All My Secrets (4 page)

Gavin calls me every day to see how I am. We chat about Irina’s childhood mostly. I love hearing his stories about her. And he repeats his offer to have me stay again,
once my money comes through.

And so a week passes. I refuse to come down for the family meals that Janet insists on every evening. After all, I point out, we’re not really family. I know that’s cruel, but she
was cruel first, letting me think she was my one and only mother all this time.

Janet pleads, then she shouts. So does Andrew. But I refuse to leave my room, going to the kitchen in my own time and living mostly off toast.

Another week passes and the end of June arrives. Still two whole months until I inherit my money. I take to planning what I’m going to spend it on: a flat in Edinburgh definitely, though
if I’m honest the idea of living there alone is more than a little daunting. Perhaps I’ll travel. I still haven’t told any of my friends about either the money or Irina. The money
is so big a thing it doesn’t even feel real. And, anyway, it’s just that Andrew and Janet lied to me all those years.

On the last day of June, Andrew knocks on my bedroom door to say that he’s asked Gavin to visit. I’m shocked – I’ve gathered since leaving Edinburgh that neither Andrew
nor Janet have a very high opinion of him.

‘Bit of a waste of space, Irina thought,’ Andrew says with an apologetic smile that makes me want to scream. ‘And I’m pretty certain he’s into some very dodgy
dealings.’

‘From what your dad told me . . . he looks and acts like a shark,’ Janet adds.

I roll my eyes. What gives them the right to pass judgement? They don’t even know Gavin.

My uncle turns up that evening. He looks different in our house than he did in Edinburgh – smarter and younger. He’s wearing a designer suit and his hair is carefully gelled and
slicked back. He might be around my dad’s age, but he comes across as much more youthful.

I rush downstairs to greet him and he gives me a big hug.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ he breathes in my ear. ‘Your dad’s been terrifying me to death, saying that you’re hardly speaking, refusing to come out of your
room.’

I shrug, throwing Andrew an angry glance.

‘Anyway, I’m here now, darling,’ Gavin goes on. ‘I’m
always
here for you.’

Beside us, Andrew stiffens. It’s a tiny gesture, but I know he’s irritated. Which he has absolutely no right to be.

‘Your uncle has a suggestion for you,’ Andrew says, tight-lipped.

Uncle Gavin smiles, revealing a set of very small, even, white teeth. I remember what Janet said earlier about him looking like a shark. Then I push the thought out of my head. Janet was just
being mean.

‘What suggestion?’ I ask.

‘It’s a place for you to go, Evie darling,’ Uncle Gavin says. ‘A place to sort your head out after all the . . . the revelations.’

I frown. ‘What do you mean? What sort of place?’

Andrew and Gavin exchange a glance. My throat suddenly feels dry. The last thing I expected was to see the two of them in cahoots over anything.

It doesn’t just feel strange.

It feels wrong.

‘Tell me,’ I insist.

Andrew plucks his laptop out of his bag and places it on the kitchen table. ‘Sit down, Evie,’ he says with a sigh. ‘We’ve got something to show you.’

What was coming now?

Andrew opens the computer. I glance at Gavin, but he is looking at the screen. I slide into a chair as Andrew turns the laptop to face me.

‘What is this?’ I lean forward, trying to make sense of the picture of an island sparkling in sunshine.

Andrew clears his throat. ‘It’s the brochure for the Lightsea Young Adult Development Programme.’

‘The
what
?’ I peer more closely. Underneath the main photo of the island is a row of smaller close-ups. One picture shows an ugly grey stone house, with the sea beyond.
Another a cluster of trees. A third an expanse of uneven rocks leading down to the shore. I scroll down to the page of text below the pictures.

‘What do you think?’ Andrew asks.

I frown, my stomach twisting into an uneasy knot. ‘Why are you showing me this?’

‘Read to the end,’ Uncle Gavin urges.

I turn back to the screen.

‘This sounds like a boot camp,’ I say.

Andrew glances at Uncle Gavin, who sits down beside me.

‘We think it sounds like exactly what you need, darling,’ he says.

‘What?’ I’m as shocked as I’m horrified.

‘Seriously, Evie, I know you’ve been unhappy since . . . since you found out about your mum . . .’

