Drowning

by Jassy Mackenzie

  Only one thing to do then. I put my sandals down. To get over this river safely, I’d have to leave them behind. Letting go of my handhold, I lowered myself onto my knees and grabbed the metal bars with my outstretched hands. I would crawl across if I had to—if it meant that I would have a chance of reaching the other side.

  The girders were surprisingly cold; their surface stained in places by patchy rust whose ragged edges sliced into my palms as I crawled. I put one hand forward, then the other. Then I slid my knees along to follow. I could do it this way as long as I concentrated and kept my focus. As long as I didn’t lose my balance, get vertigo from the constant rush of water below me. Or look round, hoping to see the sight I knew I wouldn’t—Nicholas speeding down the road in his Land Cruiser.

  As I headed further and further out over the river and away from the support of the bank, I could feel the girders trembling underneath me. I told myself that they could not break and would surely not slip now, but even so, the sensation was terrifying and I found I was shaking, too. Memories I hadn’t even known about came rushing back. A gray torrent streaming into the car. The pummeling noise on its roof as it was consumed by the river. Opening my mouth to scream and choking instead, with no air left, nothing to breathe, only a darkening flood.

  I felt myself sway… I was going to fall. I clutched at the metal, breathing hard, sweat springing out on my skin. It took all my strength of will to find my balance and drag my gaze away from the hypnotic flow beneath.

  “Help!” I yelled, but there was no answer, only the noise of the waters. Nobody to see me or save me this time… I was entirely alone. Frozen in place, there was no way I could turn around and go back. My limbs were aching and my hands burning with the effort of clutching the chilly steel. I knew if I stared down again, the raging floods would seem to inhale me, but when I looked ahead, the distance that I still had to cover appeared vast and impassable.

  “One small step at a time, Erin,” I whispered, my voice quivering. It took all my courage to let go of the girder with my right hand and grab it again a little further on.

  “Now the left,” I told myself, shaking a trickle of sweat out of my eyes. I focused on the couple of feet of steel in front of me and tried to shut everything else out of my world.

  Left, right, left, right. Inch by painful inch I worked my way across the unsteady girders.

  Finally, I made it, just as my shaking limbs were about to give out on me. I hauled myself into a painful crouch, then grabbed at the bank and scrambled up.

  I dropped to my knees, my hands propped on my thighs, my head spinning. I was breathing hard and my hair was wet with sweat. But I had done it. I’d made it across. I was exhausted, filthy, muddied, and tangled, with rust stains on my palms and the knees of my jeans. But I had achieved my goal. I’d cut the ties. Leopard Rock, and its owner, were behind me forever.

  A flash of Nicholas—where was he? I imagined him, his job done, his eyes shadowed with tiredness, enduring the long wait until his helicopter was ready and he could fly back to the estate.

  I wondered how he’d feel when he found my note. Disappointed that I had left before he got back? Relieved there would be no awkward goodbyes?

  I would never know. In any case, what was I doing thinking about Nicholas while I was waiting for my husband? It was time to take a leaf out of Nicholas’s own book; to leave my past behind and think about my future. I stood up on wobbly legs and limped slowly up the steep dirt road.

  Vince arrived twenty minutes later, by which time I’d walked some way further and had managed to make myself a little more presentable by brushing some of the mud away and rubbing my hands over the dewy grass to help rinse off the stains.

  He got out of the Land Rover and walked over to me. Despite the early morning hour, he was impeccably groomed, his black hair spiky with gel, a trace of carefully outlined designer stubble on his jaw, wearing stylish True Religion jeans and a charcoal-colored Armani T-shirt. He looked as immaculate, as handsome as he’d done on the day I met him at his photographic exhibition.

  “Hello, babes.” He kissed me briefly on the lips before stepping back and regarding me with his dark, smoldering gaze.

  “Hey Vince.” I smiled at him, but he didn’t return the smile.

  “You look like shit,” he observed, and although his words were not said with any particular malice, I felt my own smile waver and then disappear. How I must look, to him? Tired eyes, tangled hair, no trace of make-up, muddied, and barefoot, with bleeding palms and stained and crumpled clothes.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I said reflexively, and could have kicked myself for having fallen back into the routine of apologizing and placating him. Still, he was right. I didn’t look my best, and that was a problem for Vince, who set great store by appearance.

  Briefly, I thought about what I had become during the months I’d known my husband. Far better groomed. Aware of brand names and quality. Conscious of my image, and of the image I projected to others, particularly him.

  We’d shared many serious, deep moments although, looking back on it, I could never remember Vince having made me smile as much, in our entire relationship, as Nicholas had in just a few days.

  “I crawled over those girders back there. That’s how I got here,” I told him, pointing to the river behind me, hoping to lighten his mood or at least impress him. “Do you want to take a drive down to see them better?”

  Vince glanced at the river, then back at me, and with a shrinking of my heart I could see the disbelief in his expression.

  “Whatever,” he said. “That road looks crappy. I don’t want to get the car stuck. You’re here with me now. That’s what counts, hey, baby? We’re together. Let’s get back to Royal Africa. One of your bags was in my car, so there’s some of your gear in the hotel room.”

