Adrift, page 8
‘He’ll get over it,’ Harry mutters. ‘It’s not like she’s the first girl to only want a one-night stand with him.’ He suddenly catches himself, and covers his mouth with his hand as he looks at me. ‘Sorry, but you know what I mean.’
I know only too well, but I don’t want to think about any of that either. ‘Why would they do this to us?’
Both stare back at me blankly.
I focus my attention on Harry. ‘You were the one who booked this trip, right?’
He nods, but his brow furrows.
‘Where did you find the company? Did you see a legitimate website? Were there any other customer reviews? I’m not blaming this on you, just trying to understand how this could have gone so wrong.’
‘It… Yes, I searched the company online, and the site looked impressive. Loads of images of people having fun. It was even mentioned in one of those top ten stag party review sites too. We just got stitched up with a dodgy captain and hostess, I guess.’ He turns to Sophie for support.
‘I saw the website too, Pete, and I don’t think there was anything dodgy about it.’
‘And what about our captain? Did the company tell you “Joaquín” would be looking after us?’ I say, using air quotes in case his name was also fake.
‘Yes, yes… If I had my phone, I could show you the email. They even sent a photograph of the two of them.’
There’s no point in us hiding away and acting as if we haven’t been totally screwed over. We need a plan of action; that’s what my dad would say.
I shift myself off the bed. ‘We need to talk to the others, and find a way back home.’
Sophie leads the way as she’s closest to the door, with Harry and me following behind. Fergus, Rhys and Christophe are on the bench, two bottles of wine open, and they are bickering so hard that they don’t even see the three of us approach.
‘Well, for all we know, Pete could be the one behind all this,’ I hear Christophe snap, his back to us. ‘He was the first of us to wake, right? How do we know he didn’t come up here and disable the radio, before cutting the anchor? Maybe he and Elena are in on this together, and she’s waiting somewhere nearby to come and sail him into the sunset.’
He’s slurring his words, even though it can’t even be ten o’clock yet.
Fergus’s wide eyes must draw his attention to us because Christophe spins round, clearly embarrassed to have been overheard.
‘I wouldn’t sabotage my future brother-in-law’s party,’ I say evenly, accepting that we’re all on edge, and that Christophe’s lashing out is just a coping mechanism. ‘Clearly, Elena and Joaquín weren’t the hosts we thought they were.’
‘I reckon they’re still on the yacht somewhere, hiding,’ Fergus pipes up, gripping his glass so tightly it might actually crack.
His face is a mix of anger and desperation; it’s now been more than twelve hours since his call to Simone was cut off. I could tell him that he’s probably blowing her words out of proportion, but it wouldn’t help, and I could just as easily be wrong. At least they’re in the UK at an organised event with emergency services on standby.
‘Where could they be, though?’ Rhys asks. ‘I’m not being funny, but we’ve checked every cabin and there are no obvious hiding places.’
‘There is one place we haven’t checked yet,’ Christophe says quietly.
We all turn to look at him and he points at his feet.
‘The shark cage. I just checked the breathing apparatus and one of the air tanks is missing.’
‘He’s right, he is,’ Rhys concurs, supporting his best friend as he always does.
I hadn’t even thought about the fact I haven’t seen the air tanks and goggles this morning. The shark cage would also be the perfect place for them to hide undetected. They could have lowered themselves into the water and swum to the cage with none of us any the wiser. It would also have allowed one of them to sneak back on board and steal the phones.
Sophie must be reading my mind because she hurries to the cockpit and locates the mechanism Joaquín used to bring the cage to the surface last night. The motor whirs and gyrates, and the rest of us move to the starboard side as we wait for the cage to erupt through the sea, and for us to catch them in the act.
Rhys’s ear-splitting anguish is the only sound as the cage appears, with Elena’s lifeless body floating just beneath the lid.
