Lauren Wallace indicated left and pulled into the first lane of traffic. The exit was approaching. It felt as if she had been on the motorway for days. Having travelled from London to Devon, she was looking forward to getting out of her car and basking in the glorious sunshine that had recently struck the country.
As she stopped at the red traffic light, she repositioned her large Gucci sunglasses and reflected on the invitation.
Dearest Lauren, I do hope you remember me. We met at the Notting Hill carnival through mutual friends and found so much in common. Darling, I have recently acquired an absolutely gorgeous house on an island off of the Devon coast. It's stunning, and you must come and stay on Friday 14th August 2015 – there will be so many people there you will just love. Do come. Lots of love, Umayah Natalia Owen.
Lauren nodded to herself. What a fabulous opportunity to get out of London. She could not remember Umayah Owen, but it did not matter to her. She would once she saw her again. A private island sounded incredibly chic. How exciting…
"I love you", whispered Will Teague.
"I love you too", responded Jack Harding, as he nestled his head into Will's shoulder. It was past midday, but they were still in bed. They had no reason to be awake – they were staying in a seaside hotel, ready for a short journey down to the quayside to begin the real holiday, a stay on the mysterious Soldier Island.
Will, twenty-three, six-foot-four, muscular, and fair-haired, sat up, his strong arm resting on the small waist of his fiancé, Jack, a smaller, dark-haired boy of twenty. He looked out at the sun pouring through the open window onto the carpet and smiled. They were both so happy; nothing could douse their current mellow attitude towards life.
"What time is it?" Jack muttered sleepily.
"Quarter to one."
Jack pulled himself up and rubbed his eye. "Ugh—I need to shower. And pack, of course."
Will kissed Jack's forehead and laughed. "You've packed enough clothes for the weekend."
"Unlike you, Mr One Shirt Per Week", he responded humorously. "What time does the boat leave the quay?"
"No idea. You're the one who's read the email over and over again."
Jack smiled and exhaled, his breath full of good-natured exasperation. "Shower time", he said, clambering over Will to get out of bed. Will stopped him with his expansive hand on his lower back, brushed the dark hair from his boyfriend's eyes, and kissed him.
"This weekend is for us", he whispered against his lips.
Jack giggled and kissed Will back. "For us."
Dr Dan Brown thanked the final student to pass through the door, and sighed. That was it – the weekend had arrived. No more work, and no more befuddled undergraduates, although he would be the first to admit that he loved his job more than anything. Dr Brown was thirty-three, of average build, with a premature bald patch and a thin wisp of blondish hair. He had an easy smile and a sharp dress sense. His cheery demeanour contrasted greatly with his job title – Head of Criminology at the University of Alhampton.
He tucked his papers into his briefcase and picked up his iPad. He had been Google-searching images of Soldier Island before his lecture had begun. For that, he related proudly to everyone around, was where he would be passing the weekend. A free holiday—all thanks to U N Owen.
Kate Scott ran a hairbrush through her long red hair and sighed.
"Come on", she said aloud to herself. "Be brave."
Life had never been the same since—since that day last June. She sat up straight and fiddled a little with her owl necklace. She liked the tinkling sound it made. She smiled to herself and gave another weighted sigh. Alison had been very supportive of the idea; going away for a weekend to a beautiful island off of the Devon coast. It would be a good chance to break free and forget everything.
"Funny how she found me", Kate thought to herself. "I can't remember anyone called Umayah from school. Probably one of the international girls. We had a lot of them at St Catherine's."
Right, where did she put her suitcase?
Ryan Aliberti applied the handbrake and climbed out of the car, stretching his legs. He glanced at his watch. Twelve-fifty. He could be at the harbour in an hour, ready for the voyage to Soldier Island. There was plenty of time for a toilet break, a cup of coffee, and a cigarette before heading back onto the motorway.
He pulled out the letter he had stuffed into his jeans pocket and unfurled it. How exciting – he rarely went away on holiday. Running the family's Italian restaurant took up enough of his time. He hardly ever managed to get out for a drink with mates. A free holiday was far beyond his hopes. He did not know much of Soldier Island, only that it was a completely isolated citadel of its own, shuttered and solitary off the Devon coast. He had not even seen a photograph of it, only heard it mentioned in conversation. He smiled to himself and breathed deeply.
"No more Italian food", he thought to himself, "no more customers to serve, and no more budgeting my time. This is for me and only me."
At four o'clock, Phoenix Rivers and Evelynne Rivers boarded a taxi headed for the Sticklehaven quayside.
"We had better not be late", said Evelynne sharply to the bewildered driver. "We need to get to the ferry by half-past."
