Adrift, page 16
‘What’s that noise?’ I vaguely hear her say.
‘Smoke alarm. Harry must have burned something. I’d better go.’
I don’t hear her agree before disconnecting the call. I wrench open my door, and hurry to the kitchen where smoke is billowing from the grill. There’s no sign of Harry, so I open the patio doors and fan the clouds towards them.
‘Oh, shit, sorry,’ Harry yells as he races down the stairs. ‘I literally nipped upstairs to grab my phone. Ah, shit, my lunch is feckin’ ruined.’
‘Perhaps if we open the front door too, it will help,’ I suggest, and head back through the hallway to the door, where I prop it open with my foot. After a couple of minutes, the smoke alarm resets itself, and calm returns to the house.
I return to my room and type a message to Carly, telling her she doesn’t need to call the fire brigade.
I stop typing when something overhead catches my eye.
How come the smoke alarm in my room didn’t sound when I opened the door? There was enough smoke, but it didn’t make a peep. In fact, come to think of it, why would I need a smoke alarm in my room when clearly the one in the hallway is loud enough and sensitive enough to wake the whole bloody house?
I stare at the small white box on my ceiling. Maybe it isn’t working properly. If the battery was dead or missing, it should chirp at me.
I pull out the chair from beneath my desk and position it directly below the alarm, before clambering up. I’m appalled at the amount of cobwebs I can now see hanging from the ceiling, but I can sort those later. Digging my nails into the side of the box, I fiddle and adjust until the lid pops open, and then I study the innards of the device. It doesn’t look as I would have expected, and there’s no obvious sign of a battery compartment.
‘Harry, can you come here a second?’ I shout to him.
He appears a moment later and gives me a puzzled look as he sees me on the chair. ‘Jesus, you’re not planning on topping yourself, are you? It was only burned toast.’
I ignore his lame attempt at humour. ‘Can you have a look at this for me, and tell me what it looks like to you?’ I jump down, and he climbs onto the chair.
‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
‘Well, I assumed it was a smoke alarm at first, but it didn’t go off just now, and it doesn’t look right. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s some kind of security camera.’
He looks a little closer. ‘I’d say you’re probably right… Wait, does that mean the box on my ceiling isn’t a smoke alarm either?’
I shrug my shoulders and charge after him as he races up the stairs to his room. He mounts the chair and extracts the lid. It’s a carbon copy of what’s in my room, and I’m almost certain that the shiny black cylinder is a lens.
He frowns at me. ‘Why on earth are there security cameras in our rooms?’
I can’t answer his question but the thought sends a shiver throughout my body. ‘Worse still, who has been watching the feed?’
I picture the times Carly and I have been intimate in my room, unaware that somebody could be watching. Anger flares behind my eyes.
‘Do you think Raymond put the cameras up there?’ I ask.
‘It would explain how he knew about the housewarming that night.’
It would also explain how he knew we were all supposed to be in Paris that weekend when he came round for his supposed drug search. I choose not to reveal that titbit to my friend.
‘Ah, Jesus, what a pervert!’ Harry says, appalled, before jumping down. ‘He’s been watching us getting changed, and…’ His hand shoots to his mouth. ‘How long has he been watching us, the dirty bastard?’
This isn’t right. He – assuming Raymond is the one behind the cameras – has been watching us. It’s the ultimate violation of our privacy.
I leave Harry’s room and head downstairs, trying to determine what to do next. Should I phone the police and report this abuse? Should I tell Carly? Today was supposed to be about burying the past, but now I just feel nauseous. I need to let the others know, and we need to get rid of the cameras as soon as possible.
I start at a noise from the kitchen, an interruption to my thoughts.
‘Something smells… burnt,’ I hear Sophie say.
‘I didn’t realise you were home.’
‘Just got back,’ she says, wincing as she moves to the grill pan and examines the two charred slices.
‘Are you all right? You look… uncomfortable.’
She grimaces as she makes her way to the table, and props herself on the end. ‘Bloody idiot that I am, I fell down some stairs on campus.’
