The Ex-Husband

by Hamilton, Karen

  ‘Married.’

  She orders another glass of wine.

  ‘I was with a married man for a while,’ she says. ‘It didn’t end well.’

  ‘Does it ever?’

  ‘I know this sounds naïve, but I really did think he was different.’

  For a moment, I think she’s being serious, but then we both start laughing again.

  We’re in the process of ordering a third glass of wine each when I get a message from Thomas:

  Please add local spices to your list. You can buy them at the market.

  He also lists the brand name of a hot sauce for Alicia.

  We finish our wines and decide it’s too hot for a coffee. I offer to pay the bill, feeling slightly guilty when Lucy thanks me. She doesn’t know that it’s Josephine who really paid for our meal.

  I google the market. It is another short taxi ride away.

  The market is shaded beneath umbrellas and a thatched roof. Low tables are crammed with local fruits and vegetables. Beneath the shade are clothes and a variety of souvenirs: baskets, bags, hats, T-shirts. In the fruit and veg part of the market, I look around for the flowers. I ask for the ones on Thomas’s list, but they don’t have them. I buy what looks like ginger lilies, then bulk up the rest with roses. It is hot. My bags are heavy. I shouldn’t have drunk wine, I should’ve stuck to water. The scent of flowers and fruit, at first so appealing, is now cloying and oppressive.

  I scan the area looking for the rest of the items on my list. I ask a stall-owner and am pointed in the direction of the spices and bottles of hot sauce. When I go to pay for them, my purse is gone. I check and check again. I can’t find it. Apologising, leaving my parcel at the stall, I look around but I can’t see Lucy or any sign of her long, yellow skirt.

  Panic sets in. I check my bag again thoroughly. It’s definitely gone.

  I wander around, disorientated. It’s getting more crowded. I wasn’t concentrating on the direction when we walked in. I let Lucy take the lead. When I used to go on shore with some of the other cruise-ship crew, there was this general feeling of safety at being in a group. I would switch off, go with the flow of the crowd.

  Calm down, I tell myself. I see the edge of the market and I make my way towards the space. Someone jostles me but when I swing round, there’s no one there. I keep an eye out for Lucy but there is no sign of her. I message her. No reply.

  But then I hear her voice: ‘Charlotte!’

  I swing round and see her clutching a bunch of orchids.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she says.

  ‘My purse. It’s been stolen.’

  ‘What? Just now?’

  We retrace our steps, but of course we don’t find it.

  Back on board, Thomas is not impressed.

  ‘I’ll have to cancel the card and bother Josephine to sort out a new one,’ he says.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘But it was obviously an accident. I’ll have to do the same with my cards, not to mention the cash I was carrying.’

  Not entirely true. I only took the card Thomas gave me, luckily.

  ‘I thought you were an experienced traveller?’ he says.

  Lucy obviously feels sorry for me because she tries to change the subject.

  ‘How was the dive?’

  ‘Apparently it was amazing,’ he says. ‘They saw barracuda, eels, trumpetfish . . .’

  ‘No sharks?’ I can’t help asking, childishly.

  Apparently none.

  Mariella comes to my cabin later that evening with some herbal anxiety pills.

  ‘Lucy says you had your purse stolen today. Try these,’ she says. ‘You’ll sleep like a baby.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I will.’

  Untrue. I’m unable to rule anyone out as a suspect. Mariella’s husband is Sam’s friend, her lover is the captain of this yacht, plus she helped organise this trip. There is no bloody way I’m going to swallow any of her pills. I’ve stayed alive and unharmed this long, I’m not going to blow it at the eleventh hour.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Now

  Day Twelve

  Itinerary: Barbados, two-day stay.

  Guests to villa/free time.

  I want to cry with relief when the captain announces that we are approaching Barbados. I am about to escape my luxury prison. Even the guests have had enough. I heard Alicia and Charles snapping at each other. Garth and Gina no longer come down together to have breakfast à deux.

