Mondays are Murder Page 2

  And then a warm, wonderful sound came chugging through the wind and rain. I was so glad to hear it that my heart skipped a beat. I looked around and saw everyone else must be feeling the same way because suddenly they were all grinning like maniacs. In that lonely windswept place the sound of a car engine was bliss. Seconds later an old Land Rover came over the nearest hill and wound down the road. When it stopped in front of us I practically kissed the bonnet and Graham looked like he would weep with joy.

  Out jumped a man who was handsome in a craggy sort of way. “I’m Mike,” he said. “Mike Rackenford. I run the centre. Welcome to Murrag everyone. Thank you all so much for agreeing to be our guinea pigs. You’re going to have a great week.”

  Graham gave a very unconvinced sigh but I suddenly felt quite excited. Mike was so enthusiastic he passed it on like a flu bug.

  “Hop in everyone,” he said, unzipping the canvas cover on the back of the Land Rover. “It’s a bit rough, I’m afraid, but it’s the only thing that will cope on this road.”

  Alice was the first to climb in, using her sharp little elbows to keep the rest of us back. Then Jake pushed ahead of Meera.

  “What a lovely couple,” I muttered.

  Graham threw me one of his blink-and-you-miss-it grins. “A match made in heaven,” he whispered as he climbed in next.

  I hung back for a minute because the laces on my walking boots had come undone. I was re-tying them while Mike greeted Bruce with a Very Firm and Manly handshake.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Bruce. Thanks for coming. It’s good of you to step in at such short notice,” Mike said.

  “Hey, no worries, mate.” Bruce’s Australian accent sounded much stronger all of a sudden. He dropped his voice. “Glad I could help a friend of Steve’s.”

  “Such a weird accident! I heard it was the thermostat. Is that true?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah. They reckon the wiring in that shower unit was faulty. Real nasty.”

  My head was down and my fringe was flopping in my eyes. Through it I could just about see Mike Rackenford’s expression. He was upset. But there was something else in his face too. Anxiety perhaps. Or fear.

  “I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention it to Isabella,” he said quietly. “I mean, she knows about the accident, obviously. But I’d rather she wasn’t reminded of it just now. She’s been … distressed … lately.”

  Mike glanced around as if he was checking that none of the kids were listening. I climbed quickly into the back of the Land Rover, making sure I didn’t look at him – that would be a dead giveaway. But I was fascinated. Who was Steve? And what on earth had happened to him?

  The two men shut themselves in the front cab together and I couldn’t hear any more of their conversation. Mike accelerated and the Land Rover shot forward, bumping along the potholed road and throwing us all over the place. We had to cling like limpets to the side so we wouldn’t end up in each other’s laps. It was like being on the ferry again and I soon felt too ill to wonder about the mysterious Steve.

  It was a slow drive along the twiddly-twisty lane and it was made even slower by the number of suicidal sheep that lived wild on the island. When they saw the Land Rover coming they scampered happily down the hills into its path and stood there, stock still in the middle of the road, eyes blinking in their black faces. Mike edged up slowly to each and every one until we were nose-to-bumper with them. Then he hooted the horn and they leapt back, startled, as if we’d appeared miraculously out of thin air, before running away in a mad panic.

  Graham couldn’t stand it. When Mike hooted at an entire flock and they barged past the Land Rover, sending it rocking on its axles, he cried out.

  “They’re not dangerous, Graham,” sneered Alice, flicking a rat’s tail of wet hair across her shoulder. “They’re only sheep!”

  “It’s a well-known fact that every year more walkers get killed by rams than by bulls,” Graham told her. He knows stuff like that, you see.

  “That can’t be true!” scoffed Jake.

  “It is,” Graham said. “And it’s extremely unwise to get between a ewe and her lamb. They’ve been known to kill sheepdogs that have done that.”

  I looked at their curly horns and heavy foreheads. I wouldn’t fancy getting attacked by one of those. Personally, I was on Graham’s side: I was going to avoid them at all costs. Little did I know that killer sheep would be the least of our problems.

