Sue looked up at him though, her eyes wide as she worked.
‘I think their house will be full of cheap, ugly tat,’ he said. ‘Trinkets and tat.’ His voice was quieter now, spitting out the words like they were hairs in his mouth. ‘I bet there’s crystal glasses from a petrol station and nasty white leather sofas. I bet we’ll have Simply Red on the stereo and after-dinner mints. I bet there’s built-in his-and-hers wardrobes and a bidet in their ensuite and I guarantee there are nice matching bedside tables, where he can stuff his wank-mags underneath his copies of the Reader’s Digest and she can hide her Rabbit in among her knickers …’
Sue moaned in agreement, in approval.
He pulled away and told her to get up.
To get on the bed.
‘I’ll need another shower,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I like the smell of it on you. I like being able to smell myself on you …’
‘Who am I?’ She dropped on to the bed, turned over and crawled towards the wall. ‘Who do you want me to be?’
Ed stood by the dressing table, touching himself. The woman with the dog had walked past. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Marina?’
‘Maybe later.’
‘Maybe in the car on the way back.’
‘Lie flat,’ he said.
He got on to the bed and moved towards her. She swept the pillows on to the carpet, pressed her face into the mattress as he nudged her legs apart with his knees. He lay down on top of her – his full weight on her back and buttocks – and put his mouth close to her face.
‘I was watching you today on the tennis court,’ he said. ‘You knew that though, didn’t you, Carol, you knew I was watching? You were putting on a show …’
Sue whispered, ‘Yes,’ and closed her eyes.
THIRTEEN
When the pager she has been given begins to vibrate, Angie jumps up and says, ‘Here we go.’ There are red lights flashing on the top and as they walk towards the reservations desk, Ed takes it from her and says it looks like a Taser. He presses it against his neck, then pretends to convulse as though from an electric shock. Everyone laughs, so he repeats the gag as they are being shown their table, and the young waiter, who wants to do everything he can to ensure a decent tip, laughs too.
‘That’s awesome,’ he says.
They have been waiting ten minutes in the bar of the Bonefish Grill, drinking beer and cocktails. Trying to make themselves heard over the noise. There is a good deal of chatter at the bar and from the booths on either side, as well as the commentary from dozens of TV sets mounted on the walls, which are showing baseball, basketball and football games.
‘You know what they’d be showing if we were back at home?’ Ed had asked when they’d arrived. ‘Darts, snooker and rained-off cricket matches …’
‘Snooker and what?’ Barry had said. ‘I can’t hear.’
Ed shook his head like it didn’t matter and Angie said she’d tell him later.
It’s a large table, right in the centre of the busy room. There are several families with children eating, plenty of chit-chat, but it’s still a lot quieter than it had been in the bar. The waiter takes their drinks orders – beer and white wine – then when he’s gone, Ed raises the glass he’s carried through from the bar. He asks the others to do the same.
‘To a great holiday,’ he says. ‘And one that’s been all the better for making new friends.’
Glasses are raised and clinked together. Marina says, ‘To a great holiday,’ at the same time as Angie says, ‘New friends.’ The others mutter one or the other. Barry says, ‘Cheers.’
‘Funny old day though,’ Ed says.
‘Horrible,’ Angie says.
Sue leans forward and, one by one, the others do the same. ‘So, what do we think?’ she asks.
‘She’s wandered off,’ Barry says. ‘That’s all.’
‘Oh God, I hope you’re right,’ Angie says.
Dave nods. ‘It’s easy enough to get lost in a strange place, especially if you’re a bit … you know.’
‘Maybe she just went to the mall,’ Marina says.
Ed shakes his head. ‘Too far to walk.’
‘Plus, I think they’d have found her by now,’ Sue says. She looks at Marina, who recoils slightly, as though her suggestion has been dismissed as rather silly. ‘It was probably one of the first places they looked though, so it’s a good thought.’