  I go out onto the deck and watch as the shoreline gets closer. It feels unbearably slow, as if the freedom of land is beckoning me, it’s so tantalisingly close. As we pull into the harbour I want to shout out loud at the crew to hurry up.

  The villa staff disembark first, Mariella accompanying them. Thomas has arranged for most of The Party to take a short historic walk around Bridgetown to ‘get a good leg-stretch’ and then have lunch at a popular restaurant.

  And as for me . . . I have left a few personal belongings on board so as not to flag up my imminent departure by cramming my necessities into a rucksack. I explained to Thomas that I need the day off for personal reasons.

  ‘It isn’t on, you taking time off at short notice,’ he says. ‘There are mountains of things to get ready for the grand-finale engagement party. My lists are never-ending.’

  ‘I won’t let you down,’ I lie. ‘I’ll be back later.’

  I smile, trying to reassure him, but he folds his arms and doesn’t say anything else.

  I stand at the end of the jetty and take a moment. It’s strange, being back in Bridgetown. Surrounded by the other superyachts and luxury boats along with passengers and crew going about their daily business, everything feels normal. There is a breeze. The sails of a small sailboat flap gently. Waves lap against the shore. Holidaymakers lounge on their villa balconies or on the nearby silky, white beach. Restaurant tables are covered in pristine white tablecloths with wineglasses and navy napkins, ready for the lunchtime crowd. I can almost convince myself that life is back to how it was ‘before’. I close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face and almost believe that when I open them, a younger, happier version of me will reappear. As will Sam.

  I feel bad about not saying a proper goodbye to Lucy, but I’ll message her when I can and I know she will understand. I walk over to a taxi and give JJ’s address. I want my arrival time to be a surprise. If Sam is somehow there, I want to catch him out. We pull away. I take a trip down memory lane. The palm trees lining the street are as tall as I remember. Beyond, I see surfers catching the waves. We pass a rum distillery before weaving through residential areas, green lawns bursting with floral colour. The other drivers are friendly, letting one another in and out of the traffic. Shoppers walk by carrying bags of fruit, others holding umbrellas to shade themselves from the sun. I listen to the local radio. A presenter discusses the weather before playing a song I have never heard before.

  The driver drops me right outside JJ’s house. His cottage is nicely familiar with its white walls and sky blue window shutters.

  ‘Would you like me to wait?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ I say as I get out. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  But who knows?

  I unlatch the gate and walk up the short drive. Sweat slides down my back. I am scared. My earlier bravery and optimism are fading. I cup my hand around my eyes and peer through the front window of the house. Nothing. No car in the drive and no sign of JJ’s motorbike either. I go to the door and knock. Still, nothing. He’s a chef at a local beach restaurant; he never used to start work early.

  ‘JJ?’ I call out.

  Silence. Perhaps I should’ve called ahead and been more precise about my arrival time. I don’t know what I expected. To see JJ and Sam sitting out on the porch, sipping a coffee, discussing the old days? Playing cards?

  Regardless, self-consciously, I call out: ‘Sam!’

  More silence. I walk around the back and peer through the kitchen window. There are no signs of life, other than an abandone
d breakfast bowl and mug on the table. I knock on the back door. Nothing. I message JJ.

  Hey! I’m at your place a little earlier than expected. Where are you?

  I’m relieved to see that he reads it immediately.

  I didn’t realise it was today. No matter, back in fifteen/twenty!

  I send a thumbs-up emoji.

  There is an outdoor room to the side of his house, a shed, really. I push open the uneven door. It scrapes along the ground. There is nothing interesting and certainly no Sam. Wooden shelves, jars of nails, stuff. There is some garden paraphernalia and a swimming pool net with a retractable metal pole.

  I wander up to the plunge pool which is surrounded by a stunning rock formation. In the centre is a fountain that feeds into the pool. I love the sound of water trickling. I find it calming. I slip off my trainers and dip my feet. Five minutes pass, then ten. I hear the sound of JJ’s bike in the distance, getting louder. I stand up, dry my feet with my ankle socks, shake them out and put my trainers back on. I watch JJ as he parks, cuts the engine and removes his helmet, his whole face lighting up in a smile

  ‘Hey, long time!’

