Page 73 of Someone in the Water
Lola bites the inside of her cheek. Her travel documents should be here. And even though she hasn’t decided whether to leave Corsica today or not, their absence makes her feel uncomfortable. Trapped even. ‘The email from the British consulate in Marseille said they would arrive yesterday.’
Anna’s smile tightens. ‘This is Corsica, I’m afraid. Not France, and certainly not the UK. It works to a different concept of time. I’m sure they’ll arrive soon.’
‘But the paperwork was sent on twenty-four-hour recorded delivery,’ Lola says as politely as she can. ‘Surely twenty-four hours is the same everywhere?’
Anna gives her a hard stare but then her eyes glisten and she lets out an unsteady sigh. ‘Look, all I know is that they’re not here. You’re welcome to use the computer again if you’d like to contact the consulate.’ Anna gestures towards the office door. Lola gives her a halfway grateful smile, then sidles behind the reception desk and into the office.
Lola soon realises that contacting someone at the consulate is not very easy. Every hyperlink takes her to another list of frequently asked questions, or an online contact form – which she does complete, but without much hope for a response. The delivery status on her account doesn’t help either because that’s marked as complete. And the only phone number she can find starts with 0800, which, if it’s anything like the UK, will gobble up her new credit in seconds. Feeling defeated, she notes down the number and closes the website. She’ll call the consulate from her mum’s phone instead.
But before she leaves, she decides to check her emails, and when she sees a new one from Nicole Bassot, her face burns crimson. Shit. She’d almost forgotten about the email she sent to Izzy’s mother, listing all the suspects in her very own ‘who killed Izzy’ true crime drama. She feels so stupid now. She turns her head slightly, as though that might help lessen the impact of the email, then clicks to open it.
Dear Lola,
Thank you for owning up to who you really are – I try not to hold a grudge against your mother, and I definitely don’t hold one against you. Thank you also for confiding in me about your suspicions, although they were quite shocking to me. You see, one of the names you mention is familiar. There is a chance it is a coincidence, or unrelated to Isobel’s death, but if you have your doubts too, perhaps not.
I would love to talk to you about this. Could you call me when you get a chance? My number is 00 33 4 48 20 16.
Thank you, Lola.
Nicole
Lola leans back in the office chair, her head buzzing. Does Izzy’s mum have a clue that will tell her who Izzy’s – and possibly, probably, Archie’s – killer is?
And if so, which one of the suspects on Lola’s list is Nicole referring to?
A burst of adrenaline rushes through her and, without giving herself time to question it, Lola taps the number into her phone and presses to call. But as she listens to the flat European ringing tone, the thump of her heart grows louder. This is Izzy’s mum she’s about to speak to. The grieving mother who has blamed Lola’s own mum for nearly a quarter of a century.
The call clicks into voicemail, and she experiences a storm-level wave of relief. ‘Oh, hi,’ she mumbles. ‘This is Lola, from Hotel Paoli. Sorry not to reach you,’ she lies. ‘Anyway, I probably shouldn’t have called. Never mind.’ She quickly ends the call, then closes down her email account. She feels exposed suddenly. As though the killer – whoever it is – is going to burst into the room with avendetta corseand stab her. She pushes out of the chair with sweaty palms and half-runs towards the door.
When she opens it, she sees Patrick behind the reception desk. Her heart rate slows, then races again as he turns to face her. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey,’ she returns, trying to act normal, even though her head is about to explode.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes, no, I think so.’ She breathes. ‘My travel documents haven’t turned up. I’m trying to make sense of it.’
‘Sorry, Corsican post isn’t known for its reliability.’
Lola nods. ‘That’s what your mum said. I guess that’s what it is.’
‘How about I take your mind off it? I’m free from eleven ’til five today. Do you fancy coming out on the catamaran with me?’
‘Won’t the guests want to use it?’ She’s playing for time. On one hand, sailing with Patrick is exactly how she wants to spend her day. On the other, her travel documents are AWOL, her mum is getting threatening notes, and it seems that she’s opened a hornet’s nest in a yoga studio in Lille.
‘I checked the log; no one’s booked it. And their loss …’
‘Is our gain,’ Lola mutters on autopilot.
But Patrick grins, taking that as her acceptance. ‘Meet me on the beach at eleven thirty?’
Lola smiles back. His enthusiasm is contagious. ‘Okay, yes, great,’ she hears herself say. Then she gives him a quick wave, steels herself, and heads into the restaurant.
She sees her mum before Frankie notices her. Her face is pinched, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She’s drinking a cup of coffee, with both hands on the white porcelain and elbows resting on the table, like the cup is too heavy for her to hold without support. Guilt flares up. Lola knows her insistence on staying is making things a hundred times worse for her mum. But Frankie’s life has been messed up for over twenty years. Is running away again really the answer?
And anyway, what choice do they have without Lola’s new travel documents?
She walks over to her mum’s table and sinks into the chair opposite. Frankie squeezes her hand, and she gives her a smile in return. Then she tells her.
