Stranded (35 page)

She looks away. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Of course you do. Wife and mother, that’s your job. Do you know, there’s a whole world out there? It’s a mad, weird, sometimes bad world, but it’s full of adventure. And out there women don’t have to be just wives and mothers. You can have a job, a career. You can do things on your own. Be yourself. It’s not too late for you. Life begins at forty.’

She snorts at that. ‘Oh, thank you for the greetings-card wisdom, Cath. You leave me behind when we’re sixteen, come back when we’re forty, solely because you think I’m the only idiot who you might be able to persuade to help you.’

‘I didn’t
leave you behind
, Martha. You didn’t want to come.’

‘Oh?’ She arches one eyebrow. I wish I could do that. ‘You asked, did you? I said no, I don’t want to, did I?’

‘I assumed you wouldn’t want to. I couldn’t ask you outright because I thought that if I told you what I was doing, you’d have gone to Moses.’

She bites her lip. ‘I would not. I knew you were leaving. I half knew it. I watched you walk up the drive, swinging your bag, without looking back. If you had asked, Cathy . . . I would never have been brave enough to do it alone. I would have gone with you then. I would have swung a bag and not looked back, if we’d been together. After that Rapture. That was the only time when I was desperate enough.’ She looks away from me. ‘All I ever wanted was to be your friend.’

‘You hated me.’

‘No. You hated me. You must have really hated me to leave me behind. I had to pick up the pieces. Marry your fiancé. We all had to pretend you were dead. I guessed after that that Victoria had run away too.’

‘That’s right. I met her in London, and some others. She’s called Karen now. She moved to the other side of the world, years ago, because she said she never felt safe when she was near this place. I should have done the same. Look, Martha. Did you see Daisy when she was here? Was she all right?’

As she gazes at me, I can sense her trying to decide what to say. My heart is pumping hard, and I cannot stand still, so I am shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I can feel my body wanting to collapse, but I only notice it fleetingly because the sensation is entirely overridden by terror.

‘She’s fine,’ she says in the end. Her face softens. ‘She really is, Cath. You know, growing up here wasn’t that bad. I mean, nothing really terrible happens. It’s unusual, but it’s not . . .’ She tails off.

‘She can’t grow up here, though! She’s mine. Where have they taken her? Tell me, Martha, and I’ll do anything. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to run away. I wished I had, as soon as I was out. I’ve had a niggling regret about it ever since.

‘It’s not too late, though. You’re married to Philip? I just met him. He’s a wanker. I know that and you know it. Martha, you can jump in the car and come with us. I’ll help you with everything. Just tell me where to go to find my baby.’

I have to stop talking because there are tears coursing down my cheeks, and I have to wipe my snotty face on my polyester sleeve.

‘You left her, though,’ she says. ‘Cassie could never have got her otherwise. You were out of the country. Where
were
you?’ She looks apologetic. ‘I’m afraid they really don’t tell me anything. There are strong women in this Village, but I don’t get to be one of them.’

I have to steel myself to tell her. The story sounds less plausible every time I repeat it. I have to remind myself that it really happend. Less than a week ago, I thought I would be on the island until I died.

‘I was stranded,’ I say. ‘On an island. I went on a day trip. We were dropped off, and the boat never came back.’

‘Oh,’ she says. Scepticism drips from her every pore. ‘I see.’

‘It’s true, Martha. And I half think you know about it already.’

She glances around. ‘Look, Cathy. Only because I have children too. They don’t tell me anything, but I’m not happy with what they’re doing. Goodness knows, I’ve done as I’ve been told my entire life. Back when Moses was in charge, I did what he said. Then Cassandra, and our new leader. Since I was seventeen, I’ve had to do whatever Philip’s told me to do. And now my own sons have authority over me.’

‘It sounds like it’s time you rebelled.’

‘I’m not going to leave with you, because I couldn’t walk away from my children. But I’m going to tell you, very quickly, a few things I’ve overheard. They have never let me in on any of the secrets. I’m too unobtrusive. No one ever even thinks of Martha. Boring, fat old Martha.

