Oh God, what if Arnie died? What if he died and she, Kate, had done nothing about this whole sorry situation? She’d not found out who owned the farm, nor had she gathered enough evidence to be able to sue anyone. She’d failed Arnie, just as she’d failed all the others, including her own daughter.
Kate scraped back her chair, unable to sit still any longer. She opened the fridge door and grabbed a juice, drinking it straight from the bottle. The fridge closed shut again and right there, stuck on the front, was an envelope she’d put on it a few days before.
Her tickets.
To the Bahamas.
She suddenly grabbed them, dumped the juice on the drainer, picked up her phone and started to dial.
The communal lounge was warm with late-morning sunshine and the windows and doors to the garden were thrown open. Some of the residents had even escaped the high-backed chairs and were outside, strolling amongst the sunflowers and lavender or sitting on the wooden benches dotted around the gardens, sunhats and large sunglasses shielding very still faces, which may well have been asleep. A couple of women, dressed in Lycra, with sweatbands around their grey heads and small weights in their liver-spotted hands, power-walked purposefully across the extended lawn.
Kate brought her gaze back into the room and scanned it for Iris. She wasn’t there. Outside the patio doors, a small group was gathered at the far end of the lawn and in amongst them, Kate spotted her. She hurried over, just as Iris, one hand on her stick, was throwing her boule with the other.
‘Kate!’ said Iris, turning. ‘What a nice surprise.’
‘Hiya,’ said Kate, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Are you free later?’
‘Yes! What did you have in mind?’
‘A little break.’
‘Break? What, you mean an excursion? Like the garden centre?’
‘Not exactly. We’re going on holiday.’
‘Holiday?’ repeated Iris, puzzled.
One or two of the other residents, sensing excitement, stopped playing and looked across.
‘You and me. In fact, maybe we should go and pack.’
‘Really? Now? I’m in the middle of a game,’ said Iris, indicating the boules.
‘Yes, but . . . I have a cab booked to take us to the airport in a couple of hours.’
‘Airport?’ Iris clutched her bosom.
Kate lowered her voice. ‘I need you. Please, Iris. Please say you’ll come with me.’
Iris hesitated. ‘How long for?’
‘Only a few days.’
‘So, you’ve already got the tickets,’ said Iris, sternly.
Kate had the grace to look sheepish.
‘Well, you were very sure of yourself, m’lady. How do you know I even have a passport?’
Kate blanched. She hadn’t even stopped to think about that. ‘Are you saying you don’t?’
‘I might have. Just in case I ever decided to go to Spain,’ said Iris wistfully. ‘Anyway, why the urgency to go on holiday?’
‘Why not?’ quipped a resident. A cheer went up as someone’s boule hit the small target ball.
‘I’ll explain as we pack,’ said Kate. ‘So, is it a yes?’
Iris deliberated. ‘OK then. Why not. Where are we going?’
‘Greg gave me tickets to the Bahamas for my birthday.’
Iris’s eyes popped. There were impressed murmurs from the group. ‘We’re going to the Bahamas?’ said Iris.
‘No, I’ve changed them,’ said Kate. ‘We’re going to Anguilla.’
‘Anguilla?’
‘It’s a lesser-known island just north-west of Antigua,’ Kate whispered in her ear.
Iris smiled. ‘I know where it is. It’s also where that company is based, the one you got the email about.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Say no more. Let us pack for our mission.’ And she led the way back across the lawn, Kate at her heels.
FIFTY-FOUR
The monoplane flew low over the Caribbean Sea, and Kate peered out of the window at the palette of aquamarine and turquoise dotted with white yachts, giddy with excitement, nerves and a sense of utter disbelief at where she actually was.
They were flying from Antigua to neighbouring Anguilla. The two pilots had greeted each of the seven passengers with a handshake and a supporting arm and helped them climb aboard, and the same pilots were now keeping up a friendly commentary. Titbits about the island – its serenity, its notoriously beautiful beaches, its gracious and friendly people, and the thriving live music present at many of the island’s eateries, including Anguilla’s famous reggae musician, Bankie Banx – all of which built up the anticipation so that when they were coming to land, both Kate and Iris had a sense they were stepping into paradise.