12
TEN YEARS AGO
I’m exhausted when I make it back from the campus. My criminology professor – ‘just call me Ed’ – wanted each of us to pitch the subject of our assignments in a Dragon’s Den environment, with the rest of the tutor group voting for and against the proposals. I was last to go, hoping that the bell would sound to end the class before they got around to me. It really hasn’t been my lucky day. At least the extra time gave me the chance to scribble some notes about my chosen topic. When my turn came, I moved to the front of the room nervously and was about to get started when Ed told everyone to pay attention as my chosen topic is one close to his heart. He then proceeded to explain how he was part of the team that originally argued against my viewpoint in the courtroom.
I did my best to blag it, but his growing frown showed me just how badly I was doing. He asked me to stay behind after class, and then proceeded to pick through everything I’d said. He left me in no uncertain terms about just how much work I have to complete in the next nine days. It’s just as well I gave Carly the brush-off about tonight, as I’m going to need to pull an all-nighter.
After the seminar, I was genuinely contemplating skipping the late afternoon International Criminal Law double lecture to come back here and start on my assignment, but then I bumped into Harry, and he convinced me to join him at the Student Union bar for lunch. I never should have agreed to split the two-for-one cocktails – it was only 11 a.m., after all – but I needed something to take the edge off, and Harry looked as though he needed the company. We chatted and he dragged me back from the brink, to the point where I felt more confident in my abilities to smash the assignment. And then I looked at my watch, and realised I’d already missed the first twenty minutes of the double lecture.
Harry tried to talk me out of hotfooting it over there and arriving noticeably late, but I told him it was better to be late than a no-show – but how wrong I was. I used the stairs up to the back of the lecture hall, hoping I could sneak in at the back undetected, but the pew I chose to sit at squeaked as I lowered it, and all the heads in the room turned and scowled at me. The most annoying part is that doddery old Professor Hugo McGregor probably wouldn’t have even realised I wasn’t there but for my squeaky chair. I swear they must deliberately not oil the back couple of rows to catch out late arrivals.
The last thing I need tonight is a four-hour shift on a supermarket checkout, but I daren’t phone in sick so soon after I’ve returned from the summer break.
I’ve only just closed the door, falling into it under the weight of my rucksack, when I hear a commotion coming from Fergus’s room. The hallway seems to shake as something slams into the wall. I was certain he was supposed to be away, but now I’m not so sure. If he is home, it would certainly explain how Christophe got into his room this morning. A second crash against the wall sets me on edge, and as much as I feel a duty to check that everything is okay, I don’t have the time or the mental capacity to find out the cause of the noise.
I push myself from the front door, and tiptoe along the hallway, avoiding the squeaky floorboard near the radiator, only exhaling when I reach my door and slide the key into the lock. I swear it doesn’t make a sound, but before I’ve depressed the handle, Fergus’s door flies open and he stands in the gap, his face a ball of angst and sweat.
I force a thin smile and nod in his direction.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he says, the disappointment clear. ‘You seen Rhys or Woody? I need to speak to them.’
The fact that Woody hangs around this place so much does make it feel like he’s living here, but now doesn’t feel the right time to mention it.
I shrug awkwardly. ‘Sorry, I just got back. Have you tried Rhys’s room?’
‘Course I fucking have!’
I gulp, but don’t respond. Deep down, I know that if I don’t say anything, he’ll eventually lose patience and go back into his room, and I’ll be able to change into my uniform and leg it to the supermarket. But my conscience won’t play ball.
‘Is everything okay?’ I hear myself ask before I can stop the words escaping.
Just go into your room before you’re late for work.
‘I thought you were going home to visit your parents.’
His eyes darken further, but he doesn’t lunge for me, as I’m picturing in my head.
‘Well, I guess that shows what you know. Listen, if you see Rhys, can you tell him I need a chat?’
