Page 63 of Someone in the Water
Jack’s face sours. ‘There were heaps of people looking by then. And I’d just had a shower; I didn’t want to get dirty again. Is that all right with you?’
Lola nods in response, then looks at her mum’s stricken face. Maybe it is time to drop the conversation. But she can’t help thinking that a shower gives Jack the perfect excuse for having wet hair.
Frankie
28th July
I swill the Amaretto around the cubes of ice in my glass. I haven’t drunk neat spirits for years, but I need it this evening after that dinner. The old-fashioned way to knock myself out.
‘That was intense,’ Lola murmurs beside me, nursing her own alcoholic drink – a rum and Coke. ‘But I guess it shows that there are multiple people who could have killed Izzy. Do you see that now too?’
I turn to look at Lola sitting next to me at the bar. She looks pale – shellshocked – and it reminds me that she’s still a child really. From the moment I confessed, she’s been desperate to convince me that someone other than Izzy pulled at my leg that night, but it seems that it’s only now that she has realised what that means. That there might actually be a killer amongst us.
And Lola doesn’t even know about the note. I can’t tell her – it will freak her out for a start. But more than that, she’ll want to know what it says, and that would bring questions I don’t want to answer. I’m sane enough to know the note is guesswork, not magic. But after everything that happened with Izzy, how can I just ignore it? When the sun’s shining, and I’m skimming across the sea on a water-ski, it’s easy to think I’m strong enough to ride this storm. But now, with black skies, and the bitter taste of that dinner. I just want to go home.
‘Mum?’ Lola nudges, pulling me back to the question. ‘What do you think?’
I sigh. ‘Sorry, but I really don’t know.’
‘Dom was already in the sea,’ Lola reminds me quietly. ‘And Jack was lurking around the beach with wet hair. And no one seems to know when Raphael got in the water, so maybe he was already there. And where was Anna? Or Raphael’s father, Salvo? His own brother was gunned down in some mafia feud apparently and he owned a fishing boat. From how you describe the scene, either of them could have got out of the water further up the beach without anyone noticing. There are so many suspects.’
I take a mouthful of the Amaretto, feel the bitter almond taste hit the back of my throat. ‘It takes a certain kind of person to be a killer, a very rare kind of person.’ My words bring an image of Jack. The man who set fire to his home with his family inside. He told Izzy that he was in town on the night Archie died. At least, that’s what Izzy told me. But Dom said he saw Jack with Archie at 2 a.m., so that can’t be true. I can’t believe I only found that out tonight, but I guess Dom and I were past communicating by then.
If Dom’s right, it means that Jack was the last person to see Archie alive, not me. All this time, Jack has blamed me for not giving Archie the emotional support he needed. And now I find out that it was Jack who let him down. And lied about it.
They were playfighting.But were they? Or did Dom witness a real fight?
Nausea swirls in my belly and I tense my muscles to contain it. The police called Archie’s death suicide as soon as they found him. But the police clearly like to jump to conclusions. How hard is it to tell the difference between hanging yourself and being hanged by someone else? Panic starts to edge into my chest. There’s only one person who links both Izzy and Archie’s deaths: Jack. They both knew his secret.
And so do I.
Is twenty-one years long enough to prove that I can keep my mouth shut? That I’m not a threat to Jack’s freedom?
‘Maybe whoever it was didn’t set out to kill Izzy, like I said before,’ Lola continues, not hiding the hope in her voice. The need to believe we’re not in danger. ‘You were all drunk. It could easily have been a joke gone wrong.’
‘It didn’t feel like a joke,’ I can’t help whispering. The memory is too strong. Being dragged underwater. The absolute terror I felt in that moment.
Lola’s face cracks for a moment, then straightens as she sits up taller. She reaches out, her expression now resigned, and I feel a gentle fizz as her hand touches my arm. ‘I think someone tried to kill you, Mum,’ she murmurs. ‘They didn’t succeed, but they did kill your friend. And because you’ve been so blinded by guilt, they’ve gotten away with it for all this time.’
I look at Lola. For years I’ve convinced myself that the intense force of that pull was a sign of Izzy’s desperation. But in truth, how can a young woman struggling for her life have that kind of strength?
Someone else was in the water that night.
Then I think about the note. Someone is clearly trying to scare me away, and Lola has just asked a dozen questions about that night at dinner – in front of every one of the possible suspects. I need to get us both out of here. Urgently. But that means persuading Lola to leave.
‘If that’s true,’ I say. ‘Then we really shouldn’t be here.’
Lola narrows her eyes, then looks away.
‘If Izzy was killed, like you say,’ I go on. ‘Then that means it might not be safe for us here. Especially with you bringing up Izzy’s death at every opportunity.’ I reach out for Lola, but she has moved too far away. ‘We could come back another time, to a different hotel, visit Sartène, maybe bring Grams too.’
Lola clicks her tongue. ‘But I don’t want to go,’ she says, her voice quiet but steely. ‘It’s not right that we should be scared away when we’ve done nothing wrong. I came here because I wanted you to realise that you shouldn’t feel guilty, and now you’re twisting things to get us to run away.’
‘Lola.’
‘Listen, my birthday is Friday,’ Lola says, her voice suddenly needling. ‘And the windsurf competition is Saturday. Your room here is free until Sunday, so let’s just stay here until then. Please, Mum? I’ll be careful and it’s only a few days.’
I look at her imploring eyes. I love this girl so much and I hate disappointing her. But it’s too much of a risk. ‘No, I’m sorry, we can’t. There could be a murderer here,’ I say quietly.
