Page 22 of Someone in the Water
‘No, I don’t want to,’ a girl with a French plait says. Her lip quivers, then she bursts into tears. ‘I hate you!’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Izzy tries to give the girl a reassuring smile, but her eyes darken.
‘Why don’t you radio for Harriet to bring the RIB out,’ I murmur. ‘It’s not surprising the kids are freaked, and she can tow you back in.’
Izzy clicks her tongue, turns away. But when she turns back, there are tears glistening in her eyes. ‘You’re right, sorry. I’m not thinking straight.’
‘Of course you’re not – you’re in shock,’ I say gently. ‘But I need to go. Good luck.’ I grab the gunwale of the ski boat and pass the sealed bag to Dom. Then I usher Felix as close as I can to the edge, and together Dom and I lift him over. His face is ghostlike, and the other children watch on, whimpering.
‘Bertie and Amber, move on to the floor please,’ I say. As they slide off, I lower Felix into the cushioned seat and wrap a towel around his shoulders. ‘What’s your surname, Felix? I’m going to radio through to reception and they’ll ask your mummy to come to the beach.’
‘It’s Drake,’ he whispers.
‘Thank you. Are you okay if I leave you for a second?’ He nods, and I twist away from him. I walk to the front, where Dom is sinking into the driver’s seat, and pick up the radio. ‘Hello? Anna?’
‘Fuck, Izzy is going to be in all sorts of trouble,’ Dom murmurs under his breath. ‘How do you slice off a kid’s finger?’
‘She didn’t slice it off. It was an accident.’
‘And then leaving it to us to save the day,’ Dom continues like I haven’t spoken. ‘I mean, did she even check she had a first-aid kit on board before she went out? What kind of rookie mistake is that?’
The radio crackles to life and it feels like a reprieve until I hear Raphael’s voice. ‘What the hell happened out there?’ he hisses. ‘Please God don’t tell me the ambulance is for one of the children.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Felix Drake has lost the top section of his right index finger,’ I explain. ‘We have it. But he’s asking for his mum, so can you find her and get her down to the beach?’
Raphael expels a deep sigh, but agrees and cuts transmission.
‘She’s the oldest of us all,’ Dom mutters, shaking his head. ‘She has supposedly been teaching sailing since she was sixteen, and she’s acting like an amateur.’
‘We haven’t heard her side of it,’ I mumble. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’
‘I reckon Izzy’s going to get fired. And the way I see it, she deserves to be.’
I press my lips together. Part of me wants to defend Izzy, my best friend out here, but another part is reeling. Because Dom’s right, she has made a huge mistake, and a young boy might suffer the consequences for the rest of his life. As I make my way back to Felix, I wonder how Izzy is feeling now, whether this incident will haunt her forever too. And how I’ll cope for the rest of the summer if I lose my best friend here.
2025
Frankie
26th July
Lola is at Hotel Paoli.
How can she be there after everything I’ve done to keep us both away?
When I flew out of Corsica’s Figari airport that August in 2004, numb with grief and guilt, I wasn’t stupid enough to think that I was leaving it all behind me. I knew the memories of those two tragedies would haunt me forever, however far I ran. But I did believe that I would never have to set foot on the island again. That I could at least create a physical separation.
But now I need to go back. For Lola.
I slam my foot against the decking in frustration. Why did Mum keep those postcards? She knew I never wanted to talk about that place again. That I needed to lock it away in my past if I wanted to have a future. And then once Lola did find them, why didn’t she come and tell me, ask me, rather than conspiring with her friends and taking a secret trip by herself?
I look at the date on my phone: 26th of July. Tears well in my eyes as I realise how close it is to the anniversaries. And in five days’ time, it will also be the most terrifying night for me to be in Corsica. The 31st of July. Whatever happens, I need to get Lola off the island before then.
I push up to standing and my whole body feels weary. I’ve only slept for about three hours, but I think my exhaustion has more to do with the emotional toll of hearing Lola’s news than sleep deprivation. Especially knowing who she’s with now.
I sit at the table and pull my laptop towards me. Without letting myself think too hard about the consequences, I click into Skyscanner and look for flights to Corsica. There aren’t any to Figari until Wednesday, which is the closest airport to Porto Vecchio, but it’s not a big island, and I can get on a flight to Ajaccio Napoleon Bonaparte – named after Corsica’s most famous resident – first thing tomorrow morning. It means that Lola will spend another night alone, but it’s the best I can do. God, I hope she follows my advice to not ask any questions.
I book a seat on the plane, then look back at my phone. It’s 10.30 a.m. I’ll need to go home first, pick up my passport, then leave for Gatwick around three in the morning, but I still have time to kill. Really, I should try and sleep. But with Lola at Hotel Paoli, and all those memories resurfacing, I know that I’ll see my friends’ faces every time I close my eyes. Sometimes alive. Sometimes dead. And what will that do to me? Send me spiralling again? Summon up the worst nightmare of them all? I capture that terrifying dream on canvas to stop it coming for me in my sleep. But what will happen if I can’t paint?
