The Ex-Husband

by Hamilton, Karen

  I shift my own chair to remain in the shade. Hotel rooms are expensive so I check out Airbnbs, then flights, but indecision clouds my mind. The world really could be my oyster and it feels important to make the right moves, to steer clear of danger. The limited funds in my bank account won’t last long. I draft an email to Thomas inventing a dire family emergency, ready to send later today. He won’t pay me my full fee, I know he won’t, but I am not getting back on that yacht.

  I was going to wait until I was completely alone, but I can’t resist taking a peek. I unzip my rucksack. I take out the blue plastic bag and without removing the contents, I run my forefinger along the smooth emeralds and diamonds. Alexandra’s necklace. I would never sell it unless I was absolutely desperate. I hide it again, gently shoving it back into my bag.

  The sun starts creeping up my left leg and arm. I shift my chair again until I’m in the smallest patch of shade. I look around, there are no spare tables. Too hot to sit any longer, I go inside and give JJ a wave. He is busy. I mime giving him a call later.

  I walk past the car park, to the pavement. There are no taxis in sight. I stand beneath a tree and wait. Nothing. I look at the local map. There’s a hotel resort a seven-minute walk away, pretty much in a straight line. There will be plenty of cabs there.

  I ignore the offers to sell me things as I walk alongside the road. It is hot, way too hot. I keep an eye out for a passing taxi as I realise my mistake in walking. I hesitate, wondering whether to turn back.

  ‘Would you like to buy a souvenir?’ asks someone, stepping in front of me. ‘Necklaces, bracelets, watches?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  I push on. I get a sixth sense that I’m being followed. Uneasiness permeates. You’re imagining it, I tell myself, but I don’t really believe that I am. I stop, pretend to make a call. There is no one following me. As I put my phone away, a car speeds past, then another, narrowly missing me. I am too close to the roadside. I look around, relieved to see that to my left there is a path leading back to the safety of the crowded beach. I step onto it. I look behind me. I am being followed by a tall man wearing mirrored sunglasses. I move over to the side and he passes me by without a glance. I sigh with relief and wipe the sweat from behind my neck with the back of my T-shirt. I really need water.

  I aim for the beach. I can see a café in the distance. I focus on that. But, dreaded realisation dawns that there are footsteps behind me and my fear switches from hope to unavoidable reality. Too quick. They get closer. I speed up, staring ahead. Mirage-like, sun glints off the waves, little flashes of gold. So close, I’m almost there, yet I can’t keep up my pace. As I’m about to swing round, I feel a fierce tugging at my rucksack and lose my balance. I put my hands out to break the fall but there is a roaring sound in my ears. I see red, then black, as I am hit, a vicious pain explodes through my head. I slam into the ground and my palms and knees scrape and sting. Tufts of grass poke out of the sandy path, pebbles, an abandoned ice-cream wrapper. I grip the straps of my rucksack. I must not let go. I try to get up, but I feel weighted down. I must not let go. Then, nothing.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Now

  Awareness seeps into my consciousness. Oh God, it has happened. I’m in a prison cell. I’m certain of this, even though my eyes remain closed. I can feel it.

  A hard bed beneath my back. A pillow, thin or non-existent.

  My body aches. A tap drips.

  I focus on the rhythmic pattern of the dripping water, but it doesn’t soothe. The opposite. My head throbs. A door slams in the distance. Loud voices. Footsteps. Fear mounts deep in the pit of my stomach and doesn’t subside until I am certain that no one is approaching me. I wait. The sounds dissipate.

  Unmistakeable tropical heat gently suffocates. Stale sweat permeates my nostrils. I lick my bottom lip – it tastes of the salt tang of blood. I hear the gentle whir of a ceiling fan. Movement. Stillness. Stillness. Movement. Hope ignites. Perhaps I am wrong. Comforts such as these do not indicate a jail cell. I take a reassuring breath before slowly opening my eyes.

  White. Grey. Panic. I can’t focus properly. Everything is blurry. Did I remove my contacts? I shut my eyes and breathe, drawing on every calming technique I have ever used. Pungent disinfectant dominates. I do a body scan. Toes, feet, legs and arms. All good, so far.

