Page 97 of High Season
2024
They agree to meet at the beach bar, the same place that Josie and Nic went on their impromptu first date.
Without the glaze of several beers, the hot anticipation that had hung between her and Nic, Josie can’t help but think that it looks slightly run-down. The wooden picnic benches and piles of polystyrene trays left out by careless tourists look less charming by day. Josie orders a bottle of water at the bar and finds a table as close to the sea as possible, where the clamor of lunchtime punters is more spread out and the groan of the waves will stop anyone from overhearing their conversation.
She sees Hannah arrive, weighed down by beach bags. She dumps them on the sand and gestures to Josie that she’s going to get a drink. From the table that she’s chosen, Josie can see Hannah’s family setting up camp around the abandoned bags. The husband glancing warily toward Josie. The oldest boy, looking like there’s nowhere he’d less rather be. Isla, the little girl, perched on a beach towel plied with snacks—packets of crisps and bottles of brightly colored fruit juice. Noah, already knee-deep in the sea.
“Lemonade or Coke?” Hannah places two cans on the table between them. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted food, so I ordered some chips,too? Only, don’t let the kids see. Noah won’t stop moaning if he knows I got chips for myself.”
Josie holds up her bottle of water, apologetic.
“Oh!” Hannah says. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten yourself something already. And I bet Nina Drayton isn’t the kind of person who drinks all this sugary crap.”
She lowers herself into the chair opposite, running her fingers through her hair, fluffing her fringe, looking as though she can’t find a comfortable position. Josie notices that her nails are bitten down, crescent moons.
“That’s OK,” Josie says. “I’ve actually invited someone else along, too.”
Hannah’s eyes dart up.
“Oh?”
Josie nods. Exhales.
“Yeah,” she says. “I thought we might want another person who’s on my side.”
The idea to contact truecrimefangirl_2002—the person who, in some ways, had sparked all of this—came to Josie after she had left the Baileys’ house.
She had walked back down to the town with Nic.
“You seem distracted,” he said, weaving one hand through hers.
“Can you blame me?” she replied.
Talking to Hannah had ignited something inside her. She found herself thinking about that night all over again, as if seeing it for the first time. About the case file that had briefly been in her possession. About what Nina Drayton had said. Each account, each witness statement, each piece of evidence sliding up against each other, a puzzle tantalizingly close to resolve.
It was one thing to have a theory about what happened. It was another thing entirely to have a platform to tell people about it. Someone that people listened to; someone who had seemed to believe Josie all along.
Now, she sees Imogen Faye crossing the sand toward them. Josie raises one arm to wave her over.
Hannah’s eyes bulge.
“Are you serious?” She presses her palms down into the bench as if making to stand. “Josie,” she hisses. “You said that this would be confidential.”
“Hannah, just—”
Josie’s hand reaches out and finds Hannah’s arm. The contact seems to shock Hannah to stillness.
“Just trust me, OK?” she says. “I’m trying to help.”
Hannah’s hands lift away from the wooden seat. She folds them in front of her on the table, glancing back toward her family.
“If she films us…” she hisses with warning.
But Imogen is already within earshot, and Hannah doesn’t finish her threat.
“Josie,” she is saying brightly. “Hi.”
She sticks out one hand toward Josie for her to shake.