The pilots gave a warm farewell and said they’d look out for the ‘two English roses’ at Sandy Ground, the island’s ‘entertainment capital’, a bay with half a dozen or so bars and restaurants, mostly right on the beach.
Customs was more like a personal welcome, and a driver, Magic, took them in his air-conditioned taxi to the hotel where they’d be staying the next seven nights. Magic was as gentle and gracious as the pilots, proudly pointing out sights along the way or indicating which direction on the sixteen-mile-long island held which piece of interesting history or the best beaches.
It was another world compared to their lives in south London. Kate stared out the window at the intense blue sky, the palm trees, the odd random goat grazing at the roadside. The scrubland was broken up every now and then by glimpses of the Caribbean Sea, the sunlight bouncing off it. Everything was bathed in a trance-like brightness. She’d been worried that Iris wouldn’t enjoy the flight, but the first-class tickets had ensured they’d had everything they needed for a comfortable journey, and both had slept well in their bed pods.
Kate had used the refund from the Bahamas hotel to book their stay in Anguilla. There had been a small amount of money left over and this was going to fund the daily essentials of their week-long trip. That was all the time she had to get the information she needed before the money ran out.
As they stepped into the hotel reception with its fresh white-washed walls, they were greeted by a lady carrying two cool glasses of iced fruit juice on a carved wooden tray. Colour was everywhere, in the smiling lady’s green dress, on the animal and flora prints on the walls. A man wearing an orange shirt offered them a warm, sweet-smelling, tightly rolled small towel.
‘Oh, look, Kate, he’s giving us a wash cloth!’ exclaimed Iris, in delight. The journey, although comfortable, had still racked up considerable hours and refreshing face cloths were a small joy. They were checked in and then led to their quietly luxurious rooms, with an interlocking door between the two. Soft buttercup walls and honey-coloured floor tiles, with large, plump beds and mango-and-rattan furniture. A balcony led outside and looked directly over the beach with its white, powdery sand and turquoise water. There was also a view of the hotel’s infinity pool.
Kate laughed, goggle-eyed. ‘Isn’t this ridiculously beautiful?’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,’ said Iris, breathless. ‘It must have cost a fortune,’ she added with a worried note to her voice.
‘It did. But it’s one of the cheaper ones, believe it or not. Anyway,’ added Kate, going back in and testing out the bed, ‘it’s my birthday present, remember?’
Iris unzipped her case. ‘I’ll unpack later, there’s just one thing . . .’ She pulled out a Spanish figurine of a flamenco dancer and placed her on the dresser.
‘You brought Constanza?’ asked Kate.
‘Of course. If I was ever going to get away, and it seems it’s taken you to do it, she was always coming with me.’
The pool was the first stop. Long and oval, it ran parallel to the sea and was flanked by palm trees. No sooner had they found their sunbeds, than an orange-shirted man approached with two glass dishes.
‘Homemade mango sorbet, madam?’ he said to Iris.
‘Oh, thank you, but I didn’t
order any,’ said Iris.
‘It’s with our compliments,’ said the friendly young man and Iris raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, thank you very much,’ she declared.
Amused, Kate ate hers then decided to swim. Iris declined, saying she’d just rest her eyes instead.
As Kate struck out in the water, she thought about what lay ahead. She was still acutely aware her plan had a high chance of failure and part of her was wondering if her impulsive decision to exchange her luxury holiday for another luxury holiday was a mistake. Despite the fact the airline tickets were non-refundable, she was aware she’d spent half a deposit on a flat on a whim. A highly ambitious whim, in the hope that she might be able to somehow persuade an official at Government House to give her confidential information about an offshore company called Foxgold Ltd. It was unlikely – highly unlikely – but without any other options, and emotional from the news about Arnie, she’d cashed in her chips and gone for it.
