Silver Bay (40 page)

I squared up to him. ‘This is about Greg, isn’t it?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with Greg. I want you to talk about—’

‘It’s all about Greg. He sat there and riled you all evening, which reminded you that you’re not the only man I’ve ever been with.’ He sat down opposite me, his eyes closed as if that helped him not to hear me. But I carried on: ‘So now you’re taking it out on me. Well, if you’re going to pick a fight, I’m going to—’

‘Run away again? You know what? I don’t think this has anything to do with the whales any more.’

‘What?’

‘You’re determined to punish yourself for Letty’s death. This development has forced you to look at what happened, and now you feel the need to atone for it by sacrificing yourself.’

Downstairs the singing had stopped. The window was open, but I no longer cared.

‘And it’s pointless. You’ve already paid for what happened, Liza. You’ve paid a million times.’

‘I want a clean slate. And we need to—’

‘Save the whales. I know.’

‘Then why are you going on like this?’

‘Because you’re wrong. And you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.’

‘Who the hell are you to judge my reasons?’

‘I’m not judging you. But you need to think about this, Liza. You need to know that by—’

‘
You
need to butt out of my business.’

‘—that by going through with this, you’ll take Hannah down with you.’

My blood ran cold. I couldn’t believe he would attack me like that. If his words hadn’t sunk into me, like a knife, I probably wouldn’t have said what I did: ‘Who the hell landed us in this situation, Mike? You ask yourself that the next time you start judging me. As you said, we were fine here. We were happy. Well, if Hannah and I end up spending the next five years separated, you ask yourself whose bloody fault it really is.’

There was silence, both inside and out. All that could be heard was the sea, and then, after a few moments, the low scrape of a chair as someone beneath us began quietly to collect glasses.

I stared at Mike’s grey face, and wished I could take back what I’d said. ‘Mike—’

He held up his hand. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

And I understood, with a painful lurch, the truth of it: that he hadn’t wanted to hurt me. He just couldn’t bear the thought of losing me.

Twenty-three

Monica

My brother’s behaviour had been pretty surprising over the past few months. At this time last year if you had offered me a bet on the progression of his life I would have said that by March he’d be married to Vanessa, she would be in the process of getting herself pregnant and he’d be sliding his way up the greasy pole of his property-development company. A smart flat, perhaps a new house, maybe a holiday home somewhere hot, another flash car, skiing, expensive restaurants, blah-blah-blah. The most radical thing Mike would do was change his aftershave, or maybe the colour of his tie.

I no longer had the slightest idea where he’d be in March. He might be in Australia, or New Zealand, or boat-building in the Galapagos. He might be growing dreadlocks. He might be protecting a fugitive woman and her child, and saving the whales. When I told my parents the half of it (he’ll have to forgive me, I couldn’t resist) Dad nearly spat out his false teeth. ‘What do you mean he’s left his job?’ he spluttered, and I could hear Mum in the background telling him to think of his blood pressure. ‘How long is he planning to stay in Australia?’ And then: ‘A
single mother
? What the hell happened to Vanessa?’

I had thought perhaps Mike was having an early mid-life crisis, that maybe Liza really was his first love – people do weird things when they fall in love for the first time. Perhaps property development wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

And then he had rung me last week and told me this story. I can’t lie. My first thought was not, as he put it, how do we protect her? It was too good a story: the battered girlfriend of a political wannabe who fled the country after accidentally killing their child. It had everything: violent crime, long-buried secrets, tragedy, a dead child, a beautiful blonde. It even had whales and dolphins, for God’s sake. I told him all we needed was Skippy and we’d have a full deck. He didn’t laugh.

Except it didn’t add up. I looked at all of the guy’s cuttings, even with the change of name. I cross-checked that information with every database I could find. I spent almost a week doing nothing but looking up the facts of the story, and irritating the hell out of my newsdesk because I couldn’t tell them what I was doing. And it still didn’t add up.

Twenty-four

Mike

Milly had gone into a decline. She hardly ate, and slept only sporadically. She was watchful, anxious and snappy, twice disgracing herself on
Ishmael
by baring her teeth at passengers, and once soiling the lounge carpet – an act of depression that even she had the good grace to seem embarrassed about. Everywhere that Liza went, she was glued to her heels, a little black and white shadow. With canine intuition, she had picked up on the fact that her mistress was planning to leave, and was afraid that if she dropped her vigil Liza might disappear.

I knew how she felt. The anxiety. The impotence. Since the night of the party, we no longer discussed Liza’s plans. I worked harder, partly because that was the only way I could think of to stop her, and partly because I found it increasingly painful to be with her. I couldn’t look at her, touch her, kiss her, without thinking of how it would feel to be without her. If you want to put it in crude financial terms, I couldn’t make any more investment in something that was about to be withdrawn from me.

