Wednesday, 9 November
‘You’re such a sweetheart taking me to the airport,’ Isla said, looking across at Jack, who braked to turn a corner. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he proposed, since he last mentioned it. ‘I do appreciate it.’
‘No worries, I’ve got to drop a game off at Matt’s anyway.’
‘In Baldock,’ she said. ‘It’s another half an hour or more to Stansted. I know you’re going right out of your way, Jack. Thanks so much.’
‘Well, it’ll save you paying parking fees.’ He glanced her way, his face creasing into a half-smile. ‘Isla, listen, if you want us to take a step back with the engagement, that’s OK. Maybe I rushed you.’
Her heart sank, she didn’t want to think about it. ‘Let’s not talk about this now.’
‘OK. Well. Just give it some thought while you’re away.’
‘I will. I promise.’
‘And you’re sure you’re going to be OK? You’re certain you want to go?’
She nodded. ‘It’ll be good to get away.’ She paused, wondering if he would think she meant from him, but he didn’t react.
‘I wish I could be there with you.’
‘Really? In the snow?’ She smiled, knowing he’d hate it.
‘Well, maybe not.’ He smiled too. ‘I hope you can get that bastard out of your head, Isla.’
‘I hope so too.’
Jack pulled into a space by the side of the road opposite a church, and grabbed an Xbox game from the glove compartment. ‘Won’t be a minute,’ he said, getting out of the car.
She watched him go, thinking how handsome he was, as he jogged along the pavement, wishing with every part of her that she wasn’t putting him through so much crap. He was one of the best. He’d be happier without her.
Once he’d turned the corner, heading to where Matt lived on the High Street, she pulled out her phone and occupied herself for several minutes trawling through Facebook updates, adding loves and likes and wows to friends’ posts.
It was as she slipped her phone back into her bag, she spotted someone in the graveyard opposite. She narrowed her eyes, a shot of adrenaline pounding her body. The man was too far away to see clearly, but he was wearing a green hat. She pulled out her phone again and, with shaking hands, snapped a picture. If she could show people the picture, it would prove she wasn’t going crazy. But when she looked at the screen, the picture was a blur. Whoever it was had moved.
She climbed out of the car and, vaguely aware of a car braking sharply as she crossed the road in front of it, she walked towards the church. She ran her finger over the band on her wrist as she made her way under the ancient porch and into the grounds. Surely it was safe enough. The vicar must be about somewhere. But, as she weaved her way between the headstones, getting further away from the road as she went, and into the still silence of the graveyard, she became unsettled. What was she doing? What if it was Carl Jeffery? What if the article had been wrong? What if it was one of Carl Jeffery’s disciples?
‘Isla. What are you up to?’ She startled, and turned to see Jack behind her, looking pink-cheeked as though he’d been running.
‘Nothing,’ she said, realising how stupid she was being. ‘It’s just . . . Nothing.’
‘We’d better head off. You don’t want to miss your flight.’
As they drifted down the path towards the car, she glanced over her shoulder. A man wearing a green hat was placing flowers on a grave. It wasn’t Carl Jeffery. It wasn’t even a beanie. It was a cap, and the man was elderly, and had now been joined by a woman, who linked her arm through his. Was everything that had happened really just delusions brought on by her fear of Carl Jeffery?
‘You know what?’ Isla said to Jack once they were in the car, and she was trying to calm her anxiety. ‘I wonder sometimes if what happened in Australia messed with the wiring of my mind. I just don’t feel like me lately. I feel like I’m going crazy.’
‘You’re not crazy, Isla,’ he said, starting the engine, and thrusting the car into gear. ‘You just need some time out. You said so yourself. Anyone who went through what you went through will have bad times.’ He made it sound as if it was something and nothing. An off day because someone nabbed her parking space, or pushed in front of her at the supermarket.
‘But why now? Why after six years?’
‘You know why. It’s because of that bloody appeal. Just go to Sweden, relax, and when you get back, everything will be OK.’
She didn’t reply, unsure if that was even possible.
***
Departures at Stansted Airport was crowded, and Isla’s plane being delayed made her restless. She got up and left the café, where she’d been watching her coffee go cold for almost an hour, and made her way through the throng of people, searching for a quiet space.
Relieved, she spotted a row of seats next to a huge window, just a man on the end seat reading a Dan Brown book, and a woman doing a crossword. Isla could cope with that.
She sat down, gazing through the window at a stationary plane being refuelled by what looked like Playmobil people, and her stomach tipped. Not long now, surely.
She pulled her phone from her carry-on bag, opened up her email account, and began typing.
To: SALLY Johnson
From: ISLA Johnson
Hi Mum,
I’m about to take off. Please don’t worry about me. I won’t be gone long. I’m going to take loads of photographs, but mainly get my head down. Maybe I’ll complete Isla’s Journey – you never know.
The details of where I’m staying can be found here: . There’s a phone number, and pictures of the place. They provide snow wear, so I won’t freeze, and I’ve bought some of those little hand-warmer thingies, which I can also use to keep my camera battery warm. I’m hoping the weather will be perfect for the Northern Lights. Love you lots and please give my love to Dad too. Isla xxx
She closed her emails and clicked on the text message icon:
Hi, Jack. I’m so sorry I’ve been acting so odd. Forgive me. Isla xxx
Next she pressed the Facebook icon.
At Stansted Airport waiting for my flight. Camp Arctic, Abisko, here I come – WHOOP!
She stopped herself from messaging Roxanne. Even though she knew she shouldn’t believe what Trevor had told Sara, Roxanne had been a wild card at university, sleeping with everyone on campus. Taking drugs. Was it possible she’d slept with Trevor? It wasn’t that she cared now, of course. It was more that their friendship had been based on a lie.
Before she switched off her phone for the flight, she registered that Ben Martin still hadn’t accepted her friend request, even though Sara had mentioned her to him. She sighed deep and long, trying to summon the girl she’d once been. It was time to head to Scandinavia, write, and live the final chapter of Isla’s Journey. She hoped it would be special, and she could leave the UK and the stress of the last week behind her.
But as her phone screen buffered and went black, she felt small and lost. The giant toad of Stansted Airport overwhelmed her. She glanced about, pinged the band on her wrist, and took a deep breath. She looked down at her passport and boarding pass in her hands, and up at the sign that now told her to go to her gate. The first flight with Ryanair would take her to Stockholm. From there, Norwegian airlines would take her to Kiruna.
In four hours she would have reached her final destination.
She rose to her feet, her stomach leaping, her subconscious screaming, ‘Go home, Isla.’
But she had to go.
She couldn’t give up now.