Entry Island(65)

He kicked off his shoes and swung his feet up on to the bed. He sat up against the headboard, propped by a pillow to support his back, and took out his cellphone. A growing sense of guilt crept over him. It was time, he knew, to phone his sister. There was no one else he could ask about the ring or the diaries.

He had not spoken to her in such a very long time. Not even on the phone. How long was it? Five years? More? Poor Annie. For some reason he had never felt close to her. Of course there was an age gap. She was four years older. But it was more than that. He had always been a loner, a solitary boy, self-sufficient and never interested in his sister. Even when she had reached out to him after the death of their parents.

As soon as he left school he had gone his own way, heading for the big city. While she stayed behind and married a neighbour, a boy who had been in her class. A French-speaker. And bore him a baby boy and then a little girl. Teenagers now, who spoke no English.

He had been back only once, for their parents’ funeral.

The last time he and Annie had met was when she came to his wedding. Without her husband. She had made excuses for him, but Sime knew that Gilles resented the way his brother-in-law had neglected her.

Guilt washed over him again, cold and reproachful. Maybe Marie-Ange was right. Maybe he was all those things she had called him. Selfish, self-centred. They were not pleasant reflections, and he veered away from them, just as these days he avoided his reflection in the mirror.

He found Annie’s number in the contacts list of his cellphone and with a great effort of will tapped autodial. He raised the phone to his ear with trepidation. After several rings it was answered by a boy whose voice sounded as if it might be breaking. ‘Yeah?’

‘Hi. Is your mother there?’

‘Who’s calling?’ He seemed bored. Or disappointed. Perhaps he’d been waiting for a call himself.

Sime hesitated. ‘It’s your Uncle Simon.’

There was a long silence at the other end of the line that was difficult to interpret. Then the boy said, ‘I’ll get her.’

He could hear voices distantly in the background. Then more silence. And Sime could actually feel his heart pulsing in his throat. Suddenly his sister’s voice. ‘Sime?’

‘Hey, sis.’ He dreaded her response.

But he should have known better. She had never been one to bear grudges. Beyond her surprise, he heard the delight in her voice. ‘Oh, my God, little brother! How the hell are you?’

And he told her. Without preamble. The plain, unvarnished truth. His break-up with Marie-Ange, his insomnia. And while he could feel the shock in her silence as she listened, the simple act of sharing everything he had bottled up for so long came as an enormous release.

‘Poor Sime,’ she said, and meant it, echoing his own thought of poor Annie, just a few minutes earlier. ‘Why don’t you come home. Stay with us for a while.’

Home seemed like an odd word for her to use. The little military town of Bury, in the Eastern Townships south-east of Montreal, was where she still lived. It hadn’t been home to Sime in years. But home had a good sound to it, full of comfort.

‘I can’t right now. I’m on the Madeleine Islands, a murder investigation.’ He hesitated. The moment he asked, she’d know there had been an ulterior motive for him calling. ‘Annie, remember those diaries? The ones that Granny used to read from when we were kids.’

If she was disappointed there was no hint of it in her voice. Just surprise. ‘Well, yes, of course. Why?’

‘Do you still have them?’

‘Somewhere, yes. I’ve still got everything here that we took from Mum and Dad’s. And from Granny’s. I keep meaning to sort through it all some day, but we put everything in the attic above the garage. And, you know, out of sight …’

‘I’d like to read them again, sis.’ He could tell that she was containing her curiosity with difficulty.

‘Of course. Any time you like.’

‘I’ll come down as soon as we’re finished here on the Madeleines.’

‘That would be great, Sime. It’ll be lovely to see you.’ And then she couldn’t help herself. ‘What’s the sudden interest in the diaries?’

‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain when I get there.’ Then, ‘Annie … you know the signet ring I inherited from Dad?’

‘Yes. Some kind of red, semi-precious stone, wasn’t it? Engraved with a family crest. Not ours, though. It was an arm and sword or something.’

‘That’s right. Do you know anything about its history?’

She laughed. ‘Am I really going to have to wait till you get here to find out what this is all about?’