The Last Resort(50)

His eyes are wild when he looks back at her, and she realises he’s quite agitated. Something about this situation has triggered something in him, but she doesn’t want to pry.

‘I was a bit of a loner when I was young,’ she says. ‘I probably still am – although with my job, I have to push myself into the crowd. I’m always out of my comfort zone, and it never gets any easier. I’ve tried to have friends, but it’s never really worked out. I’ve always found it hard to go along with what other people wanted. I had one of those holiday friends once. You know the ones. They’ve been there before so they think they know it all. Try to convince you to do things you know you shouldn’t do.’

James smiles sadly, then looks away. ‘I never went on holiday as a kid. My dad . . . well, let’s just say he was tricky. My mum couldn’t cope. She . . . she drank. Tried to blot it all out.’ He stares at his coffee cup. ‘One day she went out for a pint of milk and never came back. I was six . . .’ He turns back to face her, tears in the corners of his eyes.

‘Oh, James . . .’ She leans over and puts a hand on his knee.

‘A neighbour found me. One of my mum’s friends. They took me in. But she had her own kid and it was hard. For a long time, I barely spoke. Barely interacted. I just kept saying, “I thought she was coming back.”’

Amelia wipes a tear away. ‘Well, you’re not alone now. You’ve got me, OK? Now, let’s leave this den – as snug as it is – and go and find the others.’

He smiles and gets to his feet. He takes her cup and lays it down next to his on the floor. ‘Thanks for listening to me. I try not to let my past get to me, but . . . well. It does. Often. People think that the paparazzi must be ruthless, amoral gold-diggers – but to be honest, the only reason I started doing it was because I thought it was a job where I was always going to be in a crowd, so I’d always be safe. Watching celebrities and taking their photos – it’s such a break from reality that sometimes it makes me forget that I exist.’

Amelia walks out of the shelter and back into the long grass. James follows. What is it about this place, she thinks, that’s making everyone bring their long-suppressed memories to the surface?





Lucy

T - 3

Lucy knows there’s no point in running. It’s an island. They’re not just going to let her leave. Not now.

She can’t work out how they got hold of this video. Where was the camera? Even if there was CCTV at that big fancy house, it couldn’t have tracked her like that, from the door to upstairs, back down and out. She’s replayed the whole scene inside her head, many, many times. And now Amelia has seen it too – conveniently projected out of her tracker so that they could watch the horror unfold together.

But who is she kidding? There was no camera. It came from her own head.

She’s willing to accept now – as bonkers as it seems – that Timeo has mined her memories. But how did they know where to look? How did they know she had such a secret to hide?

The worst part is, it’s not even finished. At some point, the rest of it is going to unfold – what she did, who she did it to – and how it ended.

It was never meant to end the way it did.

She rubs at her face, angrily wiping away tears as she meanders back down the path, heading past the ruins, taking a quick look to see if Amelia is still there but not wanting to go anywhere near them. Amelia isn’t there, of course. Why would she be? She’s probably back on the other side of the island now, trying to escape the psychopath.

Lucy isn’t a psychopath though. She’s sure of it. She’s just damaged and torn and broken into bits. She’s a cracked mirror, bringing her own seven years of bad luck. It’s been six and a half, actually. She’d thought she was close to getting through it.

‘How far is the big house?’ she says out loud.

A holographic map pops up in front of her. A big arrow showing where she is now, and another pointing to the big house.

‘Thanks,’ she mutters. She’s apparently accepted the technology, but she doesn’t want to.

She blinks as the map pixelates then disintegrates, and she picks up the pace. It’s not far now, and she’d like to get there before sundown.

‘It’s T minus 3 hours,’ the disembodied voice tells her, even though she didn’t ask.

She doesn’t care about this party that’s meant to be happening. Doesn’t want to do anything now, except go home. The last message to the group told them they were to ask for anything they wanted, but there’s nothing. Not now. That memory being unleashed has crushed what spirit she had. It had been fine to mock Tiggy, but only because she knew she had something much worse festering away inside her.

The house was supposed to be empty. Her house.

Her ex and his new wife were meant to be in New York.

The child – she can barely bring herself to recall her name, Milly, was supposed to be at her grandparents’.

How was Lucy to know they’d cancelled the trip because the baby was ill? That woman had taken her husband and given him the child she could never produce. She wasn’t going to have her beloved home as well.

That had been the plan.

But when she’d seen the rumpled blanket hanging off the end of the bed, heard the heavy breathing in the bedroom, even though she knew rationally that it was a second chance – an opportunity to stop and think about what she was doing – she’d gone ahead with it anyway. In too deep, the adrenaline surging through her – the buzz of it blocked her from stopping and led her to make the biggest mistake of her life.