The Girl from Lace Island

by Joanna Rees

  No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get rid of him. The memory of what had happened was branded onto her brain and she could think of nothing else. She couldn’t help remembering it all. And how afterwards, as she lay shaking and violated on the bed, he’d lain on top of her, his horrible stickiness on her leg.

  ‘There,’ he’d whispered, brushing her hair with his hand. ‘You liked that. I know you did. You just needed breaking in. Next time, you will enjoy it more.’

  Leila had only whimpered, unable to speak.

  ‘One day, you’ll see that your body will bring you great pleasure. Like it has to me,’ he’d continued. ‘Now I have made you a woman, you’ll thank me for this.’

  Leila had tried to pull away, but he’d pinned her down, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him.

  ‘Don’t look like that. Like you regret it. You wanted this. I know you did – otherwise you wouldn’t have watched me and Monique.’

  Her eyes had bulged as she’d stared at him.

  ‘And don’t you go running out of here and telling tales to anyone, you hear me?’ he said, his cold eyes blazing with triumph. ‘Or otherwise next time, I won’t be so gentlemanly.’

  He shook her jaw, making her head nod.

  He laughed, running his tongue over his teeth; then he looked down at her body. He ran his finger over her breast, pinching her nipple. ‘You see,’ he continued. ‘You see how your body reacts . . . how much it likes this?’

  Leila couldn’t bear it. The pain in her nipple was intense as he squeezed harder.

  ‘It’s because you want sex. It’s because you’re just a dirty little slut,’ he’d said, with a lascivious grin. ‘Maybe now you can show your fisherboy your new tricks. I can tell him for you, if you like.’

  Now, revolted by the memory, Leila sighed and turned to the window. She supposed that Parva was right. She would have to get up eventually, and she might as well try now. It was better to get up before Bibi came fussing around her. There was no way she was going to a doctor.

  Slowly, painfully, she got out of bed and went to the dresser, selecting long blue trousers and a long-sleeved top. She felt weird getting dressed – as if her body was no longer her own. It was as if she was observing herself from the corner of the room. She couldn’t look at herself in the mirror.

  It felt weird, too, being outside her room. As if everything was different. She crept along the corridor, feeling light-headed and weak. It hurt to walk.

  Downstairs in the hallway, the guests were preparing to leave and she could hear Adam laughing with Chan. She froze, pressing her back to the wall. She couldn’t go down there. She couldn’t face them. But suddenly Parva came out of Bibi’s room.

  ‘Finally, about time,’ she said, with an annoying smirk of victory in her voice. ‘Go on. They’ll be wanting you downstairs.’

  Leila forced herself away from the wall as Parva ushered her towards the stairs. She hugged her arms tightly around her, forcing herself to stay calm as she walked down the hallway, hoping she could slip past Chan and escape via the terrace.

  ‘Ah. At last. Where have you been, Leila?’ Chan said, seeing her on the stairs. ‘There are chores to do, and Timothy has been waiting an hour or more for you.’

  Leila didn’t say anything. She stayed rooted to the spot.

  ‘Come and say goodbye to Mr Lonegan,’ Chan instructed, beckoning her down the stairs. ‘He’s leaving on the flight today.’

  She watched as Adam took a wodge of notes out of his top pocket and handed them to Chan.

  ‘A tip. For the staff,’ he said.

  ‘Most generous. Thank you, Adam. I’ll run you down to the landing strip,’ Chan said. ‘I don’t know where Rasa has got to today.’

  Now Monique appeared in the hallway with Marc, who was carrying her heavy suitcase.

  Leila stared at her, remembering how Monique had looked when Adam had had sex with her. How weird it was to now have an unspeakable bond with this glamorous woman.

  Adam stood grinning at Monique, enjoying the moment, as if he was revelling in the unspoken secrets between them all circling like invisible bats. Then he turned his face up to Leila.

  ‘Why the miserable face, Leila?’ he asked.

  Bibi appeared now from her room and came down the stairs behind Leila.

  ‘Leila, don’t be so rude to our guests. Come and say goodbye properly and thank them for coming.’