‘
Birth
mum,’ Andrew interjects.

‘I – we both – think you should give Lightsea a chance,’ Gavin goes on. ‘It might help you heal from all the trauma of your recent discoveries.’

I can’t believe it. I’m not surprised by my dad’s desire to punish me for following my heart. Uncle Gavin wanting to send me to some hellhole for teenagers is quite another
matter.

‘But . . . but . . .’ I can’t even find the words.

‘I don’t know how to explain what Lightsea offers in a way that will make it appealing to you,’ Uncle Gavin says. ‘But the man who runs the place – David Lomax
– is the son of some old family friends.’

‘
Our
family?’ I ask. ‘Yours and mine?’

‘Yes,’ Gavin says. ‘David Lomax’s parents knew mine and Irina’s – your grandparents. They knew us too, when we were children.’

‘Oh.’ I’m thrown. ‘What about David Lomax?’ I ask. ‘Did you spend any time together when you were a kid? Did Irina?’

‘I don’t remember meeting him, but he’s a few years older so he may well remember better.’ Gavin smiles. ‘It’s not just that connection. He’s the real
deal, Evie. I’ve followed his career. He used to be a therapist, then he spent ten years on an ashram in India. Now he’s running his own residential development courses. He’s a
good guy. And he specialises in helping . . . er, young people. You’ve had a lot to process recently and I really think this might help.’

‘I don’t know.’ I’m torn. On the one hand, I’m intrigued by the sound of this man with his family connection to Irina. On the other, it’s still basically just
a jumped-up boot camp.

‘Evie.’ Andrew runs his hand over his head. ‘I don’t want to force you, but your mother and I are at our wits’ end. We don’t know how to help you and Gavin
has come up with this idea and he’s generously offering to split the costs . . .’

I stare at him, then at Uncle Gavin who looks away. ‘Where is this Lightsea place?’ I demand.

‘It’s off the west coast of Scotland. I spoke to David Lomax earlier. He’s very happy for you to come for the August course.’

‘The whole of August?’ Is he serious?

‘At the end of which time you’ll come into your inheritance and you’ll be free to make future decisions for yourself,’ Gavin says with a smile. ‘Lightsea
isn’t like any other institution for teens. It’s supposed to be a great place.’ He pauses. ‘I think it’s what Irina would have wanted for you.’

‘Really?’ I gaze up at him.

‘Definitely, darling.’

I doubt very much if Lightsea will help me feel any better about Andrew and Janet lying to me all my life, but it’s a connection to my real mother and, because of that, I want to find out
more.

‘OK.’ I turn to Andrew. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll go.’

It’s a long journey to Lightsea from Hertfordshire and Andrew hates being late for anything so is furious when our car breaks down on the motorway. As a result, we miss
the boat sent to pick everybody up from the mainland and take us to the island. David Lomax, the head of the Lightsea YA Development Programme, organises a local fisherman to bring us over. The
man, whose name I don’t catch, settles himself at the back of the little motorboat, his gnarled hand on the tiller. He looks like a walking cliché of a salty seadog with white hair and
weather-beaten skin. Andrew tries to talk to him when we set off, but the guy just grunts so Andrew gives up and the two of us sit at the front in total silence, the spray misting in our faces.

My chest tightens as we draw closer to Lightsea Island. All the other teenagers will have met each other by now. I’ll be the one coming in late . . . last . . . an outsider. This was
such
a bad idea. Why on earth did I ever agree to come here? I close my eyes, trying to focus on the fact that David Lomax must have met Irina when they were children, that he may have
memories, stories to share with me. And Gavin thought I would like being here . . . that it might help me come to terms with finding out about my real mother – and the fact that it was kept a
secret from me.

‘OK, Evie?’ Andrew asks.

Ignoring him, I lean back against the rough wooden hull and take out my mobile. Now that we’ve left the mainland there’s no signal at all.

No phone and no internet for a month. I can’t imagine what that’s going to be like. The prospect of no contact with friends or family bothers me far less. Right now, I’ve got
nothing to say to anyone. Except Gavin of course.

We power along for another few minutes. I keep my eyes on the murky water ahead. At last, the island comes into view. The pictures in the Lightsea brochure must have been taken when the sun was
shining and the sea sparkling. On this grey day, everything looks stark and barren – a load of old rocks.

