by Joanna Rees
‘They’re your family. Of course they’re not awful,’ she said. ‘But I was expecting them to stay for a little bit longer.’
‘I know. It’s all such a mess,’ Blaise said.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and Jess moved towards him and flopped down heavily on the sofa next to him. She’d never seen him like this before. He closed his eyes as if his head were bursting with unspoken anger.
‘Fuck,’ he said, through clenched teeth. ‘I should never have invited them.’
Jess put her hand over his. ‘What’s the matter? Please tell me. Is it me? Have I done something wrong? Didn’t they like me? What did I say?’
‘No. No, it’s not you. Of course it’s not you. But my family,’ he said, ‘they sometimes make me want to run away. You know?’
‘Not really. My family ran away from me,’ Jess said, shrugging. ‘I don’t understand what just happened, but I’m sure they love you. And they gave you everything. A happy childhood. I mean, all that stuff you told me in Miami . . .’
‘Maybe I embellished a bit,’ he said. ‘I just wanted you to see the best side of me.’
Jess bit her bottom lip. This was news to her, but she couldn’t blame him. On that day, she’d lied about her mother being a travelling singer. It seemed ridiculous now that she’d ever lied to him, but even so, she’d always assumed that Blaise had been a hundred per cent honest with her. What else had he ‘embellished’? she wondered.
‘You are so nice, Jess. I didn’t expect you to be—’ He stopped suddenly.
‘What? What didn’t you expect me to be? When?’
‘I mean, after everything you went through as a kid. You’ve turned out so . . . so . . . well, normal,’ he said.
She laughed, surprised. ‘I’m not so sure about that. I’m not so sure that anything about this is normal,’ she said.
‘All I mean is that you’re a good person.’
She snuggled into him, kissing him, but she was confused by his mood. She couldn’t figure out what was going on.
‘So you reckon we’ll have cosy family Christmases together, then?’
Blaise let out a laugh at the thought. ‘No. But all that matters is that we’re together,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘You don’t have doubts, do you?’ he asked. ‘About us.’
‘Of course not,’ she lied. ‘What about you?’
‘Marrying you is all I need,’ he said.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Lace Island, 1990
Leila tried to keep her breathing calm as she hurriedly packed a T-shirt and shorts into her rucksack, treading carefully over the creaking floorboard in the middle of her bedroom, feeling her way in the dark.
She was leaving. Tonight. With Bibi. Whether she liked it or not. Before it was too late.
Bibi might not think it, of course. In fact, as Leila had helped Bibi lie down in her bed earlier after their talk and she’d kissed her mother’s forehead, it had seemed to Leila that Bibi’s wonderful aquamarine eyes had lost all their fight.
But Leila would fight for them both. She had to.
‘I need to sleep, Leila,’ Bibi had whispered. ‘Don’t do anything tonight. We’ll discuss it in the morning. Everything will be better in the morning,’ she’d said, as she’d drifted off.
But the morning would be too late.
Bibi. Her darling mother . . . dying. The word sounded like a deafening alarm in Leila’s head. The only way she could cope was by telling herself that she wouldn’t allow it to be true. Leila forced away the memory of the words Bibi had told her earlier, in case they would derail her from her plan.
She froze now, listening, worried in case Chan had returned. She had to escape before he came back to the house.
The wind had come up, making the palms chatter outside. A loose shutter on the house banged.
Dressed now and carrying her bag, Leila tiptoed down the staircase to the main hallway. The draught of the wind made the muslin curtains billow like ghosts in the dark. She shuddered, scooting quickly behind the lectern to the cupboard where she knew the fireworks were.
The memory chimed in her head of a day that felt so long ago, when she’d believed everything was good and true in Lace Island, when Chan had returned laden with presents. She heard his words across time: Leila, don’t you ever think of playing with these. They are highly flammable. You know how paranoid your mother is about fire.
Well, he’d eat his words now, she thought, sliding open the door and reaching inside. She felt inside the cardboard box and pulled out the cylinders and stuffed them in her pockets.