  Guided by Bibi’s hand, Leila walked the last few steps down to where the guests were standing.

  ‘Bibi. Thank you as always,’ Adam said, kissing her warmly on both cheeks.

  ‘No, Adam. Thank you for coming.’

  ‘The pleasure has been all mine,’ he said, his teeth flashing at Leila.

  Bang. She pulled the trigger in her head. Watched him fall to the floor. She’d do it in a heartbeat.

  ‘You must sign the visitors book,’ Bibi said, and Adam made a funny gesture, slapping his head as if he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, going over and writing his name on the page with a flourish and adding a comment as an afterthought before signing it.

  Clenching her fists, Leila looked down at the floor as more goodbyes were said; then Monique, Marc and Bibi drifted towards the door. Chan was behind them, right by the door. Adam put his finger under Leila’s chin so she had to look at him.

  ‘Are you sad to see me go?’ he said, with a jokey laugh. ‘You needn’t worry, Leila. I’ll be back.’

  He put his hand on her bottom and squeezed it hard. Leila flinched, wanting to throw up. She was amazed that he had been so blatant, but Bibi hadn’t seen, as she was already walking down the front steps with Monique and Marc.

  But Chan had. He was standing by the door, and when Leila caught his eye, his look said it all. That he knew exactly what Adam had done to her and that he had done absolutely nothing to stop it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Ibiza, present day

  Jess had lost track of time. She groped along the corridor of the club to the loos, hoping for some respite – not only from the thumping house music but also from Ivana’s inane chatter and her outrageous behaviour.

  In the most vulgar show of wealth Jess had ever seen, Ivana had been ordering the club’s most expensive magnums of champagne for several hours, in competition with some other Russians at another table. She’d also persuaded the waiter to strip off his shirt and had now been downing shots with the girls for the last hour with no let-up. Jess had clapped and whooped with the others, but she simply couldn’t keep up.

  Squeezing herself past a couple of girls who were giggling and chatting, Jess felt her head thumping and she let out an exhausted sigh. She knew she should be enjoying herself more, that she should feel psyched to be in the VIP area of the hottest club in Ibiza, but she couldn’t relax. Today had been excruciating. She desperately wanted to know what the girls were talking about, but after the conversation on the yacht this morning, Jess had been left hanging.

  As they’d sailed round the coast, Jess had been consumed with worry. Were they meeting Blaise’s ex-girlfriend? Was that what they’d meant about his past? And if so, why had Ivana invited her on board? To be mischievous? To upset Jess? Or Blaise? She’d tried calling and texting him, but she’d had no reception on her phone and she still hadn’t spoken to him.

  But whoever ‘she’ was had failed to meet the yacht, and now they were out at a nightclub. Was ‘she’ going to turn up here? Jess hoped not. She was in no fit state to face Blaise’s ex. Not after the amount she’d drunk.

  She pushed open the door to one of the loo cubicles. A girl with impossibly toned, long, tanned legs was leaning over in a tiny leather miniskirt.

  ‘Oh, hey, come in,’ the girl said. She leant up from the porcelain cistern and dabbed the side of her nose. ‘Want some?’ she asked, in a deep, husky Italian accent. She looked at Jess in the mirror, holding up a rolled-up bill. Jess didn’t know where to look. She’d seen plenty
of people taking drugs before, but never so brazenly.

  The girl, who was very probably a model, or else should have been a model, was stunning, with a refined Amazonian stature that made Jess feel pathetic and cheap next to her. She flicked her mane of glossy brown hair over her shoulder and fixed Jess with an amused stare from beneath her choppy fringe. Her eyes were huge and heavily lined in glittery kohl, and now, as she smiled, Jess saw that she had a gap between her front teeth, which only seemed to enhance her natural beauty.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ Jess said, quickly backing out.

  ‘Darling, it’s fine. Have some. We’re all friends here.’ It was that voice. Darr-ling. It was so sexy and knowing.

  ‘No, honestly. I should get back. I’m with people . . .’ Jess said, but she still couldn’t stop staring at the girl, who was now reaching for a packet of cigarettes from a small leather handbag. She watched as she lit one, blowing smoke from her deep red puckered lips.

