by Tina Seskis
The waiter appeared with the champagne, and they all held their breath as the golden liquid frothed into the crystal glasses. Jemma craved a glass to calm her nerves – her anxiety seemed to have settled into her stomach, making her feel sick almost all the time. She yearned to feel the foam in her throat, the chill thrill of the bubbles, to take away the tang of salt still lodged there, the raw memory of Kenny’s accident. It seemed she was floating in a hazardous sea of unmanaged emotions, but the champagne would lead her to dry land, would help guide her home, she was sure of it.
‘Cheers,’ Jemma said. They clinked glasses, although Jamie’s and hers didn’t quite touch, and then she tilted her head back, and it felt so good, and she never wanted it to end … and when she finally put down her glass, Chrissy was staring at her, looking stern … and then she grinned, and Jemma grinned back, and they were friends again.
66
Jemma
Jemma was drunk. Three sautéed king prawns and a monkfish curry obviously weren’t sustenance enough after her earlier exertions with Kenny, and of course the lack of an adequate breakfast. Jamie still had the hump, which was undoubtedly her fault. Despite their attempt at cordiality, it had all started up again when she’d made some kind of inappropriate comment about his mother, something to do with the Wizard of Oz from what she could remember. Chrissy had slipped her a couple of unknown pills under the table to help calm her down, and at least they seemed to have worked for now. Jemma glanced at Jamie and gave him what she thought was a conciliatory look, but he just scowled at her.
Fair enough, Jemma thought. She smiled angelically as the waiter deposited a trio of chocolate mousses in front of her, on a long, thin plate, but the look of them turned her stomach. Kenny had left a while ago, on the pretext that his leg was sore, but possibly really because Chrissy had been insisting that he shouldn’t have any more alcohol on top of the antibiotics. Their butler had brought the golf buggy all the way along the pontoon to the restaurant, and as Kenny had been driven off, he’d been waving heroically, royally, whilst Chrissy and Jemma had blown theatrical kisses at him.
Dear Kenny, Jemma thought now. What a guy.
‘Jemma,’ said Jamie, as Jemma drained her champagne flute. ‘I think you’ve had enough.’
‘Yeah, you could say that,’ Jemma said. She felt a sharp kick under the table. ‘Owww.’ She stared at Chrissy, hurt. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘I think maybe you ought to get her home, Jamie,’ Chrissy said.
‘I don’t want to go home with him,’ Jemma said, leaning forward, towards Chrissy. She could hear the coquettishness in her voice. ‘I want to stay here with you.’
‘Jemma,’ said Jamie, and even she could tell his patience was being stretched, perhaps further than ever before. His tone was not quite threatening. ‘Don’t cause a scene.’
Jemma looked around. The restaurant was three-quarters-empty. They were the only group left outside, and they were far out over the water. No-one could hear them.
‘Jamie,’ she said, and she was surprised at herself. It was as if the words that were about to come out of her mouth were random, from a lucky dip perhaps. ‘Why don’t we just admit that we’ve made a mistake coming here?’
‘Be quiet, Jemma,’ he said. He raked his fingers through his hair, his expression desperate.
‘Shall we get the bill?’ said Chrissy, frantically beckoning the waiter.
‘The thing is, Chrissy,’ continued Jemma now, airily. ‘I used to be in love with his brother, you know.’
‘Shut up, Jemma,’ Jamie said. He stood up, tried to help her to her feet. ‘I think you’ve said quite enough.’
‘Oh, I disagree,’ Jemma said, shaking him off. ‘I don’t think I’ve said nearly enough. Jamie didn’t want to marry me for years, did you, darling? And then he changed his mind. Now why would he do that?’
‘Jemma,’ said Jamie.
‘Don’t “Jemma” me! You never wanted to marry me, did you? I wish I’d listened to your brother now.’ Her voice rose. She sat forward and waggled her finger at Jamie. ‘I wish I’d bloody married him instead.’
Chrissy gasped, and even through her drunkenness, Jemma knew she’d gone too far.
