Page 43 of Someone in the Water

Frankie

I launch out after Lola, but when I call her name, she just lifts her hand and keeps walking.

I recognise the gesture – give me space or my anger will grow exponentially – so I hover, unsure what to do.

I hate the idea of her going out on a windsurf, especially with Jack’s kit, but how do I stop her without admitting my suspicions?

I listen to the soft clip of her sliders as she heads downstairs.

I’ll go to the beach. Watch her from a distance.

Make sure she stays safe. I have a thirty-second shower – conscious I must smell terrible after my sweaty, drug-induced sleep – then pull on my favourite Speedo bikini, swim shorts, and a T-shirt.

I jam my feet into my Birkenstocks and grab the room key.

With a burst of urgency, I race down the stairs, and only slow my pace to a fast walk as I make my way through the hotel.

I usually love this time of day on the beach – the midday heat gone but the horizon still a warm hazy blue – and I try to use it to lift my mood.

The wind is lighter today, and the sea is almost glass-flat.

I can see Lola now, tacking out with an enormous sail, using her skills to build up some speed despite the conditions.

A speedboat appears from around the bay, sending ripples through the water, and I watch it streak across the skyline.

It’s a beautiful boat. Sleek lines. Sparkling white with a wide navy stripe around the hull.

As the boat gets closer, I hold my breath.

Because I recognise the driver. Dom. He has a passenger with him, a woman with blonde hair.

He turns towards the beach and instantly slows to a crawl.

A few minutes later, he manoeuvres alongside the jetty, jumps out of the boat, and ties a mooring line to one of the thick wooden posts.

His passenger climbs out too, and they walk up to Jack.

He gives the woman a quick hug, then releases her. Who is she?

I stare for a few more seconds, and then the woman turns towards me, lifting her hand to her eyes to block out the sun’s glare. Then she waves at me and starts walking over.

‘Fuck,’ I whisper, as recognition seeps in. ‘No fucking way.’ Then I stand up and prepare to greet Harriet.

‘Frankie Torre, wow. I did not think I was going to see you ever again.’ Harriet is a softer, rounder, but more polished version of her twenty-one-year-old self. Perfect make-up, her blonde hair still iron-straight but styled into a sharp bob, and her curvy body wrapped in a sea-green chiffon robe.

‘Me neither,’ I murmur.

‘I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.’

‘Well …’

‘Dom called me. I was at a meeting in Lyon, trying to get an acquisition over the line. A small French software company. But the owner was trying to renegotiate terms, and my client threw his toys, so the deal’s off.

’ She shrugs, like she doesn’t care whether I understand what she’s talking about or not (which I don’t).

‘Anyway, I was kicking around with nothing to do, so when Dom told me you’d pitched up with your daughter, I jumped on a plane. ’

‘So you’re a …’ Why can’t I finish a sentence?

‘A lawyer, yes. Life’s funny, isn’t it? One day I’m a sailing instructor with big dreams, and the next I’m a stressed-out city lawyer with sciatica and a butt too big for Whistles trousers. Anyway, enough about me, come on, let’s go.’

I look at Lola out at sea. She’s still cruising across the horizon. ‘Go where?’

‘Dom got the boat out of the marina specially. We’re going water-skiing.’

‘Wh-what? But I’m not sure I want to.’

Harriet’s expression softens and she lets out a sigh.

‘Listen, I know you’re here because your daughter was in trouble.

I don’t have kids myself, but I’ve got Sidney, my black Lab, and I know how far outside my comfort zone I’d go for him.

I’m figuring that being back at the hotel is pretty tough for you.

And I remember what water-skiing did for your confidence all those years ago, and rightly so, because you were like a pro out there. So come on, let me do this for you.’

Harriet reaches for my hand, and I have a sudden memory of her throwing me her Helly Hansen hoodie.

How much comfort it gave me as we searched the beach for Archie.

I let myself be led along the sand to the jetty.

I see Jack disappear into the water sports hut and feel a mix of annoyance that he’s blanking me, and relief that I don’t have to face him.

‘Hey, Frankie,’ Dom says, drawing my attention. ‘This was all Harriet’s idea, by the way. So if you hate it, blame her.’

‘Ah, so noble,’ Harriet says, giving him a sardonic smile.