  ‘Stay and talk to me while I have this. You seem familiar . . . Have we met before?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Who you with, darling?’ She folded her arms across her washboard-flat stomach, her breasts bulging in her lace crop top.

  Jess was taken aback by the direct question. Why was it even any of her business?

  ‘Some people. Ivana and—’

  The girl took a big gasp in, her eyes widening. She flapped the cigarette in Jess’s direction. ‘If you’re with Ivana, then you’re that girl. With Blaise, right?’ The girl said it like it was a thing. Like Jess was known. Like everyone had been talking about her.

  ‘You know Blaise?’ Jess asked, feeling intimidated.

  ‘Sure. Everyone knows Blaise.’ She let out a low, knowing chuckle. ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘On a plane,’ Jess said.

  She blew out a rush of smoke in Jess’s direction, then crushed the cigarette beneath the sole of her Jimmy Choo sandal. ‘And you’re English. Hmm. Figures,’ she said, as if she knew something. ‘He does spread himself around. Last two have been Latin American.’

  The last two what? Girlfriends? Latin American? What did that mean? Tall, Brazilian beauties?

  ‘You know, I’ve really got to go. I—’ Jess began.

  ‘Have a line. See you through. It’s good shit,’ the girl said.

  ‘I can’t really. I don’t, anyway. My job. On the airline.’

  ‘Oh. You work?’ The girl sounded incredulous.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Huh. That’s funny.’

  Jess bristled. ‘I like my job.’

  ‘You don’t need to work, though. Blaise is rich, right? I heard he’s getting his own island.’ Her eyes glittered, probing for more details, but Jess felt defensive. How did this girl know about Lace Island, when it was all supposed to be confidential?

  Her look was triumphant as she picked up the bag of coke and put it in the back pocket of her skirt. ‘Come on. Let’s go,’ she said.

  Then before Jess could say anything more, the girl linked arms with her, turning her round and back out into the corridor. She almost had to run to keep up with her long stride.

  Back at the table, Ivana clapped her hands with delight.

  ‘You found Porscha,’ she bellowed to Jess, bumping everyone round the booth so that they could all sit down. Ivana whistled to their waiter.

  Tilly and Becca kissed Porscha in a squeal of hugs. ‘Finally you made it. We sailed all the way to the beach to pick you up today.’

  Jess felt her heart hammering. Porscha was the girl. The girl they’d been talking about. Blaise’s past. His ex-girlfriend. She felt winded by the revelation. Porscha was not only clearly loaded, but she was also compellingly beautiful, with that voluptuous Italian thing going on that Jess suspected drove men crazy. How could Jess ever compete with her?

  She’d thought the whole relationship with Blaise was too good to be true right at the start, and now, as she watched Porscha and the girls, all those feelings came flooding back. Why would he love someone like Jess when he could have a girl like Porscha?

  ‘Here we go, beautiful ladies,’ the waiter said, setting down a tray of shots, to a cheer from the others.

  Ivana thrust a shot glass into Jess’s hand.

  ‘I can’t. No more,’ Jess pleaded, but Ivana wouldn’t hear of it, handing out the shots to the others. Porscha observed Jess from beneath her fringe, a knowing, catlike smile on her face.

  ‘Drink, drink,’ Porscha urged, throwing the contents of her shot glass down her throat with wild abandon. Jess’s head throbbed, the ultraviolet light in the VIP booth making a small scar on Ivana’s face glow. Had she had a face lift?

  ‘She’s so uptight, this little one,’ Ivana said to Porscha, laughing at Jess. She pulled her in close. ‘Take this, honey,’ she said, and Jess looked down to a pill in her hand. Holding Jess in a tight grip, Ivana popped one in her own mouth, her face close to Jess’s. ‘Take it. Have fun with us. We’re all together now.’

  But as she swallowed the small pill with another shot, Jess knew she was slipping into new territory, where she didn’t feel in control. And as she put the shot down on the table with a bang, all she could picture was Angel when she’d found her dead in that flat.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Lace Island, 1990

  Leila squinted, pulling the shutters closed on the upstairs landing window, the furnace-like heat outside making everything in her vision swim. The chorus of cicadas was deafening in the blazing sunshine. It was always like this just before the monsoon started, but she could feel a change in the air, as if everything was charged with a certain kind of electricity. And she felt static too. Like she might spark if anyone touched her.