It’s a relief when he slams the door, and I’m able to slip into my room, throw off my bag and change into my work trousers and branded polo shirt. There’s an odd smell I can’t quite place, but I spray deodorant under my arms to cover it. I shouldn’t have had those cocktails at lunch; I can already feel a headache brewing. I need the next four hours to pass as quickly as possible so I can get back to my assignment.
I’m just closing my door when something else slams into Fergus’s wall. I picture Sophie having to charm Raymond when he learns of whatever damage Fergus is causing, and my conscience once again takes control of my body.
Knocking on Fergus’s door, I brace myself for a barrage of abuse, but he’s clearly got something on his mind.
He yanks the door open. ‘What?’
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
‘Listen, I appreciate it’s none of my business, and I’ll understand if you tell me to sling my hook, but I wanted to check if there’s anything I can do to help? Rhys might not be around, but I am. You know what they say about a problem shared being a problem halved.’
My shoulders tense as I anticipate his reaction, but rather than thumping me, he grabs hold of my shirt sleeve and drags me into his room.
Oh, God, he’s going to kill me.
My eyes clamp tight as I await what won’t be my first merciless beating at the hands of someone twice my size.
‘You ever had one of those fucking awful days?’ he says instead.
I open my eyes and see what looks like the outcome of a detonated bomb. Clothes are strewn left and right, the door to the fitted wardrobe is hanging by a single hinge, and the drawers are scattered across the floor and bed. I’d assume we’ve been burgled if I hadn’t already seen that my room is exactly as I left it. Then I spot the cracked plaster where something – maybe a fist, judging by the fresh welts on Fergus’s knuckle – has been slammed into it.
I could fill him in on my day, but I don’t have the time and don’t want to relive the embarrassment. ‘We all have shit days sometimes, but what on earth could have happened to warrant this level of carnage?’
He surveys the room and for the first time the hint of a smile escapes. He slumps down on his bed in the only space visible.
‘I was at my uncle’s house when I got a call from the coach. He said he’s heard rumours that I’m struggling on my course and if I don’t pull my finger out, I’m booted off the team.’
As bad days go, this isn’t even on the same scale as mine, I think, but don’t say.
‘People like me aren’t meant to go to university. I only agreed to come because my uncle insisted. Since he took me in, he’s worked his arse off to give me the best shot in life, and I don’t want to let him down, but the coach is right: I am failing. It’s nae that I don’t want to try, but I’m nae an academic. Lacrosse has been the one thing I’ve succeeded at. Coach knows I’m the best player on the team, and he wouldn’t risk the regional championship unless he was serious.’
He lowers his head, so I can’t see the tears pooling in his eyes.
So, all of this mess and angst is because of our benevolent landlord Raymond. I glance at my watch, conscious that the bus will be arriving at my stop in a few minutes.
‘You’re taking film studies, right?’ I say.
He nods. ‘Aye. I figured it would just be sitting around watching movies and gassing about them, but there’s more to it than that. The assignment for this term isn’t even focused on British or US movies. We’re supposed to pick a foreign language film and explain how it’s influenced modern cinema, and I dinnae know where to start. I’ve been tryna get hold of Woody, but he isn’t answering his phone.’
‘Have you discussed it with your tutor?’
‘Aye, and she tried to explain what she’s looking for, but I still don’t get it. She suggested I look at French cinema as that’s the easiest comparison, but I don’t speak French, and I hate reading subtitles. If I wanted to read, I’d take a book. You know?’
I really should be leaving, but my feet remain planted. ‘Actually, I do know, and I might be able to help.’
Why am I still talking? Fergus has been nothing but a disruption with his late-night drunken returns and he hasn’t gone out of his own way to show any interest in me or Harry.
‘I studied French A-Level and an aspect of that involved early French cinema. Have you heard of the Nouvelle Vague?’
He stares back at me blankly.
‘Okay, well, long story short, the earliest cinema pioneers were French, and they made significant advances in both technology and flare. Your tutor’s right that a lot of their influence can still be seen in modern English language films. I have to get my arse to work right now, but I’d be happy to share what I know, and could help you to choose a suitable selection of films to compare if you’d like?’
