‘I’ll bet she just about broke the Bank of Mom and Pop to make that go away, huh?’ Scott says.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Lucy says, and Scott swivels back round to chink her glass. He raises his eyebrows at her, and she shakes her head. ‘Wow. Just . . . wow.’
A light breeze has started up, fluttering the coloured bunting that hangs around the hut. A gull circles overhead. Across the bay, near the rocks, she sees that Amelia and James have found Tiggy and are trying to coax her into coming back to the bar. She’s shaking her head, gesticulating wildly. James tries to take her by the arm, but she shakes him off. ‘It’s bullshit!’ She’s screaming, and her words are being carried towards them on the wind, like the distant screech of the gulls. ‘It’s not real. Someone’s made this, to make me look bad.’
Scott sniffs. ‘It’s not completely ridiculous. You must’ve heard of all this deep fake stuff they can do these days. If a bunch of amateur nerds can do it with actors’ faces on YouTube, think what anyone with half a brain is doing. The CIA use it to trick people during interrogations. Make it look like someone they love is being tortured.’
‘I think you’ve been watching too much TV.’ Lucy rips open a packet of peanuts and pours them into a bowl. ‘You don’t really believe any of that, do you?’
‘Are you serious? You’ve no idea . . .’ His voice trails off and he shakes his head. ‘Though you never know, do you? She seems like a sweet girl, but—’
‘Got to watch the quiet ones.’
They take a drink, complicit now in their solidarity.
‘Still,’ Lucy says, ‘it’s the tech that’s weirding me out as much as anything.’ She taps the tracker, but nothing happens. ‘It’s incredible how it works – how we all see it through our own eyes . . . but we were seeing it as if we were Tiggy.’
‘I agree, for once.’ Scott sips his drink. ‘Deep fake or not, having my own personal video stream is seriously whack.’
Lucy spies Brenda leaving her sunlounger, and as she starts walking towards them she seems to be limping slightly. Interesting. What with her and Scott, they’ll be abandoning the injured left, right and centre.
‘So maybe she did something to Giles . . .’ Scott says, just as Brenda arrives back at the bar.
‘Don’t say that.’ Brenda shakes her head. ‘Don’t even think it. She’s a lovely girl. She was perfect company on the walk down here. When I first met her today I thought she was nothing more than a giggling airhead, but there’s a lot more to her. She’s got a savvy business brain, especially for marketing and branding. She’s not going to do something to jeopardise what she’s built.’
‘She’s got you convinced anyway,’ Lucy says. She gestures at Brenda’s glass. ‘Need a top-up?’
‘You know . . . could you maybe mix me something else? A fruit punch or something? I don’t know if it’s the heat or the walk or what, but I’m feeling a little woozy.’
‘Three glasses of wine will do that.’
‘It was a spritzer though, and not too strong. I’m sure my alcohol tolerance isn’t that low.’
‘You know what?’ Scott says. ‘This has only just occurred to me, but I’ve been drinking water all day, and now I’ve had two pina coladas, and I still don’t need to go to the bathroom.’
‘Just as well,’ Lucy says, surveying the beach. ‘I think our options are limited.’
‘Oh, sure. I mean, al fresco is the way, obviously. But I haven’t felt the urge, and I haven’t seen anyone else disappear off into the bushes either.’
‘You haven’t been with everyone all day though, have you? Brenda was off on her own. James and Amelia went to find her. Giles and Tiggy were away—’
‘Right. But I’ve been with you all day, and you haven’t gone. Unless you’ve—’
‘No, I have not peed my pants, if that’s where you’re going. But actually, you’re right. I didn’t drink as much of that water as you did, but since we’ve been down here I’ve had several cocktails . . . and alcohol usually does it. You know that’s one of the reasons all the kids are drinking shots these days? Less volume. Less need to find a toilet.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Brenda says. ‘They’d just rather knock their drinks back and get on with whatever else they’re doing.’
Scott sighs. ‘Well, whatever. I’m just saying it’s odd. I wonder if there’s something in the drinks to stop us from going. Something else they’re testing, maybe. For clubbers or something . . .’