‘It’s not what the police think.’ Ed puts down his glass. ‘That she’s just wandered off, I mean. You can tell from their faces.’
‘Tell what?’ Dave asks. ‘You can’t tell anything.’
Ed looks at his watch. ‘It’s been what … four hours already? They’ll have searched everywhere, talked to anyone who might have seen her. This long after someone goes missing, a child I mean, they know damn well someone’s taken her.’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Marina says. She stops as the waiter comes back to the table. The drinks are laid down along with some bread and olive oil, and the waiter tells them that he’ll be back in a few minutes to take their orders for appetisers. ‘For a start, she’s not an ordinary child, is she? She might not have a normal sense of time or distance or whatever.’ Dave nods, next to her, and swigs from his beer bottle. ‘She might just be walking round a supermarket, or sitting behind a rock on the beach somewhere, colouring in that book she’s always got and thinking that her mum is coming to get her.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Angie says again.
‘Well, yes, obviously.’ Ed sits back and folds his arms and says that he just thinks it’s important to be realistic about these things. That the police certainly will be. ‘I’m not trying to be morbid, I promise,’ he said. ‘It’s the last night of the bloody holiday, after all.’
‘Bad things can happen anywhere,’ Barry says, quietly. ‘Even somewhere like this, where the sun’s shining and everything seems like it’s perfect, you know?’ He’s peeling the label from his beer bottle. ‘Probably more bad things.’
There is nodding around the table. Angie puts a hand on Barry’s arm.
‘It was freaky though, wasn’t it?’ Marina says. ‘Talking to the mother, earlier on I mean, by the pool. I felt terrible, her chasing around and panicking and the six of us just lying there, desperately trying to soak up a last bit of sun before we go home.’
Angie agrees, says she’s been feeling guilty ever since.
‘It’s only natural,’ Sue says. ‘Especially if you’ve got kids.’
‘Not our fault,’ Ed says, shaking his head.
‘No, but it was still weird, didn’t you think?’ Marina turns to him. ‘Her face, like you could see she was going over and over all the terrible things that might have happened, and us just lying there … sunbathing.’
‘Why should we feel guilty?’ Ed asks. ‘I mean, there was no shortage of people out looking for her, and it’s not like we didn’t offer to help, is it?’
Sue shrugs and looks at Marina. ‘There’s not much we can do about the sunshine, is there?’
‘Disparity,’ Dave says. ‘Is that the word? You know, when what you’re talking about doesn’t match the surroundings? Like somebody talking about their child being missing when … you know, like earlier.’
‘Never heard of it,’ Barry says.
Angie says, ‘Come on, Marina, you’re the writer.’
The waiter appears at their table and asks if they’re ready to order their appetisers. Nobody has really looked at a menu yet and so they hurry to take in what’s on offer while the waiter, who still has an eye on that tip, smiles and tells them there’s no rush.
‘Take all the time you need,’ he says.
They order spicy shrimp, corn chowder, calamari and spring rolls. Sue says she is not very hungry, that she got a little too much sun maybe and is happy to wait for her main course. Dave asks for another beer and Barry tells the waiter to make that two.
‘So, what did everyone say to the police?
’ Marina asks.
Shortly after the three couples had encountered the mother of the missing girl late that afternoon, uniformed officers had begun asking questions of everyone at the Pelican Palms. By that time, only Marina and Dave had been left at the pool. The other two couples had gone back to their cabins. Barry had said he fancied a nap before dinner and Sue said that she wanted to spend some time online in the resort’s small computer room, to which guests had access at the cost of ten dollars per half-hour.
‘Just answered a few questions,’ Angie says. ‘That’s all. Same as you did, probably. We had a policewoman come knocking on the door.’
‘Bloody embarrassing that was as well.’ Barry shakes his head. ‘Ange shouted through that the police wanted a word, so I came to the door in my pants, didn’t I? Never thought it would be a woman.’
‘What did she want to know?’ Dave asks.
