Lie With Me (13 page)

‘She was a wonderful person,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I got to meet her.’

The three of them looked at me, as if I’d said something unexpected. Tina said: ‘You knew her?’ She looked at Andrew. ‘Did I know that?’

‘Yes. At Cambridge,’ I said. ‘She was the year below.’

‘Two years below,’ Andrew said.

‘Yes of course.’

‘And you dated,’ Alice said, smiling strangely. ‘You knew her well.’

‘Really?’ Tina asked.

‘It depends on your definition of “dated”,’ I said. ‘It was more casual than that.’

One of the women on the next-door table let out a scream of laughter.

Tina looked at Andrew. ‘I didn’t know.’

He ignored her. Raising his eyebrows, he said: ‘I think Florrie thought you were dating.’

‘Oh.’ I laughed sheepishly. ‘I suppose what I mean is, to use the current parlance, we weren’t “exclusive”. Which is not to say I didn’t think she was a super girl.’ A super girl: why did I say that? It wasn’t even language I used. Possibly because I hadn’t really got to know her. It had been a casual thing, and I couldn’t admit to that now. ‘Special, actually . . . Really a lot of fun . . . The kind of person you don’t forget . . .’ Though of course I had.
Shit
. Death makes one nervous, does odd things to one’s tongue.

‘She liked you,’ Alice said, still with that unreadable expression. ‘She used to write to me about you, talked about you all the time.’

‘How come I didn’t know any of this?’ Tina asked.

Alice was sitting back in her chair rather stiffly and it struck me that perhaps she wasn’t wild about the thought of me with another woman, that she was jealous.

I smiled back reassuringly. ‘It was a long time ago,’ I said.

Andrew insisted on paying the bill. ‘No, no, no, my turn,’ he said. He held the plate out of Alice’s reach.

‘You’re very bad,’ she said,

‘You paid yesterday,’ he replied.

He batted away the ten-euro note I was holding between my fingers. ‘My shout, Paul. You can do another night.’

Another night? Please God, tell me I wouldn’t have to pick up the whole tab?

He took his credit card over to where the old lady was hunched at the till. Daisy and Phoebe returned from the bathroom where they had been reapplying their make up. Daisy looked the same, except with red lips, but Phoebe had ramped it up a gear, with heavily lined eyes and a layer of foundation. If she’d been aiming for Egyptian goddess, she’d landed on Soho tart. They stood at the table to discuss their curfew.

‘Come on, honestly, we’re on holiday, this is Agios Stefanos, it’s
safe
,’ Daisy argued.

‘Midnight,’ Alice replied.

‘That’s insane. You’re always so ridiculously stressy.’

‘I’m not
always
anything.’

Tina said, ‘Oh, Alice. Let them stay out a little later. They’re eighteen now.’

‘OK. 1 a.m. No later.’

‘And me,’ Louis said, looming into view. ‘You know I’m going.’ He was still in his black hoodie, with a purple baseball cap worn backwards (‘Supreme’ was written across the visor), and a thick silver chain hanging from his belt.

‘Really?’ Phoebe said. ‘Does he have to? Mum? Tell him he can’t come.’

Louis took a step forwards. ‘Tell them I can.’

Phoebe pushed him slightly, her hand flat against his chest. He jostled her, jerking his shoulder in her face. The silver chain whipped against her bare leg. ‘Ow,’ she said.

‘Of course he can go,’ Alice said, her hands out to calm them. ‘You’ll be sensible, won’t you, Louis? You’ve had one beer already. No more drinking.’

‘I don’t know why he even wants to come.’

‘I can come if I want. It’s a free country.’

‘Well. You can’t drink. You won’t get with anyone.’

‘I might.’

‘Well, don’t expect me to babysit.’

It seemed as good a time as any to have a quick smoke, so I pushed my chair back and walked out to the street.

I lit up, leaning against one side of the restaurant’s awning. Andrew was talking to Sofia. ‘How’s your grand-daughter?’ he was saying with fake interest, pushing his numbers into the machine.

‘She is in Elconda, working in the tourist office there.’

‘Lovely,’ Andrew said, taking his card back. ‘Excellent.’

I looked away. By the supermarket opposite, three English lads with tattoos across their necks were horsing around, trying to put ice down the tops of their female companions. ‘You knob,’ one of the girls yelled.

‘OK then.’ Alice had joined me. I threw my cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with my shoe.