  It didn’t help that she had to wear her long trousers to cover up the bruises on her legs and her only long shirt to cover her upper arms. When she’d studied herself in the bathroom mirror, she couldn’t believe how bruised she still was. It was nothing to how she felt on the inside.

  In the grove, Leila could hear the horn of a tuk-tuk and bicycle bells, as people came and went. The ferry had arrived this morning, bearing fresh supplies, and it had been busy all morning. Now that the last of the guests had left on the plane before the rains, it was as if the whole island were breathing a sigh of relief. Except for Leila.

  She felt strained and tired as she knocked quietly on Bibi’s door and waited. It was early afternoon and she knew Bibi would probably be doing paperwork, but when she didn’t answer, Leila tried the door and poked her head round. She saw that the room beyond was empty.

  She walked inside, the familiar smell of Bibi’s office making her feel sad and nostalgic. Trembling, she sat down at the wooden swivel chair next to Bibi’s desk, twirling round on it, remembering how, as a child, her feet hadn’t been able to touch the floor, how Bibi used to braid her hair and then spin her round in the chair, and her heart ached for those simple days.

  She stood up and went to the cage with the little yellow birds in the corner, clucking to them and watching them flutter around. She stared out of the small window that was the birds’ view too and saw over the trees that the sea was a searing blue, although dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long now until everything changed and the heavens discharged their downpour.

  The door to Bibi’s bedroom was open and she walked inside, picking up her mother’s gown and inhaling the smell of her perfume. The bed was made and Leila ran her hand over the swathes of mosquito net, before drifting into the closet, where Bibi kept her saris and shoes.

  This had always been Leila’s place of sanctuary, where she’d played as a child, going through the box of photos and trying on the jewels that Bibi had worn when she married her beloved Ranjidan, Leila’s father.

  Leila had been expecting to wear them herself one day, but now that wouldn’t happen, she realized with a jolt. There would be no lavish wedding for a girl who wasn’t a virgin. The shame and sadness of it a
ll made her want to curl up on the floor beneath the row of clothes and never wake up.

  For one wild moment this morning, after the guests had left, Leila had decided that this afternoon, when they were alone, she would tell Bibi the truth about what had happened with Adam. But being here, in the heart of Bibi’s room, Leila knew she couldn’t.

  How could she possibly break Bibi’s heart? Which she would, if she confessed. No, she decided, she would have to keep her secret to herself. But now that it was so close to the surface, she felt the guilt settling inside her like a poisonous coiled snake.

  She swallowed, forcing herself to be strong. It had been ridiculous to think Bibi might make her feel better. And what was the point in telling the truth, anyway? Nobody had believed her in school about Miss Sussman, and Leila hadn’t had the nerve to tell Bibi about that. So what was the point of telling her about Adam now?

  And what about Chan and how, from that awful look in the hallway, Leila had realized that he knew what Adam had done? Bibi would never believe that either, even though Leila knew it was true. No doubt Chan would find a way to deny the accusation. He’d blame Leila. He’d tell Bibi that Leila had been flirting with their prestigious guest. That she’d been spying on him because she wanted him.

  The knowledge that she wouldn’t be believed made Leila’s heart flood with a bitter anger and she let out a frustrated moan. It wasn’t only that Adam had robbed her of her virginity and innocence, he’d robbed her of so much more. She’d lost Rasa and now she’d lost all the trust she’d always shared with her mother too.

  Miserably, she drifted back out of the closet towards Bibi’s bed and ran her hand over the lace doily on the oak bedside table that Bibi’s mother had crocheted long ago. Beneath it, the bedside drawer was partially open. Inside must be twenty or more bottles of pills. Leila opened the drawer now and took one of the brown bottles and studied the label. They were from a hospital in Cochin. What was Bibi doing with all these pills? She didn’t believe in doctors. She took Maliba’s herbs. And why so many bottles?