Then, standing, she stared around her at the hall, feeling the enormity of the moment. Because once she’d started the fire in the lighthouse, Bibi would have no choice but to get up. And Leila would take her straight to the lagoon and Bamu’s good powerboat and by morning, they’d be on their way to Cochin. And Chan could face the authorities alone when they came and make up any lies he wanted. Because by then, Leila would be helping to nurse Bibi back to health in the hospital.
She blew out a pent-up breath, forcing down her panic, and then her eyes rested on the visitors book.
She went to it on the lectern, thinking of the sweet letter to the guests in the front that Bibi had written, full of her warmth and humour, full of her faith that everyone who came here was lovely and kind.
Well, they would come again, Leila thought. Once the drugs had gone, Leila would help Bibi run this place properly – as Bibi had always intended. The visitors book would remind them, Leila thought, of all the people who loved it here, before Chan had allowed his corruption and vice to turn their paradise sour.
She lifted the heavy book off the lectern and slid it into her bag. She might as well take it now, while she remembered. She didn’t know how much time she’d have later on.
She tiptoed silently along the corridor now, cursing the creaking screen door that led to the terrace. More determined than ever, she gripped the strap of her bag and made for the far steps down to the pool. She would sneak through the kitchen garden and find Anjum’s matches and paraffin.
Half an hour later, Leila crept through the dark trees in the grove, avoiding the path to the lighthouse. She had worried that Chan or the dreadful Shang might be here to hide the evidence themselves, or that they might have a man with a gun on guard, but the lighthouse was dark, the chain across the doors.
Leila felt her hair whipping around her face, blown by the wind, and she spat it out of her mouth as she pulled the fireworks from her pockets, empting the gunpowder on the earth in the small gap under the cracked brown door of the lighthouse. She looked behind her, still terrified of getting caught, knowing she had to get this done and fast.
Behind her, the tops of the palm trees thrashed and still the matches wouldn’t stay lit long enough to light the gunpowder.
She wished now that she’d thought this through better. It would have helped if she’d been able to find Anjum’s paraffin, but there hadn’t been any. If only she was able to throw a lit bottle through the hole in the window she’d made the other day.
Now, kneeling in the dirt, her heart pounding, Leila scraped together a pile of tiny twigs and leaves, hoping to start the fire. She knelt over it, shielding it from the wind with her body, and lit the kindling, blowing on the pile of leaves until there was a familiar, satisfying crackle.
She gasped, sure she’d heard something. Was it a person? Was someone on the other side of the lighthouse?
Quickly, she stumbled to her feet, tripping backwards and running into the cover of the trees. She crouched in the darkness, waiting, seeing smoke start to billow up from her pile of leaves. She held her breath, counting to five, then looked again, seeing the wind had now ignited the leaves. A strong yellow flame burst up from the twigs, licking the bottom of the lighthouse door.
She turned, pressed herself against the tree trunk, waiting a moment; then looking round again, m
isgivings filling her. She felt her knees shaking, her instinct telling her to put out the fire. It wasn’t too late. But the fire, whipped now by the wind, was spreading.
This was good, she told herself. This was what she wanted. To get rid of the drugs. As soon as there was a strong fire, she had reason enough to go back to the house and wake Bibi. Chan couldn’t stop her.
There was more smoke now, coming out from inside the lighthouse doors. The fire was on its way. She crept forward again, just to check, surprised that it had taken so quickly. She saw the yellow shadow of jumping light from under the lighthouse door.
The wind made the branches above her thrash. A waft of acrid smoke filled her nostrils.
She said a silent prayer of thanks, then set off back through the trees towards the house. It was time to rouse Bibi and get her to the boat.
But she hadn’t gone twenty paces before it happened.
The explosion was so loud and so forceful it threw Leila ten feet forward. She landed on the forest floor in damp undergrowth, completely winded, her ears ringing, and for a few seconds everything went black.
