Page 64 of Someone in the Water
‘Yeah, or it might have been Salvo, and he’s dead,’ she whispers back. ‘Or Dom and he only ever meant to hurt Izzy.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Listen, I promise to keep my head down, not mention that night again. I came here so that you could put the past behind you, so let’s do just that.’
‘No, Lola. We are leaving tom—’
‘Why do you never listen?!’ Lola interrupts, throwing her arms in the air, then twisting off the bar stool. ‘Do you know what? I’m done. I’ve got over a grand in my bank account. I might not have a working bank card right now, but I can make online transfers. I’m sure someone here will sub me some cash, and book a flight for me, if I give them the money for it. Which means you can go. Hide away again.’
‘Lola, please don’t.’
‘Goodnight, Mum.’
I watch Lola walk away in anger for the third time in one day. Tears well in my eyes because this is the worst of them. No chance to make up before bedtime.
I finish my drink and lower the glass onto the bar.
‘Can I get you another?’
I look at Patrick and manage a weak smile. ‘It’s very tempting, thanks, but I think I’ve had enough.’ I hesitate, then continue, even though I don’t know why I need to explain myself. ‘I guess this is the second time you’ve seen Lola and I argue today. You must think we have a terrible relationship.’
He looks guarded, like he’s already chosen his side. But then his features soften. ‘Lola told me at breakfast how hard it is for you to be here. After everything that happened. She cares a lot about you.’
I can’t speak, but I nod and manage a half-smile. Then I push off the barstool and head for the stairs. As I walk towards my room, I sense a shadow shift in my peripheral vision. It unnerves me and I twist to see who it is, but I’m too late – they’ve disappeared down the stairs.
But I’m being silly – it will just be another guest heading to the bar. And yet, my instincts know differently because when I open my door I look straight down at the floor. And that same intuition means I’m not completely shocked when I see a new note lying there.
But that changes when I read the words. I push my hand against my mouth to dull the sound of the scream escaping, and I drop to the ground. But I can’t drag my eyes away.
Guesswho I dreamed about last night, mazzera?
But who will die first? Mother or daughter?
Un, deux, trois, quatre …
Lola
29th July
Lola murmurs a few swear words as she looks over towards reception. She was hoping that Patrick would be behind the desk, but it’s Anna. Anna who Lola still can’t imagine getting her hair wet when she swims, never mind dragging a young woman under water. Although for some reason, that doesn’t make her any less scary.
She takes a breath and walks over. ‘Um, morning. Patrick said I could use the computer in the office again. I was hoping to check my emails, see whether my travel documents have been sent yet.’ While she wouldn’t admit it to her mum in the bar, last night’s dinner did rattle her. Not enough to convince her they need to leave Corsica. But knowing it’s possible suddenly feels important.
Anna looks pensive as she glances at the closed office door. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Just give me a minute.’ She disappears into the office, then returns moments later, more relaxed. ‘She’s all yours.’
Lola slips around the reception desk and into the office, pulling the door closed behind her. The desk is clear except for an old-fashioned telephone made of yellowing plastic and a boxy computer and keyboard. When she used it on Sunday to apply for her emergency travel documents, she had Raphael watching over her. It’s a relief to have the place to herself this morning.
She opens her email account. There are two official-looking messages from the British consulate in Marseille, both sent yesterday, the first confirming that her documents had been produced, and the second that they’d been posted out. That means they should arrive today. Relief settles over her and she turns towards the window, as though the postman might suddenly appear. But there’s just a gardener digging up weeds and a topless man in too-short shorts doing shuttle runs up and down the drive. She turns her attention back to the screen.
There are loads more unread emails. Mainly marketing ones which she deletes without opening. There’s one from her school about A level results day next month, and a good luck note from Southampton University. The emails from the various water sports clubs she’s involved with make her pause. Home feels so far away right now.
She’s just about to close her account down when a new email pops up in her inbox. She feels a burst of adrenaline as she looks at the name. Nicole Bassot. She’s not sure why she filled in the yoga studio’s contact form in the library yesterday. Maybe because she had time to spare before meeting Patrick. Or perhaps because the raw grief in Nicole’s blogpost got to her. Either way, she hadn’t expected a response. Why would Nicole care that a stranger wanted to pass on her condolences?
But it looks like she does.
Dear Lola,
Thank you for your kind message, and for giving me an opportunity to practise my English. I think of Isobel every day, and it is comforting to know that people are still finding out about her story. I had no idea that the hotel had a plaque made in her honour – although they do owe her that and much more. It sounds like you are enjoying your sailing teacher job there, but please be careful.
Lola squirms in the chair. She didn’t want to mention her mum in her message to Nicole – at the very least, the girl who survived when her own daughter didn’t – so she had to make up a reason for knowing about Izzy’s death. A plaque in the hotel was the first thing that jumped into her head. But then she worried that Nicole might have visited the hotel, so she put the plaque in the staff accommodation. Which meant giving herself a fictional job. Why she chose the same job that Izzy did is harder to explain. She pushes hair away from her forehead – already sticky with sweat – and continues reading.
I try very hard to find peace in Isobel’s passing. I have learned to accept that she made the wrong choice that night – like we all have the capacity to do – and so was partly to blame for the tragic consequences. But there was another girl in the water with her who I understand put her own wellbeing before Isobel’s life. I try not to blame her, but it is a daily struggle.
