Page 12 of Someone in the Water

Frankie

I walk inside the accommodation block still thinking about my conversation with Salvo. His talk of vengeance and violence has unsettled me, and it doesn’t help that I’m still only wearing my damp swimming costume.

But those thoughts melt away when I push open my bedroom door because Izzy is dancing around the small space between our beds, with a fifty-euro note between her teeth.

‘What the hell?’

Izzy whips the note out and thrusts it at me. ‘Where have you been?’ she demands. ‘I’ve been waiting ages.’

‘For what? And what’s with the cash?’

‘I’m going to take you out for dinner, and I’m starving, so come on.’ Then she pauses, narrows her eyes. ‘Why are you carrying wet clothes?’

‘One of Dom’s practical jokes,’ I explain grimly. ‘But more importantly, why are you taking me to dinner?’

Izzy flicks the note. ‘Got a nice tip, and before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with the kid’s dad. But if you’re not ready to go in ten minutes, I might have to find someone else to impress with pizza and house rosé.’

‘Okay, okay!’ Izzy’s energy proves to be infectious as I race down to the shower block, wash the salt out of my hair in record time – silently thanking my grieving self for the dramatic hair chop – and throw on a white cotton dress that contrasts nicely with my deepening tan.

Exactly nine and a half minutes after Izzy laid down her challenge, I’m ready. But we pause when we bump into Jack and Archie in the doorway of the accommodation block on our way out.

‘Oooh, you look nice,’ Archie says. ‘Going anywhere special?’

‘An intimate dinner for two,’ Izzy offers, looking at Archie first, then Jack. ‘On me.’

‘Izzy had a bit of a windfall.’

‘Lucky Izzy,’ Jack drawls, that now familiar smirk back. ‘Well, have fun, ladies.’

Jack starts to move away, but Archie rests his hand on Jack’s arm to stop him. ‘Maybe we could all meet up after your dinner?’ he suggests. ‘At Henri’s for a few drinks?’

‘That sounds—’ I start.

‘You’re not suggesting gatecrashing a girls’ night out, are you, Archie?’ Izzy interrupts, raising her eyebrows.

‘Come on, Arch, we can have a boys’ night instead,’ Jack offers.

Archie sighs, then lifts his hands in surrender.

I mouth an apology at him before Izzy whisks me away.

It would have been nice to meet up with the boys later – one to chat with, the other to covertly ogle – and I also can’t help thinking that if Izzy made more of an effort with them, they might be friendlier with her.

But knowing that Izzy wants me all to herself tonight feels like a compliment too. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

‘There’s this pizzeria on the way to town,’ Izzy explains. ‘It’s all open air – even the kitchen – and I really want to try it out.’

‘Sounds cool.’ I think about it for a moment. ‘But if it’s completely open, how do they deal with security?’

‘That’s just it, they can’t. But nothing ever gets nicked. You know why? Because it’s owned by one of the big Corsican mafia families. So no one dares.’

‘I thought the whole mafia thing was consigned to history now,’ I say, testing Salvo’s claim.

‘You’re joking, right? The mafia are huge here. They reckon that percentage-wise, there are more mafioso in Corsica than in Sicily.’

I frown, wonder again why Salvo did such a whitewashing job. Or maybe Izzy is exaggerating.

‘It’s cool though, if you think about it,’ Izzy goes on. ‘Because instead of causing crime, they’re stopping it. Like the police, but actually effective.’

‘I guess the threat of a horse’s head turning up on your doorstep is a pretty good deterrent,’ I murmur.

Izzy bursts out laughing, and the sound makes me smile.

‘Come on, let’s get a cab. Then we’ll be there in five minutes. My treat.’

Fifteen minutes later, we’re sat at a table for two in a restaurant with no walls, just a collection of terraces on different levels and fairy lights strung like washing lines above our heads.

‘Cheers,’ Izzy says, clinking her glass of rosé against mine, the open bottle in an ice bucket at the side of our table.

‘I’m so glad you came out to Hotel Paoli.