  My gaze comes to rest on a Bible, beside me. Things are becoming clearer. A plastic jug and a glass of water sit on a wooden table. A basin, the white ceramic snaked with brown cracks. A hospital? A clinic? Not prison, after all. Good. I sit up and take a large gulp of tepid water from the glass on my bedside table.

  I pull back the sheet and swing my legs over the side of the bed, grounding my feet on the floor. I glance down and see that I am wearing the clothes I put on this morning. Was it only this morning?

  On a plastic chair rests my rucksack. I scramble forwards and tear open the zips. The plastic bag is gone. Oh, please God, no. Shit. I keep desperately checking and feeling around. I don’t want to believe it. But it seems someone has stolen it, along with one of my copies of Sam’s USB. The thought of this getting into the wrong hands makes me want to throw up. My phone, my credit cards, my laptop are there. Thank God for small mercies. Frantically, I check my messages.

  Several missed calls from JJ and Thomas. Some from Lucy. Three calls from a number I don’t recognise. Two anonymous ones.

  Thomas starts off with ‘Where are you?’ and ends with threats. ‘Don’t expect me to pay your full fee.’ Finally, concern. ‘I hope you’re all right. Ring me!’

  One anonymous text. Got you!

  Shit, shit, shit. I’m going to be sick. There’s an en suite bathroom. I lock the door behind me. I wash my face and stare at myself in the mirror. There is a faint bruise on my forehead and a small lump. I don’t look like I’ve just spent over a week cruising the Caribbean. It’s hard to gather my thoughts. I need to get out of here, but random thoughts haunt me. Will the police want to question me?

  I open the bathroom door. First things first. I need to speak to someone who can get me out of here. A man walks into the room. Sam? My stomach flips. No. Shit. It’s Thomas, followed by Lucy.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she says. ‘Look at the state of you. I’ve been so worried. What were you doing?’

  ‘Walking to a resort when someone attacked me,’ I say. ‘Where am I? How did you find me?’

  ‘In the nearest hospital. Your friend JJ was worried. He assumed you were going to get a cab but then he saw you head off walking alone instead. He decided to leave work early to find you and give you a lift. You weren’t answering your phone. He explained that he didn’t get very far before he noticed activity by the side of the road. A crowd had gathered, then an ambulance and the police. He phoned again but you still didn’t answer, and he couldn’t see you anywhere. He then realised that it was you who was being attended to by the emergency staff, but you were unconscious. He contacted the marina, then spoke to the captain, who called us. He sounded pretty shaken up. Said he felt guilty.’

  Poor JJ, none of this is his fault.

  ‘Did anybody see who attacked me?’

  ‘No, from what we understand,’ says Lucy, ‘you were lucky. JJ wasn’t far behind you, apparently, so you couldn’t have been there long. Maybe your attacker was disturbed.’

  Thomas looks at me. ‘But the good news is I’ve spoken to the doctors and you’re mostly fine. Bruised, but fine.’

  Hope flickers. ‘So, I can leave?’

  ‘Not quite yet. I don’t think it’s that simple,’ he says. ‘The police need to speak to you and . . .’ He looks at Lucy. ‘They need to make sure that you really are all right before you can be discharged into our care.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. I’m disappointed at the lengths you have gone to just to get out of working.’ He smiles. ‘Don’t think I won’t hold this against you. Plus, I am most definitely not a babysitter.’

  Lucy looks aghast until I start
laughing, even though it hurts my head and ribs. Then she starts laughing, and so does Thomas. We all laugh as though this is the funniest thing that has ever happened to us. It feels good. Until I remember how much trouble I am in.

  ‘I don’t need you to hang around,’ I say. ‘It could all take ages. My friend JJ will come and collect me. You two go back to The Cleobella and I will see you later.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ says Thomas. ‘I’m under strict orders to bring you back to the yacht in one piece.’

  ‘I thought they were all staying at the villa?’

  ‘There has been a change of itinerary. Gina and Garth want to have the party and then sail earlier than planned. They’d like some extra time in Trinidad and Tobago after Lucy told Gina that they were among her favourite places to visit when she worked on the ships. They’re heading back to the yacht now, along with Mariella’s children and husband.’

