Survive

by Tom Bale

  Nowhere good, that much is for sure.

  When he returns, the sky above them has an indigo sheen. The kids want to go on with the game but Jody sits up to gauge how he is. Sam greets her with a smile so shy and hesitant it reminds her of the first time he asked her out, in a busy school corridor. She turned him down that time – and also the second time, when he caught up with her walking home from school.

  The third time, outside the chip shop in Fort Road, he got lucky. Or – if you wanted to be a bit cynical about it – she gave in.

  He positions himself directly in front of her, then goes down on one knee. His hands tremble as he takes out the strip of metal he keeps playing with. It’s been shaped into a circle.

  A ring.

  ‘Jode–’ His voice chokes. ‘Will you marry me?’

  At first she can’t believe what she’s heard. It only sinks in when Grace jerks upright, her eyes wide in astonishment.

  ‘Dad?’

  Jody shushes her. ‘Sam, please...’

  ‘No. We should. Right now, in fact.’

  ‘Here?’ She wants to laugh, but equally she wants to cry. She covers her mouth with her hand, knowing either reaction could be dangerous.

  ‘You need someone to do it,’ Grace points out.

  ‘Normally, you do,’ Sam says. ‘But the main thing is to have witnesses, and we’ve got you and Dylan. That’s all we need. It’s all we want.’

  He holds Jody with his earnest gaze, seeming to plead with her to agree. She feels confused. Delighted. Trapped.

  ‘It would be an honour,’ she says.

  They come up with a ceremony of sorts. When she was eleven or twelve, Jody had practically memorised the entire oath. At the time it seemed important to know it by heart, so she wouldn’t stumble over the words in front of her family and friends.

  Now, with the four of them kneeling in a circle, she guides Sam through the service, supplementing her memory with phrases from TV and films, noting the irony that she is having to lead even though it’s Sam’s idea.

  Bless him, though. She thinks she understands his reasoning. And as dreadful as it is, she can’t dismiss the blush of pride, the thrill when he eases the band of metal on to her finger and kisses her respectfully on the lips. The doubts she has harboured guiltily for years are banished in that instant: hopefully never to return.

  ‘I do,’ she says – because it sounds more definite, more immediate than I will.

  ‘I do,’ he says back. There’s no ring for Sam, but he’s never been one for jewellery.

  To conclude, he suggests they all link hands and sing a song. Jody is wondering whether to go with that favourite ballad of her mum’s from Dirty Dancing when Grace breaks off contact, suddenly enraged.

  ‘I know why you’re doing this.’

  59

  Sam had banked on this lifting the mood for an hour or two, at least. But the ceremony is over far too soon, and it’s Grace who shatters the illusion that they have anything to celebrate.

  Jody reaches for her hand, saying, ‘Darling, come on…’ But Grace won’t be fobbed off. She twists free of her mum while staring fiercely, almost hatefully, at Sam.

  ‘You think we’re going to die.’

  Jody gasps. ‘No. Grace–’

  ‘It’s true. Dad knows it.’ The words have a vicious sting.

  Sam wants to turn away but he can’t. ‘Look, I thought it would make everyone feel better. I’m sorry if it hasn’t worked. But I love your mum, and I don’t tell her that enough.’

  It’s a cheap move, he’s aware of that – getting emotional to deflect Grace’s argument – but he’s going to do whatever it takes to end this conversation on his terms. Jody jumps in with some warm reassurance, and although it sounds a lot more convincing than anything Sam could say, he can see that Grace is too smart to be fooled.

  Thankfully Dylan comes to the rescue as only he can, jabbing a finger at the sky. ‘Stars! I win!’

  They all gaze up at the tiny pinpricks of light. To Sam they only emphasise the darkness, settling over them like a cloak.

  While Jody gets the children to sleep beneath the boat, Sam sits a few metres away, staring at the glitter of moonlight across the blue-black sea. This time last night the storm was coming in. Tonight, by the look of it, will be clear and dry, which isn’t really the good news it might seem.

