‘Marianne! Come on!’
My own voice followed, too weak to be heard. ‘I can’t, Mummy said not to.’
Was it weakness or encouragement I was hearing? Had I failed to warn Thomas of the dangers he faced, or had I actively encouraged him to break the rules? Were the words I was remembering the uncertainty of a sister who was simply too young to have been put in charge of her twin – or was it rather the sound of a young girl sick of her brother always being the favourite, always being the one to get away with murder while she was the one upon whose shoulders too much responsibility rested?
‘Anna?’ David nudged my arm. ‘Your seatbelt.’
Shuddering at the thoughts still clattering through my mind, I pushed my head back into the present. A woman’s voice was talking through the crackle of the radio, first in Greek, then, less enthusiastically, ‘Good afternoon, and welcome to this flight to Skiathos …’
‘Oh, yes, thanks.’ I reached for the buckle on either side of my legs and heard the click as I locked myself into the seat.
‘So, once we land, we’ll take a boat to the island. You don’t get seasick, do you?’
I shook my head, already feeling the swinging bowels of the boat.
‘My father will send a car to meet us at the port. We can go straight up to the house. He won’t be there until the evening, so we can have a swim or whatever while we wait.’
I pictured myself on the other side, taking a long drag of a cigarette, imagining the tar rolling over my lungs, like hot concrete.
‘You look a bit pale. Why don’t you rest your eyes? I’ll wake you when we’re landing.’
Skiathos was another world again, winding roads tipping down towards the sea.
David and I left the airport, the wheels of our suitcases drumming against the pavement.
The hot leather of the seats soldered itself to my thighs as the taxi swung around corners, the radio hissing in and out of range. David reached over and took my hand in his, my attention fixed on the sheen of sweat on the driver’s forehead in the rear-view mirror.
At the port, the gentle breeze cooled us as we awaited the boat, looking out on the expanse of water speckled with sails.
‘This is beautiful,’ I said, absorbing the shocking blue of the water, the warm embrace of the afternoon sun.
Taking a seat outside one of the cafés on the main stretch, we ordered coffee and orange juice, thick and bitter, cold and sweet. On either side, we were surrounded by gift shops selling marine-related magnets, postcards and cheap ouzo.
‘Dad would have sent his, but he was using it this afternoon.’ David adjusted his sunglasses, rolling his head back.
‘I’m happy to get the ferry. When is it due?’
‘Actually, I think that might be it coming in now. You see, that bright yellow one?’
I nodded, imagining the churning of the motor below the water, the vessel silently cutting its path towards us like a brightly coloured hearse.
Placing 15 euros under the ashtray, David stood, taking both our suitcases, leading the way towards the jetty.
‘Shall we sit on the deck?’
He did not wait for an answer, leading me to a circle of seats at the boat’s nose as the other passengers moved inside.
My stomach followed the undulations of the sea, the spray forming an arc where the steel cut a line through the water. Imagining the world that lay beneath them, I pictured hundreds of miles of darkness – secrets that would never be found.
‘This is it!’ David’s face was like a child’s as he led the way onto the sliver of port that lay inside the curve of land at the bottom of the mountain.
Facing the island, grateful to press my feet finally on solid ground, I let myself take a moment. The sun beating against the hillside, igniting against stone buildings, iron poles poking out from the top like executioner’s spikes.
The port consisted of one small road. Below it, a strip of beach was spotted with seaweed and stones, a slick of engine oil shifting against the concrete jetty that formed a strip into the water.
To the left of the street, from where I stood, there were several bars and restaurants. Low, faded armchairs, blue upright chairs, chequered tablecloths, glass tanks crammed with lobsters clawing over one another for space.
‘The best places to eat are in the old village,’ David said as he rolled the suitcases in the other direction, towards the bus stop.
‘But it’s all pretty low-key. There are only three taxi drivers on the whole island, so make sure you never need to leave in a hurry. Where is Jorgos?’
He was talking to himself, scanning the road, which seemed to move in slow motion. Even the music wafting out of the taverna opposite seemed to be playing in half-time.
At that moment, a car emerged from around the corner, moving almost imperceptibly like a shark eyeing up its prey.
‘Jorgo!’
David waved his arms above his head, revealing two circles of sweat. I followed his movements, shielding my eyes, dazzled by the silver glare of the Mercedes. The car stopped, engine still running as the driver, a large man with hands like cured hams and silver hair in a ponytail, stepped out and made his way towards David, open-armed.
As the men moved towards one another, David seemed small and child-like, his body folding into the older man’s crisp white shirt. I could not make out his words as he spoke, looking over David’s shoulder as he did so, pinning me with his eyes from behind his sunglasses.
‘You must be Anna?’
Jorgos finally took a step towards me, a piece of gum rolling over his tongue as David pulled back and held his arms out, presenting me like a gift.
Before I could answer, Jorgos stepped forward and took my hand. His grip was hard and I could see my own reflection in his lenses, my yellow sundress clinging to me.
Turning, he picked up our cases in one hand, swinging his keys in the other.
‘Anna, you go in the front.’
