Page 14 of Someone in the Water
‘Lucky Izzy,’ Jack drawls, that now familiar smirk back. ‘Well, have fun, ladies.’
Jack starts to move away, but Archie rests his hand on Jack’s arm to stop him. ‘Maybe we could all meet up after your dinner?’ he suggests. ‘At Henri’s for a few drinks?’
‘That sounds—’ I start.
‘You’re not suggesting gatecrashing a girls’ night out, are you, Archie?’ Izzy interrupts, raising her eyebrows.
‘Come on, Arch, we can have a boys’ night instead,’ Jack offers.
Archie sighs, then lifts his hands in surrender. I mouth an apology at him before Izzy whisks me away. It would have been nice to meet up with the boys later – one to chat with, the other to covertly ogle – and I also can’t help thinking that if Izzy made more of an effort with them, they might be friendlier with her. But knowing that Izzy wants me all to herself tonight feels like a compliment too. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘There’s this pizzeria on the way to town,’ Izzy explains. ‘It’s all open air – even the kitchen – and I really want to try it out.’
‘Sounds cool.’ I think about it for a moment. ‘But if it’s completely open, how do they deal with security?’
‘That’s just it, they can’t. But nothing ever gets nicked. You know why? Because it’s owned by one of the big Corsican mafia families. So no one dares.’
‘I thought the whole mafia thing was consigned to history now,’ I say, testing Salvo’s claim.
‘You’re joking, right? The mafia are huge here. They reckon that percentage-wise, there are more mafioso in Corsica than in Sicily.’
I frown, wonder again why Salvo did such a whitewashing job. Or maybe Izzy is exaggerating.
‘It’s cool though, if you think about it,’ Izzy goes on. ‘Because instead of causing crime, they’re stopping it. Like the police, but actually effective.’
‘I guess the threat of a horse’s head turning up on your doorstep is a pretty good deterrent,’ I murmur.
Izzy bursts out laughing, and the sound makes me smile.
‘Come on, let’s get a cab. Then we’ll be there in five minutes. My treat.’
Fifteen minutes later, we’re sat at a table for two in a restaurant with no walls, just a collection of terraces on different levels and fairy lights strung like washing lines above our heads.
‘Cheers,’ Izzy says, clinking her glass of rosé against mine, the open bottle in an ice bucket at the side of our table. ‘I’m so glad you came out to Hotel Paoli. I mean, I’ve tried to make friends with the others, but they don’t want to know. I think it’s a xenophobic thing, Brits sticking together, but it’s different with you. I feel like we’re destined to be best friends. Is that a weird thing to say?’
I think about my own mix of British and Corsican heritage, which I still haven’t mentioned because that would mean talking about my dad, and I’m not sure I’m ready. In truth, I don’t imagine the others care in the slightest about Izzy’s nationality, but I can’t help feeling grateful that she’s singled me out for special attention. ‘Not weird at all,’ I say, taking a sip of wine, and then another. ‘I feel the same way to be honest.’ I twist the stem of the wine glass between my fingers, then take another mouthful – Dutch courage – and decide it’s time to confide in Izzy. ‘The thing is, finding you does feel like good timing, because I kind of need a friend at the moment.’
‘Oh?’ Izzy’s face grows curious.
‘My dad died three months ago, and I guess I’ve been feeling a bit vulnerable.’
I wait for Izzy to dish out the usual condolences, but instead she widens her eyes, and a grin spreads across her face. What the fuck? She quickly drags the corners down with her fingers, but the damage is done. I look away, my cheeks burning. Why the hell did I tell her? I’ve only known her a few weeks. And why is she grinning like the Cheshire cat?
‘Shit, sorry,’ Izzy says. ‘It must look like I’m happy about your dad dying.’
I feel that familiar sting of tears again. I gulp down my wine and reach for the bottle. Ice-cold water drips on my arm as I refill my glass.
‘Because that’s not it,’ Izzy goes on. ‘Of course it isn’t. I only look happy because it explains why we feel so connected.’
‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘The thing is my dad died too.’
I look up. ‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’
But Izzy wafts my condolences away. ‘It was thirteen years ago, half a lifetime, but that will be why we feel like kindred spirits. We’ve been through the same thing.’ She picks up her glass and clinks it gently against mine. ‘We were clearly destined to meet each other.’
A waiter arrives with our pizzas, and I breathe in the smell of bubbling cheese as he lays down our plates. He gives me a pizza wheel, and after checking how Izzy uses it, I cut my pizza into eight slices.