‘Sorry,’ she said, to no-one in particular. Her head was beginning to feel as though it had been run over by a truck. She didn’t feel at all herself.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Jamie. ‘Get lost, Jemma. You’ve made your feelings clear.’ And with that he stood up, muttered an apology to Chrissy, turned around, and left.
When Chrissy and Jemma finally got up from the table, having stayed for another bottle of champagne, Jemma’s mood had brightened. At least she’d done it at last. She’d put them both out of their misery. She and Chrissy wrapped their arms around each other and waved their goodbyes beatifically to the waiters, who smiled uncertainly. All the staff were so lovely here, Jemma thought. Moosa, Bobbi, Arnie, Chati. Kyle, their waiter tonight. They were all so lovely, and Jemma loved them all. She waved again, and even blew a kiss at Kyle, who looked mortified, and then she and Chrissy staggered along the starry boardwalk and down to the beach, allegedly on their way to the bar. But once they reached the sand, Jemma’s legs wobbled, and then she stumbled, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on her back gasping, and then so was Chrissy, and they were giggling like teenagers as they looked up at the stars, which were brighter now, and they were spinning and swirling in a vortex of love and beauty, just for them, and Jemma forgot everything. She forgot Jamie and triggerfishes and sharks and sexy marine biologists and disgruntled brothers and muscly wide boys and attentive waiters and smiley chefs and Chinese power couples. She even forgot the terrible things she’d said to her husband. All she thought about was being here on the beach, now, and it was such a relief. And so, as she and Chrissy held hands in the warm night air, staring up at the miracle-sky, at last, at long last, Jemma felt like she was in paradise.
67
Jemma
It was later, though how much so Jemma did not know. The restaurant was in darkness now, and she and Chrissy were alone with just the moon and the stars and the mellow sounds of the sea. Jemma’s head had stopped spinning so giddily, and the sand was cool and soft under her back. The night was breathless. She felt a sharp nudge in her ribs.
‘Are you awake, Jemma?’ said Chrissy. ‘Come on, shall we go?’
‘Where?’ Jemma said.
‘Home. It’s too late to go to the bar now.’
Jemma didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to go back to her bungalow in the palm groves, with the hand-carved furniture, and the beautiful thatched roof, and the fancy bathroom, and the discreet surround-sound music system, and the well-stocked minibar, and the new husband in the silk-sheeted bed. She wanted to stay here with Chrissy. Jemma felt like a child who’d got the wrong present at Christmas for the first time ever, and whose faith has been cruelly shaken. She sat up and started to cry. They were the tears of a drunk – flamboyant noisy sobs – but Chrissy didn’t mind, and as she held Jemma close, Jemma could smell the coconut scent of her hair, and she wanted to stay there forever.
‘I wish he wasn’t here,’ Jemma sobbed.
‘I know, I know. It’s a crap situation.’
‘No, I wish he’d just fuck off, disappear. I wish I could get rid of him, not have to see him again. He’s never loved me anyway,’ and as Jemma said it she knew it was true, and it was a revelation. Jemma wondered why Jamie had gone through with it. Yet he’d seemed so happy on the day. Hadn’t he? Or had he been faking it too? But however it had happened, right now she and Jamie were trapped here on this island together, like caged, embittered tigers, and she had no idea how it was destined to end.
Jemma turned to look at Chrissy, and she wasn’t sure of the expression in the other girl’s eyes. What was she thinking? The moonlight was too flighty tonight to be certain.
‘I know, babe,’ Chrissy replied, at last. ‘It must be so hard for you both.’ Her mood lightened, and
she rummaged in her handbag for a blister pack of pills. ‘Come on, love, have another one of these, and then let’s get you home.’
Chrissy stood up and pulled Jemma to her feet, and Jemma felt so woozy, disconnected somehow …
And now she and Chrissy were outside Jemma’s bungalow, although Jemma couldn’t remember a single step of the walk along the beach to get there …
And now Jemma was running flat-out towards the sea, and at first the water was warm like an embrace, and then it was scary, so scary …
And then the lights of the world flicked off, and Chrissy was gone.