  “Oh, that is good news.” I climbed into the car and we set off.

  I’d been worried about what I would say to Vince if he asked me about my stay at Leopard Rock, and what we would speak about if he didn’t. I had dreaded trying to fill the silence between us. In the end I needn’t have worried. He turned up the music in the Land Rover to a level that did not allow for conversation, and I spent the drive back to the hotel listening, with relief, to R&B while pretending to be asleep.

  The five-star hotel where Vince was staying was the last word in opulence. It was decorated in ecru, wine red, and gold, with dark wooden ceilings, sweeping navy blue and forest green curtains. The walls were covered with drapes of African textiles and and safari-themed oil paintings. Sumptuous as it was, I would have swapped it in an instant for the light, bright, airy, and simple décor of Leopard Rock.

  Stopping off at the front desk, self-conscious about walking through the glamorous lobby barefoot, I inquired whether any of my replacement credit cards had been delivered yet. The receptionist on duty said nothing had arrived yet, but that she would contact my room immediately if anything came in.

  I followed Vince down the carpeted corridor and up a flight of stairs to our suite. I was beginning to feel nervous, as if I’d had a stay of execution that was now over. I knew that, soon, we would have to talk things through, and that he would question me in detail about what I had done while I was away from him. I needed to have answers prepared, and a story that would stand up to his interrogation.

  “There’s your bag,” he said, when we were in the spacious bedroom.

  The small leather carry case I’d never thought I would see again was resting on the ottoman. Oh, the relief of finding that it contained my make-up, my perfume, two pairs of shoes, and a few items of clothing that I’d thrown in at the last minute in case I needed anything extra to wear.

  Vince sat down on one of the armchairs and began reading something on his iPhone. He was clearly not in a mood for conversation, so I went into the bathroom and spent the next hour showering, fixing up my nails, blow drying my hair to glossy perfection, and doing my make-up.

  I couldn’t help it. Nowhere were
the memories of Nicholas more vivid than when I stood under the shower. The patter of the water brought to mind the rain that had been beating down on the thatched roof when I had first regained consciousness in the lodge. It reminded me of the swimming pool where I had lost myself in our first kiss; the waterfall where we had first made love.

  It was there, under that running water, while I was washing the last trace of him, the last smell of him, off my skin, that I came to the realization that deep down I had known for a while.

  I was going to have to tell Vince everything.

  I could not go forward in our marriage carrying this lie with me. I had broken a contract of trust, and as painful as it might be, and even if it meant sacrificing our relationship, it was what my conscience was telling me to do.

  The only question was—how and when to break the news?

  I made myself up immaculately before changing into fresh clothes, including a black top I knew Vince liked. When I came out again, my hair shiny and groomed, my body fragrant, his nod of approval told me that I had redeemed myself in his eyes.

  “I’m going to be busy now,” Vince said. “I have to Photoshop all my images and send them through by the end of the day.”

  “Do you want some help?” I offered, but he shook his head. The rejection sent a pang through me. Vince had always accepted my help in the past.

  “Before you start…” I began, gathering my courage together, but my incipient confession was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone by the bed.

  Frowning, Vince got up and answered.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, she’s here. She must come down to reception? For what?”

  He waited, listened. “Okay.” Replacing the phone, he turned to me. “I don’t know exactly what they want. I can’t understand the locals here when they try to speak English. Something’s arrived for you, and they need you to sign a form, I think. Anyway, you must go down there now.” He checked the time on his phone. “I’ll see you at breakfast in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll see you there,” I said, and hurried out of the room, grateful that the inevitable showdown had at least been postponed.

  Downstairs, I saw it was eight-thirty a.m. and a new receptionist was on shift.

  “Mrs. Mitchell?” she smiled.

  “That’s me,” I confirmed.

  “I have this for you.” She passed me a cream-colored envelope with the hotel logo on the front.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the envelope and turning away, but her words stopped me.

  “If you could open it here, please?”

  “Okay. But why…?”

  “I was told to make sure that you stay here while you read it, ma’am.”

  Instructions from the credit card company? I didn’t understand at all. Frowning in confusion, I tore open the envelope.

  Inside was not the Visa card I’d been expecting. Instead, I found a room card with the hotel’s logo on it, and a folded compliments slip.

  Opening the compliments slip, my eyes widened and my heart started to race.

  There was a short, printed message on it.

  This card is for room 101. Use it if you need it. N.

  Nicholas?

  Suddenly terrified that Vince had followed me down here, I glanced round, but there was no sign of him. I stood for what seemed like a long time, looking down at the page through eyes that were blurry with tears. I felt breathless with shock, ridiculously emotional at the fact I’d heard from Nicholas again.

  He had already found out that I had left the lodge. How had he known so fast? Had Miriam told him that I had gone missing and he’d put two and two together? No, of course—he knew Hennie, the hotel owner. So perhaps, when Miriam had contacted him to tell him I was gone, Nicholas had phoned Hennie and found out I was here.

  “We can hold the card for you here at the desk if you’d like to come by for it later,” the receptionist said. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you must use the room at any time you need to.” Her voice was gentle.