The office would be open tomorrow and she planned to go there first thing and – what? Beg? Cajole? Trick? At that moment, she had no idea. Kate flopped over on her back and the sound of the gentle waves just a few metres away momentarily disappeared as her ears submerged in the water. She floated, gazing up at the clear blue sky, feeling the warm island breeze brush over her in a muffled world. It felt surreal. People like her didn’t come to places like this, and she’d somehow stumbled down this rabbit hole and was lost, out of her depth. She was in a dream, and in dreams you had very little control over your actions, your fate. Unexplained things happened, and reality was snatched away from you when you least expected it. Unsettled, she righted herself again, wanted to hear the relatively stabling sounds of her surroundings.
There was one clear, hard fact: this was the end of the line. If nothing came out of this trip, she’d have to quit. She had no other choice; she would have exhausted all her options. This cold dose of reality propelled her out of the pool and back to her sunbed. As she lay there, drying off in the sun, she sensed Iris waking next to her.
‘Have I been asleep?’ asked Iris, blinking. ‘Or am I still dreaming? Oh, isn’t this place magnificent! Warm, though,’ she added, fanning herself, ‘warm, but magnificent.’
Another orange-shirted man came up to her. ‘A chilled towel, madam?’
Iris stared. ‘Pardon?’
‘To cool you off.’ He handed her a folded rectangle of fluffy white cotton.
‘It’s cold!’ she exclaimed, laughing, and draped it over her.
‘Yes.’
‘How are they chilled?’
‘We refrigerate them, madam.’
‘You put the towels in the fridge? Who’d have thought it? Well, it’s very nice. Just what I needed.’ She smiled as her towel-bearer moved on. ‘What a lovely man,’ she mused. ‘How’s the water?’ she said to Kate.
‘Fab.’
‘Is it? Then I shall go for a dip!’ Iris stood.
‘Can you manage?’ asked Kate but Iris flapped her away. She made her way to the shallow steps and waded into the warm water, the skirt from her swimming costume lifting and floating around her, and she turned and smiled at Kate with such vitality she looked about ten years younger.
They decided to go outside the hotel to eat that night and explore the pilots’ recommendation of Sandy Ground. By chance, Magic was their taxi driver again and he greeted them like long-lost friends.
With the sun beginning to set behind them, they walked barefoot along the sand, Iris holding Kate’s arm for support.
‘Do you mind if we don’t go far tonight?’ asked Iris, looking wearily down the small beach. ‘Only, I think it must be past my bedtime back home.’
‘This must be what they call jet lag,’ said Kate, yawning. She glanced up at the beach bar adjacent to them. ‘I reckon this is the one tonight then, don’t you?’
They sat at a table on a raised wooden veranda right by the beach and ordered whole grilled red snapper and a Sandy Sizzler cocktail. Iris sipped through her straw and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
‘That’s bloody lovely,’ she exclaimed, before taking another sip, then another. She placed a hand on Kate’s. ‘Oh, this is turning out to be such a lovely holiday, Kate. And the heat, it’s helping with my arthritis. Thank you.’
‘Glad you came?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder why I’ve been such a stick in the mud. All those years telling myself I never wanted to go anywhere. I think I might have been very foolish. You see, Geoff was more of a caravan-in-Wales type of man. Sometimes we even ventured as far as the Cotswolds. He liked the open road, liked driving with his home pulled along behind him. You’d think with all that taxi-driving at work he would have had enough, but he loved it. It was his life. I just fell into the same routine.’ She slurped the last of her drink, then held her glass and looked around hopefully. ‘Can I get another one of these?’
A smiling face obliged, bringing over a fresh drink and their fish.
‘So, are we all set for tomorrow?’ asked Iris, tucking into dinner. ‘Oh, my word, this is delicious. Delicious!’ she called out to the bartender who’d brought it over.
He indicated another man sitting in a small group at the bar. ‘George, here, caught it this morning,’ the bartender called back, and Iris gave the fisherman an appreciative wave.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said Kate. ‘I think we’re going to have to play it by ear a bit.’
Iris nodded. ‘Have you had any more nasty threats?’
‘No.’
