Page 41 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

‘You sweet-talking son of a bitch.’ Jez whistled admiringly.

‘It was the snakebite talking,’ said Alex.

Jez handed him another can. ‘Well let it talk, brother,’ he said, as they all flopped down on the sagging sofas.

‘Listen, Alex, were you being serious about not wanting to be in a band? From what we saw downstairs, I think that would be a waste.’ Pete nodded seriously. ‘If you came on board with us, we’d have a right laugh.’ Jez popped the ring-pull on his can. ‘Together we’ll conquer the world!’ Pete and Gavin hooted in agreement.

Alex hesitated for a moment, then held up his can. ‘Well then, count me in.’

The other three glanced at each other, then leapt at Alex, squashing him into the creaking sofa, yelling and spraying him with beer, until they heard a loud thumping coming from the floor above. Grinning, Alex pushed them off and wiped the beer from his face.

He’d heard that Manchester was the place to be.

He had a feeling that from tonight, life was finally going to get better.

14

May 1991

Grace sprinted for the line. Lunging forward, dipping her shoulders, she shot across, her feet and arms pumping in perfect harmony. Looking up, she saw the time on the scoreboard – a new world record! Her feet thudded to a stop and she leant forward, resting her hands on her knees. As she came to the end of a run, she liked to imagine herself in the final lap of a big race to push herself just that bit harder. Silly, but effective.

Grace’s arms were slimmer, her tanned legs more defined and shapely from a month of morning runs along the sand of Four Mile Beach, Port Douglas’ longest stretch of sand. Any last hint of puppy fat had been rubbed away by a bout of food poisoning in Thailand, swiftly followed by the healthy living she had taken up in Australia. Although it was the Queensland winter, and not yet eight in the morning, it was already twenty degrees, and drops of sweat were running down her face. Enough for today, she thought, flopping down on to the soft sand where the headland rose, curving away to spray-dashed rocks.

She looked out towards the Coral Sea, twinkling silver in the morning light. Over the horizon it blended with the Pacific Ocean, and beyond that was South America, over six thousand miles away. She allowed herself a smile as she reflected that she was as far away from London as it was possible to be without going to the moon. That, of course, was part of the appeal of Australia. Not the only one, of course: she loved the weather, the ‘no worries’ attitude; she even loved the way that while she was greeting a new day with a jog along the beach, in England it was still yesterday. She was separated by time and space – and that was just fine with Grace. She had been out of London nine months and had no plans to return, despite telling her parents that she just wanted a gap year after her degree and before she joined Ash Corp. And, yes, she was sad about not starting her MA at Oxford, but it was worth it.

Brushing the sand off her legs, she returned to the whitewashed clapboard cottage she called home.

‘God, you weren’t out for a run again, were you?’ asked Caro, her flatmate, as Grace came down after her shower.

Caro’s short platinum hair was sticking up at all angles and she was sitting hunched over a cup of coffee. The previous night they’d both been out to the Cross Arms hotel, the white colonial edifice on the esplanade, but Grace had left her friend surrounded by men and half-empty bottles; no surprise she was feeling rough.

‘You should have come with me,’ smiled Grace. ‘That would have blown the cobwebs away.’

‘Some guy with a nose ring did that for me.’ Caro smirked. ‘Dan? Stan? Dunno, but he just left.’

‘So that was the noise in the middle of the night. I thought it was a pack of dingoes.’

Grace had met Caro, a Kiwi from a small town in the South Island, in her first week in Thailand, when they were both staying in a small backpackers’ flop-house in Krabi. She was as streetwise as an alley-cat with a knack for seeking out all the coolest places to be. Instantly admiring Caro’s carefree attitude, Grace joined her on the boat to Koh Phi Phi, going on to Bali, Australia’s Sunshine Coast, finally washing up on the tropical shore of northern Queensland.

Reluctantly, Caro made herself presentable and they both left the house to head into the town. Ten years ago, Port Douglas had been a sleepy fishing village full of locals and the occasional backpacker, but the construction of a large glossy marina a few years before had brought yachts, and with them came upmarket hotel groups, and smart restaurants. The two girls had spent the last four months working on the Highlander, a sixty-foot catamaran that transported tourists to the Low Isles, a group of small sandbanks thirty miles to the east where they could snorkel and dive.

‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ Caro said as they walked down Macrossan Street, the main thoroughfare sprinkled with cafés and surf-style clothes shops.

‘What?’

‘I’m thinking of moving on,’ she said.

‘You’re joking.’

‘It’s getting too touristy around here,’ she said, crinkling up her nose. ‘And I’m not sure how many more prawn buffets I can serve up on the Highlander. I’m supposed to be a vegetarian,

fer Chrissakes.’

‘Where are you thinking of going?’

‘Ah, dunno. India maybe? Fancy coming with me?’

Grace kept quiet. She had built such a happy life for herself here, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to leave it.