The Split - Sharon Bolton Page 0,17

a northern English accent.

‘No, I just knocked. No answer.’

‘How did you know which room is hers?’

‘She told me.’ The lie comes easily. ‘Number six. She’s expecting me.’

‘You came on the ship this morning?’

‘How else? So, do you know where she is?’

The man speaks reluctantly, unhappy, but constrained by politeness. ‘She’s planning to head out to one of the other bases. Up on the north-west coast. Hours from here. Did she know you were coming?’

‘Bird Island? Is that the place?’

‘Jack, have you got a sec?’

A woman in her forties, heavily built, with dark curly hair and thick glasses, has appeared at the far end of the corridor.

The bloke, Jack, half turns. ‘Hi, Susan, what’s up?’

‘Nigel wants to talk to us both. You haven’t seen Felicity this morning, have you? Ralph thinks she’s off to Bird Island but I’ve just spoken to Jen and she says the arrangements were all very vague. Only that she’d come up if she could and let them know. They’ve heard nothing today.’

Catching sight of Freddie, the woman’s eyes widen. ‘Good morning,’ she says. ‘I’m Susan Brindle, station chief.’ She takes a step towards them. ‘And you are?’

‘Also looking for Felicity,’ Freddie says. ‘And frankly getting worried about her. Is she actually missing?’

Susan’s eyes dart from one man to the other. ‘Well, that’s what we need to find out. Maybe you should come with us.’

‘I need to let the ship know where I am. I’ll come back. Where do I report to, the harbour master’s office?’

‘Well…’

‘Thanks for your help.’ Freddie turns on his heels and walks back to the side door, knowing the man called Jack wants to follow him, but will probably prioritise finding Felicity. Getting outside unhindered proves him right. Not wasting any time, he sets off, crossing the rough ground to where he’s left his stuff. He is no longer the only one looking for Felicity and the chances of stealing a boat, slim to begin with, have dwindled to zero. Luckily, those idiots don’t know her half as well as he does. They’ll chase her to Bird Island. They won’t find her.

14

Felicity

Felisssitee … Is that his voice? She turns on the spot, peering in doorways, through shattered windows, looking for anything that moves. It might not even be a voice at all. The wind makes all manner of weird and unearthly sounds as it slides in and out of the dereliction here.

Felisssitee …

Impossible. He cannot be here. No one could have got here before she did, especially not the man she saw last on the launch heading towards Grytviken.

To Felicity’s right are the barrack blocks, where the whalers lived in the old days. There are eight, maybe ten of them, all more or less intact. Doors swing on hinges, broken window glass hangs like icicles. He could be watching from any of them. To her left is the long, thin building that housed the station’s boilers. A deep, rhythmic clanging comes from within. Is he in there, tapping a metal rod against the rotting tanks?

No. It is not humanly possible. It’s the wind, playing tricks on her overwrought, nervous imagination.

A sheet of iron falls across the path and panic snaps the spell that held her frozen. Dropping both bags, she runs. Directly ahead are the huge tanks where the whale oil was stored before being shipped back to the northern hemisphere. Taller than most of the buildings, more intact than all of them, they are great circular towers and offer no hiding place. On impulse she darts into the provision store.

Instantly, the wind drops.

The building is large and rectangular. Light streams in through a hole in the roof but the walls are solid. She sees a counter stretched across the width of the room in the manner of a shop front and behind it stand row after row of shelving units. Some have fallen, knocking others, like dominoes. There is even some food left behind. The tinned goods have long since gone, and the sugar has been eaten by rats, but packets of flour and salt have solidified where they sit.

Felicity’s feet crunch on broken glass as she creeps to a window. A petrel is perched on the guano factory opposite. It watches her, head on one side, before throwing back its head and screeching.

Felisssitee …

She spins around. That sounded so close, as though he was directly behind her, and yet she is still alone in the provision store.

Not him then, but voices she is conjuring in her own mind again. A wave