Page 61 of Someone in the Water

Patrick

‘Papa, it’s me.’

Patrick listens to his father grunt, then shuffle.

He will be moving out of somebody’s earshot in the bar, maybe his mother’s, more probably one of Salvo’s old adversaries.

As he waits, Patrick stares out at the beautiful view of the vineyard below him and thinks about that letter from his grandfather.

If I want to rest in peace when I die, I need to unburden my soul.

Is this vineyard Patrick’s reward for taking on that burden? He hopes so.

‘What is it?’ his father finally says. ‘Anna said you left with the British girl?’

‘I did, yes.’ Patrick pauses. He knows this is a gamble, a risk; but a calculated one. And with everything it promises if it works, he needs to give it his best shot. ‘She told me something, about you. I … I don’t know whether to believe it.’

For a while Raphael just breathes. ‘What did she tell you?’ he finally asks.

‘That her mum said you killed Archie.’

Raphael sucks in a breath. ‘What? That’s bullshit,’ he spits out. ‘You didn’t believe her?’

Patrick shifts his eyeline to Lola. She’s staring out at the same view as him. Her arms are wrapped around her body, like she’s cold, and he wants to pull her in for a hug, warm her up. But he needs to do this first. ‘She was quite convincing,’ he says.

‘So you’re trusting a dumb English girl over your own father? How could you be so stupid? Not to mention disloyal. Okay, maybe I’m not the perfect dad, but I’m not a killer, Patrick. You must know that.’

Patrick grinds his heel into the soft soil. ‘She said that her mum saw you carrying a dead body down the beach when she was there drinking with Archie. The same night he died. That you dumped the body in Grandpa’s fishing boat and took it out to sea.’

‘This is all lies,’ his dad growls. ‘She’s a crazy bitch, just like her mother.’

‘And that Archie saw it too,’ Patrick goes on. ‘And you killed him for it.’

Raphael releases a bitter laugh. ‘Your grandfather thought Frankie was mazzeri. Now I know why. She’s good at making up fantasy stories.’

‘Listen, I just wanted to warn you. Lola said that her mum is going to tell the police, tomorrow, and not the local force, but the National Guard up in Bastia.’ Raphael doesn’t respond. Patrick takes that as a good sign and keeps going. ‘Is Frankie still there in the bar with you?’

‘Yeah, she’s talking to Anna.’

‘I mean, I don’t want to tell you what to do, Papa. But maybe you could talk to her, alone. Convince her not to go to the police. You know, just in case they believe her.’

Raphael clicks his tongue down the phone. It reminds Patrick of a cork popping from a wine bottle, and it buoys him. He has come up with a good plan – not failsafe, but good – and so far, it’s working just as he’d hoped.

Raphael clears his throat. ‘Maybe I should. Not because I’m guilty of anything; I assume you know that?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I don’t want anyone delving into our past. That’s our family’s business, no one else’s.’

‘And family is everything,’ Patrick murmurs, partly to his dad, partly as a reminder for himself.’

‘Shit,’ Raphael mutters. ‘I think Frankie’s gone.’

‘What? Already?’ It’s a deviation from the plan. Patrick feels sweat trickle down his neck. He looks over at Lola, thinks about how protective Frankie is of her – guilt perhaps, for dreaming of her daughter dying.

‘You said she’s going to the police tomorrow?’ Raphael says, failing to hide his growing fear. ‘It’s fine; I’ll find her. Anna will know where she’s gone.’

‘I better go,’ Patrick says. A burst of adrenaline, maybe anxiety, is making him itch to finish the phone call.

But Raphael won’t let him. ‘Hang on, what about Lola? If she knows all this stuff too …’

‘Don’t worry about Lola,’ Patrick says quietly.

He thinks about his grandfather again, what the old man asked of him before he died.

His eyes begin to burn, and he closes them until they cool down.

Then he flicks up his eyelids, looks at the tangles of vines, the winery in the distance. ‘I know what to do with her.’