Lucy shakes her head. ‘You know what? I think we must be in shock or something. I can’t believe we’re banging on about our bladder habits when we’ve just watched what may well be an attempted murder, via some weird sci-fi technology that shouldn’t even exist. Aren’t you two completely disturbed by this? I keep looking around and expecting to see someone jump out like we’ve been tricked by Ant and Dec . . . or Punk’d, like they used to show on MTV, or something. None of this is normal, guys. Maybe we need to think about what the hell is going on here.’
‘You’re right,’ Scott says. ‘That’s twice I’ve agreed with you now. I think I must have heatstroke.’
‘What are you suggesting we do?’ Brenda says. ‘We all want to get to the end, don’t we . . . ? We all want this thing to have been worth our while.’
‘True,’ Lucy says. ‘I suppose we all have our own reasons for being here. We know why we accepted the invitation. So maybe we just go with it . . . whatever they throw at us.’
‘We’ve made it this far . . .’ Scott agrees.
‘Fine,’ Brenda says. ‘That’s settled then.’
While Lucy, Brenda and Scott have been sitting around the bar, James and Amelia have managed to get hold of Tiggy and walk with her across the rocks back into the sandy cove. Her face is flushed, her eyes puffy from crying, but by the time they arrive at the bar she’s calmed down. The sun has slid behind a cloud, dropping the temperature just a notch. Tiggy is rubbing at her bare arms.
‘Here, take this.’ Scott unties his sweater from around his shoulders and passes it to her.
‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice a small croak.
‘There’s a coffee machine under the counter,’ Lucy says. ‘Let me make you a warm drink. Drop of brandy, maybe? You’ve had a shock.’
Tiggy nods, and Amelia leads her round to the other side of the bar, where there are two more comfortable-looking stools with cushions and proper backs on them. Lucy watches, impressed by Amelia’s calm way of dealing with the girl. She saw what Tiggy was like over at the rocks – a wild animal, shouting and waving her arms about.
Lucy turns back to where the other three are gathered, and notices that James has a scratch on his cheek. It’s not bleeding heavily, but there is a trickle of blood snaking down his face. She pulls a wad of paper towels from the dispenser.
‘Here, let me help.’ She gestures at his face and he looks confused for a moment, then puts his hand up and inspects it.
‘I’m bleeding? I didn’t even realise.’ He takes the paper towels and dabs his face.
‘Hold it tight for a bit. I’ll get you something to rinse it with.’ Lucy turns to the small sink and finds a first aid kit under it. She takes out some antiseptic wipes and a couple of different-sized dressings.
Amelia and Tiggy are huddled together at the bar, talking in hushed voices.
Lucy hands the kit to Brenda. ‘Maybe look for something in there for Scott’s foot too.’
‘My foot is fine.’
‘No,’ James says, ‘you just think it’s fine because of the alcohol.’
‘I’ll get some more ice,’ Lucy says, taking the bucket off the bar. It’s still half full, but the ice dispenser is on the other side, nearer to Amelia and Tiggy. She wants to hear what they’re saying. She’s dying to know more about what really happened with Tiggy at that party, and given that Amelia couldn’t see it, she wonders what Tiggy has told her. Non-disclosure aside, she needs to get something juicy out of this trip. Revealing Tiggy’s secret woul
d be gold dust, but given that Tiggy was the first one to mention that this could be a reality TV show, can they really trust her? Right now she’s crying again, and Amelia has handed her some napkins.
‘. . . I suppose it’s not impossible that these . . . scenes we’re all seeing could be fabricated,’ Amelia is saying.
‘And I’m telling you it was faked.’ Tiggy sniffs.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like I doubt you. Can you think why someone would want to make a fake . . . video, or whatever, of you like that?’
‘Well, if they released it as a video – and why couldn’t they? – yes, absolutely. There are lots of people who’d want to hurt me. People who are jealous of me and Giles. I think it’s all connected, you see. I . . .’ She pauses, blows her nose. ‘That’s what happened earlier. With Giles.’
‘There was a video of Giles?’ Amelia says.
Lucy is crouched down, fiddling with the ice dispenser. They know she’s there, but they’re too engrossed to care.
‘It was Giles and . . . this is so hard.’
‘Take your time, Tiggy. There’s no rush.’
Tiggy takes a deep breath. ‘It was Giles and two girls. It was . . . pretty graphic.’