  Half an hour later we arrived at the activity centre. Cold. Wet. Hungry.

  I was sitting nearest the door flap so I was the first to climb out and get a good look at the building. It was a massive house, all towers, turrets and slitty windows. It looked spooky sitting there on its own in the middle of nowhere – like something out of a horror film. Dracula would come swooping down off the roof at any second.

  “Here we are,” announced Mike. “The only house left on the entire island. It was a rural retreat originally, belonging to a rich guy who spent most of his time in the city. Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Impressive? I thought. Yes. Cosy? Comfy? Appealing? No. No. NO.

  Heaving my rucksack over my shoulder, I walked up the steps. A young woman with jet-black hair and pale skin was standing in the doorway waiting to greet us. When she smiled I checked to see if there was blood dripping from her fangs.

  “I’m Isabella,” she said. “Come in, you must be freezing. There’s hot chocolate and shortbread waiting in the kitchen, and I’ve fired up the boiler. As soon as you’ve had a snack you’ll be able to get out of your wet things and have hot showers. And when you’re ready we’ll do you a proper supper. How does that sound?”

  Good, I thought. Very good. I was going to tell her so but then I noticed that she was looking over my head and her lips were turning a funny colour, fading from healthy pink to a sickly pale violet.

  I spun around to see what she was looking at. Bruce was just climbing out of the Land Rover and for a moment all you could see was his outline silhouetted against the darkening sky.

  Mike was approaching, steering the other kids ahead of him and saying, “The kitchen’s on the right. Let’s have something to eat. I’m sure you all need it.”

  When he reached Isabella he stopped and then hesitated – as if he didn’t quite know how she might react – before putting his arm stiffly around her, and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

  Isabella didn’t say anything. She didn’t even move: just stood there like she’d been turned to stone. Mike looked at her closely, and then said, “Are you all right?”

  Just then Bruce turned and, as he approached, the light from the doorway lit up every gruesome detail of his scarred face. Isabella shuddered. It went right through her, from the roots of her hair to her toenails.

  “What is it, darling?” Mike frowned anxiously. “Someone walk over your grave?”

  Isabella gave a tight, high gasp. “I thought…” She shook her head and then cupped her ears with both hands as if she had water in them. “But that’s impossible. How silly of me!” Dropping her arms down by her sides she gave a forced, bright smile. “Come on, let’s feed these starving kids.”

  I felt pretty freaked, to be honest. Because when Isabella turned to go in I got a good look at her eyes. They were wide and staring, and as far as I could see there were only two reasons she’d have an expression like that on her face. She was either desperately upset or totally insane. Neither of which was a very comforting thought when we were going to be stuck with her on a deserted island for an entire week.

  ghost stories

  Things got weirder as the evening progressed. Isabella’s hands shook so much as she passed round the shortbread that the sugar on top came off in little clouds. No one else seemed to notice but then they hadn’t been standing next to her when she saw Bruce like I had. Or maybe they just thought she was cold. We all were, despite what she’d said about the boiler.

  We drank the hot chocolate then Isabella showed us to our rooms. There were eight of them, eac
h containing two sets of bunk beds and a bathroom.

  “When we open in September all these will be full,” she said, smoothing one of the pillows. “But for now you can choose whichever one you like.”

  Being naturally greedy, Alice nabbed the biggest.Meera grabbed the pinkest and I chose the one nearest the stairs where I could see and hear everything that was going on. Across the corridor Jake and Graham picked rooms at the back that had a distant view of the sea.

  When we’d all showered and changed into dry clothes it was supper time. I’d got over my travel sickness by then and I was starving. Mike shouted up the stairs and we thundered down to the kitchen like a herd of small elephants.

  Bowls of mashed potatoes, peas, sausages and a jug of thick onion gravy were standing in the middle of a very long table. There were two benches on either side that looked like they had room for at least twenty bottoms. We sat down, but it was slightly spooky being such a small group in such a big space – we sort of rattled around and everything we said echoed back at us. It made everyone feel a bit awkward and self-conscious.