David opened the door, the rush of cool air from the sleek black vents sending a sweep of goosebumps over me as I lowered myself in.
The house jutted out from the land at the end of the dirt path, hidden behind a cluster of orange trees, the smell of the fruit clinging to the air around it.
David craned his neck from the back seat to see my face, enjoying the way my eyes opened wider to take it all in as the car moved slowly along the driveway. The whiteness of the building glowed against the blue sky, the flat roof sweeping effortlessly into glass, forming an exposed box at the end of the house where it met the garden. The pool stretched out to touch the horizon.
‘David, it’s stunning.’
His face swelled with pride as I spoke.
I flicked a glance to my left; Jorgos’ eyes were fixed on the windscreen.
‘Leave your bags, someone will bring them up later.’
David took my arm and stepped inside the door, which led straight into a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end, offering views over a sweep of olive groves. The kitchen, to our right as we entered the house, was all sleek chrome fittings and marble countertop; a sofa and chairs overlooking the pool to the left.
Behind us, I saw the car quietly disappearing back up the lane. David followed my gaze.
‘Jorgos is a legend. He’s like my uncle, been working for my dad since before I was born.’
As he spoke, David started pulling open cupboards, lifting out bottles and discarding them again.
‘What do you want to drink?’
The effects of the Valium were still pulling at my body, making my limbs heavy.
‘I don’t know, water maybe?’
‘Sure, but we need a proper drink – we’re celebrating.’
Drumming his fingers against the cold surface he peered through rows and rows of sealed bottles.
My head throbbed; all I wanted was to go upstairs and lie down.
‘We could go and look in the wine cellar if you fancy champagne? Or …’
He pu
lled out a bottle of gin.
‘G and T?’
‘Perfect.’ I pushed my lips into the right position.
David grinned back at me. ‘I tell you what, I’ll make these up, and then I’ll grab some pool towels.’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘I need to use the loo anyway.’
He paused before agreeing, reluctant as always to let me go.
I was relieved to walk away, following David’s instructions into the hallway where the breeze rushed through the atrium, trailing over marble sculptures, a glass table lined with artefacts made from shells, wood and pearl; up the cold tiled stairs, my fingers trailing the smooth bannister, and along the hall, lined with exquisitely framed paintings, before finally pushing at the door at the far end of the house.
Away from David’s gaze, I allowed myself to take in the bedroom. The king-sized bed was made up to hotel standard with white cotton sheets and matching scatter cushions; a traditional woven rug by the bed, a selection of magazines on a low-lying table.
Somehow our bags had already been placed against the wall, next to a door leading out onto a small terrace. Through the French doors at the far end of the room, the side of the mountain rolled down to the sea like a blanket, dotted with olive trees.
The en suite bathroom stood behind me. Stretching out my arms, I slipped off my sandals and walked across the room, enjoying the coolness against the soles of my feet.
Running the tap, I let out a sigh as I splashed water against the heat of my cheeks. I reached for a towel and pushed my face into the plush cotton, inhaling deeply. When I opened my eyes I found David in the doorway, looking back at me in the mirror.
‘There you are.’
‘Shit, David!’ I jumped, bashing my toe against the tiles. ‘You scared me.’
‘Babe, I’m sorry, I just wondered where you’d got to. Come down, the pool is begging for us to dive in.’
He was holding up a couple of white towels, which looked like they had just been pulled from the shelves of an expensive department store.
‘I haven’t got my swimming things out yet,’ I told him as he hushed me, pulling at my hand, guiding me back towards the stairs.
‘You don’t need them. Dad’s not going to be back for hours. You haven’t lived until you’ve swum naked in that pool …’
Downstairs, David handed me one of the gin and tonics from the counter. ‘I’m serious,’ he said as I followed him out to the pool.
I screamed as I hit the water, bubbles rising up around me, my body writhing, twisting against its natural course.
Slapping my arms against the surface, I pulled my head up and took a gulp of air.
‘Seven out of ten!’ David called out, scraping his toes along the edge of the pool, swigging a bottle of Mythos.
‘What?!’
I offered him an affected look, throwing up my hands.
‘Bullshit, that was at least an eight.’
‘Sorry, umpire’s decision is final.’
He handed me a glass of rosé when I came out of the pool, and I sat sipping it on the steps at the edge of the water, my legs crossed.
‘I tell you what, though …’ David lowered himself into the shallow end and glided towards me. He looked up, his eyes following the bead of water that trickled down my stomach. Pulling me into the pool next to him, he pushed me back against the steps, kissing my neck, tasting the salt of my skin. ‘I think you deserve a consolation prize.’
Before I could reply, I felt him pressing up against me, his slow movements amplified by the futile resistance of the water.
During our first weeks together, unable to push away the sense that I was betraying Harry, I had dreaded these moments, getting through them by allowing my mind to switch itself off, to shift gear, implementing the techniques the doctors had taught me to combat the panic attacks that crept in without warning in childhood. Slowly, though, the dread had softened, the guilt slowly, almost imperceptibly drifting away so that now, as David moved inside me, I felt myself quietly lean back into him.