Phoebe and Daisy stalked off towards the far end of the harbour, where lights flashed and music throbbed. Louis followed, a few feet behind, a rolling motion to his walk that showed he was trying to be cool. I recognised the bulge in his back pocket as a packet of fags.

‘Do you think they’ll be all right?’ Alice said.

Tina said, ‘Of course they will. They’ve promised to stick together.’ She looked at Alice in the face and continued pointedly. ‘
Nothing
is going to happen. Just because . . . We mustn’t . . . you know.’ She squeezed her shoulder. ‘They’ll be fine.’

‘Right, we can go home now.’ Andrew was standing by us, too, slipping his wallet into his back pocket. ‘I’m ready for my bed. Where are those boys?’

‘I think they’re looking for crabs on the jetty,’ Alice said. ‘Wait here, I’ll get them.’

The group of lads had crossed the road now, waving their arms and singing. One of the girls with them fell into me as she passed. She said, ‘Hello! I know you!’ She had a Geordie accent, a big red mouth and tight plaits. It was the girl from the bus, the Rita Ora lookalike with the broken flip-flops, though she was barefoot now so she must have given up on them.

I steered her to a standing position and she lurched off. Andrew raised an eyebrow. ‘You know each other?’ he said.

‘I wish.’

Alice and the boys were coming towards us in the crowd. They were behind a group of girls – stupidly high heels, tiny cropped tops, sheets of hair, chattering away in German. How old were they? Fifteen, sixteen, at a shove, though they looked older. I glanced across at Andrew. He was watching them as they tottered towards us, his expression heavy, blank, torpid.

He saw me and shrugged sheepishly, his chin tucked in, and then looked not to Tina but to Alice to check she hadn’t noticed.

I had planned to have sex with Alice but I fell asleep before I had a chance to take off my own clothes, let alone hers. At one point, I was aware of hearing her in the bathroom, a splash and clink at the basin, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and before I could wake properly, I was overtaken by that thick, heavy, gloopy unconsciousness that makes you wonder if you aren’t drugged.

What woke me a few hours later? Thirst? The heat? A mosquito whining in my ear? I lay motionless, fully dressed, on top of the sheet. The ceiling fan droned. A dog in the near distance barked, stopped for a while; then barked again.

It was hot, pitch black in the room, so dark you could forget whether your eyes were open or shut. Alice was motionless. I turned my back to her, as quietly as I could, found a cooler section of the pillow. Something troubling had woken me and it took a moment to work out what. When I remembered it came as a renewed shock. Florrie – the revelation that she was dead.

I turned my body to face Alice, in need of human comfort, and stretched out an exploratory hand. I was awake now, alert. And I realised, a fist clenched, ready to uncurl, down low in my belly, that I was aroused.

My hand met nothing. I moved it, tried somewhere else, padded here, there – a wrinkled sheet, the smooth surface of the pillow, a space where her body, her hair, her face, her mouth had just been. She wasn’t in the bed.

I sat up, stared into the darkness. I had been sure that she had been lying next to me. Could I have fallen asleep for a few seconds and she had slipped out then? Or had I imagined her breathing so quietly beside me? Had she never been in bed at all?

I rolled into the space where she should have been, buried my face in her pillow and breathed in. That slight scent again of fig and quince. The thought of her inner thighs. I groaned and fumbled for the light switch, couldn’t find it and stood up.

The door on to the terrace was open a crack; a tiny sliver of night air lapping the curtain in the motion from the fan. I made my way across the room, jabbing my calf on the post at the end of the bed, and pushed it open. Outside was a fraction lighter; a nail paring of a moon, black shapes to mark the shrubs and trees. The dog was still barking, louder out here, a desperate bay. Impossible to imagine how a creature could keep going like that.

I strained my ears: other noises. A tinkle and a small splash. Laughter. Was she swimming? If so, who with?

I moved across the terrace, barefooted, past the long table and the shuttered door to the kitchen, and round the large gnarled tree where the CDs dangled, to the top of the path. I began to descend, but it was uneven and rocky and I stubbed my toe on a root, or a stone. Possibly I said, ‘Ouch.’ I hopped, lifted my foot to have a look, saw a blotch of blood on the crescent of flesh above the nail. Another laugh from the direction of the pool.