  ‘Good to see you again.’ True.

  We hug. He looks chilled, not like someone who is hiding someone who doesn’t want to be found. He unlocks his front door. I follow him in. It’s quiet. I can hear my heart beating. In a rush of fear, I look out for Sam. The living room is dark and cool. I hear a scratching noise from the kitchen. I swing around as a cat pads out as if to greet us, then jumps up onto a sofa, watching me. I walk over and stroke it.

  ‘Coffee? Tea? Lemonade? Something stronger?’

  JJ puts down his helmet and gloves on a shelf.

  ‘Lemonade, please.’

  He goes into the kitchen. I follow. He opens the fridge. It is crammed with vegetables, cheese, meat, milk and bottles of pickles. Way too much food for a person living on their own. Sam loved cheese of all kinds. He always said he could live on it.

  He pours two glasses of fresh lemonade from a jug.

  I accept the glass from him and he opens the back door. Outside are two chairs and a small round table decorated with mosaics. I place my rucksack at my feet and take a sip of lemonade. It’s beautifully tart.

  ‘If it’s not cold enough, I can grab us some ice,’ he says.

  ‘It’s good, thanks.’

  In the distance, a dog barks. A siren blares. There are no sounds from inside. Now that I’m here, I’m not sure how to word everything I wish to say.

  JJ breaks our silence.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about Sam,’ he says. ‘I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.’

  His whole face looks sad.

  ‘What did you hear?’

  He looks at me in the same way a lot of people have been looking at me lately, that mixture of concern and confusion, as if they’re making an assessment as to how far along the denial dial I am.

  ‘That he is missing. That he fell off a cliff and was swept out to sea. That they found his clothes,’ he says gently.

  ‘They found a jacket,’ I say. ‘That’s all. No body.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Actually, JJ . . . I was half-expecting him here. I had messages from him right up until he disappeared, and since then I’ve had some strange ones . . . I don’t know if they’re from him or someone else entirely. I’m confused. I don’t know what to think any more.’

  ‘He’s definitely not here. I haven’t heard from him for well over a year. I live with my girlfriend now, Alison. She’s at work. There’s just the two of us. And Cecily, our cat. Well, Alison’s cat, but she’s starting to warm to me now too.’

  I smile but my insides are knotting, thinking about Sam.

  ‘I’m happy for you.’

  The thought of finding Sam has been keeping me going. I don’t have a Plan B. My thoughts scatter. JJ looks and sounds sincere but then again, so have many other people in my past before I have discovered that they are lying. I take a breath, then another sip of lemonade before placing the glass down gently. To my horror, my throat tightens and the threat of tears feels real. I take another sip.

  My recent fantasies have been shattered. I realise in a thunderbolt that I’ve been harbouring unrealistic expectations. I’d imagined that he’d secretly set sail from the south of England all the way to Barbados, collapsing with exhausted relief as he finally made it to shore. I pictured him contacting one of his many friends – someone who would help with a phone, cards and an identity. Then he’d come to JJ’s. Or, he might have hidden in a small, conveniently abandoned beach hut, catching fish, picking fruit and collecting rainwater. I have also had images of him staring out to sea (with a pair of binoculars that have magically appeared), watching out for me so that he could steal what’s rightfully mine. Distraction and misdirection were Sam’s favourite weapons. Except, I have been misdirecting myself. I don’t know if this makes me feel worse, or better.

  I must look really sad because JJ takes my hand.

  ‘If he went into icy waters, then there’s no way he could survive. Surely? Not even Sam. He used up all his nine lives, Charlotte. It happens. Sam was always drawn to the flame, we both know that. Maybe he got burned. I am sorry. I know you loved him. He loved you, too. Probably as much as he was capable of loving anyone. Grief is normal. Rage, too. You don’t have closure.’

  ‘Thank you. I know you’re trying to make me feel better. His body hasn’t been found. It was dark, maybe that isn’t what happened. Maybe his girlfriend lied or got confused about the time.’