Gulping, gasping, her eyes stinging, she turned to see that the whole of the lighthouse was a towering inferno of flames. She cried out, covering her head, as parts of burning masonry started falling through the trees, raining down on her.
There was a terrible roar now, like nothing Leila had ever heard, and she looked through her arms over her face and saw that the tops of the trees were on fire and the wind was whipping them in all directions.
‘No,’ she cried, scrambling to her feet, coughing with the smoke, but around her, the trunks of the palms started burning, the fire fizzing and crackling down the trunks.
She staggered backwards, hoping to find another way, horrified at what had happened, but suddenly the fire was all around her. And now the path back up to the house was impassable.
For a second, Leila froze, panic engulfing her. No wonder Bibi had always been so terrified of fire. Leila couldn’t believe how quickly the fire was spreading . . . rushing, dancing, gleefully gobbling up trees in every direction.
And it wasn’t going to stop. She had to get to the lagoon and warn everyone.
Spluttering, covering her face, she slid through the undergrowth down the slope, to where she could see down to the lagoon, but behind her, there was another explosion. A roar now in her ringing ears as Leila raced to the treeline. She couldn’t believe this was happening so fast; not after the rain had drenched everything in the past few days, but the trees and plants had obviously dried out again in the hot wind.
She stopped short as she looked down, seeing something she hadn’t even considered. The tops of the trees in the grove were all ablaze now, the wind like a blow torch, fanning the fire along the forest towards the huts.
‘No. No!’ she screamed. If the fire reached the huts, then everyone would be trapped.
Sprinting, Leila raced forward, towards the lagoon and the other pathway, but the heat of the fire threw her backwards. She looked desperately through the trees, watching each trunk crackle into life, showers of sparks flying upwards to the black sky.
What about the house? What about Bibi? If the fire was spreading this quickly towards the lagoon, it would almost have reached the house by now. Would Parva have woken Bibi? She must have done. But how would they get to the lagoon now?
She ran, hot sparks of air chasing her, but when she got nearer to the path to get down to the lagoon, she could hear screams and saw that several of the roofs of the huts were already on fire. Where was everyone? Maliba, Bamu and the children?
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No!’
The fire rushed along the huts. She saw people running, heard screams above the roar. She saw the top of the hut where all the rice was stored whooshing into flame.
How had this happened?
This was not meant to have happened.
Another explosion now, the whole of the lighthouse, a huge wall of fire. She ran forwards, coughing as the smoke choked her. The noise was deafening as the trees crackled and sparked all around her. A tree crashed in front of her, blocking her way down to the lagoon. Coughing and spluttering, she patted the scorching singe-holes on her tunic, her hands burning. There was no way to get down. No way to help.
She covered her elbows over her eyes, the smoke blinding her. Another palm tree toppled, crashing sparks into the night.
Leila screamed and ran for her life, down in the other direction, towards the guest huts, where she’d seen Adam and Monique, running ahead through the mangrove flowers. Tripping, spluttering.
She ran to the beach, up the jetty to where Rasa’s old blue boat was moored. It slapped against the wooden posts on the swell of the tide.
Shaking, her clothes singed, Leila cast off from the jetty, determined to get round and save people from the lagoon. She coughed, exhausted, yanking at the string of the outboard motor.
‘Come on, come on,’ she sobbed, but the engine wouldn’t start. Only Rasa had the knack.
‘Please, please, please,’ she yelled, realizing how quickly she was floating away from the jetty. The fire had followed her down to the beach, the guest bungalows in flames. She could see the tiny flecks of fire reaching the sea now, where they fizzled in the surf.
Giving up on the motor, wiping her dripping nose, she grabbed for the oars, clumsily manhandling them, but she was in such a panic she dropped one. She heard it splash in the water and lunged, too late, almost toppling the boat. The oar floated away from her, out of reach, then sank into the black water.
