Page 45 of Someone in the Water
Does that mean Archie’s suicide was Jack’s fault? Or mine?
I dive underwater. Swim until my eyes burn and my lungs threaten to explode. Should I keep going? Apologise to Archie in the most genuine, unequivocal way?
God, I’m tired. I could just …
I feel a scratch at my back, and then I’m being hoisted up through the water. I splutter and flail as I reach the surface. I flick my hair and turn towards the shadow.
‘Climb in, Francesa,’ Salvo says. ‘I’ll take you back to shore.’
I blink, tread water, unsure what to do. Unable to make a decision.
He gestures with his head. ‘Come on.’ And the instruction is so clear and simple, and I’m so tired and broken, that I follow it, laying my hands on the edge of his little fishing boat, and letting him help me aboard. Its wooden bottom is dented and stained red from years of catching and gutting fish, and I stumble over it to reach the seat. I sit down and pull my knees towards my chest.
Salvo starts the engine, and we move slowly towards the beach. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he mutters. ‘It is a terrible business.’
‘I was the last person to see him alive,’ I whisper, not sure why I’m confiding in this old man who scares me. ‘He was drunk, upset,’ I go on. ‘But I didn’t think for a second …’
‘You can’t blame yourself, Francesca,’ Salvo says softly.
‘I keep replaying the scenes in my mind, you know? Sitting on the beach together, sharing a bottle of some dodgy local digestif, watching the waves. It was peaceful, just us.’ I think about the men we saw, the boat. ‘Well, almost just us. There were some fishermen arguing over a guy so drunk he couldn’t stand up. But that felt right, somehow. Like it was a metaphor for how we were feeling.’
Salvo hesitates, like he’s weighing up how best to respond. ‘How was Archie when you parted ways?’
I look down at my feet, ashamed. ‘I don’t remember. I fell asleep on the sand, and when I woke up, he was gone.’
Salvo nods slowly. ‘And how did you feel when you woke up?’
I remember my body retching, quickly followed by me vomiting. ‘Terrible. And scared.’
‘You were worried about your friend.’
I look up at Salvo, grateful, in the moment, for his compassion. ‘It was like I already knew something bad had happened to him.’
‘A sixth sense.’
The tension in my shoulders eases a notch. ‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘You foresaw it, Francesca.’
‘What?’
‘You know, many years ago someone who I cared about deeply died,’ Salvo continues. ‘And I still feel guilty.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say, my tired brain struggling with this new information. ‘What happened?’
‘I thought warning him was the right thing to do. And maybe it was, I’ll never know. But I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d let fate run its course.’
‘Fate?’
‘I think you dreamed about Archie last night.’
‘Maybe,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Francesca, did you know that your father was a mazzere?’
‘Wait, what?’ I look up, my eyes stretched wide. ‘Do you mean the mazzeri legend?’
Salvo nods. ‘He confided in me a long time ago. That’s why he wanted to leave Corsica, to get away from its influence. When I had my mazzeri dream, years later, I thought about trying to find him, but I never did.’