‘Nice boat,’ I say.

‘She’s a beauty,’ Dom agrees, nodding.

‘Expensive, I guess. You must be doing well.’ I crease my brow. ‘What is it you do again?’

Dom suddenly looks awkward. ‘I play the stock market. And she is my only indulgence.’

‘Along with that sprawling bachelor pad of yours.’ Harriet laughs, then throws a buoyancy aid at me. ‘Ski’s on the beach,’ she instructs. ‘You go first.’

Two minutes later, Dom and Harriet are sitting in the idling boat and I’m standing in shallow water close to the shore, but far away from the swimming area.

The ski is on my left foot, floating, and my weight is all on my right, my toes digging into the sand for balance.

I have the ski rope handle in one hand and a loop of rope in the other – which marks how long I’ve got to react when the boat starts.

Dom raises his hand to show that he’s ready. I take one quick breath and fling the slack of the rope out in front of me. ‘Go!’ I shout. The tension pulls. I lift up my right leg and slide it into the rubber binding behind my left. It’s a perfect start.

A grin spreads across my face as I cut through the wake and fly out wide.

I lean over and run my fingertips through the glassy water.

Harriet is right – this is my purest, simplest pleasure.

Wind whipping past my face, my mind relaxing as my body grows tauter.

Eventually I cut back in, absorbing the bumps with my knees, then straight out to the other side.

I look at my sparkling reflection in the sun-kissed water.

Maybe Lola is right about me moving on from Izzy’s death.

And maybe I can forget about the note too – file it as a humourless prank, not a threat, and focus on building a better relationship with my daughter.

I cut back in, fly through the wake’s churning white water, take the impact, until I hit glass once again.

Maybe this is the metaphor I need to live by.

Find the courage to face the rough water – go to Sartène, be in Corsica on 31st July, look these people in the eye without feeling scared or ashamed – and then enjoy the feeling of reaching the other side, stronger. A better mother.

Fifteen minutes later, my arm muscles are burning, so when Dom gestures that he’s slowing down, I give him a grateful nod. The rope goes slack, and I slide into the water. Dom circles around and I hand the ski to Harriet. Then I heave myself onto the boat, dragging the rope with me.

‘That was awesome, thank you.’

‘My turn now!’ Harriet drops her robe to reveal a burnt orange swimsuit and matching shorts.

Then she grabs the mono-ski and jumps into the water.

She slides it on more deftly than I would have expected, then calls for the rope.

A minute later, she’s whipping across the wake, and I’m hovering next to Dom, tiny droplets of white water spitting on my arm.

‘Just like the old days,’ he murmurs with a smile.

I wrap the towel with its Hotel Paoli logo around me and sink into the cushioned seat. ‘Listen, I think I owe you an apology. If it hasn’t passed its sell-by date.’

He’s quiet for a moment, staring out to sea. ‘It wasn’t you I was mad with,’ he finally says. ‘Not really. I knew she got inside your head that summer.’

His tone is so bitter that I find myself thinking like Lola for a moment, suspecting everyone of killing Izzy. ‘She told me that you never gave her a chance. That all of you blanked her from day one. I believed her.’

‘Well, it’s bullshit. When I arrived, I tried to make friends with her, but she didn’t want to know.

She only cared about sucking up to Raphael or going partying with the locals.

She must have decided she wanted a friend on the waterfront at some point, and you were the chosen one. It was a hard watch at times.’

My face smarts. Was Izzy really as fake as Dom makes out? Was I that na?ve?

Dom must sense my discomfort because his tone softens. ‘Listen, you were eighteen and had just lost your father, and she was a master manipulator. You had no chance. And more than that, it was a lifetime ago. Just file it under “past mistakes” and move on.’

‘But you didn’t move on,’ I note. ‘Moving out here. Staying in touch with Harriet.’

‘Yeah well, that was the long tentacles of Facebook. When I posted about buying a place out here, she messaged me and suggested coming out for a visit. Though it was more of a statement than a request. She travels a lot with her job, and I seem to be a stopping-off place for her when she needs some R and R.’

I laugh. ‘You always were too nice for your own good.’

‘Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?’ Dom smiles, then looks away. ‘But people learn, I guess.’