  Without water there’s no hope. No reason to change his mind. He’s made a plan and he’s going to stick to it.

  Jody comes over to join him. She looks exhausted, and sunburnt, but still beautiful. Squirming in his admiring gaze, she says, ‘Don’t. I’m a horrible mess.’

  ‘You’re perfect, Mrs Berry.’

  Her grimace isn’t the reaction he’d hoped for. ‘Still don’t know what I think about that. “Jody Berry”.’

  ‘Well, I could take your name and be Sam Lamb.’

  They both snort. Jody shakes her head. ‘Do you know what, Mr Berry? Despite all this other stuff we’re dealing with, I feel like I could burst with happiness. I’m so proud to be with you, so proud of what we’ve achieved through the years.’

  He smiles sadly. ‘No one thought we would last, did they?’

  ‘You can’t really blame them. I mean, getting pregnant at seventeen isn’t exactly the best of starts.’

  ‘They never gave us a chance, though.’ His tone is a little too aggressive; Jody tenses, before nudging against him.

  ‘My mum and dad have come round. It took them time, that’s all.’

  ‘But they didn’t think I was good enough.’ He sniffs. ‘And they’re probably right.’

  It’s not the conversation either of them wants to have, so they sit in silence for a minute, before Jody indicates the beach, and the silver flakes of moonlight sprinkled over the water.

  ‘Wouldn’t this be the perfect place for a wedding? Trouble is, my mum would be devastated if she missed out. And in her version we’d have aunts and uncles we’ve never met, silly posh food for the catering, a fortune spent on flowers and table decorations and all that rubbish–’ She breaks off, pressing both hands against her face, but still a sob escapes. ‘I’m never going to see them again, am I? Mum and Dad.’

  ‘I don’t–’ Sam tries. ‘I can’t say the words you want to hear. Not after what happened to Dylan. The bastards doing this, they’ve got cameras, microphones, they know how close it came–’ He swallows. ‘But no one stopped it. No one rescued us then, so why should they now?’

  He does at least spare her his fear that they have days of this still to come. More tests and tricks and traps, and all that time they’ll be expected to stay strong for the kids, pumping out false hope like living on the stale air from a tyre.

  Jody, weeping silently, can’t let it go. ‘The way we suffered in January, not knowing if Dylan would pull through. But then he did, and it seemed like a miracle. Like we were blessed… only for this to happen.’

  ‘I know.’ He sniffs. ‘But the two things aren’t linked. This is just… more shitty bad luck.’

  She reflects on it, then gives a little bark of laughter. ‘And what’s worse, somehow, is to know our families aren’t even missing us yet.’

  She’s right. The holiday has a few days left to run. Until they fail to arrive home next Tuesday, no one will think it odd not to hear from them. By then, they could all be dead.

  Better off dead.

  With a shiver, Sam says, ‘My mum won’t miss us, I know that. And as for my dad – he’s never given a toss about anybody.’

  There’s a curious silence from Jody. She slips her arm through his, a way of connecting that Sam has always regarded as a bit too grown-up for a couple of kids like him and Jode.

  ‘No,’ she says carefully, ‘but Paul and Steph will be cut up.’

  ‘Suppose.’

  ‘They will, Sam.’ She jostles him a little, to stress the point. ‘Your uncle loves you like a father, there’s no doubt about that. In fact–’

  She breaks off, and he turn
s to look at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you ever think… maybe that’s what he is?’

  It’s the sort of thing you say and then immediately want to reel the words back in. Jody is so nervous, even her toes are curled up tight.

  ‘Paul?’ Sam says, as if he can’t get his head round the concept.

  Too late she realises that he can, but he’s horrified by it. That much is evident from the way he draws his arm clear of hers and edges away.

  She gabbles: ‘Sam, I’m sorry. I know it’s out of order. But from the first time I met him, it struck me how similar you are – as people, I mean.’

  ‘So how come you never said?’

  ‘Because I don’t know, do I?’ She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. ‘Sorry. It was a silly thing to say.’

