Cinnamon Twigs (38 page)

‘
Roll one more spliff up first, dude.’

So, we smoke one more and decide we
’ll have our milkshakes and Chilli flavored crisps in the car.

All we can think about is curing

the munchies as we get off the cliff, using a ladder of rocks

we
’d made earlier. We stumble down

the beach
and turn a corner. Icy air stifles our laughter.

The tide has reached the top of this part of the beach.

It
’s lapping against the edge of the cliff

and we don
’t know any other way out.

‘
We’ll have to climb up the cliff again

to get across,
’ I tell Michael.

But this side of it is too steep.

We’d fall to our deaths.

We
’ll just have to get our feet wet,

I suppose
.

We
’ve still got the giggles as we tread through the water.

But the waves are hitting us harder than we thought,

and the sea is rising up our bodies now,

smashing us against the base of the cliff.

A wave gives me a wallop

and I
’m submerged.

I remember what a fortune-teller told

my mother: ‘Keep your child away from water.’

I raise my head and gaze at the sea,

beautiful and terrifying at the same time,

stretching to distant flecks of land.

I think about the things

I
haven’t achieved and sob like a child who wants his parents.

You hear about this sort of thing in the news:
fishermen drowning like this
.

And that
’s all Mike and I will be remembered as: two idiotic boys

who drowned on Penarth beach.

‘Come on!’ I shout. I won’t let

that happen.
I throw my milkshake.

It bobs on the water like a gull.

We swim back to shore, gasping for breath,

oblivious to the cramp in our arms

and legs. I want to collapse

on
the grey pebbles, but I sprint

up
the beach, desperate to get away.

Afterwards, we sit in Michael’s car, drenched.

Somehow, I
’ve managed to save my packet

of crisps.
But I can’t eat now.

I pull my phone from my pocket.

Beep. Beep. A telephonic death rattle.

My wallet, with all my cards in,

is soaking.

‘
Did we just nearly die?’ I ask, shivering.

‘
That was the scariest thing that has ever happened to me,’ Mike responds.

Partly ecstatic that we
’re still alive,

but mainly furious that we were

so bloody stupid, we sit in silence, shaking our heads.

We decide to stay away from each other

for a few days.

Like survivors, hoping to forget.

A ray
of sunshine struck the cave walls and Lauren tripped towards me in the brilliant light, her clothes dazzling white and her face shining like the wild sun itself. I held her in my arms and inhaled her Armani Code perfume. She smiled at me, but I couldn’t look at her. A cloud of guilt enveloped me. I only had memories, the tapered shadows of the past, and they couldn’t bring my friends back. I’d left them behind, and now I was alone in a cold, dank cave.              

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Heroes and Villains

Soraya’s father had read a lot when he was alive. Oscar Wilde’s Dorian Gray sought to accumulate Dacca gauzes and Sicilian brocades, while Soraya’s dad desired the world’s finest literary treasures. I discovered dusty volumes of poetry, great plays and novels. Many of the books looked as if they’d been read and reread countless times. I loved to touch the spines and run my fingers across the golden engraved titles, the distinguished names like Tennyson and Dylan Thomas.

              Soraya rarely read, but she knew many of the stories because her dad used to tell them to her. He never stopped telling her stories, even when her mother was dying of cancer. That’s what kept them going through the hard times.

             
I spent hours admiring the vast book collection and refreshing my memory with accounts of valiant heroes. Soraya’s father had taken a particularly keen interest in Greek and Roman mythology.

             
I thought about the great heroes of ancient mythology. The heroes long gone, but still remembered. I’d played a few heroic parts during my career, appeared brave and strong on screen. I’d written about heroes and had even been called one myself. But there was nothing heroic about me.

I wondered about the nature of good and evil, what distinguished heroes and villains.

              Hercules - the son of Jupiter and Alcmene - is still remembered for his heroic deeds. He skinned the Nemean lion, destroyed the seven-headed Hydra in the marshes of Lerna and captured the Cretan bull. He was involved in battles between gods and giants. He’d been there at the first siege of Troy, and for the Argonautic expedition. He was a hero in every way. Virtuous and brave. But Hercules also threw his children into a fire. In a state of madness, he murdered his wife, and for a long time wandered aimlessly in a struggle against his fate.

             
Prometheus is remembered for molding man. The gods considered him a thief after he stole fire, which he gave to humankind. As punishment, a vulture feasted on his liver every day for eternity.

             
Bellerophon was a fearless prince sent to attack the Chimaera, a horrible beast with a lion’s head, a goat’s body and a dragon’s tail. He mounted Pegasus and destroyed the monster. He also defeated the Amazons. But he sought to reach the same heights as the gods, and spent the rest of his days in perpetual darkness.

             
Guys like Midas, the king of Lydia, haven’t been forgotten. The greedy king was granted the power of turning everything into gold. Time hasn’t faded his tale, just as it hasn’t faded the gold sands near the Pactolus River.