Inside the bungalow it was pitch-black. The stars must have hidden out behind the gathering clouds, as if shy, or scared of what they would witness. There was no more moonlight. Jemma couldn’t see a thing when she came round, and her head felt like it had been split in two – yet she knew immediately that the room didn’t feel right. She patted her hand across the bed, and it was so wide she couldn’t reach right across, but it was damp, and she already knew what was absent. It was the absence of breath, and it terrified her. She imagined Jamie lying beside her, dead, and she was too scared to turn on the light. She pictured the blood-soaked sheets, the drench spreading, reaching all the way to her side of the mammoth mattress. She was being mad, preposterous. She couldn’t bear it. So what if she woke him up?
‘Jamie,’ she whispered. ‘Jamie.’ The silence was in the very bones of the building. ‘Jamie!’
She fumbled with the bedside light, and although she dreaded what it would unveil, she turned it on anyway – and the nightmare vanished, and all she could see were sandy white sheets, and what was once a love heart made out of petals laid across their centre, demolished.
There was no dead body. There was no husband.
68
Chrissy
Chrissy felt relieved to finally fall into bed with Kenny, although he wasn’t quite so happy about it, seeing as she accidentally booted his bad leg. She was wrecked, but slightly less so than Jemma had been – she was obviously far more used to having alcohol in industrial quantities on top of the odd pill or two. She wondered whether she should have made sure Jemma got into the bungalow OK, but she hadn’t wanted to risk running into Jamie – Chrissy had had quite enough of their toxic relationship for one evening, and didn’t want to have to adjudicate another screaming match. Instead, she’d just said her farewells on the beach and had left Jemma to it. It was only a twenty yard stumble up the path, Chrissy thought, as her mind was drifting away. Surely Jemma could manage that.
Chrissy slept deeply. Sometime during the night she found herself dreaming of a giant rat swimming around a boat, its tail whipping backwards and forwards, before belly flopping into a bright-red swimming pool where, baring its vicious brown teeth, it chased her across the water and bit into her leg, at which point she screamed so loudly she woke herself up. As she opened her eyes, she saw Kenny rocking in pain, and it seemed that she’d booted his injured leg again, but even so, he stroked her hair while her heart rate slowed, and then she got on top of him, the safest position injury-wise, and soon enough all was well again.
It was nearly dawn and Chrissy was cold. The throb in her head was growing ever stronger as the memories of last night flooded in. What a car crash of an evening. The only good thing to come out of it was that she’d realized she’d been being neurotic about Jemma and Kenny – it had been clear over dinner that there was nothing between them. Jemma was definitely a bit odd, though. It seemed you could never be quite sure what you would get, when she would snap. One minute she was laughing enchantingly, and the next she was acting like a demented teenager. She’d become hysterical on the beach after dinner, and it had seemed more than just drunkenness to Chrissy. It was hardly surprising, though – had Jemma meant what she’d said about wishing she’d married Jamie’s brother? Bloody hell, Chrissy thought, it was worse than EastEnders.
But whatever, it was none of her business. No, this was her and Kenny’s time – she didn’t want their honeymoon spoiled by other people’s problems. She’d be friendly enough at breakfast, say hi round the pool, but other than that she and Kenny would keep themselves to themselves from now on, especially as Kenny couldn’t snorkel at the moment. Yes, Chrissy had made up her mind. Enough was enough. She didn’t want any trouble. Jamie and Jemma were history.
69
Jemma
Jemma’s sleep was fraught and bedevilled. She waited for Jamie to come back but he didn’t. She wanted him gone yet wished he’d return.
She just wanted to know where he was.
At dawn she got up, and her head pounded from champagne and cocktails and unknown pills, and she padded from the bed out to their terrace, and Jamie’s mask and flippers were missing. Of course. He must have gone snorkelling. But when? Straight after dinner? Yet if that was the case, why hadn’t he come back? Or maybe he’d gone out this morning, but if so, where had he been all night? And either way, it wasn’t safe to snorkel alone, especially in darkness. Everyone knew that.
