorrow?” Tim had perched on a stool that shouldn’t have been able to take his weight.
“First thing.” First thing was early. Before sunrise. The sea would be a whirling black along the Menai Strait, Snowdonia a shadow on the horizon, its mountain range still tipped with snow. I hated mornings. Before I moved to the island I’d deliberately scheduled my days to start after ten o’clock because any earlier meant I was a cranky fucker.
But that wasn’t my life any more.
Heavy feet and a loud sigh told me that Gerry had entered the bar, a pub called the Ship Inn. It was filled with memorabilia from the sea, and the locals and people who summered here. Day trippers and holiday makers tended to head for The View, the trendier, bigger, modern bar and restaurant that was higher up and had a kids’ area. It suited everyone.
“Evening, gentlemen.” Gerry’s accent was broad northern, lacking the local Welsh lilt. He was an interesting man, delivering local food produce. He was also the island’s biggest gossip. “Quiet in here tonight.”
It was. The Ship was generally busy, even on a Tuesday, but tonight there were only a dozen and a half people in there.
“Not surprised though. Anya’s back home, so everyone’ll have gone up to the guesthouse to say hello.” Gerry settled down on another bar stool and tapped the pump with the bitter in it. Not that he needed to – he ordered the same thing every night, probably for about forty years.
Anya had been my fourth or fifth fuck up of the day. She’d startled me; I hadn’t expected to see a pretty woman with thick dark hair appear while I was butchering a tree. I’d heard her name; she was the prodigal grandchild, spoken about with some sort of pissing reverence even though she hadn’t bothered to turn up to see her dying aunt or get there in time for her funeral. I had no time for princesses. Never had.
“How’s she doing? She should’ve come home sooner, then we could’ve looked after her.” Tim’s tone was sympathetic.
I smothered my scorn. I was new here. I’d still be new here in twenty years, if I stayed that long, and saying anything negative about the darling of Moelfre was not going to win me any fans. But I’d spent time with Marcy, and Marcy had spoken plenty about Anya, about how she was a good girl. But Anya had never visited. Never made that effort.
“I’m not sure.” Gerry watched his pint being poured with heavy scrutiny. “I only saw her briefly. She’s lost weight. Looks pale.”
“Helen’ll feed her up. The sea air and being with her family and at home will help.”
Tim passed me my pint.
I looked from one man to the other. “Isn’t she just home for the school holidays? I know teachers have it hard, but I would’ve thought that she’d have been happier staying wherever it is she lives.” I had no warm and fuzzy feelings towards her. What had happened that night and the resulting recovery had significantly lowered my tolerance to anyone who took what they had for granted, such as family and friends.
Gerry eyed me, then shook his head. “I forget you wouldn’t know. It happened just before you came here.”
“What happened?” I braced myself for feeling like a complete dick for the millionth time that day.
“One of the pupils she had in her class was killed by his father. The father killed the kid’s mum and his sister too. You might’ve heard it on the news.” Gerry took the pint. “That’ll need topping up, Gethin.” He passed the pint back, the foamy head too large for his liking.
I hadn’t heard it on the news. It had only been in recent weeks I’d finally started to remember that I lived in a world that was more than just me. I could run again, lift the same weights I’d been able to before the accident and moved like I remembered. But I wasn’t the person I remembered. “I didn’t hear about it. What happened?”
“It was parents’ evening at the school where Anya works. She’d met with the boy’s parents. They’d come together even though they were divorced. She got a phone call in the early hours from the head to tell her that the father had gone home with them that night and at some point had killed his kids and their mother. I think it was with a knife.” Gerry looked at his drink as he spoke, clearly finding it difficult to consider the details.
“An axe.” Tim stood up off his stool. “It were an axe. Then he killed himself with an overdose. Bastard.” He shook his head.
“An’s found it hard. As you would. I don’t know too many details but she’s finally taking advice to have some time away and get her head sorted. Coming home.” He looked at me. “She’s a good lass. No one deserves to go through any of that. Least of all her.”