He narrows his eyes, and I instantly sense I’ve overstepped. ‘Why would you want to help me?’
I really don’t have an answer.
‘A friend in need is a friend indeed?’ I say, cringing as the words tumble out.
He wrinkles his nose, but his cheeks are finally starting to return to a more natural shade. ‘I dinnae suppose you also have veterinary skills you can share?’
I frown at the unusual question, until he nods at a small glass bowl on the corner of his desk. It’s partly covered by the contents of one of the desk drawers, so I didn’t spot it at first.
‘Oh, you have a fish? I thought Soph said we weren’t allowed pets.’
‘We’re not. I kept the tank under a blanket when I moved in. But when I got back today, I found him floating on top of the water. I’ve had him for two years and now he’s dead, just like that. No explanation. One minute there, the next… As I said, it’s been an awful day. And to top it off, I canny find my lucky lighter either.’
Christophe’s face flashes before my eyes.
‘What makes the lighter lucky?’
He stares down at his feet. ‘It was my dad’s. I remember him telling me when I was a kid how his grandfather had bought it during the Second World War, and he’d always felt it had brought him luck. It was passed down to my dad and then to me after he passed. My uncle had it cleaned up and inscribed with my dad’s final words. And I’ve searched everywhere and canny bloody find it.’
I should tell him about what I witnessed this morning, but I don’t want to upset him, and I’d rather confront Christophe directly than stir things up.
‘I’m sure it will turn up,’ I say instead.
I look at my watch again, realising I’ve now probably missed my bus and that will mean a bollocking from the duty manager.
‘Thanks, Pete,’ Fergus says, and I realise he’s offered his hand out. ‘I appreciate you helping me.’
I press my hand to his and he shakes it firmly.
‘I should let you get on to work. I need to tidy up this mess.’
‘You should clean your hand up too, and maybe see if there’s a poster you can hang over the crack in the wall until we can get it patched up.’
I excuse myself and close the door behind me. I’m about to head to the front door when instinct tells me to check my own room again. Unlocking it, I enter, and sniff the air, now realising what that strange smell was: cologne. I don’t use it, but I know someone who does. One thing’s for sure: I’m going to need to keep an eye on Christophe and his light fingers.
13
PRESENT DAY
It’s a relief when Fergus drags Rhys away from the side of the yacht, but his screeching barely subsides as he is led back to his cabin. At first, I don’t want to believe that Elena is dead, but as her body bobs against the lid of the cage, I can see the saltwater splashing into her lifeless eyes. It’s the first corpse I’ve seen in ten years, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
The whirring of the motor stops, and Sophie appears beside me, gasping as she first sees Elena.
‘What the…?’ she gasps, grabbing my shoulders for support. ‘Is she…?’
‘I think so,’ I say, unable to tear my eyes away. ‘She’s not wearing goggles or an oxygen tank, which suggests it wasn’t her choice to get into the cage.’ I don’t add that the lack of spilled blood suggests she was still alive when she entered it.
Nobody speaks for what feels like an eternity, as the truth slowly dawns: somebody did this to her. Given Joaquín’s and the dinghy’s disappearance, he’s the most likely candidate. The question is why, and is he planning to return?
Harry is the first to yell out. ‘We need to call the coastguard or someone,’ he says. ‘We can’t just wait here for him to return and finish us all off.’
I stare out at the horizon for any sign of where he could be hiding, but there’s nothing but the sea and sky in all directions.
Sophie hurries back up to the cockpit and engages the motor again, and soon the lid of the cage and Elena disappear beneath the water line. We will need to release her body at some point, but for now it’s easier to pretend she isn’t there.
Christophe and Harry remain beside me, but neither speaks nor moves, and when I look at the pair of them, I see their skin is as pale as Sophie’s.