‘Our leader’s been away for a while. Philip and Cassandra between them have been in charge. Philip is the golden boy. I’ve tried to piece it together, because as soon as I realised the little girl was yours, I started to pay attention. I’ve always looked on you as the one that got away. Always wondered what would have become of me if I’d gone too. Philip’s still here, holding the fort, as you know. The others set off early yesterday morning, by car. I woke when Philip got up to see them off. It was still dark. Later, I heard him on the phone. He definitely told them to take the M5 and the A30. I believe they were going to Devon or Cornwall, to lie low with your little girl until they had fully assimilated her into the ways of the community.’

I make an effort to control myself. This is crucial. I must do it.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ I say. ‘Because we’re leaving right now.’

She looks at me with scorn. ‘Of course I want to come, Cathy. For crying out loud. I won’t, though, as I said. Because of my boys. I could not bear to be dead to them.’

‘Can you find out where in Devon or Cornwall? Can you, please? I’ll write down my number, if you can call me.’

‘Don’t,’ she says at once. ‘If Philip sees you, there will be trouble. We’ve been talking too long already. Someone’s going to be watching. He’ll want to know exactly what you said so he can report it onwards. Our leader is very interested in you, even though we are still supposed to think you’re dead.’ She bites her lip. ‘Tell me your number, Cathy. Tell it to me, and I’ll remember it. I keep my phone on me, so that it stays private.’ She smiles suddenly and nods downwards. I follow her gaze.

‘You keep it in your bra?’

I never thought I would hear Martha giggle, but she does, almost imperceptibly. ‘That’s one place Philip is guaranteed not to find it.’

I tell her my mobile phone number. She repeats it twice and nods.

‘Got it,’ she says. ‘I’ll send a text if I can find out any more details. I won’t say it’s from me, though. I’ll use a code name. In fact I’ll say I’m Sarah, like your friend from school. She used to tell me, you know, that you were OK. I never went back to school, but I would see her in the town sometimes, and if no one else was about, I’d ask.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her, and I am. I can hardly bear to think of Martha’s bleak life. I want to ask about the new leader she keeps mentioning, but we need to get going. ‘How old are your boys?’ I say instead.

She smiles. ‘Eighteen and sixteen,’ she replies. ‘All grown up.’

‘They still live here?’

‘They do. They’re their father’s sons.’

‘If you change your mind,’ I say, ‘I’ll come back for you. Any time. You know I will.’

‘I know. Thanks, Cathy.’ She looks away. ‘I appreciate that more than you can know.’

Chris has switched the engine on before I reach the car.

‘Devon or Cornwall,’ I say. ‘M5 and A30.’

He drives straight out of the compound.

‘We’ll head to the M4,’ he says. ‘Get on the M5 at Bristol. A30 at Exeter.’

I look at him and smile, suffused with a sudden optimism.

‘Chris Lomax. How the hell do you know a thing like that? Did you keep a secret
Top Gear
fetish hidden from me for the length of our marriage?’

He shrugs. ‘Some things you just know.’

‘Those emails.’ We are back on the M25, and the traffic immediately slows across all the lanes. I force myself to try to fit the pieces together. ‘Oh God. We’ve got hours in the car, haven’t we? I’m going to have to address this.’

‘Yes. Someone wrote them. I should have known it wasn’t you. Look on my phone, and you should be able to find them. I deleted them all off the computer at home so that Daisy wouldn’t read them, but I made sure I had them on the phone, for reference.’

I pick up his iPhone and scroll through. Most of his emails are junk. Some are from Groupon. Others are work-related. My own name jumps out at me and I open the thread and scroll down to the bottom, to read it in the right order.

‘Hi Chris,’ I have apparently written. ‘Hope you two are well. I’m having an amazing time. The beach is as wonderful as I hoped. I’ve met some cool people. There are some Americans who are all over each other, and lots of Germans, plus a lovely Canadian called Jonah. It’s just paradise. I may be here some time! Look after Daisy. If I don’t come back when planned, don’t worry about me. I will be in touch. Best wishes, Esther.’

I look over at him.

‘You thought I’d written that? Seriously? That is a terrible impression of me.’

He shrugs. ‘I was hardly going to be suspicious, was I? Just thought you were being extra nasty on purpose.’

‘But,’ I say, and I am suddenly very cold, ‘there
was
an American couple all over each other. There
were
lots of Germans. There
was
a Canadian called Jonah and I did like him, in a vague way, in passing.’

He looks at me. ‘Oh. Who else was there?’

