Page 47 of Someone in the Water
I look at my watch. But when I realise it’s the early hours of 31st July, another wave of dread sets in. According to the legend, tonight is the darkest night for the mazzeri. A load of mazzeri warriors fight through the night as July becomes August.
But it’s all crazy. A fantasy story. And I am not crazy.
I hear a noise. I whip my head around, away from the sea. ‘Hello?’ I call out. No one responds, but the sound continues. A snuffling noise. Like someone crying.
I push to standing and walk towards it. The sky is clear, but the shadowy moonlight makes me feel uneasy. My eyes fall onto a dark shape underneath a sun lounger. I crouch down. ‘Patrick?’ I whisper. ‘What are you doing under there?’
Raw fear spreads across the child’s face and he wriggles backwards. I’ve seen Raphael and Anna’s son around the hotel enough times to recognise him, but have never spoken to him. It’s natural for him to be wary of me. ‘I’m Frankie,’ I say gently. ‘I work on the water-ski boat with Dom – you might have seen me around.’
Recognition edges onto his face and he shuffles a bit closer, but he still doesn’t speak.
‘It’s very late for you to be out of bed,’ I go on. ‘Does your mummy know you’re here?’
‘Don’t tell her,’ Patrick whispers. ‘I ran away. I don’t want to go back.’
I nod, even though I don’t have a clue what to do. My experience of kids is teaching them to bend their knees and straighten their arms. ‘Why don’t you want to go back?’ I ask, playing for time.
‘Mama and Papa. They’re shouting. Really loud. I don’t like it.’
It’s hard to believe that Anna is capable of arguing with anyone, and especially Raphael, but I guess it’s been a stressful day. ‘What are they shouting about?’ I ask.
‘Someone called Izzy,’ Patrick says solemnly.
‘Izzy?’ I repeat, not hiding my surprise.
Patrick shrugs. ‘I heard them say the name.’
I sit back on my haunches. Why would Anna and Raphael be arguing about Izzy? Could the gossip about them sleeping together be true?
‘Grandpa was there too, for a while,’ Patrick goes on. ‘I think he was cross as well but I’m not sure.’ Patrick’s little voice breaks. ‘My grandpa never shouts.’
I imagine a quietly seething Salvo skulking along the beach and feel an urge to be back in my bedroom, behind a locked door. ‘You know, Patrick, it’s pretty late,’ I say. ‘And I bet you’re getting cold under there.’ Patrick hugs his knees into his chest and looks down at his feet. ‘How about I take you home,’ I coax. ‘If your parents are still shouting, I promise I’ll make them stop.’
‘Are you sure?’ Patrick asks.
‘Oh yes, I have magic powers.’ I regret the words as soon as they’re out, the images of hunting they conjure up, but I manage to smile, just.
Patrick sighs and wriggles out from under the sun lounger. ‘Okay, as long as you tell Mama and Papa not to be mad with me.’
‘It’s a deal.’ I reach for Patrick’s hand, and together we walk towards his home on the edge of the hotel complex.
It’s quiet when we arrive, no voices spilling out, and I knock softly on the door. After a minute, Anna opens it. She looks perfect, as usual. The only sign that anything’s wrong is that she’s fully dressed at three in the morning.
‘Frankie?’ Then her eyeline dips and her pitch rises. ‘Patrick?’ She crouches down to her son’s level, pulls him into her arms, then looks up at me. ‘What going on?’
‘I found him on the beach,’ I say. ‘I brought him home.’
‘What was he doing on the beach?’ But her face grows even paler than usual as she processes why he might have run away. ‘Actually, never mind. Thank you for bringing him home.’ She starts to close her front door, but then she pauses, takes in my pyjamas. ‘What were you doing out at this time?’
‘Me? Well, I couldn’t sleep. It’s been … a lot.’
Her face tightens. ‘Of course. I’m sorry about Archie.’
I nod. ‘I was with him, in the evening before he … I feel like I let him down.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, Frankie,’ Anna says. Her tone is firmer than I would have expected and it causes a mad urge to tell her everything. What Jack did, how upset Archie was when he found out. That Jack’s crime must have played a part in his suicide. But I promised Archie not to tell a soul.
‘Thank you,’ I murmur instead.
