Page 54 of Someone in the Water
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Lola says, wafting my offer away. ‘I’ll grab something and meet you on the beach instead?’
‘No, I …’
‘If you can wait a few minutes, I could join you,’ Patrick says. ‘If you want, that is. My mum will be back soon; I was just covering reception while she ate something.’
‘Um, yes, why not, thank you,’ Lola mumbles.
Despite my lack of sleep, I sense a new charge in the atmosphere. I narrow my eyes and look at my daughter. Is she blushing? I glance back at Patrick. His smile is also lingering. I feel my shoulders tighten. Never mind the age difference, this is a complication I really don’t need. I jerk slightly as the telephone rings in the office behind.
‘Sorry, back in a moment.’ Patrick gives Lola another smile, then heads into the office, closing the door behind him.
‘You two seem friendly?’ I try to keep my voice neutral.
Lola shrugs. ‘We chatted a bit at the pool yesterday. Then at the bar last night. Before you came down. He seems like a nice guy.’
I nod, trying to work out if I should say more. My instincts scream at me to warn Lola off him, Salvo’s grandson, Raphael’s son, but parenting is about choosing your battles, and my priority right now is getting Lola home. They’re only having breakfast together. All being well, we’ll be on a plane home tomorrow evening, and she won’t see Patrick ever again. He’s not worth fighting over now.
‘Oh, and I heard we’re staying until the weekend,’ Lola continues. ‘That’s so great, Mum. I’m really proud of you for confronting your demons and putting your past behind you.’
The atmosphere sparks again. It makes me feel dizzy. ‘What?’ I shake my head. ‘No, no, no. We’re going home as soon as your documents arrive, hopefully tomorrow. We discussed this.’
Lola’s face creases in confusion. ‘But I was talking to Anna before you came down. She said you’d agreed to go to Raphael’s dad’s memorial thing on Thursday evening? I think his name was Salvo?’
My heart skitters. But I can’t lose my head, not here. Not now. I take a long breath. ‘We must have got our wires crossed. Raphael mentioned it to me last night, and I explained that we couldn’t go. He clearly misunderstood.’
‘You know, I’d quite like to go,’ Lola says, her voice quiet but determined. ‘It’s in Sartène, where our family comes from. Wouldn’t you like to visit too?’
‘Lola, listen …’
‘And Dom lives there,’ Lola interrupts. ‘So you could go and see his house, like he offered last night. Come on, Mum. Please?’
My mind goes blank. Of course we can’t stay. And we especially can’t go to a commemoration for Salvo on the mazzeri’s darkest night. But on zero hours’ sleep, I can’t work out how to explain this rationally. ‘No, we need to go home,’ I mutter.
‘God, Mum, can we not at least talk about it? It’s my birthday week remember, my eighteenth. And Patrick was telling me about a windsurf competition that’s held on a beach near here, Pian something. It’s on Saturday and it sounds so cool. People come from all over the world to take part apparently, and there are still places in the women’s heats; Patrick checked. I know it’s hard for you, Mum, but Izzy died over twenty years ago. And sorry but don’t you think you owe me? You have put yourself first on almost every one of my birthdays. Isn’t it my turn now?’
‘Um, is everything okay?’
I twist around. Patrick must have finished his phone call because he’s back behind reception, looking at us.
‘Yes, all good,’ Lola say, switching straight back into happy mode. ‘Sorry. I’m ready if you are? See you later, Mum.’
Patrick nods quickly, then avoids making eye contact with me as he walks around the front desk. Lola also won’t look at me, but she finds a smile for Patrick as he falls in step beside her. I watch on helplessly as they walk into the restaurant together. And then I panic as I see Anna walking in the opposite direction – I can’t deal with her right now. I almost trip over my feet in my effort to get away, then dive into the hotel shop before she notices me.
‘Good morning,’ the assistant says, with a bright smile. I nod dumbly, then shuffle down the aisle, as far away as possible. I feel sweaty and nauseous. I need to calm down. Find some space to think.
Yes, Lola deserves to choose what she does for her birthday. And I know the competition she means – it’s been held on Piantarella beach for decades and would be an amazing opportunity for her. She’s right that I should have moved on from Izzy’s death too.
But she doesn’t know about the mazzeri dream I had the night before Izzy died, or the one that Lola featured in, in the dark gloom of Gatwick Airport’s car park. And she doesn’t know about the note.
Should I tell her everything? If I do, I risk Lola thinking I’m crazy, just like all those doctors have thought over the years. But if I don’t tell her, she’ll never understand why I hate this place so much. She’ll continue to believe I’m pathetic, or selfish, unwilling to do the work to put my daughter first.
My whole body feels weak and my stomach churns.
No, it’s too difficult a decision to make when my brain is fried from a night of insomnia. I need to get some sleep first. Then maybe things will be clearer, easier to deal with. Lola is having breakfast with Patrick. It’s daytime. Of course she’s safe. If I take a sleeping pill, maybe two, I’ll black out for a few hours. And then I can work out what to do for the best later.
I walk back towards the shop entrance. But then I stop. Stare. The shop assistant is talking to me but it’s like her voice is underwater, stretched and muffled. All I can do is hold my breath. Stare at the picture on sale for fifteen hundred euros.
And wonder how the hell one of my paintings has ended up in the Hotel Paoli gift shop.