‘I guess the trees we saw in the pictures must be further along the coast,’ Andrew muses.

I shrug. Who cares where the trees are? The whole place sucks.

It drizzles for a minute or two as we draw close to the island, making everything even duller and greyer than before. We’re at the south-east tip of Lightsea, Andrew explains, where the
island is at its narrowest. All I can see is an endless stone beach and the edge of a wooden jetty.

‘There’s a boathouse along the rocks, I think,’ Andrew drones on.

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Fascinating.’

Andrew sighs. For a second, my throat pinches with guilt at being mean, then I shake myself. Andrew has lied and lied to me all my life. Even now, he has only given me the minimum possible
information about Irina. He doesn’t understand me at all. Goodness knows what
she
ever saw in him.

The motorboat slows as we reach the empty jetty. The drizzle stops completely as the fisherman moors us to a wooden rail.

‘l’ll be leaving again in five minutes,’ he mutters, his accent so thick I can barely make out what he’s saying.

‘Thank you,’ Andrew says.

We walk onto the jetty, carrying my big rucksack between us. A woman appears out of the trees. She strides towards us, about Andrew and Janet’s age, and slim and muscular with neatly
bobbed hair. She’s wearing dark green, soldier-style combat trousers. There’s a big smile on her face, but she looks seriously tough.

‘Ah, here’s someone,’ Andrew says approvingly, setting down my rucksack.

I say nothing, but my legs suddenly feel like jelly. The woman reaches us.

‘Evie Brown?’ she asks. The smile is still there, but her eyes pierce through me. At least she has an entirely understandable northern accent.

I nod. Not for the first time I imagine what it would be like to have my mother’s name: Galloway. Brown is Andrew’s name, of course, though he and Irina weren’t married.
It’s solid and conventional, just like him.

‘I’m very sorry we’re late; the car broke down as I explained when I called. I’m sorry if we’ve inconvenienced you,’ Andrew says.

‘It’s fine. I’m Miss Bunnock.’ The woman purses her lips, her eyes lingering on my hair. It’s loose, right down my back. The Lightsea regulations – as Janet
reminded me ten times before we left the house – insist that long hair must be tied back at all times. I bite my lip, expecting Miss Bunnock to make some comment, but instead she turns to
Andrew.

‘I would offer to show you around, Mr Brown, but your boat won’t wait and I’m sure you’re keen to get home.’ It isn’t a question. Andrew nods. He looks at
me.

‘You’ll be OK here, Evie.’

That isn’t a question either.

I press my lips tightly together. For some stupid reason, I feel like crying. For a second, I actually want to throw my arms around Andrew and beg him to take me home. But the bigger part of me
is too proud to show him I care.

‘Bye,’ I mumble.

Andrew turns to Miss Bunnock. ‘I know you said no communication, but . . .’

‘You can call the office if you wish for an update,’ Miss Bunnock says crisply. ‘And obviously we’ll contact you in case of an emergency, should there be such a
thing.’ She makes it sound as if she’d be astonished if an emergency dared to happen anywhere near her or Lightsea Island.

‘Right.’ Andrew hesitates.

‘All those who’re coming, be coming,’ the fisherman calls out.

‘Bye then, sweetheart.’ Andrew leans forward and kisses my cheek. ‘Be good. I love you.’

‘Yeah,’ I mumble, giving him the briefest of hugs back. But there are tears in my eyes as he turns and heads back to the boat.

‘Come on then.’ Miss Bunnock indicates the rucksack on the ground at my feet. ‘Pick that up, we need to get you settled before the welcome talk. Dinner has been delayed to
allow time. Everyone else is up at the house.’

I frown. It isn’t quite 4.30 pm. What time is dinner usually served? I follow Miss Bunnock through the trees and along a gloomy path strewn with twigs and leaves. It’s far colder
here than it was at home. In fact, it doesn’t feel like summer at all. I tug my jacket around me. The instructions said to bring three pairs of leggings and/or tracksuit bottoms, plus three
T-shirts and three sweatshirts or jumpers. There was no mention of coats and I’m beginning to wish I’d brought something warmer than my cotton zip-up.