  I piled up my plate with food and tucked in, but all the time I was eating I was studying the instructors.

  There was Bruce, keeping himself to himself at the far end of the table. Mike was sitting next to him and it looked like he was having to work quite hard to think up things to say. Isabella was still horribly white and wasn’t eating much: as far as I could see, she was just pushing her peas in circles around her plate with a fork. There were two more instructors who we hadn’t met earlier: the canoeing guy Donald Shaw, who said he’d been at university with Mike and Isabella, and a younger woman called Cathy Price, who was going to teach us how to ride a horse. Donald was a cheerful, outdoors type, all ruddy cheeks and big biceps. He kept cracking bad jokes and laughed his head off when Graham asked about the statistical risks of drowning in a canoe.

  Cathy, on the other hand, hardly said a word.

  It was all very interesting. Isabella – who was married to Mike – didn’t look at him once. If I hadn’t been told she was his wife I’d never, ever have guessed it: she acted like Mike meant absolutely nothing to her. But Cathy couldn’t keep her eyes off him. They kept flicking sideways every thirty seconds or so, which gave me three things to consider:

  She fancied him;

  She thought he was up to something; or

  She was up to something and was worried that he might notice.

  None of the grown-ups said anything particularly interesting so, once I’d had enough of studying them, I started to read the week’s timetable, which was scrawled on a whiteboard hanging on the wall opposite me.

  Tomorrow was Monday, and it looked like we would be rock climbing with Mike and Bruce in the morning and horse riding with Cathy in the afternoon.

  I’d only been on a horse once before but I’d quite enjoyed it, even though I’d got a really sore bum. It would be nice to have another go. As for rock climbing… I just hoped the weather would be better by the morning. Clinging to a wet, slippery cliff-face in a high wind wasn’t my idea of fun. I suspected Graham would feel the same.

  Tuesday was canoeing with Donald in the morning and more riding in the afternoon. Wednesday was abseiling and then walking with Isabella and Mike. Thursday would be spent doing something called survival skills. It was then that I noticed the original instructor’s name had been wiped off. It had been done quickly and the shadow of the letters remained. When I squinted I could just make out the name “Steve Harris” underneath the freshly written “Bruce Dundee”. I wondered again exactly what had happened to Steve and why he wasn’t here.

  We finished our sausage and mash. Steamed treacle pudding with plenty of custard was next. Now, I’m not a big fan of custard – I overdosed on too many lumps once at school. I must have made some sort of face when it was put on the table because Cathy, in between looks at Mike, said, “Do you want ice cream instead?” When I nodded she said, “It’s in the freezer. Over there – that big door in the corner. Help yourself.”

  The freezer was massive – a walk-in thing stuffed with enough food to feed us all for months. I found a tub of vanilla that was so big I could hardly lift it and scraped off a little dollop to melt over my pudding.

  When the meal was over and we’d stacked our plates neatly in the dishwasher Mike announced it was time to relax. “Everyone into the sitting room,” he said.

  “Great,” said Alice. “I could do with a bit of telly.”

  But when we got into the room the only thing we could see was a roaring log fire surrounded by a sofa, several comfy armchairs and a lot of squashy beanbags. Nice enough but not exactly entertaining.

  “Where’s the TV?” demanded Alice, grabbing the best seat in front of the fire.

  “There isn’t one,” replied Mike.

  “What?” demanded Jake incredulously.

  “The reception’s so bad here it’s not worth bothering with,” Mike said cheerily. “And before you ask, no, you can’t get a mobile signal either and we don’t have a phone. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “But you’ve got computers, right?” asked Graham, looking as if he were about to faint.

  “No,” said Mike. “We do all the bookings by post and that only comes once a week on the ferry.”

  “But what if there’s an emergency?” Meera sounded panicky.

