Page 41 of Someone in the Water
I sigh. ‘Look, I’m tired and hungry, so can we just eat?’
Harriet shrugs, like she’s got nothing more to say anyway. We reach the serving table, and stare at the offering. A bowl of radishes, the rind of a brie and a few baguette ends. We take what we can, then fall into one of the tatty sofas to eat.
Twenty minutes later, my hunger has abated just enough for drowsiness to kick in. It’s only eight o’clock, but it’s been a long day of exercise, alcohol and not enough calories, and I’m pretty sure I could sleep a full twelve hours if I closed my eyes. Harriet has started talking to one of the barmen who’s on his break, so I just wave goodbye and head outside.
The sun is low as I walk along the beach, and the sea is glowing a pinkish orange under its mellow rays. The whole vista has a warmth to it, and I try to use it to buoy me. Whatever Dom said in the water, wedidhave a conversation before I jumped, and hewaskind and thoughtful. Surely that’s a sign of hope that he might forgive me.
When I get to the accommodation block, I realise I’m enjoying the beach too much to go inside, so I keep walking instead. Beyond the reach of the hotel, the beach gets quieter, and wilder, with pockets of scrubland and tangles of seaweed sprawled across the sand. As well as the salt in the sea breeze, I can smell something sweet and floral. Maybe there are myrtle bushes in the woodland beyond the beach.
I keep walking. It feels much more remote out here, and I jump when I hear the lisped screech of someone whistling through their fingers. It’s hard to see who it is because the sun is so low that it’s blinding, but I can just make out the silhouette of a man at the water’s edge.
‘Hey, Frankie!’
The silhouette waves but more than that, I recognise the voice. It’s Archie. I pull off my flip-flops and pad towards him. But as I get closer, I slow my pace, because he’s got a half-drunk bottle of Mirto Bianco in his hand – a local digestif that I’ve not tried – and he’s swaying. ‘Hey, Archie.’
‘Want a drink?’ He hands me the bottle and something in his manner tells me not to refuse, so I take a swig. It tastes bitter and herby and makes my eyes water, but I take a second gulp anyway, then hand it back.
‘I thought you were ill?’ I say carefully.
‘Me? No, I’m not ill,’ he says, the words slurring. He points at me with the bottle. ‘I think you’ve been misinformed.’
‘But you said—’
‘That I wasn’t feeling great?’ he interrupts, his voice suddenly more clipped. ‘It’s amazing how we can twist words, manipulate people into thinking we’re saying something we’re not.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Archie says bitterly. I watch him take another couple of gulps from the bottle.
‘Can I have some more?’ It feels like the best way to slow him down. I reach for the bottle, take a sip, and when I feel his eyes bore into my cheek, I take another one.
‘Can I have it back now?’
‘Yeah, in a minute.’ I drink again. It’s not actually too bad, but my head is starting to swim. Rosé, and adrenaline, and not enough food. I shouldn’t really be drinking at all, but I’m not going to leave Archie in this state by himself. ‘So what made you feel not great?’ I ask.
Archie sighs. ‘Jack wanted to tell me something. He said it was time.’
I look at his distraught expression, remember Jack’s disappointment in Archie at the waterfalls. ‘Has he broken up with you?’ I whisper.
But then I jump as Archie lets out a crack of laughter. ‘If only it were that.’
Frankie
29th July
‘Well, what then?’ I try again. ‘What was it time for?’
Archie sighs. ‘I told Jack I loved him last night. It freaked him out, which freaked me out. Anyway, we had a long talk, and eventually he admitted that he felt the same way, just found it harder to say out loud.’
‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’
Archie looks at me and there are tears in his eyes. ‘I thought so, but then today he told me that if we were going to commit to each other, there was something I needed to know.’
I think about Izzy’s words on Bastille Day, the information she’d overheard about Jack. ‘And what was that?’ I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer anymore.
‘I wish I could tell you,’ he says, dropping onto his haunches and staring out to sea. ‘But the crazy thing is, I’m scared to.’
The sun is just a sliver on the horizon now. Any moment, it will disappear, and then darkness will follow. Izzy refused to tell me what she knew about Jack because it felt like too much of a risk. And now Archie’s scared of confiding in me too?
