‘That explains the footprints. Where’s your boat?’
‘I left her in a creek to the east of the island.’
‘You can go back to her now.’ Soraya’s tone was cold and uncompromising.
‘Soraya, I’m sorry…’
‘It’s too late. You have no idea how hard it was with mom being ill. I could have done with you being there. We all could have done with you. And then, when dad passed away… How could you not be there to pay your last respects to our parents?’
‘I’m disgusted by myself. But please, can I at least stay until the morning?’
Soraya nodded reluctantly.
Christopher left the next morning without demur. I made my way into the kitchen and stood beside Soraya. She lit a cigarette and fixed her eyes on the thick plumes of smoke filling the room. My thoughts were clouded by anxieties. My main concern was that Christopher would tell someone about my whereabouts. And yet, if I were to be brutally honest, part of me longed to go back home.
‘Are you okay?’ I put my arm around Soraya’s shoulders.
‘Yeah. I’m sorry you had to witness that last night. I haven’t seen him for so long. What he did was disgusting.’
It had been wrong of Christopher to abandon the people he loved. They had obviously needed him…
‘I can understand. You were pretty cold towards him. You’re very strong.’
‘He just made me so angry. But I gave him his money this morning and he can do what he likes with it.’
‘I wish him luck.’
‘I could never forgive him for abandoning us. I can’t forgive him for not coming back when we were in such desperate need. But do you want to know something?’
‘Go on. What?’ I asked.
‘It was nice to see his face again.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The Cave
I often found solitude in a sea cave during early afternoons. The cave was cold and dank but I enjoyed sitting inside it. The sunlight struck the calm sea, scattering into a myriad candicant fragments, and the cool breeze whistled through the hollow shade. Droplets of water hit the rocky ground, and gentle memories passed through my mind as if I were a dying man, witnessing flashbacks. As if my life had ceased to be and I’d been given a final opportunity to observe it before it faded away.
I’d left that life behind. Left my marriage, my career, my friends. But they refused to be forgotten. They made me who I was. Maybe it was wrong to leave everything behind. That world was still my world, my reality, and I’d made a mistake.
Isla Lacuna had become my home, but I wondered if faking my death had been nothing more than a childish prank I’d played to conceal my inadequacies. My marriage had failed because of me, not because of my career. I’d gotten my priorities wrong. Maybe, if I’d tried harder, Lauren and I would have been fine. Things could have worked again.
I stayed silent, meditative. Memories echoed in the cave and danced like pirouetting shadows. They swirled around me, dripping into my mind like the droplets of water hitting the rocky ground. The crooks and crevices of the chamber, the pockets of light and shade, blazed into flames long snuffed.
Elliott and I were children again, playing cricket. Elliott wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and motioned to swing. I told him he held a cricket bat like a girl and he chased me down the street. I laughed derisively. The houses lining the cobbled path became a miasma of red bricks and cut grass. I fell to the ground as Elliott struck me in the back. He apologized as I cried out in pain. I got to my feet, turned on my heel and went home without a word.
Darkness swept over the rooftops and the freshly mown lawns. A cat crept furtively under the pale light of a lamppost, and the occasional owl hooted in the tall trees. Elliott and I sat on the pavement, breathing in the green scents of the summer evening and chatting to each other. We’d forgotten about the incident with the cricket bat, even though my back still hurt. Pernicious thorn bushes grew wild as the night drew on, creeping across the road, towards us. The sky became a black shroud and fresh blood scented the air as the wandering cat caught prey. I still smiled inside. Elliott and I would always be mates.
Time passed in an instant. Night returned, filled with the white lights of Christmas Eve. Electricity crackled in the air, replaced the chill. Lisa and I held hands in Cardiff’s Winter Wonderland. People skated on the outdoor ice rink, turning and swirling under the piny branches of a Christmas tree. Kids laughed and squealed on the rides and amusements, slipping down slides and bouncing on an inflatable castle.
Lisa looked gorgeous, wearing a thick scarlet coat and a scarf with reindeers on it. She laughed at me because I looked like Bambi as I hurtled across the ice rink. I held onto the side and gasped for air.
‘I hate skating,’ I muttered.
She skated towards me and gave me a cwtch.
‘Let’s get you a lager. I think you need one!’ She grinned.
We took our skates off and made our way to the bar. I ordered two lagers and fixed my eyes on a giant Ferris wheel spinning beside the moon. The turning lights fizzled through the air as I took my gloves off and brought warmth to Lisa’s cheeks. A choir sang carols, their melodious voices gently piercing people’s earmuffs. The scents of cinnamon and hot chocolate. Cool drops of intermittent rain.
I couldn’t wait for Christmas, for my mother’s gorgeous roast potatoes and Lisa’s surprised smile as we exchanged presents. The small details of the day would make me happy.
The night folded into day. I sat on my sofa, drinking a can of lager as pale afternoon light seeped through the windows. Michael arrived at my house to give me a Christmas present, but he’d lost it in the local pub. He staggered towards me and nicked my lager. My mother wasn’t impressed.
‘Who’s this drunken ass?’ She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.