I move to her side and look for any obvious cuts and bruises. ‘Yeesh, are you okay?’
She puts out an arm to keep me getting too close. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. My ego and ribs are badly bruised, but nothing a couple of days’ rest won’t cure.’
I’m about to mention our discovery of the cameras, but a voice in the back of my head tells me that she already knows.
‘The smoke alarms in our rooms,’ I say instead, casually. ‘Do you know how often we’re supposed to test them? Or when the battery was last changed?’
She gulps audibly and looks away.
‘You know they’re not smoke alarms, don’t you?’
She nods slowly, wincing in the process. ‘Yes, okay, you’re right: they’re not smoke alarms, but you don’t need to worry. They were part of Raymond’s stipulations, but I’ve already taken care of it. They’re not switched on. If they were recording, then there would be a little red LED that you’d be able to see through the lid. You’ve nothing to worry about.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. How do we know he doesn’t switch them on when we don’t realise?’
‘Raymond is a lot of things, but he showed me how the set-up works. He used them for a couple of days when we first moved in, but as soon as I realised what he was doing, I told him to stop. I promise you, Pete, they’re redundant. Trust me.’
She pushes herself up with a gasp, and I offer to help her to her room, but she refuses my hand, and tells me she’s going to go and take a shower. As she moves into the hallway, I can’t help but notice the fading yellow bruises on the back of her neck. They must be a few days old, so couldn’t have been caused by today’s apparent fall. I recall what Harry said about her noisy sex life with either Woody or Raymond, and I can’t help wondering whether she really did fall, or whether she’s in over her head with one of those creeps.
25
PRESENT DAY
It can’t be. It can’t be. It. Can’t. Be.
I run my fingers over the jagged edges of the words etched into the hull, and all I can see is the ghost of one man hovering nearby. A man who made my skin crawl. A man who made our lives a living hell. A man we buried in the ground in the dead of night more than ten years ago.
I slap my cheek hard, trying to shock my body into action. I slap the other cheek, and then repeat the process, waiting for the words to disappear. Have I had a full mental breakdown? Is that what this is? The words aren’t actually there, but my subconscious is making me see them because I’ve been feeling so guilty about what played out a decade ago. I slap my cheek again, but the words don’t go anywhere.
‘What the feck is that?’
I jump at Harry’s voice over my shoulder. He’s staring down at Christophe’s body, and as I look up at his face, I can see the blood has drained from his cheeks. Fergus is next to appear at the bow, coming around the other side of the yacht, with Sophie following. There’s no way I can hide the message and pretend it isn’t there.
Then Rhys appears and it is all Fergus can do to keep him back.
‘What the hell is this?’ he yells, screwing up his eyes up, his cheeks flaming. ‘What the hell have you done to him?’
Sophie moves forward to help Fergus contain the rage. ‘We found him like this. Just now.’
But Rhys isn’t buying it, and continues to push and pull to escape Fergus’s clutches. ‘No, this is his fault. Pete’s the one who accused Christophe, and now look what’s happened!’
He’s squirming, desperate to get to his slain friend, but I can see how hard it is for him to look at where the flesh is bloody and torn.
From what Sophie’s told me, the two of them remained good friends after we all graduated and have been on a couple of lads’ holidays together since – not telling the rest of us. It’s only natural, I suppose, when university friends move away, they’re bound to lose contact. Life moves on; things can’t stay the same forever.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ Harry says, burying his head in his hands.
I know how he feels, but my body is still paralysed with fear. Do the others realise the implication of those words?
You knew the stipulations when you moved in. Game over.
‘We can’t just leave him there,’ Sophie says, her pragmatism kicking in. ‘The sun is already up and it’ll be scorching out here soon enough. The body will cook.’
The thought of burning flesh filling the air makes my stomach flip, but I resist the urge to retch again.
‘Where can we put him?’ I ask, forcing my eyes to meet Sophie’s.