Barry shrugs. ‘All just routine, that’s what she said. They’re following up a report that a fourteen-year-old girl has gone missing, blah, blah, blah.’
‘When was the last time we saw the girl?’ Angie says. ‘Had we seen anyone dodgy hanging around the resort?’
Ed nudges Barry, and says, ‘Apart from Dave, obviously.’
Angie continues. ‘Where were we when she went missing? Same questions they asked you, most likely.’
‘You two were still at the beach, weren’t you?’ Marina says.
Angie nods. ‘Trying to make the most of the last day.’
‘Same here,’ Ed says. He looks mock-daggers at his wife. ‘Though for some unknown reason that involved the pair of us traipsing round the shopping mall.’
‘There was stuff I needed to get,’ Sue says.
Ed looks at Dave. ‘What about you two?’ He puts on a silly voice: a pantomime copper. ‘Would you be so kind as to confirm your movements between the hours of one-thirty and two-thirty this afternoon?’
Dave laughs and takes another swig of beer.
‘Still having our lunch,’ Marina says. ‘That place opposite the Oyster Bar, whatever it’s called. We got back about three o’clock, met you lot by the pool around half past …’
‘Right,’ Ed says, nodding. ‘Next thing, the woman starts screaming and ten minutes later there’s cops all over the place.’
‘She had plenty to scream about,’ Angie says. ‘You don’t even want to think about it, do you?’
‘So don’t think about it.’ Barry takes the last piece of bread and mops up what’s left of the oil. ‘Nothing we can do.’
Nobody says anything for a while. They pass a bottle of water around the table and cough and straighten cutlery. After a minute or so, Ed looks towards the kitchens and asks if anyone else thinks the food is taking a long time.
‘We should make another toast,’ Sue says, suddenly. ‘We should drink to that girl.’ She holds up her glass. ‘To everything being all right and to her getting back safe and sound to her mummy.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Angie says.
They all raise their glasses and touch bottle to bottle, which is when they realise that not a single one of them knows the missing girl’s name.
FOURTEEN
Let’s not kid ourselves, everybody lies.
Sorry, I’m busy that night.
I was just looking at something on You Tube.
I love you too …
Twenty-five times a day on average, they reckon, and men twice as often as women, mind you I’ve never been convinced about that. Before that bloody strange Easter Friday in Sarasota, I don’t know if I was more or less honest than anyone else, but I never had much of a problem saying whatever made life easier. For me or whoever I was talking to. Even so, I was seriously impressed with how easily it came to me when it needed to.
The degree of it, I mean.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can just throw that switch when you have to, and become whoever you need to be for however long and get the things done that need doing? The normal things. How you can talk or eat or whatever it is, without slipping up, not even for a second.
You don’t look at your watch.
You don’t sweat more than you should, or scream suddenly or glaze over.
You don’t say, ‘She’s in the boot,’ when you mean to say, ‘Can you pass the salt?’
I’m joking, obviously … exaggerating to make the point, but hopefully you can see what I’m talking about. I can never get over it, that’s all I’m saying.
The things we’re capable of.
Like I said, all the time this was happening, the everyday stuff and the ordinary conversations about this and that, I was amazed at how well I could look after myself. It just kicked in immediately, to tell you the truth, because even while I was busy in that car – while that girl bucked and kicked and tried to slap my arms away – I’d known I wasn’t going to drive straight to the nearest police station and tell them what had happened. I knew 100 per cent that I was going to say and do whatever was needed to avoid getting caught. I’d started to think about exactly what those things might be.
I’ve never really bought into this idea that, deep down, some offenders want to get caught. Everyone wants to stay out of prison surely, it’s a natural instinct, isn’t it? It certainly felt natural to me. I felt – I still feel – that punishing me for what I’d done would be wrong. That seemed blindingly obvious, even then. I was positive that if I was ever caught, the powers-that-be would see sense pretty quickly. Once I’d explained, as soon as they’d been made to understand about … fairness, then any kind of punishment wouldn’t really be an issue.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely not planning on being caught. I just don’t think it would be the end of the world. That, worst-case scenario, I could talk my way out of it.
