The Survivors(77)

‘The Survivors?’

‘Yeah.’ She tilted her head as she scrutinised the three figures. Kieran waited, watching the salt water wash against the sculpture.

‘Are they supposed to be happy or sad?’ Pendlebury said suddenly. ‘I mean, is it a celebration of the people who made it, or a memorial to the ones who didn’t?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kieran said. ‘I think it could be either.’

‘Open to interpretation?’ she said as he shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t really get art. It’s more my husband’s thing.’

Kieran watched as she took the computer tablet out from under her arm and turned it on. She held it at about shoulder height, her eyes going from screen to sculpture and back again. It was deliberately tilted at such an angle that he couldn’t see what she was looking at. Pendlebury glanced over at him.

‘Your mum really should have told me about your dad’s connection with the Gabby Birch case, you know,’ she said, her gaze now back on the statue. ‘Or you should have. Last person to see the girl before she disappeared? I had to find that out for myself, and when I have to find things out for myself –’ She reached up and swiped the screen. ‘– It makes me wonder why.’

Kieran blinked at the sudden change of topic. ‘Yeah, I know that. And Mum does too. There’s nothing in it, though.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ Pendlebury said, still staring at The Survivors.

Kieran pictured Verity in the kitchen that morning, the milk-stained packing box where Brian had again attempted to help her, and he felt a powerful need to protect them.

‘Listen, if you’re thinking my parents had something to do with Bronte – or Gabby for that matter – you’re wrong.’

‘Am I?’ Pendlebury’s voice was neutral.

‘Yes. I mean, obviously. Look, I know it’s not great that my dad was out on Saturday night – I get that, we all do – but you can’t spend five minutes with him and seriously believe he’d have the presence of mind to steal a laptop and camera.’

‘I didn’t say he did, Kieran.’

‘No, okay. But were you hinting at it? Last night at the meeting when you were talking to my mum?’

Pendlebury clicked the tablet screen off. ‘It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a bit.’

‘About the consequences of my father’s irreversibly deteriorating mental health? Yeah, surprisingly, I think about it quite a lot.’

‘Fair enough.’ Pendlebury looked at him, her hair catching in the wind as she considered. ‘So tell me this. You’re a local. If you were me, where would you be searching for Bronte’s missing laptop and camera?’

‘I really have no idea.’ Kieran met her gaze. ‘Although George Barlin reckons you might already know what was on them anyway.’

‘Does he now?’

‘Yes.’ Kieran nodded pointedly at the computer tablet she had been scrutinising. ‘He does.’

Pendlebury turned back to The Survivors. A cloud cleared overhead and the water sparkled again.

‘Has George Barlin been saying anything else, out of interest?’

Kieran remembered George outside the library the previous night, their conversation interrupted by Ash’s arrival. He frowned. ‘Like what?’

‘Anything. Just curious,’ Pendlebury said, and Kieran had the odd sense she was weighing something up.

He waited, but when she didn’t say any more, he looked towards the path. ‘I should get back. Mia’s waiting. You probably shouldn’t stay down here alone.’

Pendlebury nodded, and they turned and together began to walk across the sand.

‘Do you come down here much yourself?’ Pendlebury asked. ‘Think about your brother?’

‘Not really. I can think about him in other places.’

‘That’s true. Were you two close as siblings?’

‘Of course. He came out in a storm to save my life.’

Pendlebury looked at Kieran, again with that expression he couldn’t read, then glanced back out to where the Nautilus Blue bobbed on the gentle current.

‘Liam spends a bit of time out there, though, doesn’t he? Helping Sean with the business. They don’t find it hard after what happened to Toby?’

‘You’d have to ask them.’ Kieran shrugged. ‘Look, they probably do. But the wreck is where it is, so there’s not much they can do about that.’

‘And it seems you all enjoyed some good times down here as well once,’ Pendlebury said, as they approached the North Cave. Even from across the sand Kieran could make out the scratched letters in the rock and as they drew closer he could see his own name clearly. Finn’s was above it and Ash’s somewhere beyond that, he knew. Years later, still there, still perfectly visible. He felt a fresh burst of irritation at his younger self.

‘Marking territory, was it? Whose idea was this?’ Pendlebury walked right up to the cave entrance and ran her finger over the lettering.

‘We all did it. I can’t remember.’

It had been Finn’s idea. Stuff like that usually was. Kieran’s phone beeped in his pocket and he checked it. Mia.

‘I’m going back up,’ he said. ‘You should come too.’