It’s not like we have a large enough fridge or freezer to preserve the body. And even if we moved him to his cabin, it won’t be long before decomposition sets in, and that will bring its own treasure chest of problems.
‘We’ll have to put him in the shark cage with Elena,’ she says calmly. ‘There’s nowhere else.’
How on earth are we going to be able to explain to the authorities that two people have been killed during this trip, assuming we ever make it back to shore? It was supposed to be a break away from the stress of everyday life, and a chance to reconnect over happier memories. How could it have gone so wrong?
Rhys breaks free of Fergus’s grip and drops to his knees beside the corpse, almost as if he’s searching for proof that the body in Christophe’s green shirt is someone else. I don’t realise until it’s too late, but he spots the words etched into the hull.
‘What the fuck is this? Who wrote this? Was this you?’
He’s glaring at me, but I shake my head and take a step back. Fergus and Sophie lean over the side of the boat. My eyes drift to the horizon again, scouring for any glimpse of something to make this all make sense.
‘This is so fucked up!’ Sophie spits. ‘Raymond Grosjean is dead.’
‘Of course he is,’ Fergus echoes. ‘This is just some prick playing games.’
‘But what if it isn’t?’ Harry counters. ‘Think about it: who else would want to torment us in this way? The reference to “stipulations” is a huge clue.’
‘Because Raymond Grosjean has been dead for ten years, and we all buried him in the ground,’ Sophie snaps. ‘Or have you managed to forget that little episode?’
‘Hey, screw you,’ Harry snaps back. ‘I’ve just lost an old friend and I want to know who the fuck killed him. You were the one who was so pally with our landlord, perhaps there’s more you haven’t told us about?’
‘Pete will tell you: he’s dead. He was there when it happened. Come on, Pete, tell them that we checked his pulse. He was definitely dead.’
I can feel four pairs of eyes burning a hole in the top of my head, but when I speak, my voice is croaky. ‘She’s right. He was dead. Wasn’t he?’
Harry picks up on my own uncertainty. ‘What if he wasn’t? What if we just thought he was dead when we buried him? What if he woke and managed to claw himself out of that feckin’ hole and has been plotting against us for the last decade?’
‘This isn’t some bullshit episode of Murder, She Wrote,’ Sophie shouts. ‘People don’t spend ten years biding their time and plotting revenge on others. This is real life, and unless one of you can explain how Raymond could board our vessel, kill at will, and then vanish again without a sighting or a sound, then I’m all ears.’
She has a point. There’s been nothing but ocean on the horizon since we woke and found Elena missing yesterday morning. How has it only been twenty-four hours?
‘Maybe it’s his ghost come back to haunt us,’ Harry fires back, but he’s clutching at straws. ‘Or maybe he bought himself a small boat to live from. For all we know, he’s out on the water somewhere, and comes and goes when we’re below deck. Come on, Pete, you remember what a creepy fecker he was. Wouldn’t it be just like him to be screwing with us now?’
Harry’s desperate to find answers, but it stirs another thought in my mind. My head spins around to look at him. ‘Wait, what company did you book this through?’
‘What? I don’t know. I hardly think that’s relevant right now, do you?’
‘What if Raymond has something to do with the company?’
‘Raymond is dead,’ Sophie screams out. Her own part in his demise must be playing on her mind, as mine is with me.
‘Okay, well, maybe not Raymond,’ I reason, ‘but someone who was close to him? Did he have any siblings that you remember, Soph?’
‘He was an only child, I think. He had no children. It was just him and his mother alone in that house until she died.’
For some reason, I instantly recall Woody suggesting the late Mr Grosjean’s spirit was haunting the property, though we disproved that theory long ago.
But what other answer is there? There’s no way Joaquín could have known about our time at university, and the only people alive who know how much Raymond taunted us are on this yacht right now, and they all seem as shocked about what’s happened to Christophe as I am.