             
Ixion is renowned for breaking his promise to marry Dia. He made love to Juno and as a result was bound to an eternal wheel of fire. And still, while infinite hearts have stopped beating, his story lives on. No man is immortal, but that villain has come as close to immortality as can be imagined.

             
Those kings, gods and heroes are known for their great deeds and treacherous acts. I certainly wasn’t a mythological hero, but I knew I’d be remembered. I had no control over how people perceived me. Maybe I’d be remembered as a villain, a coward who’d abandoned his marriage and his loyal fans.

             
I’d left her crying into a pillow.

             
I should have tried to save our marriage. I should have stayed and talked to Lauren. The scales fell from my eyes as I truly realized my mistake. I’d done my princess wrong. She still loved me. She’d give anything for me, but I’d pushed her away and created the void in our marriage. I’d lied to myself and pretended that leaving Lauren would do her good. But it wouldn’t. She needed me more than ever. She’d feared for our relationship, because I’d changed. But it wasn’t too late to change back.

             
I needed more time to think on the island - the fool’s paradise. I kept wondering about the nature of good and evil, about my actions. I’d spent my life dreaming. My dreams of becoming successful had come true, and I’d married the most beautiful girl I’d ever set my eyes on. But I would never attain immortality. That was an asinine dream. I’d reached far beyond my grasp and punished myself by destroying everything that mattered to me.

             
It would be hard to go back. I’d have to desert the peaceful island and return to a world of cameras and prying journalists. But I belonged there. Lauren would be there for me. I hoped she’d scold me for being a self-absorbed twat, and then forgive me. Her forgiveness could make everything bearable. I’d face the public with her by my side.

             
I grew tired of wandering around the island, so I told Soraya I wanted to go to the market with her. I’d always stayed on the island whenever Soraya went shopping.

             
Soraya and I dragged the boat out of the lake and into the sea. The journey was long, and the air became stifling as the morning sun climbed over the cliffs and into the yellowing sky. Soraya was surprisingly strong. We had to row as hard as we could when the currents turned awry. But I got tired of rowing and needed a rest.

             
‘I wish my heart was better,’ I grumbled.

             
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Soraya asked.

             
‘It hurts.’

             
‘You’ve got a good heart.’

             
‘No. I haven’t.’ I gazed at the waves lapping against the distant coast. ‘I’ve abused it. It hurts if I exert myself too much.’

             
‘Well, my heart never hurts.’

             
‘That’s because you’re young and healthy!’ I laughed. ‘I envy you.’

             
‘You do have a good heart, Daniel.’

             
‘You mean that in a figurative sense.’

             
‘Yeah. You’re a good man.’

             
‘I doubt that sometimes.’

             
‘Why?’

             
‘I don’t think I’m a good guy at all. I think I’ve been very selfish.’

             
‘I’ve been watching you lately. You don’t seem happy.’

             
I looked into Soraya’s eyes.

             
‘So, you’re not happy…’ she continued.

             
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be truly happy.’

             
‘I think you’re still searching.’

             
‘I’m afraid I’m not like you. I question everything.’

             
‘And you think I don’t question anything?’

             
Soraya was so beautiful, with her glowing complexion and her deep, meaningful brown eyes. Her chest heaved as she rowed, breathing hard, her lips slightly parted.

             
‘I don’t know. You seem happy with pretty much everything.’

             
‘May I remind you that my parents are dead?’ she snapped. For an instant I could see lightning in those brown eyes, anticipating a thunder that wouldn’t come. A storm deep inside she’d never let surface.

             
‘I’m sorry. You just never seem to show any real emotion. I mean, I’ve never seen you cry.’

             
‘Crying never did anyone any good. My father always told me that.’

             
‘Is that why you don’t consider moving away from the island?’

             
‘What do you mean?’

             
‘The island is all you have left,’ I said. ‘It’s where you grew up. All your memories are memories of this place.’

             
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just feel closer to them here. Mom and dad…’

             
‘One day, you’ll have to move on.’

             
‘I’ve been thinking a bit lately. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should move on. Visit America. See where my family came from.’ She looked across the ocean, into the distance she’d never explored.

             
‘Yeah.’ I touched her hand as she stopped rowing.

             
‘But what about you?’

             
‘What about me?’

             
‘I don’t believe you’ve really moved on. Not yet. Look, there’s the coast.’

             
We made it to the shore and journeyed to the marketplace. Walking through a crowd of people again felt strange. Nobody recognized me. They knew nothing of Hollywood and celebrity culture. The marketplace became a haze of colorful rags, filled with the deep drones of various figures.

             
Soraya showed me the stalls. We looked at spices and vegetables: basil, tamarind, cumin and saffron. Mustard leaves, cluster beans, fenugreek leaves and mogri. She showed me the different kinds of fruit: mango, pomegranate, guava and papaya.