"Argh, no problem, ma'am", he said in a thick Devonshire accent.
Phoenix glanced out of the window with disdain.
"Christ. What on earth is this place?" he muttered. "We should never have left London."
"Don't even get me started", growled Evelynne as she examined her makeup in a shiny golden compact mirror. "At least the island will be nice."
"It's what we have to go through before arriving there though", grumbled Phoenix, grimacing at the dress sense of some of the locals plodding down the quiet high street. "I hope you have our tickets."
Evelynne did not bother responding. She was applying her lip-gloss in the little mirror. Phoenix shut his eyes and lolled his head back. Hopefully, this weekend would be exactly what this lad Uriah Owen – who apparently knew them both from boarding school – claimed it would be.
"Careful as you go, ma'am", said the attendant as he helped Gloria Selwyn off of the train and onto the platform.
"Thank you", she replied, repositioning her enormous glasses and running the other hand through her frizzy hair. She took her large wheeled suitcase and battered Glastonbury shoulder-bag and bustled through the station, attempting in vain to hail a taxi.
"Bloody nuisance", she muttered; she frequently had full-length conversations with herself. She was not having a good day. Her horoscope had predicted nothing but disaster. Her aura was out of alignment. Her tarot cards were not exactly promising, either.
Eventually, a taxi pulled in and wound down the window. Gloria leant forward and said in her shrill voice:
"Sticklehaven Quay—I'm going to Soldier Island."
Angus Thompson looked around the quayside. Someone had to come along soon. He shouldn't have left home so early—why had he? He hated being early for anything. It made him look like a knob.
Nineteen years old, he was dressed in a gaudy fluorescent pink hoodie, tracksuit bottoms slung low below his buttocks, and a snapback cap over his thick, side-swept hair. He spent his life doing one of three things – getting drunk, getting laid, or texting. "Plenty of time for all that at this party", he said to himself, squinting out to Soldier Island.
He sighed as taxis began to pull up. Several people clambered out, hauling suitcases with them. A man in his thirties – well dressed in suit and tie; a girl of about twenty-three with red hair; and two people got out of the last one – a brother and sister, covered in glistening bling and expensive clothes. The girl, who wore hair extensions and carried a tacky handbag with a heavy gold chain, was lathered in makeup; having said that, the boy was too.
"Where's the ferry?" asked the girl.
"Ferry?" enquired the smartly-dressed man. "I shouldn't think a ferry would dock here. There's not enough space."
"We were told a boat was coming to take us out to the island", said the boy in disgruntlement.
"Undoubtedly it will, unless you want to swim the way", said the man in good humour. He said to everyone: "I'm Dan—Dan Brown."
The red-haired girl gave an oddly strained smile.
"Pleasure to meet you…I'm Kate Scott."
Angus sat forward. "Angus Thompson."
They turned expectantly to the brother and sister, who did not even bother to smile when they introduced themselves. "Phoenix and Evelynne."
The awkward moment was thankfully broken by Dan, who caught the attention of the short, crusty-looking boatman who was walking past with a long coil of rope in his hands.
"Uh—excuse me…we're for the weekend party on Soldier Island."
"Argh, that's right, Sir", said the boatman, straightening his cap. "Fred's the name. I'll be taking you over to the island."
"Just you?" asked Phoenix Rivers, a little horrified.
"Argh. In her over there."
He pointed to a small, dingy motorboat bobbing around in the oily water. The twins' jaws nearly hit the ground.
They were soon joined by five more passengers—a dark, sturdily-built young man named Ryan; a batty-looking woman wearing what appeared to be a purple curtain wrapped about her shoulders – her name was Gloria; a tall, beautiful woman of about thirty who looked like a fashion model, who introduced herself as Lauren; and two young men in a taxi – Will, big and fair, Jack, little and dark.
"We're all off to this party on Soldier Island, I assume", said Will.
"Apparently so", said Kate.
"Are we all friends of Umayah Owen?" enquired Lauren Wallace.
"She sent me an email", said Kate, looking up at the sunshine. "But I don't remember her. Apparently, we knew each other at school."
"Umayah?" said Dan. "I was invited by a man. Mr U N Owen."
"Uriah Owen invited us", said Phoenix Rivers.
"And me", said Angus.
"How extraordinary", said Gloria.
"Right!" shouted Fred, the boatman. "Hop in, ladies and gents. Mind your step."
It took a little while to get everyone into the boat—it wobbled in the water considerably, and the majority of the passengers were either unsteady or nervous. Once they were all in, Fred revved up the motor, and they all headed off into the distance, all of them – in their own ways – thrilled and excited for the weekend that lay ahead.
None of them realised they would never be returning.