Page 70 of Someone in the Water
‘No, it’s my fault,’ she says. ‘I was … someplace else.’
Patrick nods. ‘Want another drink?’
‘Sure. But maybe a glass of wine this time, otherwise you’ll be carrying me out.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind that.’ He smiles, and his eyes shine, and despite everything, Lola smiles back, but it’s a weaker one than he deserves.
‘Hey, Vincent, can I get two glasses of rosé?’ he calls out.
They watch in silence as the barman prepares their drinks, then when he puts the glasses in front of them, Patrick clinks his against Lola’s.
‘Listen, is everything okay?’ Patrick asks. ‘You look …’
‘I’m fine,’ Lola interrupts. She knows she sounds abrupt and winces slightly, but Patrick nods.
‘I texted you a couple of times.’
‘Sorry. I’ve been busy.’ Why is she being so short with him? Whatever the truth is about what happened twenty-one years ago, none of it is Patrick’s fault. She looks down at her hands in her lap, and with a swell of horror, realises that she’s about to cry.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ Patrick asks gently.
She nods, but jams her lips together. She loves that he’s picked up on her fragile mood. But also, his thoughtfulness has brought her tears even closer to the surface.
‘Come on, let’s go.’ Patrick curls his fingers around hers, then leads her past the swimming pool and onto the sand. He sinks down, pulling her with him. Lola wonders if he’s going to kiss her, and if he does, whether she’ll return it. Whether his touch can make her forget about the notes, or even that one of his parents could have written them. But instead, he pulls his trainers off and waits for her to do the same. When they’re both barefoot, he pulls her up again and guides her down to the water’s edge.
Lola digs her toes into the cold sand.
‘I don’t want to pry, but if something’s wrong, I hope you feel you can trust me with it,’ Patrick says quietly. ‘I saw your mum earlier and she looked upset too. I want to help.’
Lola stares out to sea. The sun has disappeared behind the mountains, but it’s casting a fiery pink glow across the sky and the colourful light is reflecting on the rippling waves.
She wants to confide in Patrick. She needs to talk to someone, and at least there’s no way he could have been involved in Izzy’s death. But he is also Raphael and Anna’s son. If she tells him about the notes, will he talk to them? Where would his loyalties lie? He has nothing good to say about his father, but blood is thicker than water – isn’t that how the saying goes?
‘Do you believe in the mazzeri legend?’ she hears herself asking. Patrick was close to his grandfather. Maybe he can explain why Salvo insisted that her mum was a mazzera.
Patrick shifts his face towards her. ‘You mean the folklore about dream hunters?’
‘I heard your grandfather believed in it.’
‘Yes, that’s true. Salvo was a proud Corsican who was born during the ravages of wartime. He had a lot of respect for many aspects of our culture including the mazzeri. But what’s that got to do with whatever’s upset you?’
Lola sighs. ‘Salvo told my mum that she was mazzeri, back in 2004.’
Patrick’s eyes widen. ‘What? Why did he think that?’
Lola sinks onto the sand and draws her knees up to her chin. She senses Patrick drop down next to her. ‘I think he thought she’d inherited it from my grandfather. But it freaked my mum out. And then she had one of those dreams about Izzy,’ she admits in a whisper. ‘The night before Izzy died.’
‘Wow.’ Patrick stares out to sea, as still as a mannequin.
‘But it’s just a fantasy story, isn’t it? LikeStranger ThingsorThe Gruffalo?’
Patrick turns towards her. ‘Of course it is. Corsicans love their gruesome stories, but there’s no actual truth to it.’
‘And Izzy dying the next night is just a coincidence, right?’
‘One hundred per cent. You can’t cause someone’s death by dreaming about it.’ He looks at her quizzically. ‘But you know that, so why are you so worried about this?’
Lola blinks. The tears are threatening again. Without speaking, Patrick shuffles towards her and she feels breathless in the rising heat between their bodies. ‘Mum had the dream about me too,’ she finally whispers. ‘The night before she flew out here.’