  ‘I’m not coming,’ I say. ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ says Thomas. ‘Josephine wants you checked out by the onboard medic too. Sorry to sound heartless about it all, but we don’t want any lawsuits. We will look after you until everyone is sure that you are one hundred per cent well.’

  ‘Please listen to him,’ says Lucy. ‘I want to keep an eye on you too. I would never forgive myself if I left you alone in a hospital in a foreign country.’

  If any cruise-ship crew were ill while working and had to be left in a foreign hospital, another crew member would always be allowed to stay with them until their family members were able to be at their bedside. It was simply unthinkable to leave anyone vulnerable and alone.

  ‘I’ll go and sort out the paperwork,’ says Thomas. ‘Lucy, stay here with her. Make sure she’s OK.’

  As Thomas opens the door, a police officer enters the room. I am trapped, twice over.

  I go through my story. Nothing was taken, it may even have been an accident. I was badly dehydrated – silly me, I should have known better. I was confused. It all happened really quickly. I am grateful to the medical staff and everyone who has helped me, but I am fine. Totally fine.

  Physically, that’s true. But I’m badly shaken. The message: Got you! proves that it was them. Whoever It Is. Is it just luck that I’m still alive? I start to shiver. And, what also isn’t fine is that it has brought all these people to my bedside. I was trying to get away.

  Finally, I’m discharged. Thomas and Lucy hover as I sign paperwork. Then they escort me out, one on each side as if I am too fragile to manage on my own, and we get into a cab. Lucy sits in the back with me and insists on holding my hand. It’s suffocating. Thomas gives the driver the name of the marina.

  I phone JJ but he doesn’t answer. I open the window to let in some air.

  ‘I’m not getting back on board,’ I say. ‘I’ve messaged my friend JJ and he will come and pick me up from the harbour,’ I lie.

  Thomas turns around and looks at me.

  ‘We’ve had this conversation. It’s my job to make sure you’re all right. Don’t put me in an awkward position. Sleep on it. The boat isn’t sailing until later. If you’re not up to working, fine. But everyone wants to make sure you’re in one piece. Bizarrely, they’ve grown fond of you.’

  I smile, despite everything.

  We climb out of the cab.

  ‘Your backpack is big to lug about, isn’t it?’ says Thomas.

  I shrug. I don’t want to get back on board The Cleobella. It does not look like paradise on water. The portholes are like prison-cell windows. I no longer see grace and splendour, I see it for what it is: a trap.

  I walk along the jetty and it wobbles underfoot, like I’m walking the plank. I say hello to one of the yacht crew. Hugh, I think his name is. It suddenly bugs me that I can’t remember.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Hugh asks. ‘Can I help you with your bag?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’

  I clutch my bag a little tighter as I step on board The Cleobella.

  He speaks into a walkie-talkie. I hear a crackle, then:

  ‘She’s on her way.’

  They’re all waiting, I realise.

  I turn to step back off the yacht. This is all a mistake, a big mistake. Every part of me knows I should get off, run away. Lucy and Thomas are right behind me, and coming down the stairs in front is Tim.

  I’m trapped.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I take out my phone, panic rising.

  ‘Let’s go and sit down somewhere,’ says Tim. ‘You’ve had a big shock.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I repeat. How many times have I said this? ‘I just need to lie down.’

  Thomas, Lucy and Tim exchange more glances.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere private,’ says Lucy, linking her arm with mine and forcibly guiding me towards one of the lounges.

  ‘I wish someone would just tell me what’s going on,’ I say. ‘It’s worrying me.’

  ‘No one wants to worry you,’ says Thomas. ‘Sit down,’ he says, pointing at a leather sofa.

  I sit, keeping one eye on the exit. Lucy hands me a drink.

  ‘A brandy,’ she says. ‘Take a sip.’

  ‘I’ve had loads of painkillers.’

  ‘A sip won’t hurt.’

  I take a small one, but it burns like acid and makes me feel even queasier.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Tim is saying as Lucy takes hold of my hand again and gives it a squeeze. ‘We received some difficult news from your friend, Lewis. He didn’t want to tell you over the phone. He thought it was best if you were told in person, so that we can support you.’

