He looked a bit uncomfortable, standing awkwardly there whilst we were sitting down, but none of us offered for him to join us.
“So what if we are?” Chloe asked, rolling onto her stomach and sitting with her chin resting on her palms. She used her elbows to push her boobs together so Ollie got a good view of her unbuttoned shirt, revealing cleavage and a neon pink bra underneath. “Aren’t you, like, artsy buddies?”
He scowled. “Definitely not. She’s done nothing but go on and on about how she’s got into Slade. It’s this fancy art university in London. She really thinks she is it.”
Tanya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, she won’t shut up about that, even to us.”
“Poppy Greer swanning off to London in a few months,” I said. “It seems so unfair.”
“Poppy Greedy always takes what she wants,” Chloe murmured. “It’d be funny if we could mess that up for her.”
“Well, what if you could?” Ollie mumbled.
“How exactly?” I frowned.
“She’ll go off to Slade and forget about us,” Tanya said.
“Not if something happened to her Art A Level,” Ollie said. “If she failed, she’d be taken off the course.”
We considered this for a second.
“As funny as that would be,” I said, “how would we even do that? None of us do Art A Level and we wouldn’t even know how she’d be able to fail.”
“I do. Our exam starts tomorrow.” Ollie looked strangely excited by his idea. “On the second day, when everyone else has left, I could let you four in. We’re not allowed to do certain things with our art. You could bring that stuff in and put it on her painting, and then she’d fail.”
“Is that not a bit much?” Tanya asked, a worried expression on her face. “She loves her art. It’s everything to her.”
“She could retake it,” Esther said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It would be funny,” I said, warming to the idea.
“How do we make sure we’re not caught?” Tanya wondered, still uncertain.
“I’ll keep watch,” Ollie said. “If anyone comes down the corridor, I’ll tell you and give you a chance to make a run for it. But no one should be, they’re not being looked at until the afternoon.”
“Sounds perfect, then,” I said. “Let’s do it. Don’t look so glum, Tanya. It’s only a bit of fun. It’ll make up for you not getting into that drama school, won’t it!”
“Fine, fine,” Tanya said. She had auditioned for some snooty drama school also in London and hadn’t even got an interview. “I guess you’re right. It would be good for her to see her art isn’t as amazing as she says.”
“Great,” Ollie said. “It’s a plan, then.”
“Why are you so keen?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.
He blushed, but his voice came out sounding more forceful than I’d ever heard it before. “I want to go to Slade. She stole my place. I’m just getting it back.”
His answer made me smile and Chloe cackle with delight.
“This is going to be so funny,” she said. “I can’t wait to see her face.”
Now, Wendy stares at me after I say Ollie’s name, mouth open.
“Ollie Turner?” she echoes, looking stunned. “The one who got into Slade when Poppy’s place was taken away from her?”
“Yes, him.”
“If you’re lying about him, that would be a very stupid thing to do.”
“I’m not. It was Ollie.”
“Ollie Turner,” she whispers, more to herself than to me.
Ollie’s uncertainty when we were finished flashes back in my mind. His shock at just how far we went. He regretted it the moment we were done.
I don’t tell Wendy this.
“He wasn’t her friend,” I say.
“I know that,” she hisses straight back. “I’m just glad—I’m just relieved Poppy never knew it was him. Now head outside. It’s about time we finish up here.”
I open the door and head out onto the beach, aware of Wendy close at my back, constantly turning round to check she isn’t about to stab me. It’s morning now, the sky blue all around us, a gentle whisper of a breeze. Other than the debris on the beach, there’s no sign of the storm last night. Chloe and Esther remain, of course, and I turn my back to them and face the horizon.
Wendy comes to my side, but she looks out too.
“Why leave me until last?” I ask, though I think I know the answer.
Wendy confirms my suspicions. “Annabel, you were always going to be the last one standing. You’ve always been the one in control, the leader of the gang. You weren’t going to lose.”
I’m distinctly aware that Wendy is distracted talking about all this, her knife still in her hand but lowered to her thigh. I’m still holding the knife that killed Esther, her blood long dried on the blade.
But I must have done something to give my thoughts away. Wendy indicates her head towards my knife. “Even right now, after everything, you’re still thinking about how you’re going to kill me before I can kill you. Isn’t that right?”
“I’m not—”
“Even after being reminded of what you did. You’re still ready to kill me.” She sighs, as if this disappoints her. “A survivor trait for sure. It would be admirable in anyone except you, because you don’t deserve to live. And yet, I am going to let you.”
“What?” I’m thrown off guard.
“I said I’m going to let you live.”
“Why?”
“Because someone needs to go down for these murders. And I’m not planning on it being me.”
“You’re insane.” I lift the knife up, point it at her. “You can’t just get away with this.”
“I already have,” she says. “I was never here, after all.”
I can feel the blood draining away from my face. “What do you mean?”
“I must admit I was dying to hear about Robin’s mix-up,” she says. “But none of you brought it up. Perhaps Robin didn’t let slip that you were actually our bride all along, Annabel? It was your hen party, not mine.”
The memory flashes back to me so clearly. Robin thinking I was the bride. Esther going to correct her and me laughing her off. Enjoying the mistake. Thinking it was all a great joke.
Something must have revealed itself in my face, because Wendy grins. “Oh, so she did tell you that you were the bride. Clearly you didn’t bother correcting her. Why would you? Any excuse to be the centre of attention.”
“So what?” Her utter delight in this baffles me. “So Robin thought I was the bride. What does it matter?”
Wendy turns to look at the island behind us. Even though the storm has settled and a soft morning glow has hit the place, it still seems dangerous. It knows everything that has happened here. It hides Tanya’s body and offers Chloe’s and Esther’s as tributes at our feet.
“You booked this holiday,” Wendy says. “Not me. If anyone—say, the police—were to look into the records of this trip, they would find it booked under the name of Annabel Dixon.”
“What are you even talking about? I didn’t book this!”
“You’re not very sensible with money, are you, Annabel?” Wendy says. “You have so many credit cards you didn’t even notice when one of them went missing for a few days—ample time to book a holiday.”
“How did you steal my credit card?”
“It’s amazing what private investigators can do. They give so much information. So many juicy secrets.”
For one mad moment I’m considering throwing myself at her and killing her.
“You taught me well,” Wendy says. “I learned from the very best after reading Poppy’s diary. All your nasty little schemes. It always came down to you, Annabel. No, you don’t get the luxury of dying. I want you to suffer in prison for the rest of your life, for you to lose your cheating husband and fancy home and fake friends.”
“You can’t think I’m just going to let you get away with this,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re crazy. I’m going to tell the police this was all you, and I was acting out of self-defence. You’re going to be the one going down for this, not me.”
“You’re going to tell them what exactly?” Wendy says. “That you—you who orchestrated this entire trip—don’t have money problems? A dozen credit cards, one of which bought this holiday? Don’t have an entire wardrobe of stolen goods at home, some probably even with the security tags still on them? That you didn’t have a huge falling-out with your friends on this trip? Maybe this falling-out became violent. Everything was starting to come out and you snapped.”
My mouth falls open.
“Poor Esther, stabbed to death trying to get you to stop murdering Chloe,” she continues. “And what of poor Poppy? The fourth bridesmaid?”
I can’t listen to any more of this. My fingers grip the handle tightly, and I ready myself to run at her.
But she’s quicker than me. She smacks down on my arm, causing me to lose my hold of the knife. It falls to the sand and she picks it up quick as a flash, then comes even closer and rests it against my throat, her own still firm in her left hand.