Page 77 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

She perched on the edge of the bed and, smiling, slipped her hand under the covers to rub his cock.

‘Oh, I think you can do better than that,’ he said, putting his tea down.

‘Hey, I thought I was going to show you the island,’ she protested.

‘The island’s not going anywhere,’ he smiled.

Two hours later, Miles found himself standing on a pier, watching with fascination as Chrissy jabbered away to an old fisherman in Thai. Whatever was said, it ended with Chrissy handing over a fistful of notes and the little man leading them to a small fishing boat that took them out into the Andaman Sea.

It was a perfect day for a trip across to the outlying islands. The boat scudded across the bright emerald waters, past shanty towns clustered along the shore, washing hanging to dry and herds of long-boats crowding the docks. Chrissy pointed out sea gypsy communities and glittering temples seemingly placed at random. As they got further out to sea, the landscape grew more dramatic, with huge karst rising from the water like giant limestone fingers. Miles closed his eyes as the warm wind whipped through his hair. He was used to travelling in luxury, private jets, de luxe hotels, but the raw natural beauty caught him by surprise.

Finally the boat’s engine chugged to a stop. The captain pulled a battered kayak from beneath a tarpaulin and Chrissy helped him to lift it over the side.

Miles sat at the back of the kayak and followed Chrissy’s lead, raking the green foam first with one paddle, then the other. They ploughed through the water towards the sheer cliffs until he saw a gaping hole in the side of the rock, barely big enough to squeeze through.

‘Open Sesame,’ said Chrissy, turning around to smile at him.

‘We’re going into a cave?’ said Miles incredulously.

‘Come on, rich boy, live a little.’

In seconds they were in an eerie blue-grey darkness, cold and strange after the baking sun of the open sea.

Miles shivered, unnerved by the strange twilight of the cavern, nothing below them but lapping blackened water. Suddenly they slid around a corner and the narrow walls opened out into a cave mouth, cliffs rearing behind them, a cornflower-blue sky above.

‘Holy shit,’ said Miles, truly incredulous. They had passed straight through the wall of the island and into a hidden lagoon. Directly in front of them was a curve of blinding white beach.

At twenty-one, Miles considered himself a man of the world. He had dived off the cliffs in Mexico, skied down treacherous off-piste runs in Whistler, but this was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

‘Pretty cool, huh?’ said Chrissy as they dragged the kayak up the beach. She peeled off her denim shorts and lay on the sand in her black bikini, her legs looking even longer and browner than before.

Laughing, Miles threw himself down next to her and kissed her. ‘Thanks, Chrissy,’ he said.

She looked surprised. ‘What for?’

‘For being different.’

‘Ah, now different I can do,’ she said, reaching for his zip.

It was hot on the beach and the two litre bottles of water they had brought were quickly drunk. Trying to cool off, they swam across the lagoon and tried to climb the rock face, finally giving up in a tangle of screams and laughter. And then they sat on the rocks and fucked again, slowly this time, touching, tasting, enjoying each other’s deepest and most sensitive places. It was one of the best days of Miles Ashford’s life.

When they got back to Patong, Chrissy had gone to work and it had seemed the most natural thing for Miles to hang around her flat, just drinking tea, watching badly dubbed movies on cable and reading Chrissy’s collection of hard-boiled detective fiction. He had dozed off when he heard the click of the door and Chrissy climbed naked into bed beside him, curling herself into the hollow of his body like a cat.

They spent the next day together and the day after that, and the day after that. After a week, Miles stopped paying for the room at the Marriott and moved his bags into Chrissy’s studio and their days fell into an easy routine. By day they would swim, explore the island on scooters and make love in lonely coves off the beaten track; by night, he would smoke dope in her little studio and wait for her to return from work. But slowly, the nightly absences began to get to Miles. He was missing London, his old life and the certainties of his position in the world.

One night it was getting him particularly down. By the time she got home at 4 a.m., he was spoiling for a fight.

‘You still up, baby?’ she said, coming over to kiss his neck. He pushed her away impatiently.

‘Where have you been?’ he snapped.

‘Where do you think?’ she said. ‘At work.’

‘Oh yeah?’ he said petulantly.

‘Miles, what’s going on?’

‘I think you should leave the bar,’ he said flatly.