  I think I know what he’s going to say, but my mind fills with too much horror and confusion to process any thoughts rationally.

  Tim carries on speaking. ‘The police have been trying to get hold of you too.’

  I remember the missed calls on my phone.

  I know now what he’s going to say. But it’s still hard to take in the words.

  ‘Early yesterday, your husband’s partial remains were recovered. He was not found in the area where he was presumed to have gone missing. He was further along the coast, in a more rural area.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ says Lucy. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

  I can’t either.

  Sam has been dead all along. Which means I was definitely lured here by someone else. Someone like Alexandra. It could be anyone. There never was a plan made up by Sam to escape. There was only ever a plan to harm me.

  I find a quiet spot out on deck and phone Lewis. He answers within one ring. He doesn’t know any more than I’ve already been told.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I know how much you didn’t want to accept that Sam’s death was a possibility.’

  I thank him, reassure him that I’ll be fine, and then I call the police.

  Foul play is not suspected. Which means that Sam’s killer is off the hook. I am now their sole target. All the warnings were just the warm-up act.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Now

  Lucy is sitting on her bed, watching me. It is creepy rather than comforting. It’s dark beyond the porthole, and stars are glistening. Another night in paradise. The memory of what happened earlier comes flooding back. The plastic bag; my USB. Fresh waves of dread hit me. Hard.

  ‘Why are you watching me?’ I ask.

  Lucy looks offended. ‘I want to make sure you’re all right. Medic’s orders.’

  ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘About three hours.’

  ‘I can’t believe I slept.’

  ‘Well, you did have a bump to the head and loads of drugs, mixed with shock. I can’t imagine how awful you must be feeling.’

  ‘Pretty shit.’

  An understatement. It’s not just a pounding headache and feeling woozy, it’s icy fear. Did someone stage a mugging to kill me or did they want Sam’s USB? If they were to break Sam’s encryption, might there be something on there to incriminate me? I feel sick at the thought. But Alexandr
a’s emerald necklace has gone too. Was that a nice bonus for the thief or was it intentional?

  I sit up and reply to messages from Lewis, from Sam’s father, from my sister. Everyone wants to know if I’m all right. Short answer, no. I reply to everyone stating that I’ll be fine.

  ‘Lucy, I’m not feeling good. I would feel better spending the night on shore. I need to get off.’

  ‘You’ve only just woken up. You’ve got a bit more colour in your cheeks. Besides, you can’t get off,’ she says, ‘we’re docked way out in the harbour. Thomas has gone ashore in the tender to pick up some last-minute things for Gina and Garth’s engagement party. They were delivered to the villa in error, along with one of the cakes. The head chef is making another. It sounds like it will be magnificent. It’s in the shape of a diamond engagement ring!’

  She waits for me to react but, honestly, I couldn’t care less.

  ‘Go and have a shower,’ she says. ‘The party starts in an hour. Josephine wants to thank you, Thomas and me and all the other staff. I’ve heard that she’s got a speech planned.’

  I still don’t care.

  ‘I can’t go to a party tonight as if nothing has happened.’

  ‘Just keep busy,’ she says. ‘That’s what I would do. Don’t let Sam fuck this up for you too. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but it’s true. See this through and then go home. Plan his funeral. Say goodbye. Do whatever you have to.’ She pauses. ‘But remember – you don’t owe him your loyalty.’ She pauses. ‘Do you want to talk about Sam?’

  ‘No.’

  Yes.

  ‘It was to be expected,’ I say. ‘It’s just that . . .’ I swallow, finally understanding the truth. ‘I liked to think of him as someone who would always land on his feet, no matter what. Because, the thing is, if Sam can die, then . . . anyone can.’

  Even me. Especially me.

  Lucy comes and sits beside me.

  ‘I would feel better knowing that I’m close by to keep an eye on you. Plus, I knew Sam too. You can talk to me about him as much as you like later.’ She pauses. ‘I’ve finished doing everyone’s hair and make-up. They all look stunning, even if I do say so myself. Do you want me to do yours?’