‘Good. And what about who was behind that bullet? You are being careful, aren’t you, love? I worry now Tim’s not there and with me gone as well. Can’t you and Tim make up?’
Kate reluctantly shook her head. Truth was, she didn’t know how. She was acutely aware of how sporadic her experience was in the art of relationships and had the uneasy feeling that this lack of experience was what had made her fail with Tim. Even Becky, at the tender age of seventeen, had recognized her mother’s inadequacies. Becky had suffered her first real heartbreak – a three-month relationship with a boy from school had ended when he’d dumped her for another girl who had her own car. He’d broken up with Becky by text and she’d come down from her room where she’d been getting ready to go to the cinema with him, sobbing her heart out.
Kate had held her tight and eventually got the story out of her. She’d felt anger towards this boy she’d never met who’d caused her daughter so much pain and wished with all her heart she could wave a magic wand and make it better.
‘What do I do, Mum?’ Becky asked between tears.
Kate pondered the question. Got a flurry of nerves as she realized she didn’t really know how to help. She wished she had a memory book of experiences to draw on, to share with her daughter. All she knew for sure was that if she saw this boy – Jake, Becky kept on calling him – she’d like to punch his lights out.
‘Kick him in the goolies.’
Becky stopped crying. ‘What?’
‘That’ll work, won’t it?’
Her daughter started laughing. ‘Oh, Mum . . .’
Kate was embarrassed. ‘OK, I admit, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’m making it all up as I go along. I’m just an ordinary woman trying to muddle my way through. Sorry, your mother’s failing you.’
‘You’re not, Mum,’ said Becky. ‘Just . . . maybe don’t become a marriage guidance counsellor.’
‘Really?’ said Kate.
Of course, in a few months, Becky had realized just what a toad Jake was, but somehow, Kate felt that in Tim, she’d lost someone quite special. She shook herself; no point in getting maudlin.
Iris was sucking on her straw again and finding only air. A look up and the bartender understood. ‘They’re so wonderfully helpful here,’ she said.
‘Um . . .’
‘What?’
‘They’re . . .’ Kate indicated the drink.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s probably quite a bit of r
um in them.’
Iris picked up her fresh glass. Took a sip. ‘Really? All I can taste is juice. So, have you? Got any new ideas on who sent that vile bullet?’
‘Tim thinks it’s Greg,’ said Kate.
‘What about you?’
Kate shrugged. ‘There’s no real evidence.’
‘There might be tomorrow.’
There just might, thought Kate. If they managed to get any information. She watched as the bartender began to light the candles in carved-out pineapples – a Caribbean version of pumpkins at Halloween. Then the sound of a guitar tuning, a tambourine waking up. A gravelly voice across the sound system: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for a few tunes.’ The band of four launched into some jazz and a ripple of energy caught across the small crowd.
A gentleman with greying afro hair got up from the bar. He approached their table and gave a small bow. ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He beamed. ‘Could I persuade you to join me in mashing some sand?’
Kate looked at where he was indicating: a group of locals and tourists were dancing. Some on the wooden veranda, some directly on the beach. He was a little old for her, perhaps, but what harm could come out of a bit of dancing on a warm evening in the Caribbean?
‘I’d love to,’ she said, standing.
There was a silence while she waited, expecting him to lead her to the beach, but the gentleman didn’t move. Confused, she smiled at him and he smiled back.
‘That would be wonderful,’ said Iris, getting to her feet, and the gentleman crooked his arm and led her to the sand without so much as a backwards glance at Kate.
She stood at the table, feeling the blood rush to her face, and then looked up and saw the fisherman watching. She quickly sat down. Took a sip of her drink and then laughed at herself.
Seemed she had underestimated this island – and Iris. She watched the two of them dance, slower than the others but with no less enjoyment. Kate wondered how old the man was. He didn’t look more than early sixties – but maybe that was what this relaxed sunshine-filled island did for you. They completed the dance and then he led Iris back to their table and finished with another bow. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said in the sincerest way Kate had ever heard the words uttered, then he went back to the bar to join his friends.
The Daughter Page 29