Page 15 of Someone in the Water
‘You know, you’re the second person to talk about destiny this evening,’ I say, after devouring my first two slices.
‘Please don’t tell me Dom said you were destined for each other. I swear that guy fancies you, and it would be just like him to use the cheesiest line ever.’
‘Dom? If he fancies me, he has a weird way of showing it. And no, it was Salvo actually.’
Izzy scrunches her nose. ‘Why were you talking to that old dinosaur?’
I hesitate for a moment. But I’ve already told Izzy my biggest secret. ‘Well, he was friends with my dad actually.’
Now it’s Izzy’s turn to look shocked. ‘Really? How?’
‘They grew up together,’ I explain. ‘I’m half Corsican, you see. But my dad moved to England when he was twenty-two, and didn’t meet my mum until fifteen years later, so he was pretty much an anglophile by then.’
‘But he stayed in touch with Salvo all that time,’ she muses. ‘They must have been really close at some stage.’
‘No, they hadn’t spoken for years, but they started writing to each other after my dad got his diagnosis. I only met Salvo at the funeral, and that’s when he offered me a job.’
‘Wow. Another “who you know” recruit,’ Izzy mumbles.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Never mind. Did your dad know Raphael too?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I guess he knewofhim through Salvo’s letters. It’s funny, finding out that my dad had this past that I was clueless about. And not being able to ask him about it anymore.’ My chest tightens. I take a gulp of wine to loosen it.
‘That’s Corsicans for you. A secretive bunch.’
‘Why do you say that?’
Izzy takes a long sip of her wine, her head tilted back for what feels like forever. Finally, she lowers her glass back down. ‘No reason. But I’d steer clear of Salvo if I were you.’
‘But you must have a reason,’ I push, the Dutch courage still doing its thing.
But Izzy just sighs and gives me a sympathetic look.
‘Sadly, not everyone is as trustworthy as you, Frankie. But don’t worry; you’ve got me to look out for you now.’
Frankie
21st June
I feel hands on my upper arms, dragging me backwards. ‘Hey!’ I call out, stumbling as my feet try to catch up. Jesus, how much have I had to drink? Two cocktails? Four?
‘Come and dance!’ Izzy calls out. ‘I love this song!’
Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy in Love’ is blasting out across the beach. With a rush of euphoria, I twist out of Izzy’s grasp, then take her hand and together we tumble into the beach bar, a square space with a thatched roof and four pillars in place of walls. The bar staff have moved all the tables and chairs out onto the sand, turning the main bar area into a makeshift dance floor. It’s busy with guests, some swaying, others putting in bolder dance moves. Izzy and I find a spot in the middle and join the fray.
‘Great party!’ I shout, lifting my arms and pumping the air in time with the beat. Almost a month in, this hotel feels like home now, and that’s mainly down to Izzy’s friendship.
‘Yes!’ she calls back, nudging her hip against mine. ‘Who would have guessed that Anna loves the summer solstice enough to put on a party to celebrate?’
‘Or that she was capable of organising it,’ I say, grinning. The more I’ve got to know Anna, the more accurate Izzy’s description of her has turned out to be. Pointless. She clearly adores Raphael and hangs off his every word, but I’ve yet to hear her give an opinion of her own. And even worse, she seems to be equally nervous around her son. Maybe that’s why Patrick’s always hanging out with his grandparents.
I scan the crowd, looking for the others. Our whole waterfront team arrived at the party together – after sharing a couple of bottles of rosé in Dom’s room – but Archie and Jack disappeared almost straight away, and now I can’t see Harriet or Dom either. I wonder for a second if that means anything – the two of them going AWOL at the same time – but dismiss the idea almost instantly. Harriet has made it clear that she only fancies men who wear signet rings. And preferably ones with a family crest.
As the music changes to Kelis’ ‘Milkshake’, and we wordlessly adapt our dance style in synch, I feel another wave of gratitude for Izzy. Since our dinner out, our friendship has strengthened, and we’ve confided in each other a lot.
As I’ve talked about Dad getting thinner, quieter, weaker, greyer, until he finally wasn’t there at all anymore, Izzy has told me about the impact of her own father’s much more sudden death. How the restaurant her parents ran in Nice’s old town never reopened after his fatal car crash, and how her mum, still dealing with her grief five years later, moved north to her hometown of Lille as soon as Izzy finished school. After finishing her degree at Montpelier University, Izzy didn’t want to live in a part of France she didn’t know, so she travelled a little in southern Europe, and then went to live in London. She thought she might stay there for good, but she missed the beach. And that’s how she ended up at Hotel Paoli.
