Page 91 of Deep Blue Lies
“They’re meant to. So you can sleep.” She looks at me, her head on one side. “Perhaps it would help if you got out of the room? You could have a swim – the pool’s lovely, and you could borrow my bikini.” She smiles brightly at the idea, and I look away. She’s proud that her bikini fits me. I know it, and I sense she’s going to mention it now, make some joke perhaps about how Imogen’s wouldn’t because it would be too big. The joke repulses me, even though she doesn’t even say it. Of course she doesn’t. I’m the repulsive one for even thinking of it.
“I don’t want to swim,” I say.
“Well that’s fine. I was only offering.”
“What’sAtivan?” I ask.
The irritation’s back. “It’s a very mild sedative.”
I don’t answer her, but I remember now, I remember from my classes. It’s a benzodiazepine. Did they say it was mild? I don’t remember.
“I might just have a sleep.”
Mum softens again. “OK, well that’s a good idea. But just for a couple of hours. I do need you to go and clear out your things from that apartment. At least collect your passport, we can always replace the rest of your things when we’re home.”
I blink at her. The attraction of the big, comfortable bed is almost magnetic, pulling me towards its soft pillow. I nod.
“OK, have a sleep, darling. I’ll wake you in a while.”
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Mum wakes me in time for dinner, and we eat together in the hotel’s restaurant. Neither of us speaks much, but I feel her watching me, making sure I eat something substantial this time, and not just a few leaves of lettuce. It’s dark outside now, the night warm and inviting. I can still see the pool, the water illuminated from below. I don’t know why, but I get a flash in my mind of Mum, working in her pool bar in the old Aegean Dream Resort. It’s the same colour – the pool here and the one I’ve constructed in my mind. The way I’ve somehow mentally emptied the garbage and the dirt from the old, broken ADR pool, and filled it with clear cool water. I’m about to ask her about it. Whether it was as pretty as this, but she speaks before I get the chance.
“I’ve got a message from the airport,” she sighs. “I thought we had everything covered, but it turns out I need to go and sign a different release form before they’ll load her onto the plane.” She gives me a look of apologetic frustration.
“Imogen?”
“Yes Imogen, who else?” She frowns, just for a moment, then goes right on. “So I’m afraid you’re going to have to do the apartment on your own. But I’ve booked you a taxi, and I’ve spoken tothe man on the front desk and told him to tell the taxi driver that he’s to stay outside until you’re done, and then bring you right back. Are you going to be OK with that?” She glances at her watch, and sighs again. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be.”
I think for a moment, working out how this works. Then I nod. “Yeah.”
“It’s just your passport you need. Do you have your key?”
I nod again.
“OK, well let’s go. This is all charged to the room.” We get up from the table, and she leads me through the restaurant, towards the reception and the front of the hotel. I still have this weird feeling, like I’m slightly floating or I’m not quite me, which is kind of funny, because I’m not sure who I am anymore.
There’s a taxi waiting outside the hotel, the lights on, engine running. Mum speaks again to the receptionist, and he comes out and opens the door for me. I smile my thanks and climb into the back seat. It smells of leather, or that fake vinyl leather, or maybe it’s the air freshener dangling from the mirror. Something anyway. Mum leans down to speak to me.
“Just make sure you get the passport, the rest isn’t important. And don’t worry at all about the rent and deposit, we can sort all of that out from England.”
I nod. She closes the door and is about to remind the driver of my address but he cuts her off, he already knows, maybe the receptionist told him.
As we drive away I look back and see her watching the taxi leave, and then turning and walking to her hire car parked up outside the hotel. Then I lose her as we turn the corner.
“Excuse me,” I say to the driver. Trying to speak feels like stirring thick honey.
“Yes?”
“Before we go to the apartment, can we make a stop somewhere else?” I don’t know Maria’s address exactly, but I describe where it is and the driver nods rapidly.
“OK. No problem.”
The truth is I’m glad Mum can’t come with me to do this. I don’t want to leave without saying thank you to Maria, for everything she’s done. And goodbye to Sophia.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
The taxi stops outside the gate to Maria and Sophia’s house, but I can see right away they’re not home. The little house is in darkness, but even so I get out and go up to the door and check. But there’s no answer. I shake my head to try and clear it, why didn’t I message Sophia? What am I thinking, whyaren’tI thinking? I pull out my phone and send her a quick text, saying I’m going to be at my apartment for an hour or so if she’s around. Then I turn and walk back to the taxi. I’m about to open the door and climb in when I change my mind. It’s a lovely warm evening, the air soft and infused with the scents of the flowers in Maria’s garden. Except here by the car it’s overpowered by the smell of the exhaust fumes and the cloying chemical from the air freshener. I think of how Sophia insisted she was fine to walk back from my apartment. It seems a lifetime ago, but still I trust that she was right. My hand hesitates on the door handle.
