Page 27 of Someone in the Water
‘No, of course. It’s just that …’ How do I say it? That twenty-one years ago there was a double tragedy in this hotel, and life hasn’t been the same since? That Raphael wouldn’t look me in the eye after finding my friend’s lifeless body in the sea, and things only got worse after that, so him helping my daughter now feels disorientating?
‘And you should stay here too.’
‘Me? No.’ I shake my head. There’s no way I’m spending a night here. ‘Lola and I can find a room in town until we sort out her new passport. You’ve done enough.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Anna says. She glances at her husband’s stony face, then turns back to me. ‘And it’s peak season now, so you’ll struggle to find anything half decent at this late notice.’
‘There must be somewhere,’ I murmur, wondering why I didn’t think to book a room before I came. Why I filled my head with memories of my friends dying, or me killing my own daughter in a Corsican forest, instead of doing the practical things like making sure we had somewhere safe to stay.
‘And we’ve just had a cancellation, so you can have the room for free.’
‘Anna, can I have a word?’ Raphael is clearly as keen on me staying here as I am, but Anna doesn’t even register that her husband has spoken, and miraculously, he doesn’t push it, just looks away in surrender. It’s a role reversal I would never have predicted. When I worked here, Anna lived in his shadow. Now she seems to be the one in charge.
‘They cancelled too late for a refund,’ she goes on. ‘So we’re not losing out.’
‘I … I don’t know what to say.’ What I mean is that I don’t know how to turn down the offer, but I realise that my words have the opposite effect.
‘That’s settled then. It’s room 316. We’ll get your bag taken up so that you can go and see Lola,’ Anna says. ‘She’s on the beach by the way. I saw her talking to Jack.’
I catch my breath. ‘Jack’s here?’
‘He never left,’ Raphael says. ‘We had to cut costs after that summer – funny how two sudden deaths aren’t great for business – and not recruiting a waterfront team was an obvious way to save money. Jack was still hanging around, so I helped him set up his own business. He’s been renting that section of the beachfront from us ever since. And he lives in my parents’ old beach house too.’
As subtly as possible, I reach for the reception desk to steady myself. Any relief I felt about not bumping into Salvo is erased by the thought of seeing Jack again. I imagine Lola talking to him, what he might tell her, how he would react when he found out who she was. I crane my neck, try to look through the glass doors at the back of the hotel, but there are too many obstacles in my way.
‘Dom lives on the island now too,’ Anna continues. ‘He bought a crumbling wreck in Sartène about five years ago. He’s doing it up himself. Very slowly, it seems.’
‘Dom?’ I half-whisper, half-gasp.
‘He did well in the UK apparently,’ Anna continues. ‘As an estate agent of all things. He was married, but no children. But then Brexit happened, and he had some sort of early midlife crisis – although he calls it an epiphany. He left his wife and moved out here while he still could.’
‘I thought we’d all want to stay away,’ I whisper.
‘No, just you,’ Raphael says.
I look away, towards the sea. ‘I’d better find Lola.’
I turn and walk as quickly as I can without running. Past the hotel restaurant and out onto the terrace, trying not to think about what’s coming – seeing Jack, staying in this hotel overnight. I zigzag through sun loungers spread across the lawn, almost all of them occupied by hotel guests, some holding books over their faces, others with their eyes closed, fat headphones covering their ears.
As I get closer to the beach, I see Lola talking to a man. It’s clearly Jack. He hands Lola a windsurfing rig, and I watch her drag it down to the shallow water. She steps up on the board with one foot, angles the sail to catch the wind, then lifts up her back foot. She arches her back – which I know is her clipping into a harness – then flies out to sea, showing why she’s always the one to beat in junior windsurfing competitions.
But today she’s on a rig set up by the man who blames me for his boyfriend’s death. A man who I also know is capable of murder.
Frankie
27th July
I don’t take my eyes off Lola as I continue towards the waterfront hut. I can see from the white tips on the waves that the wind is strong out there, and Lola will be taking full advantage, pushing her body, taking risks, just like I did at her age. Lola is a very talented windsurfer – taught by my obsessed mother as soon as she was strong enough to pull up a sail – but right now, that’s little comfort. Lola’s sail is white and red, and it reminds me of the dying eagle owl’s bloodstained feathers from my dream in the airport car park.
I turn my head away, exhale slowly. Remind myself that it was a stupid, meaningless nightmare.
Lola is not going to die.
I pause ten or so metres away from the hut. Jack is pulling another sail down from the rack while a young woman in a bright turquoise bikini and orange buoyancy aid hovers nervously by his side. When he and Archie worked together, Jack would sort out the equipment while Archie covered front of house, charming the guests with his smooth Scottish brogue. Jack has got no one to hide behind now, and I wonder if that has softened him at all. If such a thing is possible for a man like that.
I watch him slide a sail to the water’s edge and attach it to a board. He gives the guest a demonstration – showing her how to stand up by planting one foot and using it to drag the board towards her. When she nods her understanding, he gives the board a gentle push into the shallow water and turns his back on her – his job done. I watch the woman clamber on, then tentatively rise up to standing. The board wobbles, but she stays upright. The first battle won.
I take a deep breath and walk up to the hut. ‘Hey.’