  I felt as touched, as protected by this gesture as if Nicholas had been there himself to put his arms around me to bid me farewell. When I first met him, I would never have thought of him as a gentleman, and yet, this gesture was one of pure chivalry. In spite of the fact I’d run away without even saying a proper goodbye, he’d been thoughtful enough to book me a private room—to be used, I supposed, to gather myself together if Vince and I ended up having a fight. Or to sleep, if Vince banished me from his bed.

  I found myself smiling, and blinking tears away while I did.

  “If you could please tell the sender thank you,” I said, handing back the compliments slip. The card itself I put in my pocket. Room 101. Since ours was 214, I guessed 101 would be on the ground floor, in the opposite wing of the building.

  Dabbing the tears carefully away from my eyes so as not to smudge my make-up, I made my way to breakfast to wait for Vince.

  He didn’t come.

  I sat in the colorfully decorated dining room, watching other guests strolling to the buffet to pile their plates with tasty looking food, while the waiters kept my coffee cup and juice glass filled. I waited for half an hour, during which time I had two orange juices and two coffees.

  Vince must have decided to skip breakfast, or order room service, I thought. Or perhaps something had come up—an important phone call from back home, or another project he needed to discuss. At any rate, having Vince not turn up after he’d said he would was not entirely unusual.

  I returned to the bedroom. Knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  I went back downstairs and got a key card from the ever-helpful receptionist, and let myself in. Vince was not in the room and I could not see his phone anywhere, although his laptop was open on the desk, screensaver swirling. As I had thought, then, he’d had a call, probably while on his way to breakfast, and had gone somewhere private to take it.

  I sat down at the desk to wait for him, and as I did so, my elbow brushed against the wireless mouse. The movement caused the screensaver to dissolve and the image that was open in Photoshop appeared in vivid detail.

  My mouth fell open as I gazed at it.

  It was a close-up artistic photograph of a woman’s breast. It was bigger than mine, full, plump, and perfectly rounded in a way that made me think it might have been cosmetically enhanced. The skin was flawlessly pale, the nipple a deep pink in color, elongated and aroused and gleaming with moisture. It was pierced through its center by a small, bright golden ring.

  The depth of field in the picture did not allow for me to see the background in sharp focus, but as I stared in shock from the photo to the hotel room and back again, I realized where it had been taken. Here, in this bedroom. I could see the place where the gold and maroon stripe of the wall hanging matched up with a horizontal line near the door-frame’s upper corner that Vince had not yet Photoshopped out.

  This must be Helena. Vince had told me about her pierced nipples, during a time soon after we’d started dating when he’d been half encouraging me and half bullying me to have mine done as well. My refusal to entertain the idea of having my nipples pierced, or my breasts augmented, which he had also suggested, had sent him into a sulk for a week.

  Now, staring at this photo, I understood why Vince had not wanted any help with his editing. He hadn’t only been doing the Vogue shoot. He had also been doing… this.

  His artistic eye shone from the picture. Just as he had intended the onlooker to do, I found myself wondering, imagining, whether the moistened shine on that puckered nipple had been made by ice… or by saliva… or…

  The click of the hotel room door opening made me jump.

  CHAPTER 20

  Vince pushed the door open and strode angrily into the room.

  “Where were you, Erin? I thought I asked you to join me at…”

  He stopped speaking, abruptly, as he saw my face.

  “You look pissed. What’s your problem?”

  �
�This is my problem,” I told him icily.

  I swiveled the laptop round to face him, and watched him go very still as he saw the image on its screen. He paused for only a moment before recovering himself. His voice loud and accusing, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing messing around with my computer?”

  “I was in the dining room,” I told him in a voice that sounded surprisingly calm and level. “You weren’t. I came back here to wait for you and I bumped the mouse by mistake. You left this image open. I assume there are others, but I haven’t looked.”

  Vince’s chin jutted. “You should have waited for me at breakfast.”

  “What’s breakfast got to do with this?” I asked, hurt and outrage quavering in my voice.

  He shrugged. “What’s work got to do with anything? I told you when we first started dating that I sometimes photograph nude models.”

  “Yes, but not ex-girlfriends.”

  “I had a job come in from Playboy. Very good money. They wanted an erotic shoot, but something different. Something classy. Helena was here already and she has the right size tits. Yours are too small, baby. Nobody reading Playboy wants to look at B-cups. And if you look at the other pics, she’s also got a yummy tattoo near her…”

  “I don’t want to look at them!”

  “Well, I told you this is how things are.” Vince stared at me, managing to look both smug and aggressive. “If you don’t like it, leave. The nearest hotel is about twenty miles away. See how far you get with no credit card or ID.”

  Listening to Vince, I felt helpless. Crushed by his words and the forcefulness of his attitude, I was ready to back down and agree with him when I suddenly found myself emboldened by a surge of anger.

  “That’s fine, actually,” I said dismissively. “You can do what you want. Photograph what you like. I’m going to take you up on the offer of the trial separation you suggested on the phone. We need time apart. Things aren’t working between us, Vince, and if you want an idea of how badly they’re not working…”