Page 29 of Someone in the Water

Frankie

I’m mildly buzzed when I get back to the hotel.

Izzy, Harriet and I worked our way through two bottles of rosé at the waterfalls, each cupful making us feel more confident until we finally persuaded Izzy to jump from the pulse-raiser.

I tried to enjoy myself – forget about Dom’s rejection and live in the moment – but my heart wasn’t really in it, so I was grateful when we packed up and retraced our steps down the path.

‘We should grab some dinner before showering,’ I say. ‘Chefs will clear it away soon and I’m starving.’

‘Good idea,’ Harriet says. ‘Need something to soak up all that water I swallowed. Not to mention the rosé.’

Izzy looks at her watch, then turns to me. ‘Sorry but I’m going to have to run. I’m meeting a friend in half an hour, and I need to get myself ready. I’ll grab something to eat while I’m out.’

‘A friend or a date?’ Harriet asks, tilting her head.

Izzy gives her a sardonic smile, but her cheeks turn a subtle shade of pink. ‘Let’s call it a date with a friend,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I better go.’ She lifts her hand into a wave, then scoots off before I have chance to interrogate her further.

‘That girl cannot be trusted,’ Harriet murmurs. ‘Always talking in riddles.’

‘Because she’s got a date with a friend?

’ I say, shaking my head. My default is always to defend Izzy, but inside, I can’t help feeling hurt that she’s out again without telling me who with.

I thought we shared our secrets, but there’s seems to be an increasing amount that she’s not willing to tell me.

Maybe our friendship isn’t as solid as I thought.

Except it’s Izzy who’s always talking about us being kindred spirits, not me.

‘Come on, let’s eat,’ I mutter, then head towards the door to the staffroom.

Harriet scurries to catch up. ‘No, Izzy can’t be trusted because she won’t tell us who that friend is,’ she says.

‘And she’s happy for a little boy to lose his finger, and she manipulated you into humiliating Dom, and she’s always such a bitch to Jack, and she talks about lying like it’s a competitive sport. ’

I sigh. ‘Look, I’m tired and hungry, so can we just eat?’

Harriet shrugs, like she’s got nothing more to say anyway. We reach the serving table, and stare at the offering. A bowl of radishes, the rind of a brie and a few baguette ends. We take what we can, then fall into one of the tatty sofas to eat.

Twenty minutes later, my hunger has abated just enough for drowsiness to kick in.

It’s only eight o’clock, but it’s been a long day of exercise, alcohol and not enough calories, and I’m pretty sure I could sleep a full twelve hours if I closed my eyes.

Harriet has started talking to one of the barmen who’s on his break, so I just wave goodbye and head outside.

The sun is low as I walk along the beach, and the sea is glowing a pinkish orange under its mellow rays.

The whole vista has a warmth to it, and I try to use it to buoy me.

Whatever Dom said in the water, we did have a conversation before I jumped, and he was kind and thoughtful.

Surely that’s a sign of hope that he might forgive me.

When I get to the accommodation block, I realise I’m enjoying the beach too much to go inside, so I keep walking instead.

Beyond the reach of the hotel, the beach gets quieter, and wilder, with pockets of scrubland and tangles of seaweed sprawled across the sand.

As well as the salt in the sea breeze, I can smell something sweet and floral.

Maybe there are myrtle bushes in the woodland beyond the beach.

I keep walking. It feels much more remote out here, and I jump when I hear the lisped screech of someone whistling through their fingers. It’s hard to see who it is because the sun is so low that it’s blinding, but I can just make out the silhouette of a man at the water’s edge.

‘Hey, Frankie!’

The silhouette waves but more than that, I recognise the voice. It’s Archie. I pull off my flip-flops and pad towards him. But as I get closer, I slow my pace, because he’s got a half-drunk bottle of Mirto Bianco in his hand – a local digestif that I’ve not tried – and he’s swaying. ‘Hey, Archie.’

‘Want a drink?’ He hands me the bottle and something in his manner tells me not to refuse, so I take a swig. It tastes bitter and herby and makes my eyes water, but I take a second gulp anyway, then hand it back.

‘I thought you were ill?’ I say carefully.

‘Me? No, I’m not ill,’ he says, the words slurring. He points at me with the bottle. ‘I think you’ve been misinformed.’

‘But you said—’

‘That I wasn’t feeling great?’ he interrupts, his voice suddenly more clipped. ‘It’s amazing how we can twist words, manipulate people into thinking we’re saying something we’re not.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Archie says bitterly. I watch him take another couple of gulps from the bottle.

‘Can I have some more?’ It feels like the best way to slow him down. I reach for the bottle, take a sip, and when I feel his eyes bore into my cheek, I take another one.

‘Can I have it back now?’

‘Yeah, in a minute.’ I drink again. It’s not actually too bad, but my head is starting to swim. Rosé, and adrenaline, and not enough food. I shouldn’t really be drinking at all, but I’m not going to leave Archie in this state by himself. ‘So what made you feel not great?’ I ask.

Archie sighs. ‘Jack wanted to tell me something. He said it was time.’

I look at his distraught expression, remember Jack’s disappointment in Archie at the waterfalls. ‘Has he broken up with you?’ I whisper.

But then I jump as Archie lets out a crack of laughter. ‘If only it were that.’