‘My name’s Michael, and I’m an angel really. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’ He smirked like an idiot and held his hand out. My mother didn’t shake it.
He’d had a few Sherries at his house. And a few pints in the pub. He had made the most of the temporary bar service, mixed his drinks and kissed every old lady he’d seen on the way to my place.
‘Come with me, dude. There’s a house party at Damien’s. You know Damien, the one who’s always at the theatre talking about existentialism. All the arty wankers are there. It’ll be great. I fancy a philosophical (cough) drunken debate. Same difference. I’m sure I’ll win.’
I knew Michael would win the argument. He was straight to the point (or pint, I should say) and nobody ever tried to patronize him. Damien tried once and he was made to look like a tool. Michael had gained a lot of respect in the local artistic circles. And the beer gardens.
‘I can’t, mate. I’m going to Lisa’s house.’
‘C’mon, you can’t ditch me for your girlfriend!’ He laughed.
I wanted to go to Damien’s as well, so I told Michael I’d give him a call afterwards and see what could be done.
‘So, Mrs Lace…’ Michael turned to my mother.
‘Mace,’ she growled.
‘Look at all these gift wrappers. They’re gonna fill up a fair few rubbish bags, eh?’
I nudged Michael hard in the ribs. He knew my mother had an issue with how many rubbish bags went out. It was unwise to poke fun at her. But the corners of her lips twitched. She got the joke and I could tell she found him funny really.
‘Yep, there’s a lot of rubbish to go out. Let’s start with you, shall we?’ She ushered him out of the door.
‘Hope I see you later, Dan! Merry Christmas, dudes!’
Memories of Michael still felt like razors in my chest and throat. I’d never met anyone else like him. Never been so close to a friend. We’d shared everything, our likes and dislikes, sense of humor, even a near-death experience. I remembered a poem I’d written about the terrifying day we nearly died together.
A green cloud above us, we smoke and laugh
our cares and last night’s hangovers away.
/> Life, frankly, has never seemed so funny.
Penarth beach is a mix of sand and shingle
that stretches below us, as we perch
on a cliff top. The scents of sea air
and weed burn our nostrils.
The tide is getting closer. It cuts
the beach in half.
The sky grows grey. It’ll be evening soon.
‘Do you remember last time we got stoned here, and I persuaded you that island
was Majorca?’
My mate Michael points at some distant flecks of land.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say. ‘The tide is coming in fast. We should make a move.’
‘Roll one more spliff up first, dude.’
So, we smoke one more and decide we’ll have our milkshakes and Chilli flavored crisps in the car.
All we can think about is curing
the munchies as we get off the cliff, using a ladder of rocks
we’d made earlier. We stumble down
the beach and turn a corner. Icy air stifles our laughter.
The tide has reached the top of this part of the beach.
It’s lapping against the edge of the cliff
and we don’t know any other way out.
‘We’ll have to climb up the cliff again
to get across,’ I tell Michael.
But this side of it is too steep.
We’d fall to our deaths.
We’ll just have to get our feet wet,
I suppose.
We’ve still got the giggles as we tread through the water.
But the waves are hitting us harder than we thought,
and the sea is rising up our bodies now,
smashing us against the base of the cliff.
A wave gives me a wallop
and I’m submerged.
I remember what a fortune-teller told
my mother: ‘Keep your child away from water.’
I raise my head and gaze at the sea,
beautiful and terrifying at the same time,
stretching to distant flecks of land.
I think about the things
I haven’t achieved and sob like a child who wants his parents.
You hear about this sort of thing in the news: fishermen drowning like this.
And that’s all Mike and I will be remembered as: two idiotic boys
who drowned on Penarth beach.
‘Come on!’ I shout. I won’t let
that happen. I throw my milkshake.
It bobs on the water like a gull.
We swim back to shore, gasping for breath,
oblivious to the cramp in our arms
and legs. I want to collapse
on the grey pebbles, but I sprint
up the beach, desperate to get away.
Afterwards, we sit in Michael’s car, drenched.
Somehow, I’ve managed to save my packet
of crisps. But I can’t eat now.
I pull my phone from my pocket.
Beep. Beep. A telephonic death rattle.
My wallet, with all my cards in,
is soaking.
‘Did we just nearly die?’ I ask, shivering.
‘That was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me,’ Mike responds.
Partly ecstatic that we’re still alive,
but mainly furious that we were
so bloody stupid, we sit in silence, shaking our heads.
We decide to stay away from each other
for a few days.
Like survivors, hoping to forget.
A ray of sunshine struck the cave walls and Lauren tripped towards me in the brilliant light, her clothes dazzling white and her face shining like the wild sun itself. I held her in my arms and inhaled her Armani Code perfume. She smiled at me, but I couldn’t look at her. A cloud of guilt enveloped me. I only had memories, the tapered shadows of the past, and they couldn’t bring my friends back. I’d left them behind, and now I was alone in a cold, dank cave.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Heroes and Villains
Soraya’s father had read a lot when he was alive. Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray sought to accumulate Dacca gauzes and Sicilian brocades, while Soraya’s dad desired the world’s finest literary treasures. I discovered dusty volumes of poetry, great plays and novels. Many of the books looked as if they’d been read and reread countless times. I loved to touch the spines and run my fingers across the golden engraved titles, the distinguished names like Tennyson and Dylan Thomas.