I mean, I’ve tried to make friends with the others, but they don’t want to know.

I think it’s a xenophobic thing, Brits sticking together, but it’s different with you.

I feel like we’re destined to be best friends. Is that a weird thing to say?’

I think about my own mix of British and Corsican heritage, which I still haven’t mentioned because that would mean talking about my dad, and I’m not sure I’m ready.

In truth, I don’t imagine the others care in the slightest about Izzy’s nationality, but I can’t help feeling grateful that she’s singled me out for special attention.

‘Not weird at all,’ I say, taking a sip of wine, and then another.

‘I feel the same way to be honest.’ I twist the stem of the wine glass between my fingers, then take another mouthful – Dutch courage – and decide it’s time to confide in Izzy.

‘The thing is, finding you does feel like good timing, because I kind of need a friend at the moment.’

‘Oh?’ Izzy’s face grows curious.

‘My dad died three months ago, and I guess I’ve been feeling a bit vulnerable.’

I wait for Izzy to dish out the usual condolences, but instead she widens her eyes, and a grin spreads across her face.

What the fuck? She quickly drags the corners down with her fingers, but the damage is done.

I look away, my cheeks burning. Why the hell did I tell her?

I’ve only known her a few weeks. And why is she grinning like the Cheshire cat?

‘Shit, sorry,’ Izzy says. ‘It must look like I’m happy about your dad dying.’

I feel that familiar sting of tears again. I gulp down my wine and reach for the bottle. Ice-cold water drips on my arm as I refill my glass.

‘Because that’s not it,’ Izzy goes on. ‘Of course it isn’t. I only look happy because it explains why we feel so connected.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’

‘The thing is my dad died too.’

I look up. ‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’

But Izzy wafts my condolences away. ‘It was thirteen years ago, half a lifetime, but that will be why we feel like kindred spirits. We’ve been through the same thing.’ She picks up her glass and clinks it gently against mine. ‘We were clearly destined to meet each other.’

A waiter arrives with our pizzas, and I breathe in the smell of bubbling cheese as he lays down our plates. He gives me a pizza wheel, and after checking how Izzy uses it, I cut my pizza into eight slices.

‘You know, you’re the second person to talk about destiny this evening,’ I say, after devouring my first two slices.

‘Please don’t tell me Dom said you were destined for each other. I swear that guy fancies you, and it would be just like him to use the cheesiest line ever.’

‘Dom? If he fancies me, he has a weird way of showing it. And no, it was Salvo actually.’

Izzy scrunches her nose. ‘Why were you talking to that old dinosaur?’

I hesitate for a moment. But I’ve already told Izzy my biggest secret. ‘Well, he was friends with my dad actually.’

Now it’s Izzy’s turn to look shocked. ‘Really? How?’

‘They grew up together,’ I explain. ‘I’m half Corsican, you see. But my dad moved to England when he was twenty-two, and didn’t meet my mum until fifteen years later, so he was pretty much an anglophile by then.’

‘But he stayed in touch with Salvo all that time,’ she muses. ‘They must have been really close at some stage.’

‘No, they hadn’t spoken for years, but they started writing to each other after my dad got his diagnosis. I only met Salvo at the funeral, and that’s when he offered me a job.’

‘Wow. Another “who you know” recruit,’ Izzy mumbles.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. Did your dad know Raphael too?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I guess he knew of him through Salvo’s letters. It’s funny, finding out that my dad had this past that I was clueless about. And not being able to ask him about it anymore.’ My chest tightens. I take a gulp of wine to loosen it.

‘That’s Corsicans for you. A secretive bunch.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Izzy takes a long sip of her wine, her head tilted back for what feels like forever. Finally, she lowers her glass back down. ‘No reason. But I’d steer clear of Salvo if I were you.’

‘But you must have a reason,’ I push, the Dutch courage still doing its thing.

But Izzy just sighs and gives me a sympathetic look.

‘Sadly, not everyone is as trustworthy as you, Frankie. But don’t worry; you’ve got me to look out for you now.’