Page 33 of Someone in the Water
I think about the officer who interviewed me as an eighteen-year-old and wonder if my nationality had any influence over his assessment of what had happened. He instantly dismissed my claims that there was someone else in the water and chose to blame me for Izzy’s death instead. I was so traumatised at the time that I just accepted it – especially after the dream I’d had the night before – but Lola saw it differently this afternoon. And it’s true that I was the only witness. Did the police officer not take my statement seriously because I was British?
‘Hey, Dom,’ the barman says. ‘Do you need a drink?’
‘Thanks, Patrick. Maybe a panaché? I’m driving back home later.’
My stomach lurches at the sound of the barman’s name. Patrick. He must be Raphael and Anna’s son – that’s why I recognised him. He was a little kid when I worked here, but of course he’ll be an adult now. And this is a family business, so it’s not surprising that he’s on the payroll.
Patrick must sense me working it out because our eyes catch for a moment, and his seem to carry some kind of message.
A shiver runs through me as I wonder if he can remember the night I found him, huddled under the sun lounger. The night of my dream. Maybe he even thinks that he owes me for taking care of him. When the truth is I was grateful for the distraction he provided.
I can see both his parents in him now – Raphael’s colouring and Anna’s bone structure – but there’s a sadness in his eyes. Then I remember that he only buried his grandfather two days ago and look away.
‘Shall we go to dinner?’ Lola asks. ‘I’m starving.’
I hesitate, then turn towards Dom with a mixture of reluctance and hope. ‘Would you like to join us, Dom?’ I don’t know whether I want to spend my evening with him or not after everything that happened between us – and around us – but either way, it feels rude to abandon him when he’s driven all this way.
‘I’d love to, thanks,’ he says, a grin spreading across his face. And despite everything, the sight makes me smile. A reminder that not everything that happened that summer was terrible.
Frankie
27th July
Five minutes later, we’re seated at an outside table. The air is still warm, and I can hear the gentle lapping of the sea rolling onto the beach. ‘I hear you’ve bought a house in Sartène,’ I say to Dom. ‘What brought you back?’ What I really want to ask is how the hell could he set foot in Corsica again after that awful summer, but Raphael is right that Dom wasn’t affected by the tragedies in the same way I was. Archie’s suicide knocked him of course, but they were never that close. And there was no love lost between Dom and Izzy.
‘It’s an amazing place,’ Dom says. ‘Mountain views in one direction, sea views in the other. The architecture is stunning, and the whole town is one big history lesson. The wine’s good too.’ He pauses. ‘You should come for a visit.’
‘Maybe.’ I know I should want to visit the town my father grew up in, but being in Porto Vecchio is challenging enough.
‘I promise you’ll love it. There’s even an art museum.’
‘Well, you’re right there,’ Lola says. ‘Mum’s an art teacher. She was always dragging me around museums and galleries when I was little.’
‘Okay, guilty,’ I say, forcing an apologetic smile. I find Dom mentioning art unnerving, but I know it’s this place making me paranoid. An art museum is a draw for most tourists, not just art teachers.
‘Have you been back to Corsica at all, since …’ His voice trails off.
I shake my head, don’t quite trust myself to speak.
‘Mum still feels bad about the way Izzy died, don’t you, Mum?’
‘Well, you shouldn’t,’ Dom throws back, then he clears his throat. ‘Sorry, that came out wrong. It’s just annoying. You blaming yourself when you did nothing bad. Unlike her. I’m not saying Izzy deserved to die of course,’ he adds quickly. ‘Just that you shouldn’t be suffering for it.’
‘She was my friend,’ I murmur.
‘She was a bitch,’ Dom mutters, circling his wine glass and staring into the spiralling liquid. Then he looks up. ‘Look, I know she was fun, always the life and soul of the party. But she was ruthless. It suited her to be nice to you because she wanted someone to adore her. But woe betide anyone who tried to cross her.’
‘That’s not how I remember it,’ I mumble. ‘None of you gave her a chance.’
‘Us? What about the way she treated Jack?’
‘She had her reasons—’
‘And I suppose she had her reasons for talking to me like I was shit on her shoe too?’ Dom sighs. ‘And sorry, but she was a liability in that job as well. I mean, what would she have done if we hadn’t rescued the situation when that kid lost his finger? She didn’t even have a first-aid kit on board.’ Dom shakes his head. ‘And she still charmed Raphael into letting her keep her job. I think we can all guess how she managed that.’
The waiter appears at our table, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief at the distraction. We all chooseAziminu, a chunky fish soup that sounds delicious, and it only feels like a few minutes later when the waiter returns with three bulbous white bowls and a basket filled with chunks of baguette. As I rip off a piece of the warm bread and dunk it into the reddish liquid, I think about how different mealtimes were when I worked here. Staff food was served in a basement room with a TV and a couple of tatty sofas. Sometimes we were treated to a proper dinner – roast chicken and chips, or barbecue ribs and salad – but more often than not, it was a platter of curling cold meats, limp lettuce and leftover baguettes.
I look around the busy restaurant, humming with holiday chatter. When I left Corsica that August, I vowed never to set foot on the island again. But now I’m here, maybe I don’t feel as scared as I thought I would. Salvo is gone. Anna has found her voice at Raphael’s expense. Jack hasn’t lost his hostile edge, but maybe he’s more wistful than angry now. Less threatening.