At the bottom of the path I stood as still as I could under the fig. In the water were Daisy and Phoebe. They were leaning against the side, elbows up, sharing a cigarette; I saw the gleam of it. Their naked bodies shimmered white, distorted, in the underwater lights. Shadows in the copse beyond. The crunch of leaves. Was someone else there with them? No, it was my imagination. They were alone. I watched, the muscles taut across their shoulders, waiting for one of them to turn so I could see their breasts. They were tipsy – tipsy enough to welcome me if I joined them?

No. Bad idea. I mustn’t forget the longer view. Ignoring my throbbing toe, I turned and crept back up the path, resuming my search for Alice.

All the lights were off in the house. I went back to the bedroom, pushing open the door quietly, half expecting to see her asleep. I checked the bathroom. It was empty, but I took a piss while I was there.

The small bathroom window opened onto the front yard. The glass was loose and it rattled very slightly. I moved to look out and picked up in the distance the growl of an engine, getting closer, rearing up the track, and then silence as it was cut. A car door opened.

I got myself in a position to see out.

The silver people carrier was parked close to the house, the passenger door open, and two figures – Alice and Andrew – bent over next to it. They were both dressed, Andrew in his polo shirt, Alice in the T-shirt dress she had been wearing earlier that evening.

They were whispering. I couldn’t catch what they were saying, but then Andrew moved to one side and Alice knelt on the ground. ‘Come on, darling,’ she said, in a louder whisper. ‘Wake up. Come on. We’ve got to get you into bed.’

A groan, and an inarticulate semi-shout: ‘Gerrof.’ An arm flailed and Alice rocked backwards.

Andrew took over. He braced and leant in, then staggered back with the weight of his load.

Louis. Semi-conscious. Ill? No. Paralytic.

They battled for a few moments, struggling for purchase, and then managed to hoist the boy between them, Alice tiny, pushed down under his bulk. They half pulled, half dragged him out of sight, round the corner of the house.

I was torn. I didn’t particularly want to help. I’ve always had a problem with vomit – the smell tends to set me off. Also I needed my sleep and we could be up all night. And yet, and yet. Was I turning down an opportunity to put myself further in Alice’s good books? An opportunity to show Andrew up?

Leaving the bathroom, I tiptoed across the bedroom and pushed open the door. The terrace was empty. A few clatters and mumbles, an isolated moan, from the far side of the building. They must have taken him into his own room. I hesitated, took a step forward and then back. Maybe I was already too late. Maybe he was already asleep.

‘Paul?’

Alice was standing in the shadows. A darker figure against the dark.

‘What are you doing?’ she said.

‘I was looking for you,’ I said. ‘I woke up and you weren’t there.’

‘Well, here I am.’ She was standing very still, in that ballet pose she had, shoulders back.

‘I just woke up and heard voices,’ I said, trying to make my voice sound sleepy. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Yes.’

I took a step towards her so I could see her face. She was frowning, as if she had caught me doing something I shouldn’t. ‘Why are you dressed?’

‘I never
un
dressed,’ I said. ‘I fell asleep with my clothes on. And then when I woke up a minute ago you weren’t there.’

‘I got up to check Louis was back safely.’

‘And is he?’ I said.

‘He’s fine. Fast asleep. I’m going back to bed now. You coming?’

She walked past me, taking my hand as she did so, and I followed. Clearly, she didn’t want me to know about Louis. She was embarrassed. This could only be a good sign. It showed she cared more about my opinion of him than I realised.

Chapter Ten

I slept late. Alice was already up. I put on Andrew’s trunks and a T-shirt, found my book, and wandered out on to the terrace. The air was seriously warm, the sun dappling through a vine from which grapes hung almost indecently heavy. The table was laid for breakfast – cups and plates, a jug of coffee, butter and honey. One of the glasses had been upturned to trap an insect. I studied it carefully; a prawn with wings. A still, silent cicada.

I lifted the glass to free it, but it didn’t move. It looked mournful, one leg crooked at an angle. I wondered if it were dead. Using the cover of
In Cold Blood
as a stretcher, I carried it over to a pot of lavender and gently scooped it on to the earth. It sat there, still motionless.

‘What’s that?’ Tina was standing in the door to the kitchen, wrapped in a pink linen dressing gown.

‘Oh. Nothing. Just rescuing one of earth’s precious creatures.’ I sat down at the table, and flapped a napkin on to my lap. ‘This is rather lovely. Have you seen Alice?’