Page 34 of Someone in the Water
And Dom. Tonight, here, Dom is reminding me that there are good memories from that summer too. Even that being forced to come out here, to face my fears, could possibly be restorative.
An hour later, Dom pushes back his chair. ‘It was really great to see you, Frankie, and meet you, Lola, but I should be getting off. If you find you have time for a visit inland, I’d love to show you around Sartène.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, as graciously as I can without accepting anything, and then watch him walk out of the restaurant. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ I say to Lola. ‘I didn’t know he was going to show up.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Lola says. ‘He seems nice. Actually, he seems like he’s into you.’
I feel my cheeks getting hot and wonder if Lola can see it. ‘Don’t be silly. We haven’t seen each other in twenty years. Anyway, shall we go over to your room and collect your stuff?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘Um, about that,’ Lola says, looking down at the table. ‘I’ve decided that I’m going to stay where I am.’
‘What? Why? No.’ I shake my head. The serenity I was feeling earlier was clearly very flimsy because it has dislodged in an instant. ‘I want you closer to me than that.’
‘I’m practically eighteen, Mum. I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘Yes, I know, but …’ I quickly run out of words. Because how can I explain? Say that I’m scared that some terrible fate awaits Lola because my friend drowned twenty-one years ago and I had a dream where I killed an eagle owl, and then saw my daughter’s face? I have hidden that side of me from Lola for a decade and a half; I mustn’t risk exposing it now. ‘Never mind.’
‘I just like having my own space. That’s fair, isn’t it?’
Of course it’s fair. I just hate not being able to watch over her. I push my lips together.
‘I am beat though,’ Lola adds, filling the silence. ‘So I might head off to bed now.’
‘Me too,’ I murmur, although I know I won’t be able to sleep. One night, I think, then I’ll try again tomorrow to persuade her.
We push back our chairs in unison, and Lola lets me hug her goodnight at the restaurant entrance. Eventually I slacken my grip, and she disappears through the glass doors towards the beach. I walk reluctantly over to the staircase.
‘Frankie?’
My shoulders tighten at the sound of Raphael’s voice. I turn around. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I think I owe you an apology for earlier. It’s a lot to take in, seeing you again, after everything that happened. But I think enough time has passed for us to at least be civil to each other.’
I try to hold eye contact with him. The last time I saw Raphael, he angrily accused me of killing Izzy. But he’s right that it was a long time ago. Can I trust him now when he says he wants to move on? ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I say carefully. ‘And thank you again for the room. Lola’s travel documents should be here on Tuesday, and I’ll book a flight as soon as they arrive, so we won’t take advantage of your hospitality for too long.’
‘Actually, I thought you might want to stay for my father’s send-off,’ he says, his expression too blank to read. ‘With Salvo being a childhood friend of your own father’s. We’re having a gathering to remember him on Thursday evening, in Sartène.’
I don’t want to honour Salvo’s memory at any time, but especially not on Thursday, the anniversary of Izzy’s death, the mazzeri’s darkest night. Does Raphael realise the significance of that date? Could he have arranged it on purpose?
‘I’m sorry but I barely knew him really,’ I say. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to attend something like that.’
‘Didn’t he travel all the way to England to pay his respects to your father?’
I stare at the tip of Raphael’s ear until I blink. Salvo did make a big effort to come to my dad’s funeral. But then he ruined my life. I don’t owe him anything. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I lie.
‘Good,’ Raphael says. ‘By the way, you don’t need to use the stairs anymore. We had a lift fitted.’
‘The stairs are fine,’ I mumble. There’s no way I’m going to shut myself inside an airless metal box right now. I climb to the third floor, walk down the corridor to my room, and edge the key in the door. Finally, some peace.
Except.
I see the note before anything else. A white piece of cardboard lying on the light blue carpet. I hold my breath as I read the words, large and bold in black ink. Who the hell would write that?
Who the hell could know?
My vision feels fuzzy suddenly. I had convinced myself that the dream I had in Gatwick Airport was harmless, a sign of my stress, not a premonition of tragedy. But now a note? Clearly a real person is messing with my head.
I slowly reach down. My fingers shake as I pick the note off the floor. The nightmare feels so close that I can almost touch the sticky feathers of the eagle owl. Tears burn my eyes as I read the words again.
