Page 32 of Someone in the Water

Frankie

I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Have barely eaten. My body feels broken. But how can I possibly sleep now? When every time I close my eyes, I see Archie?

Izzy and Harriet handled everything. Got me back to the accommodation block.

Woke up Raphael and Anna. Told Dom. Izzy eventually found Jack in the staffroom, asleep on one of the sofas.

He told her that he’d been at a bar in town, hadn’t seen Archie all night.

Apparently, he broke down when Izzy told him the news, sobbed on her shoulder.

I can’t believe she let him – she’s supposed to hate him and might even know what he did to his family – but maybe the suicide of a loved one transcends all that.

Suicide. That’s what the police said. And it makes sense in a way. Archie was drunk, emotional. He’d just found out something terrible about the man he loved.

But choosing to end his life? He was only twenty-two. He’d just graduated from university. He was funny, kind, thoughtful, clever. A brilliant windsurfer and an even better friend. Wasn’t that enough? Didn’t all that cancel out the one mistake of falling for the wrong guy?

If Izzy knew what drove Archie to it, Jack’s confession yesterday, I bet she wouldn’t have offered her shoulder. But do I tell her the truth? Or has enough harm been done already?

And why didn’t I do more to keep him alive?

I strip off my clothes and pull on a swimsuit.

Then I grab a towel and walk out of my room.

I head for the sea. The water sports hut has a sign outside – due to unforeseen circumstances, there will be no water sports today – in Anna’s handwriting.

While Raphael deals with the police, Anna is in crisis-management mode, working hard to keep the guests happy. I didn’t think she had it in her.

I don’t stop when I reach the shoreline, and soon I’m chest-deep in water. I pick up my feet and let my head drop under. I want the cold water to calm the burning grief inside me, but it has no impact. I reach forward with my arms and start swimming.

Why did I get so drunk? Archie was upset.

He needed a friend, someone to look after him.

But instead, I took his bottle and drank until I passed out.

Of course he would feel abandoned after that.

Lonely. The man he loved had just admitted to the attempted murder of his own family, and I’d left Archie to deal with that all by himself.

Does that mean Archie’s suicide was Jack’s fault? Or mine?

I dive underwater. Swim until my eyes burn and my lungs threaten to explode. Should I keep going? Apologise to Archie in the most genuine, unequivocal way?

God, I’m tired. I could just …

I feel a scratch at my back, and then I’m being hoisted up through the water. I splutter and flail as I reach the surface. I flick my hair and turn towards the shadow.

‘Climb in, Francesa,’ Salvo says. ‘I’ll take you back to shore.’

I blink, tread water, unsure what to do. Unable to make a decision.

He gestures with his head. ‘Come on.’ And the instruction is so clear and simple, and I’m so tired and broken, that I follow it, laying my hands on the edge of his little fishing boat, and letting him help me aboard.

Its wooden bottom is dented and stained red from years of catching and gutting fish, and I stumble over it to reach the seat.

I sit down and pull my knees towards my chest.

Salvo starts the engine, and we move slowly towards the beach. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he mutters. ‘It is a terrible business.’

‘I was the last person to see him alive,’ I whisper, not sure why I’m confiding in this old man who scares me. ‘He was drunk, upset,’ I go on. ‘But I didn’t think for a second …’

‘You can’t blame yourself, Francesca,’ Salvo says softly.

‘I keep replaying the scenes in my mind, you know? Sitting on the beach together, sharing a bottle of some dodgy local digestif, watching the waves. It was peaceful, just us.’ I think about the men we saw, the boat.

‘Well, almost just us. There were some fishermen arguing over a guy so drunk he couldn’t stand up.

But that felt right, somehow. Like it was a metaphor for how we were feeling. ’

Salvo hesitates, like he’s weighing up how best to respond. ‘How was Archie when you parted ways?’

I look down at my feet, ashamed. ‘I don’t remember. I fell asleep on the sand, and when I woke up, he was gone.’

Salvo nods slowly. ‘And how did you feel when you woke up?’

I remember my body retching, quickly followed by me vomiting. ‘Terrible. And scared.’

‘You were worried about your friend.’

I look up at Salvo, grateful, in the moment, for his compassion. ‘It was like I already knew something bad had happened to him.’

‘A sixth sense.’

The tension in my shoulders eases a notch. ‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘You foresaw it, Francesca.’

‘What?’

‘You know, many years ago someone who I cared about deeply died,’ Salvo continues. ‘And I still feel guilty.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say, my tired brain struggling with this new information. ‘What happened?’

‘I thought warning him was the right thing to do. And maybe it was, I’ll never know. But I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d let fate run its course.’

‘Fate?’

‘I think you dreamed about Archie last night.’

‘Maybe,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Francesca, did you know that your father was a mazzere?’

‘Wait, what?’ I look up, my eyes stretched wide. ‘Do you mean the mazzeri legend?’

Salvo nods. ‘He confided in me a long time ago. That’s why he wanted to leave Corsica, to get away from its influence. When I had my mazzeri dream, years later, I thought about trying to find him, but I never did.’

‘But the mazzeri aren’t real,’ I say, my voice raspy. I think about the stories my dad told me when I was little, the magical hunters gliding through make-believe forests. But they were only ever stories.

‘They are real,’ Salvo growls. Then he sighs and softens his voice. ‘I can’t know for sure if you’ve inherited your father’s gift, if you are a mazzera and dreamed about Archie dying. But I know the mazzeri exist in Corsica. How could I not believe in them when I am one myself?’

My skin feels tight from the salt water, and my eyes sting.

Dry land is only a few metres away now. I stare at it.

I need to get away from Salvo, from the nonsense he’s spewing.

Because of course the mazzeri aren’t real.

And the foreboding I felt when I woke on the sand wasn’t any kind of premonition. Was it?