Adrift, page 11
Carly has messaged a couple of times, but hasn’t sent any pictures, which I guess is her way of attempting to not rub my nose in the fun I’m sure they’re all having. As soon as they left on Friday night, I immediately started re-reading all my notes, trying to recall how I opened the assignment. I managed to get 500 words written, before realising this was how I started originally, before changing perspective, and subsequently had to start again.
I wanted to cry when I woke on Saturday and saw that it hadn’t been a nightmare, and that I still had another 4,000 words to find. I ate the chocolate bar and sang along to an oldies station on the radio before determining there was nothing to be gained by feeling sorry for myself. A hot shower, and a jog to the shop to buy more energy drinks, and the fog finally started to lift from my mind.
By the end of Saturday, I had 4,000 words written – not all of them poor. Still not a patch on what I should have handed to Ed on Friday, but not as bad as I was fearing. Sleep didn’t come well, though; presumably a result of all the caffeine and sugar I’d consumed. At three o’clock this morning, I actually crawled from my bed to my desk and added another thousand words before returning to sleep.
When I woke at eight, I re-read what I’d written in the night and promptly deleted it. Now, as I struggle to summarise my legal argument, I’m not even sure if this was the right topic to tackle to begin with. I felt so confident on Friday, but maybe I was just pulling the wool over my own eyes. Will Ed think this is any good, or will he make an example out of me?
I start at the sound of the front door slamming shut. The others aren’t due back until eleven tonight, but has one of them returned early?
Very slowly, I push myself away from my desk, and tiptoe to my door, straining to hear a voice or any indication of who is in the corridor. I’m sure I didn’t imagine the sound, but it is deathly quiet now. I glance back at my desk, and spot the packet of caffeine pills that I discovered in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom. The packet wasn’t boxed up, so I had no way of checking for a use-by date. What if they weren’t caffeine pills and I’ve inadvertently digested something psychotropic?
A deep cough sounds from just outside my door and a moment later, I hear the sound of a key being inserted into Fergus’s door. I pull my own open to greet him, but my mouth drops when I come face to face with Raymond. His brittle, steel-grey, unkempt hair hangs down to the oversized black leather jacket, and his cheeks are red and puffy.
‘Which one are you?’ he croaks dismissively, his West Country accent gravelly, as he stands inside Fergus’s open doorway.
‘Um, Pete Routledge,’ I reply uncertainly. ‘Does Fergus know you’re going into his room?’
He stares back at me, no shame about his actions. ‘Drug search.’
My mouth drops open. ‘Fergus doesn’t take drugs,’ I lie.
‘Good. Then I won’t find any in here then, will I?’
He doesn’t wait for me to respond and steps further inside, allowing the heavy fire door to close. I remain rooted to the spot. I thought the point of us having locks on our doors was to protect our possessions. I had no clue Raymond had skeleton keys for each of our rooms. Nausea builds in the back of my throat at the thought of him violating my space.
He reappears a few moments later, and seems surprised to find I’m still in the corridor.
‘You have no right to search our rooms,’ I say firmly, half-tempted to phone Carly, but not wanting to waste her time.
‘Actually, I do.’ His deep Cornish brogue resonates. ‘Check your tenancy agreement. One of the stipulations to you living in my house is that no illegal drugs are to be used on the premises. To that end, I am allowed to routinely perform checks of the property to ensure the stipulations are being met.’
He moves towards my door, but I block his path. ‘There’s no way you’re going in my room without my permission. I want you to leave now, or I’ll… I’ll phone the police.’
He raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by my threat. ‘Be my guest. I’m not breaking any laws here. I’ll continue upstairs.’
I want to stop him heading towards the stairs, but for all I know he might be telling the truth about the conditions in the tenancy agreement. I must admit I didn’t read all of the small print before signing, and despite me asking her for it, Sophie has still not divulged the full details.