  ‘But Paul would’ve had to sleep with my mum. His brother’s wife. And to cheat on his wife.’

  ‘But he wasn’t married to Steph then. I didn’t think they got together till after you were born?’

  As Sam pauses to work out the dates, Jody is praying he can view it the way she does: a scenario where Paul, fundamentally a decent man, takes pity on the wife of his violent waster of a brother.

  ‘I dunno,’ Sam says at last. ‘It’s so far back. But if they did do it…’ He shudders. ‘Dad would go mental if he found out, even after all these years. He’d kill Uncle Paul.’

  She cringes in shame. Why hadn’t she considered the implications before she opened her mouth?

  ‘I’m really sorry. The only reason I said it was because of how often you compare your character to Carl’s. I know deep down you worry about sharing DNA with him. This way it would mean you’re only half-brothers.’

  Sam seems confused. ‘But me and Carl aren’t the same, any more than Paul is like my dad.’

  Jody can’t admit that it’s not just Sam she’s thinking about, but Dylan. How much better it would be if kind, generous Paul was his grandfather.

  ‘I know. Forget I said it, please.’

  He stares at her for a moment, then turns away. All the effort they’ve made to re-establish a connection and now, thanks to her clumsiness, the distance between them is greater than ever.

  What comes back to her is Sam’s admission that he’d dropped the key. In that moment she thinks something fundamental changed in him, something that might never be put right. The fact that he had to stand there, gazing into his son’s eyes as Dylan slipped beneath the water…

  I should have let Sam swim down and retrieve the key. That was his chance to redeem himself. But supposing he hadn’t found it, and then she had to watch Dylan die in her arms… Either way, their relationship was doomed, wasn’t it?

  She hears movement, Sam shifting closer again. ‘Sorry,’ he whispers.

  ‘No. I am. I was such an idiot.’

  He puts his arms around her, but before she can savour the relief, there’s an anguished moan from Grace.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Sam says, quickly kissing Jody on the cheek. His face, like hers, is hot with tears.

  He has to feel his way on hands and knees because the beach around them is being swallowed by the night. Jody listens to Sam as he soothes Grace back to sleep. His body is in silhouette, crouched awkwardly beneath the boat, his head dipping to kiss his daughter.

  ‘I love you, Grace.’

  ‘LoveyoutooDaddy,’ she mumbles in response.

  Jody, moved by the exchange, crawls towards them.

  ‘Listen to me, Grace,’ Sam says gently. ‘This is all a nasty dream, yeah? I want you to go back to sleep, and when you wake up you’re going to be somewhere lovely.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘If you like, sweetheart.’ His glance at Jody is unreadable, and yet it feels significant in some way she can’t fathom. ‘Wherever you want to be, Grace. Wherever’s the perfect place for you.’

  ‘Whataboutyou?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll be there too. We’ll all be together, the whole family.’

  He sounds so convincing, so very sure of his message. It’s a remarkable transformation – and the polar opposite of what he’s been arguing up to now: Don’t lie to them.

  One last word from Grace: ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise. Now go back to sleep. I love you so much, remember that.’

  He eases out from under the boat and almost collides with Jody. He gives a start, then takes her outstretched hands, allowing her to pull him close till they’re face to face, their gazes locked and lit by the moonlight.

  ‘How can you say that to her?’ she whispers.

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘But it’s not true.’

  Sam just shrugs. ‘Isn’t it?’

  Part IV

  Retribution

  60

  Borko is aware that the party loses something when the family beds down for the night. Within an hour most of his guests have departed to their suites at the Conchis. Gabby, however, has been persuaded to stay. She made it clear that she must work tomorrow but will return in the late afternoon, to be present when Borko releases Sam, Jody and the children.

  Gabby seems quite glad to see the back of his guests, but at the same time she grows increasingly ill at ease in his presence. Even now he cannot say to what extent she is deluding herself, but he will know soon enough.