Lucy should start scooping the ice, but she wants to hear this. If she’s here to get something to use in her column, she needs as much gossip as she can get.
‘I thought it was porn at first,’ Tiggy continues. ‘You know. For our little love nest.’ She tries to laugh. ‘I thought that whoever is doing this hasn’t done their research, because me and Giles . . . well, let’s just say we don’t need any help to get going.’
Lucy scoops the ice and throws it into the bucket. Lucky little bitch. She can’t remember the last time she had a decent sexual encounter where the other participant gave more than a passing glance at her bits before trying to ram himself in. Tiggy’s recall of Giles’s memory feed sounds completely legit, based on what she’s heard about him. And if that scene is real, then there’s a pretty good chance that Tiggy’s is too. The thought makes her feel sick. She stands up quickly, ready to speak, but she is instantly disarmed as Tiggy smiles at her.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘I’d really love that coffee now.’
‘Coming right up.’ Lucy takes the ice bucket back to the other side of the bar. She wants to kick herself for distracting them just as Tiggy was getting to the good stuff.
‘The sun’s out again,’ Amelia says, climbing off the stool. ‘We’re going to sit on the loungers for a bit. Maybe someone could bring our drinks over?’
Lucy smiles sweetly. She’ll get more out of Tiggy if she’s nice to her.
‘Sure,’ James says. He has a gauze dressing on his cheek; the area around it is scrubbed clean. ‘I’ll bring them.’
Brenda closes the lid of the first aid box and tries to catch Lucy’s eye. We need to watch her, the look seems to say. Lucy agrees.
Because Lucy’s real mission here is to uncover someone’s big secret – which, if she achieves it, will not only land her a scoop (ever and always a goal) but conveniently overshadow whatever might yet be mined from her own dark past.
Amelia
‘How are you feeling now?’ Amelia asks Tiggy, after giving her a few moments to relax on the sunlounger.
Tiggy offers her a weak smile. ‘I’m OK. Thank you.’ She glances over at the bar, where the others are chatting and pretending not to look their way. ‘I’m glad you suggested we come over here. Everyone was being very kind, but, well . . . it’s all just a bit overwhelming. Everyone seeing that memory, in their heads. I can’t begin to understand how that works . . .’
‘Memory?’ Amelia frowns. ‘It wasn’t you though, was it? That’s what you said. Someone’s faked the scene, and they’ve managed to implant it in anyone who’s wearing one of those ear things. Just like the one of Giles at the visitor centre.’
Tiggy is silent. She won’t make eye contact. ‘Look, I didn’t want to say anything over there, with all the others. I . . .’ She hesitates, trying to find the words. ‘I’m not sure who to trust yet. I mean, I had a nice chat with Brenda earlier, but I know I was the one doing all the talking. James seems nice. I’m just not sure yet about Scott. And as for Lucy . . .’
Amelia looks at the bar again. Lucy is putting two cups onto a tray. She obviously senses Amelia’s gaze, and quickly turns away. The others seem to be engrossed in something that Scott is saying. He’s explaining something, pointing at things. James is nodding.
‘What’s wrong with Lucy?’ she says.
Tiggy groans. ‘Where do I start? She’s a gossip columnist. If there can be any more of a low-life profession than that . . . although, hang on, isn’t James a paparazzo?’ Tiggy glares at the two of them. ‘God, they probably know each other, don’t they? They’re both here to soak up our grubby little secrets. Urgh. I want to go home now.’ She shouts up to the sky. ‘If you’re listening, Big Brother, can you come out of your secret hidey-hole and get me the hell out of here, please?’ She puffs out a breath and crosses her arms over her chest, bringing her knees up and burrowing her face down in the same way she’s done every time she’s been upset before.
‘I’m not sure James is a paparazzo as such,’ Amelia says. ‘He hasn’t really spoken about it. And you know, I haven’t seen him take one single photograph.’
Tiggy’s head flips up. ‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? He’ll wait until you take your top off or something. Bloody leeches, the lot of them.’
‘I’ve really no plans to take my top off,’ Amelia says, puzzled. ‘Listen. Why don’t you just tell me about this party. These girls. The scene that was projected might not be real, but I have a feeling that you were there . . . that something might’ve happened.’