I hear him cross the landing and begin the ascent up to Christophe’s room in the loft. The stairs creak as he climbs. I return to my own room, suddenly conscious of the packet of caffeine pills I left on my desk. Though not illegal, their presence might not be well received, particularly if he does find pot in Fergus’s or Rhys’s rooms. I push the packet into the rear pocket of my jeans and scan the room for anything else suspicious. I hate the thought of him returning to my room when I’m not here, so I’d rather he perform his search while I observe.
I stay there until I hear him heading down the main staircase, and proceed to open my door.
‘If you must search my room, I’d rather be here to make sure nothing gets damaged,’ I say.
The stench of his bad breath fills my nostrils as he squeezes his enormous jacket past me and sidles in.
‘The others not invite you on their French trip?’ he scoffs.
‘I couldn’t go as I have a deadline to hit.’
He glances at my laptop screen, and I quickly slam the lid shut.
‘Can you open the drawers to your desk please, and remove any papers on the top?’
I do as instructed, and then proceed to open the drawers in the chest beneath the window. At least he has the decency not to run his hands through my underwear, encouraging me to do it instead. I doubt he showed any restraint rummaging in the others’ drawers.
‘That’ll do for today,’ he says, almost disappointed to be leaving empty-handed. His star players, Fergus and Rhys, must have got away with it.
I follow him to my door, and hold it open while he shuffles through.
‘Soph never mentioned that you had keys for all the rooms,’ I say.
He reaches into his pocket and extracts a keyring. ‘All the locks are identical; I only need the one key.’
He smiles to himself when he sees the shock on my face. Is that how Christophe managed to get into Fergus’s room so easily? And if that’s the case, then he definitely could have got into my room and taken my assignment. My eyes widen as my imagination leaps from one conclusion to the next. If he came into my room while I was getting washed on Friday morning, he could have removed the assignment from my bag, returning to my room to wipe the file on my laptop after I’d gone to my seminar.
I don’t know why he would want to cause me such trouble, but maybe it’s because he knows I could drop him in it with Fergus. Either way, I have no physical evidence that he’s been in my room, but I can definitely get some if I set up some kind of motion detector camera.
I will look into it later, before the others get back. Right now, I have an assignment to hand in. Ed told me to have it in his pigeonhole before eight tomorrow morning, but I daren’t delay, especially after what happened on Friday. I print the file and staple the pages together, but keep hold of it in my hand as I head out the front door, taking the longer route to the campus.
It seems I’m not the only one who’s handing in work late, as I run into Woody. He looks confused to see me until I explain about my missing assignment.
‘I was going to say,’ he explains, ‘I thought you and the others were supposed to be in Paris. I was sure Fergus said it was this weekend.’
‘Yeah, they’re all there, including my girlfriend. I got stuck here working.’
‘Oh, that really sucks!’ He frowns with pity. ‘I have to say, you must really trust your girlfriend to be away with your housemates.’
My brows knit together. ‘Carly wouldn’t cheat on me, and I don’t believe any of my friends would go behind my back either.’
Woody quickly apologises. ‘I just meant I’m not sure I’d be so willing to let my girlfriend go away with one of her exes – particularly not somewhere as romantic as Paris.’
My frown deepens. ‘One of her exes?’
He doesn’t hear my question. ‘I warned Rhys it wouldn’t be easy moving in with the new boyfriend of someone he’d been out with, but you’re clearly more patient and diplomatic than me.’
I don’t hear any more of what he says, as blood rushes to my ears. Rhys and Carly had a relationship, and neither of them told me? Were they in love? Was it a bad break-up? No wonder they were both awkward when I introduced them at the housewarming party. And now they’re together in Paris, and I’m not. Maybe I was wrong to assume it was Christophe messing with me.
17
PRESENT DAY
I nearly choke as I continue to stare at Raymond Grosjean’s face in the shark cage. I know it can’t be him, and that the body in the white uniform is too feminine to belong to our former landlord. My lungs strain as I fight to reach the surface, inhaling deeply the moment I break through the water.