  ‘I read stuff about her. She seemed pretty plausible. The police obviously think so too. Sam wasn’t invincible, Charlotte. None of us are, however much we like to think it. Me, especially. Alison hates my motorbike, but it’s about balance, I reckon.’

  ‘I feel alone,’ I say. ‘Like I’m the only one who thinks it’s odd. It feels like it has been dismissed as an accident. He was scared. Someone was after him. They’re after me now.’

  JJ takes a deep breath. ‘And I’m guessing you can’t go to the police?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘There’s something else. I need the package I left here.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to have it out of the house. It gives me sleepless nights sometimes. If Alison found out, especially if she knew what Sam was like, she would kill me.’

  I feel bad. I told him it was a gift from Sam (kind of true), but JJ knew Sam and his ways only too well.

  He stands up, goes into the shed and steps back out clutching a trowel. We walk through the garden, past the pool. He rolls a couple of small rocks bordering a flowerbed to one side and starts digging. He lifts out a blue plastic bag and hands it to me.

  ‘Thank you.’

  It’s such a relief to get this back. After everything, it feels good to finally have this in my possession again. I push it down into my rucksack.

  ‘Be careful,’ JJ says.

  ‘I will.’

  We both hesitate as if unsure what to do next.

  ‘Do you want to stay here?’ he asks.

  ‘No, but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘You OK on the back of a bike? I have a spare helmet. I can drop you back at your boat?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m going to take some time alone.’

  ‘You can come to work with me if you like? You can hang out on the beach, I’ll make you some lunch?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ I say.

  He washes up our glasses and locks the house. Outside, he hands me a red helmet. It has been a long time since I’ve been on a motorbike. Drew had one and we would go pretty much everywhere on it. Louise made him sell it. Seems she is better than me when it comes to sticking up for what she wants in relationships. At first, I feel wary, out of control. But as JJ speeds up, I realise I’m enjoying it.

  ‘Faster!’ I shout in his ear.

  He turns and takes a scenic route past the ocean before we park up outside a beach
restaurant.

  ‘This is where I work,’ he says. ‘I make the best fish sandwiches you will ever taste in your life. Guaranteed.’

  He organises a table beneath the shade of a red-and-white-striped umbrella and orders me a beer. Most of the tables are already occupied. I sit and stare out at the beach. My rucksack is safely at my feet, one strap wrapped around my ankle. A group of teenagers play volleyball. Several children are building a sandcastle, shrieking with delight. Already, The Cleobella and The Party feel far away. I search on my phone for hotel rooms to give me the headspace to organise what comes next.

  One of JJ’s colleagues brings me out another beer and a fish sandwich. JJ is right about how amazing it is. Wonderful as it has been to eat five-star food all day and every day, I have been dreaming of spaghetti Bolognese or a burger and chips. This fish sandwich is the best thing I have tasted for days and I realise how nice it is to have an appetite. The more Whoever It Is has been preying on my mind, the harder it has become to eat much or sleep deeply. I am looking forward to my own room tonight, the chance to sleep in a double bed, free from immediate fear.

  JJ comes out to have his break with me. We both sip iced coffees.

  ‘There’s one more thing I would like to say,’ he says.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Sam was my friend but we both know he was selfish and out for himself. I’m sorry, Charlotte, but I think he’s dead. I really do. I think he messed with the wrong people at the wrong time and whoever they are, you don’t need them in your life either. Do yourself the hugest favour and move on. You and Sam split up for a reason.’

  He leaves me alone with my thoughts. It’s kind of him but of course no one knows the truth about me, the hollowness I used to experience in the aftermath of a successful job, the craving I’d immediately feel for another project. My greed grew into an addiction. I craved the feeling of the chase, the pull of a shiny new prize in sight. Maybe this is my punishment: to never be truly known. JJ likes me because he doesn’t know me.

  ‘Excuse me,’ says someone, ‘is this seat taken?’

  They point to a spare chair.

  ‘No, take it.’