Soraya rarely read, but she knew many of the stories because her dad used to tell them to her. He never stopped telling her stories, even when her mother was dying of cancer. That’s what kept them going through the hard times.
I spent hours admiring the vast book collection and refreshing my memory with accounts of valiant heroes. Soraya’s father had taken a particularly keen interest in Greek and Roman mythology.
I thought about the great heroes of ancient mythology. The heroes long gone, but still remembered. I’d played a few heroic parts during my career, appeared brave and strong on screen. I’d written about heroes and had even been called one myself. But there was nothing heroic about me.
I wondered about the nature of good and evil, what distinguished heroes and villains.
Hercules - the son of Jupiter and Alcmene - is still remembered for his heroic deeds. He skinned the Nemean lion, destroyed the seven-headed Hydra in the marshes of Lerna and captured the Cretan bull. He was involved in battles between gods and giants. He’d been there at the first siege of Troy, and for the Argonautic expedition. He was a hero in every way. Virtuous and brave. But Hercules also threw his children into a fire. In a state of madness, he murdered his wife, and for a long time wandered aimlessly in a struggle against his fate.
Prometheus is remembered for molding man. The gods considered him a thief after he stole fire, which he gave to humankind. As punishment, a vulture feasted on his liver every day for eternity.
Bellerophon was a fearless prince sent to attack the Chimaera, a horrible beast with a lion’s head, a goat’s body and a dragon’s tail. He mounted Pegasus and destroyed the monster. He also defeated the Amazons. But he sought to reach the same heights as the gods, and spent the rest of his days in perpetual darkness.
Guys like Midas, the king of Lydia, haven’t been forgotten. The greedy king was granted the power of turning everything into gold. Time hasn’t faded his tale, just as it hasn’t faded the gold sands near the Pactolus River.
Ixion is renowned for breaking his promise to marry Dia. He made love to Juno and as a result was bound to an eternal wheel of fire. And still, while infinite hearts have stopped beating, his story lives on. No man is immortal, but that villain has come as close to immortality as can be imagined.
Those kings, gods and heroes are known for their great deeds and treacherous acts. I certainly wasn’t a mythological hero, but I knew I’d be remembered. I had no control over how people perceived me. Maybe I’d be remembered as a villain, a coward who’d abandoned his marriage and his loyal fans.
I’d left her crying into a pillow.
I should have tried to save our marriage. I should have stayed and talked to Lauren. The scales fell from my eyes as I truly realized my mistake. I’d done my princess wrong. She still loved me. She’d give anything for me, but I’d pushed her away and created the void in our marriage. I’d lied to myself and pretended that leaving Lauren would do her good. But it wouldn’t. She needed me more than ever. She’d feared for our relationship, because I’d changed. But it wasn’t too late to change back.
I needed more time to think on the island - the fool’s paradise. I kept wondering about the nature of good and evil, about my actions. I’d spent my life dreaming. My dreams of becoming successful had come true, and I’d married the most beautiful girl I’d ever set my eyes on. But I would never attain immortality. That was an asinine dream. I’d reached far beyond my grasp and punished myself by destroying every
thing that mattered to me.
It would be hard to go back. I’d have to desert the peaceful island and return to a world of cameras and prying journalists. But I belonged there. Lauren would be there for me. I hoped she’d scold me for being a self-absorbed twat, and then forgive me. Her forgiveness could make everything bearable. I’d face the public with her by my side.
I grew tired of wandering around the island, so I told Soraya I wanted to go to the market with her. I’d always stayed on the island whenever Soraya went shopping.
Soraya and I dragged the boat out of the lake and into the sea. The journey was long, and the air became stifling as the morning sun climbed over the cliffs and into the yellowing sky. Soraya was surprisingly strong. We had to row as hard as we could when the currents turned awry. But I got tired of rowing and needed a rest.
‘I wish my heart was better,’ I grumbled.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Soraya asked.
‘It hurts.’
‘You’ve got a good heart.’
‘No. I haven’t.’ I gazed at the waves lapping against the distant coast. ‘I’ve abused it. It hurts if I exert myself too much.’
‘Well, my heart never hurts.’
‘That’s because you’re young and healthy!’ I laughed. ‘I envy you.’
‘You do have a good heart, Daniel.’
‘You mean that in a figurative sense.’
‘Yeah. You’re a good man.’
‘I doubt that sometimes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t think I’m a good guy at all. I think I’ve been very selfish.’
‘I’ve been watching you lately. You don’t seem happy.’
I looked into Soraya’s eyes.
‘So, you’re not happy…’ she continued.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be truly happy.’
‘I think you’re still searching.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not like you. I question everything.’
‘And you think I don’t question anything?’
Soraya was so beautiful, with her glowing complexion and her deep, meaningful brown eyes. Her chest heaved as she rowed, breathing hard, her lips slightly parted.
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