Sophie and I had assumed he’d managed to get free of the window in the ceiling of the V-berth, but now that I’m thinking about it, doesn’t it make more sense that someone helped him escape? Surely, if he’d seen Raymond’s ghostly face, he’d have screamed for the rest of us to come to his aid? But if it was someone on this ship that he trusted, would he have been more willing to go along with it?
I look at each of them in turn, hoping to spot a guilty face amongst them, but I’m becoming delirious. The warm air and dehydration are getting the better of me. If we don’t get off the deck soon, we’ll all be in trouble.
The yacht shakes as Harry spins and stomps to the stern. Sophie, Rhys and I hurry after him.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, as he races down the hatch and into the dinette.
I watch as he grabs the remaining air tank and checks the dial. Satisfied, he hauls it up, along with a set of goggles and the wetsuit I wore yesterday.
‘You can’t go,’ I warn him as he climbs back up to the deck.
‘We have no other choice,’ he tells me firmly, putting the air tank on the floor, and pulling the wetsuit up and over his arms. ‘Besides, look!’
He’s pointing at something over my shoulder, but when I turn to look, the sun’s reflection on the water leaves me squinting. Shielding my eyes, I’m not sure what he’s referring to, but then I spot it: the tiniest sliver of something just above the water.
Land.
It must be several miles away, and as strong a swimmer as Harry may think he is, it will take a Herculean effort.
‘You’ll never make it,’ Sophie says, surveying the distance. ‘The best thing we can do is focus our efforts on getting the yacht there. Either by trying to hotwire the engine, or finding something we can use as oars, or fashioning a sail of some sort.’
‘You focus on that. I’m swimming to shore and getting us help.’
There’s a look of determination in Harry’s eyes that I’ve not seen before, and I instantly recognise that he’s holding something back from us. I saw that look once before when I felt he was covering for the Carly–Rhys revelation.
I grab his arms. ‘What aren’t you telling us?’
His head dips. ‘I wasn’t entirely honest about how I booked this trip.’ His cheeks redden. ‘I won the trip. Your sister dragged me and Fergus to so many bloody wedding fayres, and I entered every competition I saw to try and win free stuff for them. And then, right when I was starting to plan this weekend, I received an email out of the blue. It was from some travel company, saying I’d won this excursion, and all I had to do was choose the dates and arrange flights. That’s when I contacted you all.’
I swallow down the feeling of dread. ‘What travel company?’
‘I looked them up, and the website looked legitimate; nothing out of the ordinary. Then when we got to the dock and Joaquín and Elena were waiting for us, I didn’t think any more about it.’
We were lured here with the promise of paradise, though it’s anything but. I now understand his urge to get off this yacht, even if it does mean taking his chances with the sharks.
I look to Sophie. ‘Are you sure Raymond never mentioned a sibling?’
She opens her mouth to speak, but sighs instead. ‘Not that I remember. You know what my relationship with him was like: we didn’t talk a lot. He was always quite mysterious about his family life. Remember the cameras in the smoke alarms?’ She turns and heads up to the cockpit. ‘We need to get Christophe in the cage, and then I’m going to do whatever it takes to get this paperweight to move towards land.’
‘And I’m not hanging around waiting for whoever it is to come back,’ Harry adds, moving to the port side. ‘I’ll send someone back for you,’ he says, offering me a reassuring nod.
I pull him into a hug, in case this is the last time I’ll see him. ‘Take care of yourself.’
He grins with false bravado. ‘Ah, don’t worry about me. If those sharks mess with me, they won’t know what’s hit them. Look, whatever happens, I will come back for you. Brothers for life, right?’
My vision blurs and I nod. ‘For life.’
He glances up to where Sophie is raising the shark cage. ‘If you do get this bastard started, please don’t mow me down when you’re passing by, yeah?’
He doesn’t wait for her response, and climbs over the safety rope, lowering himself into the chilly water, and then he glides away. I don’t like that he’s going to be out there on his own, and he didn’t even think to take a weapon with him in case of a shark attack. The sea looks so blue and inviting, but there’s just so much of it, and it’s hard to see where the water stops and the sky starts.