I look back down into the murky sea, and Elena’s lifeless eyes stare back up at me.
‘Did you find the keys?’ Harry calls down to me from behind the safety rope.
I shake my head, and hold my hand out, which he duly grabs, helping me up and out of the cage. ‘I couldn’t find the keys,’ I relay to the group. ‘I checked all of her pockets, but nothing.’
‘The killer probably threw them overboard, or took them with them,’ Rhys says with a listless shrug.
‘Well, that settles it then,’ Harry says, straightening his shoulders in defiance. ‘We’re going to have to swim for it.’
‘Dinnae be an eejit!’ Fergus coughs. ‘What about the sharks? There’s no way I’m getting in the water knowing they’re out there.’
‘We don’t have another choice,’ Harry fires back.
‘But it’s all right for you: you’re a good swimmer. I’d drown before I get anywhere, and Rhys canny swim.’
Fergus has made no secret of the fact he isn’t a great swimmer, but given there’s no sign of land in any direction, I don’t believe any of us is really up for the challenge that lies ahead.
‘It doesn’t have to be all of us,’ Sophie says, moving to the opposite side of the yacht. ‘I don’t mind braving it. Once I get to shore or find another boat, I can get them to come back for you all.’
‘Why do you get to go?’ Harry asks. ‘I’m as good a swimmer as you, if not better.’
‘I swim most mornings, so I beg to differ.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ I say, my breath finally catching up with me. ‘You don’t know which way land is, nor how far it is. Plus we won’t know if you’ve made it if we don’t hear back from you. It’s a crazy idea.’
‘I disagree,’ Harry says. ‘There’s bound to be another boat nearby. All I’ve got to do is reach it.’
‘Yeah, I mean the killer’s boat is probably somewhere nearby too,’ Rhys says, his words dripping with sarcasm. ‘Why don’t you see if he’ll give you a lift back to shore?’
This arguing continues for several minutes as everyone’s frustrations and anxiety boil to the surface. The truth is that someone has brought this upon us, and I now can’t stop seeing Raymond Grosjean’s face. Did we bring this on ourselves for what we did?
I sit on the bench, the heat unbearable as the black of the wetsuit attracts the sun’s rays. I fiddle with the zip, but am unable to peel it off my shoulders because of the shooting pain beneath the strapping around my arm. Fergus spots me struggling and comes across, taking control of the material, and helping manoeuvre it off my arm.
‘We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?’ he says quietly, and I see now how much this experience is affecting him.
‘We’re not going to die out here. You have to keep the faith. They will come looking for us when we don’t dock on Monday. Trust me. And don’t forget, Carly and Simone know where we are, and they may have already contacted someone, because they can’t get hold of us.’
He tries to smile through his fear, but it isn’t convincing.
There has to be something else we can do. Sitting tight when Elena’s killer could be nearby – or amongst us now – waiting for us to let down our defences doesn’t feel sensible, but neither does braving the water in the hope of finding help.
‘Why don’t we just hotwire the yacht?’ I hear Christophe’s voice carry over the din.
The others haven’t heard him, so I shush them and invite him to repeat what he just said.
‘Well, it’s got an engine, right?’
It’s not the craziest suggestion, though from the blank looks on the faces of the rest of the group, I’m not sure we have the skills to undertake such a feat. Of course, if we had access to the internet, we might be able to figure it out, but then again, if we had internet access, we wouldn’t need to figure it out in the first place.
‘Has anyone here ever hotwired a car?’ I ask, not ready to dismiss the suggestion out of hand. Given Christophe’s history of theft, I let my eyes fall on him automatically, expecting a positive response.
Nobody nods.
‘I think I saw my cousin do it once,’ Sophie offers quietly. ‘He fiddled with some wires beneath the steering wheel when he couldn’t find his car keys, but this was aeons ago and an ancient car. I don’t know that it’s as easy with modern cars, let alone with boat engines.’