I think about it. In my mind I flip through everybody on the beach.

‘There was a man lurking around who might have been Moses. They said an old man came and paid our bills and checked us out, which meant nobody at the resort worried about us. They thought it was a bit weird, but they took the money and re-let the rooms. I never saw him.’

‘Right.’

‘The way they described it – at the time we thought they were talking about Gene, who was on the island with us, but now I can see it was Moses.’

He drives for a while, frowning. ‘And there’s no way that Gene could actually have
been
Moses?’

‘Of course not. Moses is my father. I lived with him till I was sixteen, Chris. Gene’s not Moses. And he’s dead now, anyway.’

‘Shit.’

‘Apparently Moses isn’t in charge any more. Martha kept talking about “our new leader”. She didn’t say his name. I don’t think she likes him. And he’s gone with Cassandra and Daisy.’

‘OK. So we’ll meet him when we find them. See if you might have seen him lurking around the beach. It was probably someone who was in the shadows, you know, Esther. Watching you, reporting back and writing emails as you.’

I glance through the rest of the email thread. My bizarre messages alternate with Chris’s befuddled ones.

‘Seriously, Esther,’ he wrote at one point. ‘WTF?’

I put the phone down in between us and yawn.

‘Do you mind,’ I ask him, ‘if I sleep for a bit? It’s kind of . . .’ I have to break off to stretch and yawn again. ‘Catching up with me.’

‘Go for it,’ he says. ‘I’ll keep driving. If we don’t hear from your friend, I’ll . . . Well, I suppose I’ll drive along the A30 until I hit the end.’

When I open my eyes, the car is not moving and it is nearly dark outside. It takes me a long time to remember everything, to process the fact that, first of all, I am not on the island, not lying on the sand, not with Ed, Katy and the others. Nor am I at home.

Nor have I found my daughter.

There is a rancid taste in my mouth, and I notice that I am dressed in a bizarre work outfit. Chris, I think. Chris is my ally in all this. I look for him, but the driver’s seat is empty.

I think about Jean, bereaved in Asia. She is doubly bereaved now. I hope her children are strong like she is, and I hope she lets them look after her.

I wonder what has happened in Mark and Cherry’s street in Montauk, what the ramifications are. I picture Cherry hugging Hannah and Aaron, reunited with them at last. My stomach contracts in jealousy.

The car is in a sparsely filled car park. It is not big enough to be a motorway service station. I open the door and stretch my legs out to stand up.

I am completely disorientated. This could be any time of the day or night. The light is grey, and there are clouds overhead. I shiver in my stupid blouse, which is far too flimsy for the British spring evening, and leave the car door open as I walk back and forth. My legs complain about being used, and I remember that they have spent twenty-nine days on a tropical island and forgive them for wobbling.

The car is parked facing an expanse of tarmac and a grass verge, but when I turn around I see that, in fact, there is a Costa coffee shop and a Little Chef behind us. This is a standard pit stop. I should go to the loo.

I wobble towards the coffee shop, blinking and trying to regain my focus. It is all about Daisy. I have been away from her for so long that the image of her face in my mind is unreliable. I think of her with Cassandra, somewhere in the West Country, and I see a three-year-old with chubby cheeks and a solemn face. Then I see a five-year-old in a school photograph. A girl of seven walking somebody’s dog. A baby, smiling at me for the first time. Try as I might, I cannot grasp the real Daisy, now-Daisy: I have lost the Daisy who is even now somewhere in the country with Cassandra and a person I don’t know, being told intensively that I hate her, but that God loves her.

When I come back from the loo, pleased that in my woozy state I did not automatically head across the grass verge and dig a hole, island-style, I am still unable to focus. Chris is standing beside the car, looking at me with wide eyes.

‘You’re there!’ he says.

‘Yes,’ I agree.

‘You left the car door wide open. I thought . . .’

I try to understand what he thought. If only my brain would work.

‘You thought Cassandra had come and got me,’ I say.

‘Yes. I did.’

‘She wouldn’t, though.’ My mental faculties are beginning to come back. ‘Their whole point is that I am cast out. They wouldn’t have me back now if I wanted to come. But I still belong to them in some way, so they can take my child.’ I glance at him. He looks stressed, his face tight. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I just went to the loo. I was a bit disorientated.’