Page 85 of Someone in the Water
‘Of course.’
‘But I don’t want anyone delving into our past. That’s our family’s business, no one else’s.’
‘And family is everything,’ Patrick murmurs, partly to his dad, partly as a reminder for himself.’
‘Shit,’ Raphael mutters. ‘I think Frankie’s gone.’
‘What? Already?’ It’s a deviation from the plan. Patrick feels sweat trickle down his neck. He looks over at Lola, thinks about how protective Frankie is of her – guilt perhaps, for dreaming of her daughter dying.
‘You said she’s going to the police tomorrow?’ Raphael says, failing to hide his growing fear. ‘It’s fine; I’ll find her. Anna will know where she’s gone.’
‘I better go,’ Patrick says. A burst of adrenaline, maybe anxiety, is making him itch to finish the phone call.
But Raphael won’t let him. ‘Hang on, what about Lola? If she knows all this stuff too …’
‘Don’t worry about Lola,’ Patrick says quietly. He thinks about his grandfather again, what the old man asked of him before he died. His eyes begin to burn, and he closes them until they cool down. Then he flicks up his eyelids, looks at the tangles of vines, the winery in the distance. ‘I know what to do with her.’
Frankie
1st August
I drop my phone into my lap – Lola’s number is still going straight to voicemail – and silently scream at Dom to speed up. He’s already chosen the wrong road twice, and I’m struggling not to let my frustration show. I need to remember he’s doing me a favour. And more than that, if I lose my grip now, I might never get it back. The car dips into another pothole and I tip forward.
‘Sorry,’ Dom says. ‘Road maintenance isn’t really a thing in Sartène.’
‘Are we close?’ I ask. I am still praying that Lola is fine, just doing something romantic with Patrick. But someone has threatened to kill her. And Jack’s disappeared. And that fucking dream. The bleeding eagle owl. I drop my head into my hands, scratch my forehead.
‘Yes,’ Dom says. ‘The vines run all the way down to the river, but the main entrance is at the end of this road up here.’
I stare at the lines of grapevines, their mangled branches twisting and coiling around each other, and it makes me shudder. Finally, we reach a set of iron gates. Dom jumps out of the car and pushes them open. Then he climbs back in and drives down an even narrower road towards a big stone building.
I get out of the car so fast that I almost fall over, but then I pause. Where first? There are no signs of life in the winery – the shutters are all closed and there’s no light seeping between the cracks. But the vineyard is vast.
‘Do you want to try calling her again?’ Dom asks, the enormity of the task clearly evident for him too.
I shake my head, trying to hold the tears back. ‘No, I’ve tried too many times. Her phone must be out of power.’
‘Do you have Patrick’s number?’
Fuck, why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t I get his number from Anna? ‘They left just before us,’ I say instead. ‘They can’t be that far away.’ I look back at the winery. ‘You check in there,’ I say. ‘And I’ll start walking through the vines.’
‘Are you sure?’ Dom asks. ‘I don’t know how I feel about you being out there on your own.’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Call me if you find them.’ I set off down the path. With the sky clear, the moon gives me enough light to see by, and I walk quickly. There are vines on one side and a fence on the other, the river beyond. I want the sound of the water to calm me, but I’m too tense, too panicked.
‘Lola!’ I call out. ‘Lola!’
A sound echoes back, but it’s not human. The call of a bird. I look up and see a huge bird of prey flying overhead, each of its wings a metre long, their underside pure white. I can’t catch my breath as I watch it disappear into the distance. Was that an eagle owl? No, it can’t be. I’m too tired, too scared. I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
Suddenly I sense movement between the grapevines. I whip my head side to side. ‘Lola?’ I say again, quieter, less certain. ‘Is that you?’
The sound stops. I swallow, take a few steps into the vines. My heart is pounding so much that it’s ringing in my ears.
Suddenly the sky darkens. A cloud must have passed in front of the moon. Out of some instinctive fear, I lower down onto my haunches, let the vines hide me. My breathing is short and ragged, and when the light returns, I almost cry with relief.
But the feeling is short-lived when I stand up.
‘Hello, Frankie.’