I stand and slowly climb up to the cockpit, where I study the dials on the dashboard and the white leather steering wheel. Even if we could get the engine started, I’m not sure which of the switches and buttons would need pressing to get us moving. Sophie joins me a moment later, checking beneath the steering column for any kind of access panel. She finds a hinged catch and the plate comes off in her hands.
‘Well, I’ve found the fuses,’ she says, scrutinising the interior of the small access point. ‘Not entirely sure if that’s a help or a hindrance.’
She stands and begins to search for other panels.
‘What are you looking for?’ I ask. ‘Maybe I can help?’
‘Trying to see if there’s any kind of logbook or instruction manual. You know, like you get with the car and can consult when weird lights flash up on the control panel? If there was one of those, then maybe it would shed some light on how to start it without keys.’
We scour the area, but there’s nothing here.
‘Maybe the captain kept it in the V-berth?’ I suggest.
Sophie drops out of the cockpit and disappears through the galley hatch. I decide to follow her down because I’d rather feel like I’m doing something. She’s already located a manual by the time I make it down there. She’s sitting on one of the beds, thumbing through it.
‘Where do you think the engine is?’ I ask, and she points at the floor beneath my feet, where I now notice a rectangular access point.
Presumably it can be raised to allow access to the engine and motors.
‘Do you reckon you can figure out how to do it?’
She glances up from the book, but the look she gives doesn’t instil confidence. ‘I’ll do my best. Can you go and see if you can quieten the others down? I can’t hear myself think with all that arguing.’
I head back out to the deck, where Harry is now trying to put on the wetsuit I used to go into the cage. Fergus, Christophe and Rhys are all trying to talk him out of what he’s about to do.
‘It’s the hottest part of the day, man,’ Rhys is saying. ‘You won’t last ten minutes in the water. Seriously, you can’t go through with this.’
‘I’m not some kid, I can look after myself,’ Harry snaps back. ‘I’m not going to just sit around and let some psycho come for us.’ He fixes me with a hard stare as he says this.
‘It’s suicide,’ Fergus chimes in.
‘Soph thinks she can figure out how to get the engine started,’ I lie, as I don’t want to watch my best friend drown or get eaten. ‘Plus, you’ve been drinking, so you’re not exactly in peak physical condition. Give Soph time to try and figure out the manual, and if she hasn’t managed to start it by morning, then we’ll reassess our options.’
Harry zips up the wetsuit, mind already made up, but then I spot something on the horizon, and my blood runs cold. Shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, I double-check before alerting the others.
I point at the dorsal fin poking out of the water.
I’m relieved when Harry nods and begins to remove the wetsuit.
‘We can’t stay out here,’ I warn them. Rhys wasn’t wrong about the heat. Just standing on the deck feels like a sauna. ‘I think we should each go to our cabins, and cool down. All the doors have internal locks, so everyone should be safe.’
I’m about to lead the way when I see Fergus staring out to sea, his skin as pale as milk. I open my mouth to ask what he’s looking at when I see the white trouser-covered leg and shoe bobbing like a buoy on the surface of the water. There’s no sign of the rest of the body, but I’m in little doubt who it belongs to.
18
TEN YEARS AGO
The betrayal boils in my gut like nothing I’ve ever experienced. This is beyond anger: this is venomous rage. Carly and Rhys have both been lying to me. The woman I was falling in love with, and the housemate I thought I could trust not to stab me in the back. I’m not saying I would have been blasé about it had they admitted the truth – maybe it would have taken a few days to get over – but that’s better than barefaced deceit.
I want to kill him.
They knew it was going to be awkward the night of the housewarming and neither had the decency to warn me. I knew that Carly had had other partners before me. She’s two years older and employed in the real world; it would have been unusual if she hadn’t had any boyfriends or sexual partners before me. And whilst we’ve acknowledged we both bring baggage into the relationship, at least she’s unlikely to run into mine at the breakfast table.