  In the absence of a working microphone at the family’s camp, the evening’s activities were frustratingly ambiguous. First there was Sam, pacing up and down and glaring at the trees, often looking directly at the camera. But he didn’t come closer to investigate, so the assumption held that he hadn’t spotted the surveillance.

  When he returned and spoke to Jody, there was a solemn air about him. At one stage they were all kneeling together, talking in low voices. The microphones in the trees caught only a hum of conversation, and gave no clue as to what they were discussing.

  After that, it was clear the family could do little more than sleep. They had failed to light a fire, and even with the rising moon, the darkness around the camp was oppressive. With very little water left, Borko agrees with Gabby that the mood by morning will be desperate.

  She makes a spirited case for releasing them right away, but he can’t agree to that. He does, however, confirm that the family will get a favourable deal by way of reparation.

  The reason for the delay is that he has business to conclude with Jesse, who is also – regrettably – a house guest tonight. As Borko explains to her, the American refuses to sleep in hotels, and even his room here had to be fumigated, fitted with new furniture and, most specifically, a new bed.

  ‘When he was a student travelling in the Philippines he developed a phobia of bedbugs. As soon as he became wealthy, he stopped using hotels and now he rents an apartment and has it furnished according to his needs.’

  ‘Even when it’s only for one night?’ Gabby asks, incredulously.

  ‘Why not?’ Borko doesn’t quite understand her disbelief, but in this instance he is greatly relieved that it is only for one night. He assures Gabby that their business will be concluded by midday; Jesse will be driven to the airport, and then, as he puts it to her with a devilish smile, ‘You will have your way.’

  Either she misses the innuendo, or skilfully ignores it. Later, once she has retired to a guest room on the second floor, he marvels at the extent to which he is enjoying this slow seduction.

  He’s already decided against making a move tonight. He considers it to be a test of his self-control.

  But tomorrow, he thinks, is about right. Regardless of what happens to the family.

  Regardless of what Gabrielle wants.

  Gabby wakes to the sound of a tap on the door. Before bed, she made sure to lock it, not caring if Borko was offended. Even if he has a master key, the noise ought to wake her in time.

  Her head feels cloudy, and judging by the taste when she swallows, something unpleasant has died in her mouth. Her hair has been pressed into sleepy folds across her face, and there’s a line of dried saliva running from
the corner of her mouth. It would take a brave or foolish man to find her sexy in this state.

  She twists round to check her phone: ten to three in the morning. Jesus, what a time to choose.

  Earlier she was weighing up the pros and cons of giving in to Borko, trying to decide if it will get her what she wants. She was taken aback when he agreed to release the family the following afternoon, but still isn’t sure if she can trust him.

  No, scrub that. She knows not to trust him.

  After she’d pressed him for more details of how the family would be treated, he led her through an orange grove to a long single-storey outbuilding. There would be a transition period, he told her, during which time the family would stay here, under medical supervision, to be rehydrated and restored to full health.

  Unlike the lavish guest suites within the main house, these bedrooms were small and plain, with minimal furnishing and the sterile air of a clinic. Gabby couldn’t fail to notice that the doors were lockable from the outside. There was a living room with a TV, a coffee table and a couple of sofas, and a kitchenette dominated by an American-style refrigerator. Curiosity prompted her to look inside, though it was immediately obvious that Borko would rather she hadn’t. As well as rows of soft drinks, there were several polystyrene trays containing vials of liquid. Tranquilisers, sedatives.

  ‘They’re not going to be drugged again?’

  ‘I hope it won’t be necessary. But there have to be safeguards; otherwise releasing them could be… problematic.’

  Too right it could, she thought. For you much more than them.

  Another knock, this one sharper. Gabby climbs out of bed and slips on the luxurious robe that was supplied for her. She creeps over to the door and listens for a moment, regretting the absence of a spyhole.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she hisses.

  ‘This is Naji. Please open the door.’

  Something in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, but she knows to stay on her guard. She unlocks the door. The first shock is the sight of Naji Hussein in anything other than his Savile Row suits. He’s wearing tracksuit trousers and a white t-shirt, and his grey hair is uncombed.