Page 84 of Someone in the Water
Nicole’s voice trails off, and for a few seconds there’s just breathing. Lola feels the sound crawl over her skin. If Nicole’s right, then Salvowasinvolved with the mafia; it wasn’t just his brother Jean. She thinks about the picture of him in that bar, his weather-hardened face and all-knowing eyes. Patrick is so certain that Salvo was one of the good guys. Did Salvo keep the truth from him? Lola feels the creep-creep of darkness closing in on her. Could Patrick have been lying to her? Lola focuses on the voicemail again.
… As well as culpable in my husband’s death. You know, Isobel knew that Luca and I had argued before his car accident, but I always kept the substance of that argument a secret from her. But if she found out from Salvo, or his son, it would have made her angry. She inherited Luca’s passion, his sense of justice. But if she confronted someone like Salvo, maybe he would have killed her? You see, Salvo called Luca the morning he died to warn him about some crazy dream he’d had. Salvo believed he had this special power, bestowed on him by a Corsican legend, and this dream had told him that Luca was going to die. I know it sounds crazy, and when Luca confided in me, I told him that. But he was scared. He said we must close the restaurant for a while, and he suddenly wanted to go to church. I told him he was being overdramatic, silly, and we argued.
Then he stormed out, and that’s the last time I saw him alive. So yes, I’m to blame for his death, for starting the fight, but so is Salvo for what he said to Luca that day.
Will you call me, Lola? Please?
The voicemail clicks out. Lola lowers the phone. Salvo was part of the Corsican mafia. Izzy had a reason to hate him. And it was Salvo who made her mum feel responsible for Izzy’s death, who broke her resolve and self-belief with stories of strange powers and violent dreams. It’s all so obvious now. It must have been Salvo in the water that night. Of course he could have swum out and back from his fishing boat without anyone noticing.
Patrick adored his grandfather. Has he been wrong about him all this time?
Lola thinks about the notes under her mum’s bedroom door.
Or has she been wrong about Patrick?
Suddenly the weak green light disappears and total blackness returns. Lola pushes on the phone’s start button. And again. But nothing happens. She closes her eyes, feels the slow trickle of salty tears down her face. Her stupid phone has run out of power. And in her black hole, all she can see are horrible images. Salvo slipping underwater. Izzy’s death-white face. Wild animals being chased through forests by hooded warriors.
There’s that noise again but coming from a different direction. Actually, no. It’s a different noise. Rustling, but louder, like a person. ‘Hello?’ she calls out, her voice breaking in that one word. ‘Who’s there?’
Patrick
31st July
‘Papa, it’s me.’
Patrick listens to his father grunt, then shuffle. He will be moving out of somebody’s earshot in the bar, maybe his mother’s, more probably one of Salvo’s old adversaries. As he waits, Patrick stares out at the beautiful view of the vineyard below him and thinks about that letter from his grandfather.If I want to rest in peace when I die, I need to unburden my soul.Is this vineyard Patrick’s reward for taking on that burden? He hopes so.
‘What is it?’ his father finally says. ‘Anna said you left with the British girl?’
‘I did, yes.’ Patrick pauses. He knows this is a gamble, a risk; but a calculated one. And with everything it promises if it works, he needs to give it his best shot. ‘She told me something, about you. I … I don’t know whether to believe it.’
For a while Raphael just breathes. ‘What did she tell you?’ he finally asks.
‘That her mum said you killed Archie.’
Raphael sucks in a breath. ‘What? That’s bullshit,’ he spits out. ‘You didn’t believe her?’
Patrick shifts his eyeline to Lola. She’s staring out at the same view as him. Her arms are wrapped around her body, like she’s cold, and he wants to pull her in for a hug, warm her up. But he needs to do this first. ‘She was quite convincing,’ he says.
‘So you’re trusting a dumb English girl over your own father? How could you be so stupid? Not to mention disloyal. Okay, maybe I’m not the perfect dad, but I’m not a killer, Patrick. You must know that.’
Patrick grinds his heel into the soft soil. ‘She said that her mum saw you carrying a dead body down the beach when she was there drinking with Archie. The same night he died. That you dumped the body in Grandpa’s fishing boat and took it out to sea.’
‘This is all lies,’ his dad growls. ‘She’s a crazy bitch, just like her mother.’
‘And that Archie saw it too,’ Patrick goes on. ‘And you killed him for it.’
Raphael releases a bitter laugh. ‘Your grandfather thought Frankie was mazzeri. Now I know why. She’s good at making up fantasy stories.’
‘Listen, I just wanted to warn you. Lola said that her mum is going to tell the police, tomorrow, and not the local force, but the National Guard up in Bastia.’ Raphael doesn’t respond. Patrick takes that as a good sign and keeps going. ‘Is Frankie still there in the bar with you?’
‘Yeah, she’s talking to Anna.’
‘I mean, I don’t want to tell you what to do, Papa. But maybe you could talk to her, alone. Convince her not to go to the police. You know, just in case they believe her.’
Raphael clicks his tongue down the phone. It reminds Patrick of a cork popping from a wine bottle, and it buoys him. He has come up with a good plan – not failsafe, but good – and so far, it’s working just as he’d hoped.
Raphael clears his throat. ‘Maybe I should. Not because I’m guilty of anything; I assume you know that?’