The current was pulling her away, further and further out. She knelt on the hard boards, sobbing as she plunged her hands into the water, trying desperately to manoeuvre herself back round towards the lagoon, but it was hopeless. Hyperventilating, she fell back in the boat.
And that’s when she looked up and saw that everything was on fire.
Everything.
She could see the house now, flames licking across the red roof tiles. Over the roar of the wind and fire, she heard glass smashing, screams of people.
She stared, transfixed, as she bobbed further and further away towards the reef, as the island burnt orange and red into the black sky, huge shards of yellow sparks flaming up occasionally. And the roar of it, the unforgettable sound of the ferocious fire she’d started, razing everything in its path.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Miami, present day
The sound of Etta James singing ‘At Last’ played softly through the speakers in the plush hotel room in Miami, adding the final touch of romance to the moment. Jess twirled round on the thick yellow carpet in front of the long gold mirror, still not able to believe it was really her own reflection she was seeing. With her hair all curled and styled as it was and her eyes so heavily made up, she looked almost unrecognizable. Tilly, who was wearing a champagne-coloured satin bridesmaid’s dress with a huge bow on the front, stood back and watched her.
‘You know, it is worth it. A designer dress, I mean. And you know you can sell it after, right? I had one like that for my first wedding and I sold it on eBay for two grand.’
Jess stopped and stared at Tilly in the mirror. She couldn’t believe she’d been so insensitive on this, Jess’s big day.
‘What?’ Tilly said defensively. ‘I’m just saying.’
Jess had yet to get used to quite how outspoken Tilly liked to be. It was as if since they’d shared that moment of intimacy in Ibiza, Tilly was on a mission to prove to Jess that she was just fine. It helped that she had a new boyfriend and had spent the entire time since they’d been in Miami either talking about him or texting him.
It had been Tilly who’d insisted on shopping for the dress with Jess, who had been rather strong-armed into the strapless designer number, which had cost a fortune. It had all been prearranged between the shop and Blaise, who had instructed Tilly to let Jess choose whichever dress she liked. Tilly had made no secret of her joy at spending Blaise’s money, bagging a designer dres
s and shoes for herself into the bargain.
The whole thing had been so brash and intimidating and not how Jess had imagined choosing a wedding dress might be at all. And yes, Jess could sell it, but the idea rather ruined the romance. She wanted to tell Tilly that she intended to have her dress properly cleaned and carefully wrapped in tissue paper so that one day her daughter could wear it, but she doubted Tilly would understand.
Jess thought about that future day, imagining herself going into the loft in the grand Miami mansion Blaise had told her they were moving into and finding the box with this dress in it. She couldn’t work out which was more fantastical – the designer dress she was wearing or that shortly she’d be living in her own house. One that had a loft. And a carport. And a pool. Oh, and some stables. Blaise was insisting they have a horse. A horse!
Tilly turned and looked out of the window of the hotel suite and the French doors that should have been open onto the golf course but were resolutely closed against the rain. Jess hated to admit it, but Blaise had been right about the beach wedding. It would have been a disaster if they’d been getting married outdoors today.
‘Shame about the bloody rain,’ Tilly said. ‘I was hoping to top up my tan. I thought it was always supposed to be hot in Miami. Hang on.’ Tilly’s phone was trilling. She walked away to answer it, a squeal of joy escaping her. It was her boyfriend, Marco, Jess thought, feeling irrationally annoyed. Couldn’t Tilly just commit herself to paying Jess attention for one moment? Wasn’t that what bridesmaids were supposed to do just before the bride went in for the ceremony?
‘What do you reckon, Angel?’ Jess whispered to her reflection, her heart aching for her friend. Waking up today, alone, knowing Angel wasn’t here to hold her hand, had hurt like hell. And it felt strange, too, that Tony and Maeve weren’t here. Apart from Tilly and Ivana, Jess barely knew any of the guests at her own wedding. She wondered what kind of dress Blaise’s mother would be wearing and whether she would thaw any more when Jess was married to her son. She hoped so.