Jemma felt thick-headed and perplexed and unsure what to do with herself. It was a weird kind of edgy feeling, not helped by her monster hangover. She couldn’t even remember how she’d got home. It seemed that she’d been swimming, though: the sheets were covered in sand and her skin tasted of salt. She got out of bed, put on one of the hotel robes and walked barefoot down to the beach. She looked up and down, but all she could see was a gaggle of women in saris, with brooms, far in the distance. She sat down on her beach lounger, and as she waited for them to come nearer, she watched the sea grow greeny-grey and then a glimmering silver-pink where the sun rose and smashed off its sheeny surface. But sadly, even when the women were close enough, they were too embarrassed to acknowledge Jemma. They were meant to be the invisible path fairies who came at the fringes of night, when the guests weren’t looking, to rake away the leaves, add the finishing touches to heaven. Jemma approached them anyway and asked them if they’d seen her husband, but they didn’t speak English, and when Jemma gesticulated with an imaginary mask and pointed out towards the water it seemed that they thought she was asking if it was safe to swim. They just shook their heads and looked down at the ground, at the leaves and twigs they were clearing, and it was hopeless. In the end, Jemma gave up and returned to her sun lounger, where she sat down and waited, for her husband to come back.
Part Four
* * *
NOW
70
Late in the afternoon on yet another blank, surreal day, seven days after Jamie’s disappearance and the day before she is meant to be leaving, Chrissy is lying naked on her back in her outdoor plunge pool, looking up at the navy-blue sky, her body floating under the last sliding tackles of sunshine. The breeze is warm and the pool is warmer, but she’s anxious and she wishes she could feel relaxed and woozy again, like she’d used to in here. She can feel the water wrapping sleek, silky threads through her limbs, and into bare secret places, and she knows that her skin is so dark now the minuscule parts covered by her bikini are smooth and milk-like, all the better for Kenny to lap at. Her mind is zooming in and out of rhythm with the crickets, but instead of feeling wrapped up in a little medication-enhanced slice of bliss, she feels jittery, panicky almost, which isn’t helped by the fact that Kenny is out kayaking. He’d said he couldn’t keep sitting around waiting for something to happen, it was driving him batty – but Chrissy’s worrying about her husband now, out on the water on his own, his leg still not completely better. There’s a nagging, tawdry regret hanging over their honeymoon, and it isn’t just that someone might be dead, or even that Chrissy might yet be implicated. It had seemed like a perfectly good idea, hooking up with Jemma and Jamie, at first – after all, there was only so much sex and conversation even she and Kenny could manage to eke out over two whole weeks in this place – but it has been a disaster. Jamie’s disappearance has put a total downer on her and Kenny’s honeymoon too.
Chrissy kicks her legs suddenly, viciously, and
water drenches over the pool’s infinity sides, to be instantly replenished. No matter how hard she kicks, the water keeps coming. It’s hopeless. There’s just too much water here in the middle of this sodding ocean, Chrissy thinks – it would be no wonder if it turns out that Jamie really has drowned. But if he has, what does that mean for Jemma? Has she had something to do with it? Chrissy still can’t decide whether to tell the police how Jemma had blurted out that she wished her husband would disappear – on the very night he vanished. Surely she hadn’t meant it.
Chrissy doesn’t know what to do. Finally, she stops kicking and dips under the water, tilts her head back to smooth her long, silky hair, and then she stands up and hauls herself out of the water. She puts on a robe and pads the few steps out to the beach to watch the sunset, and thinks again about Jamie and Jemma, tries to work out what exactly had been going on between them. She’d felt sorry for them at first. They might have been pale and good-looking, but there had been no hot lust radiating off them, like there is off her and Kenny, where no matter how much Chrissy swims or showers, she can’t clear her nostrils of the smell of him. And although she and Kenny annoy the hell out of each other at times, she’s certain she’s found her prince at last – or, at least, she had been up until the night Jamie went missing. Chrissy is perceptive, and she knows Kenny is hiding something. He’s been acting strangely ever since that night. But what? She tries to shove her thoughts elsewhere. Of course Kenny has had nothing to do with it. But then, why do the police keep on interviewing him? And why won’t he tell her what they’re asking him?