Feeling my breath quicken, short, sharp stabs swelled and softened with his movements, I watched the cloudless sky, the thick, sweet smell of oranges mixed with sun cream.
‘Shit!’
David lurched backwards, clambering suddenly in slow motion towards the edge of the pool.
I felt myself tipping backwards, my head scraping the stone, catching myself as David tore out of the water, leaning back down to grab me by the arm. As he hoisted me out, I felt my ribs scraping against the edge of the pool.
‘David, that hurts!’
I resisted, watching the angry imprint of his fingers like burns against my pale skin, finally recognising the sound of wheels crunching against gravel.
With a sense of dread, I turned to see the Mercedes crawling down the driveway. Clive. I thought of the photographs Harry had shown me of David’s father, spread out across the floor of his flat. The whole plan relied on Clive taking a liking to me, on him trusting me enough to bring me into the fold. While my access to David was the gateway, having David’s trust alone was not enough. The crucial thing, Harry had emphasised, was that his father must want me in the family as well. First impressions were everything; those were the words Harry had used. If he saw me now, naked, frolicking in the pool with his son, I might as well admit defeat. There would be no second chances at first impressions – Harry had said that too.
Horrified at how easily I had let my mask slip, I lurched into action, pulling myself out of the pool, my eyes darting about for the towels, noting, with regret, that they lay on the sun lounger at the other end of the pool, just out of reach.
Before David could say anything, I turned and ran back towards the house, keeping my body low, out of sight; a slick of hair running down my back, leaving a trail of water behind me as I slipped back through the kitchen towards the hall, struggling to keep my feet from skidding on the tiles – unnoticed, I believed, by the men just the other side of the glass.
CHAPTER 13
Anna
‘Have you been to Greece before, Anna?’
Clive was seated opposite me at the head of the table, Jorgos on one side, David on the other. The sky above the restaurant’s terrace was black by now, a string of white lanterns hanging above our heads between bundles of bougainvillea, like paper bombs.
‘I haven’t, but I’ve always wanted to.’
I watched his face lift in satisfaction, as he barely raised his arm to the waiter, who obediently moved inside the restaurant and returned with another bottle of wine.
‘Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed. I’m sure David will make the trip very special for you both.’
He tilted his glass at his son, grinding his food deliberately between his teeth.
‘I’m sure he will.’
I managed a smile, forcing down the mouthful of lamb, a string of fat catching in my throat.
‘This was David’s mother’s favourite restaurant.’
Clive’s voice didn’t falter. David had been taking a sip of wine, which left a dark stain against his lips, and the stem of his glass hung in the air, a second too long, as he looked up at his father, his expression lost in shadow.
‘Isn’t that right, David?’
He had only mentioned his mother once, in passing, in the years that I had known him. She died when he was a boy, he answered quickly before attempting to change the subject when Meg asked. Meg, never one to take a hint, had failed to take the cue to stop and so I had intervened, aware of his grateful look as I stepped in.
‘Mine too.’ I had said it before I could stop the words from forming. Another lie, tumbling from my lips. But the words had had a soothing effect, I could tell.
‘David tells me you lost your mother too.’
‘Dad.’ David placed his glass firmly on the table.
‘I’m not sure this is the time.’ Clive raised an eyebrow apologetically.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I cut across David. ‘I was very yo
ung, I don’t remember much.’
‘More wine?’
Jorgos leaned over to pick up the bottle, filling my glass before turning to the rest of the table. Lifting the glass, I smiled, meeting Clive’s toast, as with the other hand he held a napkin up to his chest, the image of the stark white cotton striking me like a bus.
The noise that burst out of my lungs was a cry which seemed to come from somewhere outside myself. I heard the back legs of my chair scrape against the concrete as I stepped back, too fast. In front of me, as plain as the faces that watched us from the restaurant, Clive’s features had become those of the child in the photo in Harry’s flat, his lifeless body protruding from under the sheet, the mother’s face beside him a contorted mask. The face in which I saw my own brother’s reflection, the same hollowed-out look in his lifeless eyes.
Raising a hand to my chest, I stood, David’s confused expression following me across the terrace and into the yellow glow of the restaurant. The heat from the kitchen rose out like a furnace as I passed, throwing open the door to the bathroom. Inside, I pushed at the latch, my fingers trembling. My reflection was little more than a colourless wash as I threw myself towards the toilet bowl, just in time, the sound of my own retching like a distant animal.
Running my forehead and cheeks under the tap, I gulped at the water before lifting my head, letting my vision settle on the mirror. My eyes were wild, my pupils like black stars.
Harry.
I whispered his name as I scrambled in my bag for my phone, the one he had given me the day before I left. I had put off leaving his flat, my arms clinging to his back as we said goodbye at the door. Closing my eyes, I pictured him in front of me, his arms around me, his fingers drawing protective lines down my back, the day my world split in two.
CHAPTER 14
Anna
David woke first the next day. From the other side of the bed, I felt him peeling back the sheets, the mattress lifting in his absence. Letting my head drop to the side, I made myself focus on the light breeze drifting in from the terrace, picturing the sun catching on ripples of water.
The Most Difficult Thing Page 9