Tiggy drops her legs over the edge of the lounger and twists round to face her. ‘What, you don’t believe me now? You think I hurt her? You think I’m capable of pushing a champagne flute into someone’s face? Some awful bitch’s face? Some awful bitch who, along with her hideous bitch friends, had been taunting me, bullying me, goading me – about Giles, about his behaviour, about me, about my job, my family . . . my looks. Telling me all the time that I’m ugly, I’m not good enough?’ Her face is bright red now, and the words come out in a stream of angry spittle. ‘You actually think I did that?’
Amelia looks at the others, who are all watching with interest now. ‘Did you?’ she asks quietly. ‘You didn’t tell me about the glass before. You said there was an angry scuffle . . . I mean, I knew you were holding something back, but what you describe – the glass in her face – seems . . . extreme.’
There is a long silence, and Amelia starts to feel she’s gone too far. Her heart flutters, waiting.
Tiggy drops her head into her hands. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I did do that. I did glass her. It was this moment of pure rage. That thing people say about the red mist descending? It’s true. It’s actually true.’
Amelia swallows. Although she’d started to suspect it, she’s still struggling to believe that this small, vulnerable girl could be capable of such a violent act. She glances across and sees that James has picked up the tray and is about to bring their coffees over. Their eyes meet and she gives him a small shake of her head, and he stops, setting the tray down on the bar. ‘Let’s go back to the others, shall we?’ A shiver passes over her. Suddenly she is desperate not to be alone with Tiggy.
Tiggy shrugs. ‘Are you going to tell them?’
The vulnerability is here again, and it’s hard to compute. Maybe it was a one-off. Amelia shakes her head. ‘Not right now. I don’t think it would help anything, would it?’
Tiggy whispers a ‘thanks’ as they walk across the sand.
‘Hey, you’re back,’ Scott says, swivelling round on his stool. ‘We were just chatting about this place, trying to work out what we’re doing here. It’s not really what anyone expected, right? Any more word from Giles yet?’
Tiggy shakes her head.
James open
s his mouth to speak as Scott swivels round again, and then stops. ‘Hey, did you hear that?’ He peers at the corner of the hut. ‘I thought I heard it before, but then I convinced myself I’d imagined it.’
‘Heard what?’ Lucy says. She’s looking at Tiggy with an expression that’s part intrigue, part fear. She knows. They probably all know. They saw the projection, Amelia reminds herself. She’s the only one who’s had to hear it second-hand.
‘It was a little click, and a whirr . . . electronic. I’ve heard it a few times now.’ He walks over to the corner of the hut and lifts up a triangle of yellow bunting. Then he pokes about in the straw where the roof meets the side support.
‘What is it?’ Brenda says. She’s rubbing at her leg distractedly, like someone shooing a fly.
‘Hang on . . .’ James roots around a little longer, then there’s a small cracking sound and he steps back, a triumphant grin on his face. ‘Et voilà,’ he says, turning and holding the thing out in his hand.
‘What is . . . oh,’ Scott says. ‘Well, I suppose I’m not really surprised.’
Tiggy pushes forward, close to James. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a camera.’ James holds it up. ‘They’re watching us. Listening too, presumably.’
Tiggy shrugs. ‘Well, of course they are. I tried to tell you all this from the start.’
‘Sneaky bastards,’ Lucy says. ‘I was kind of hoping that wasn’t true. I wonder how many others there are?’ She leans over the bar and grabs the small camera from James’s hand, then she drops it on the floor and stamps on it. ‘Right. Well, that’s one angle they’re going to miss out on from now.’
‘I’m sure there are plenty of—’ James starts to say, but he is cut off by a high-pitched screech, like the one that preceded the appearance of Tiggy’s projection.
‘Uh-oh,’ Scott says. ‘You’re in trouble now, Lucy. Bet that thing cost a bunch.’
‘I don’t really give a shit,’ she says. ‘I don’t remember consenting—’
‘Good afternoon, everyone,’ a booming voice says. ‘Please tap your ear or wrist devices to start the film. The best viewing platform is the clear blue sky, as you have no doubt realised from your earlier entertainment.’
The Last Resort Page 11