Page 26 of Someone in the Water
It’s one that doesn’t pay off though because he lets out a bitter crack of laughter. ‘I’m Jack.’
He says his name as though it’s an explanation, but Lola doesn’t know what of, or how to respond. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Lola,’ she tries.
But it’s another misstep. His face darkens. ‘That name doesn’t ring any bells?’ he asks. ‘Your mum hasn’t bothered to mention me?’
Lola bites her lip, wishes she’d just taken the rig without asking him anything.
‘The love of my life died, Lola,’ Jack snaps. ‘That’s how bad it was. And the one person who could have saved him was your mum. But she didn’t.’
Frankie
27th July
I sit motionless in the back of the cab, trying to stem the nausea and suffocating memories that are threatening to derail me.
‘Miss?’
I was planning to tell the cab driver to drop me at the end of the drive, so that I could walk up to the front door of Hotel Paoli at my own pace, give myself chance to prepare. But as the cab got closer to the hotel, I found I couldn’t speak, a solid lump of dread like a dam in my throat, and I watched dumbly through the window as the driver swept down the long drive.
‘Um, twenty euros, miss,’ he tries again. ‘You have my fare, yes?’
I grasp for his voice, use it to drag me back to the present. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘Yes, I have it.’ I reach into my shoulder bag, open my wallet with shaking fingers, and pull out a crisp note. I bought the euros at Gatwick Airport along with a cheap phone for Lola. I bought a book too, a romcom to distract me. But I spent most of the flight in that familiar twilight between waking and sleeping.
I hand over the banknote and climb out of the cab. The heavy oak doors have been replaced by sliding glass panes. It looks better, I think, more welcoming, and I use this wisp of optimism to propel myself forwards. A few moments later, I drop my bag in the same spot as I did twenty-one years ago and turn to look at the familiar face behind reception.
‘Hello, Frankie,’ Raphael says. ‘Anna said you were coming.’
I nod, wonder if I can trust my voice. Then I think about why I’m here and clear my throat. ‘Thank you for helping Lola.’
Raphael gives me a stiff nod. ‘I haven’t met her yet. Anna gave her one of the single rooms in the staff block.’
‘That’s kind of Anna, of you both,’ I manage. It sounds like Lola has kept a low profile like I begged her to, which is a relief, but their generosity is unnerving. Raphael was a nice enough boss for a while, until he denounced me as a killer. And Anna’s opinion never veered far from her husband’s.
‘It’s been a long time,’ I continue. ‘But you look well.’ It’s not completely true. Raphael’s swept-back dark hair looks good with streaks of silvery grey, but his dark eyes have faded. His skin has sagged, and he’s developed a small paunch. But of course he will have aged. The memories are still so vivid to me that I forget how much time has passed.
‘Actually, life has been hard recently,’ Raphael says. ‘We buried Salvo on Thursday.’
I draw a sharp intake of breath. Salvo is dead. I feel a weird mix of relief and loss. As though I’m finally free of him, but it’s still a bond broken. ‘I’m sorry,’ I manage.
‘He’s with my mother now. She died a few years ago. And he was eighty-five, so …’ Raphael shrugs as his voice trails off.
Family is everything in Corsica, so I’m surprised by how dismissive he sounds. ‘But life must feel strange here without him,’ I try.
‘Not really. My parents moved back to Sartène a long time ago, soon after you left in fact. Anna and I were so busy dealing with the fallout at the hotel that I barely saw him for the first few years. And relationships need effort, even blood ties. We never quite managed it.’
I think back to my final conversation with Salvo, at the police station after my interview. How I despised his manner – accepting, calm, impassive. Like he didn’t care at all. I can’t imagine he moved away because of what happened.
‘Can I go to the staff block?’ I ask, suddenly desperate to get away from this conversation, to find my daughter and get the hell out of Corsica. ‘Try and track down Lola?’
‘Of course.’ Raphael starts to gesture towards the back of the hotel, but then his eyeline shifts.
‘Frankie, how lovely to see you.’
I twist towards the voice. Anna. Time hasn’t reduced her like it has her husband. In fact, it seems to have had the opposite effect. She’s kept her hair long and blonde and her skin is still smooth and pale despite the Corsican sun. But she was always beautiful; now she radiates confidence too.
‘Hello, Anna,’ I murmur. ‘I really appreciate all your help with Lola.’
‘You don’t think we’d throw a young girl back out onto the streets, do you?’