  “We can radio the police or the coastguard and they’ll send a helicopter – there’s no need to worry. This is an outdoor activities centre. We chose an uninhabited island so that people could get away from it all, and I mean all. We’re entirely dependent on our own resources here. What you need to do is rise to the challenge.”

  “But we’re not outdoors now. It’s dark,” said Alice. She sounded really fed up. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “We make our own entertainment.”

  “Such as?”

  “Charades, board games, quizzes. I thought we could do some storytelling right now. Anyone care to start?”

  I decided then that Mike was what my mum would call thick-skinned. The loud groan of dismay that echoed around the room, bouncing from wall to wall and back again, would have made anyone else shrivel up. But Mike just sat there grinning and looking totally untroubled. There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling flames from the log fire.

  Then from the depths of an armchair Bruce, who’d been pretty quiet all evening, spoke up in his broad Aussie accent.

  “I can tell one, mate. I heard it from the ferry skipper on the way over here. A ghost story. Do you lot want to hear it?”

  Alice and Jake said yes immediately. Meera bit her lip but then smiled and nodded. Graham – who had plunged into an epic computer-withdrawal gloom – said absolutely nothing.

  I was looking at Isabella. Her mouth had gone into a string-thin line. “I don’t think we should be scaring the kids,” she said. “Not on their first night.”

  “We’re not babies,” Alice replied witheringly.

  So Bruce cleared his throat and started his story. He spoke in a soft, low voice, so you had to concentrate hard to catch every word. It made the atmosphere in the room really tense.

  “It happened on Murrag a couple of hundred years ago, according to the skipper. In those days there were a few families farming on the island and plenty of fishermen living in a village down by the harbour. One of them was a young man by the name of Iain. His best mate, Sean, was as close to him as a brother and life was good for them both – until Iain fell in love with a farmer’s daughter. Her name was Katriona and she was a real beauty. Pale skin, blue eyes and dark hair – half the men on the island wanted to marry her, but she chose Iain.

  “Iain was poor, and he wanted to offer more to the woman he loved. So he decided to serve in the King’s navy. They needed men to fight the war against Napoleon. Three years he’d be gone, he said, but then he’d come back for her. Katriona promised to marry him: she vowed she’d always wait, no matter how long it took for him to co
me home.

  “For three years he toiled in the King’s navy. Three years of terrible danger and hardship. Three years when each and every day the only thing he thought of was Katriona. The only face he saw when he shut his eyes at night was hers.”

  Bruce’s voice became deeper and quieter. We all leaned forward to catch what came next.

  “Three years to the day after he’d sailed away he returned with a handful of gold coins clinking in his pocket. It was a fine morning, with the sweet smell of wild thyme and heather hanging in the air. With joy in his heart, he went to the farm and called his love’s name. But the house was empty.

  “Then the peal of bells ringing out for a wedding was carried on the warm breeze, and so he walked towards the sound.

  “Who should he see coming out of the church in his wedding finery but his best mate, Sean? And who was the smiling bride on his arm looking lovingly into Sean’s face? Katriona!

  “Torn with misery, Iain ran to the headland and, cursing them both, he threw himself into the sea. They never found his body. Seems there are currents around Murrag that suck you down to the depths. He’s still out there somewhere, his bones picked clean by the fish.

  “No headstone marks his grave. He does not rest in peace. You can still hear his ghostly cries carried on the wind as he curses the woman and the best friend who betrayed him. The story goes that one day he’ll be avenged.”

  Bruce’s voice had dropped to a whisper. For a moment there was total silence. Then the wind whistled outside like a soul in torment and the room seemed cold despite the warmth of the fire. Goosebumps prickled down my arms and I shivered.

  Someone gave a small, strangled sob. I looked around and realized it was Isabella. Mike had his hand on her arm and was asking her, “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer him. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Then she got up and ran out of the room. She looked absolutely terrified. There was a moment’s shocked silence and then Mike followed her, closing the door firmly behind him.