Ironically enough, just by telling the truth.
That smile, what it did, and why.
Meanwhile, let’s not forget about all those lies being trotted out every day. Husband to wife, colleague to colleague, doctor to patient; snow-white, pitch-black or somewhere in between. A good many of these liars do what they do for very good reasons. Some of them have the best of intentions. Now, I’m certainly not claiming to be one of them and I know there’s no way you can measure these things, but I do wonder if those twenty-five small lies every day would equal one big one.
My big one.
I heard a vicar or someone on the radio once, saying that being able to lie is what ‘perverts’ us. It’s because we find it easy, so he said … that’s what makes us all corrupt and spoils what might otherwise be perfect. That’s rubbish, come on, you know it is.
Even then, before any of this happened, I never believed that.
Lying is what makes us human.
THE FIRST DINNER
FIFTEEN
‘Are we the first here?’ Marina asked.
‘It doesn’t matter, so long as you’re here. How was the journey?’ Angie beckoned Marina and Dave in from the porch. She took the proffered wine and chocolates, said there was really no need, then pointed towards the kitchen and invited them to ‘go through’.
‘Somebody’s got to be first,’ Dave said.
While Marina and Dave stood hand in hand, making all the right noises about the kitchen, Angie deposited jackets and bags in the utility room and Barry took orders for drinks. Marina said that red wine was great if there was already some open and Dave asked Barry what he was having.
‘I’m on the beer for now,’ Barry said.
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘This is amazing,’ Marina said when Angie reappeared. ‘It’s huge.’
The kitchen had been large enough already before being extended out towards the garden, an orangery-type glass roof now sitting above what was a conservatory-cum-dining area decorated in a Mediterranean style. Angie talked about the feeling of space, and told Marina where she had bought the dining table and the big terracotta pots. Barry pointed out where the RSJs had been fitted. Something jazzy and melodic was playing quietly
, though the source of it was not immediately obvious. Angie saw Marina looking around, finally spotting the white speakers mounted high on the wall, and said, ‘Jamie Cullum.’
‘I’m surprised you’ve done such a lot to the place,’ Dave said to Barry. All four were standing in the conservatory looking out into a large garden. It had been a bright, warm day, but now it was clouding over a little and the light was starting to go.
‘It’s what I do, isn’t it?’
‘Exactly,’ Dave said. ‘I’d’ve thought because you’re a builder, it might have been the last thing you wanted to do. You know, like the cobbler’s children always going barefoot.’
‘Come again?’ Barry said.
‘Where are the kids?’ Marina asked.
Angie nodded upwards. ‘Laura and Luke are upstairs with a couple of mates and some pizzas. I should probably get them down to say hello,’ she said. ‘Prove they’ve got some manners.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Marina said. ‘Leave them to it.’
Dave turned to Barry. ‘And you’ve got one of your own, right? A son, is it?’
‘Nick,’ Barry said. ‘He’s with his mum.’
Jamie Cullum sang uninterrupted for those long few seconds until the doorbell rang.
‘There they are,’ Angie said.
When Barry had followed Angie out of the kitchen, Marina raised an eyebrow at Dave.
He said, ‘I can’t bloody stand Jamie Cullum.’
Marina nodded out towards the front door and whispered, ‘The kid’s a bit of a sore point, I reckon.’
They listened to the noises of greeting, the exclamations and the kisses on the cheek, until, half a minute later, Angie came back into the kitchen carrying an enormous bunch of lilies.
‘Look at these …’
Ed, Sue and then finally Barry appeared in the doorway and, once Dave and Marina had welcomed the newcomers – exchanging enthusiastic kisses and greetings of their own – more drinks were organised while Angie dug around in a cupboard to find a vase for her flowers.
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