Kathleen evidently knew now what she planned – they had had a conversation – and her way of dealing with it, as with so much in her life, was merely to plough on, being practical. I hadn’t talked to her about it – I didn’t feel it was my place – but I saw her paying extra attention to Hannah, making plans for trips and special treats, and I knew she was engaged in her own form of preparation. Mr Gaines came most days now, and while Hannah was at school the two could often be found at the kitchen table, in whispered conversation or peaceably reading the newspaper and listening to what they both still called the wireless. I was glad for them, glad that Kathleen would not face this alone, and a little envious, too, of their happiness. Liza deserved that kind of contentment, after everything that had happened, and instead she was about to be punished again.

She had forgiven me for my outburst. She was gentle with me, occasionally running a finger down the side of my face with sympathetic eyes. At night she was increasingly passionate, as if she, too, was determined to glean every last bit of happiness from what remained of our time together. Sometimes I had to tell her I couldn’t – I felt too sad and angry about what would soon take place that I couldn’t make it happen.

She never commented. She would just wrap her thin limbs round me, rest her face against the back of my neck and the two of us would lie, in the darkness, each knowing the other was awake, neither knowing what to say.

Several times she had asked when my sister was likely to call, when she was likely to do the interview. She tried to make her enquiries sound casual, but I knew she needed to set things in motion, to know exactly how much time she had left. I had stalled at first, then tried several times to reach Monica, but always I got her voicemail. Each time we failed to speak I felt nothing but relief.

My despondency was not helped by the seemingly unstoppable momentum of the hotel development. I was running out of ideas and energy, and despite my best efforts, I hadn’t managed to get a demonstration going on the day the architectural model went on display. The owner of the Blue Shoals Hotel rang to tell me that, sympathetic as he was to what I was doing, he ‘didn’t want any aggro’ as there was a christening party in the back room that lunchtime, and surely I understood. He sounded like a nice guy, and I didn’t feel I could ruin a family’s special day, so I called it off. Kathleen had laughed drily when I told her, and said some revolutionary I would have made. I didn’t like to tell her that only a handful of people had shown interest in joining the demonstration as it was.

Liza was out on
Ishmael
, and Hannah was at school, so after I’d tried and failed to continue the fight from my desk, I had headed down to the Blue Shoals, relishing, despite myself, the bright blue sky, and the warm breeze. These days, with the onset of warmer weather, Silver Bay seemed the most beautiful place on earth. Its landscape had become familiar, the volcanic horizon restful to the eye, the rows of bungalows and holiday lets no longer jarring, the pie and bottle shops along the coast road now regular stopping-off points. Everything a person could need is in this small corner of the world, I thought. One of the few certainties I employed to console myself was that I had decided to stay. I would help Kathleen in her fight to keep afloat, and look after Hannah until Liza came home.

In the circumstances it felt like the least I could do.

I was the only person in Reception at the Blue Shoals. The receptionist, who might have recognised me, jerked her thumb towards the leg of the L-shaped foyer, and there, flanked by cardboard screens, which illustrated projected visitor numbers and benefits for the community, it sat in a Perspex case, around four feet by six, unnoticed.

It was exactly as I had pictured it. In fact, I realised, as I bent over, it was better. Its four buildings were situated elegantly round a series of courtyards and swimming-pools. Its solar canopies mimicked the shape of the hills behind it. It was white and glossy, immaculate and expensive. Despite the weird stasis you get with architectural models, you could imagine the throngs of people round the pools, strolling back to their rooms after a day at the beach. The watersports area, which jutted far into the bay, was punctuated by little plastic boats and even two waterskiers, complete with foam trails. Whale Jetty was lined with expensive white yachts and catamarans. The sand was white and the buildings gleamed with whitewash and glass. The little pine trees climbed mountains behind it, and the sea was turquoise. It looked like somewhere you might like to fall into. It looked, I had to admit, like a little stretch of Paradise, and the business side of me couldn’t help but feel a perverse admiration for my own skills. Then I looked down the miniature bay and saw that Kathleen’s place and the Whalechasers Museum no longer existed. There was white sand, the headland and nothing else.

Anger built inside me again.

‘Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?’

I glanced up to see Mr Reilly gazing at the Perspex case. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and his jacket was over his shoulder, as if he hadn’t been prepared for the day’s warmth. ‘You must be pretty pleased with yourself.’

I straightened.

‘I’ve been wondering where they got all the little figures,’ he said.

‘There are specialist companies,’ I said curtly. ‘They make them to order.’

‘I’ve got a son who’s obsessed with model railways,’ he continued, squatting down so that he could see it all at eye level. ‘I should get them to make him a few figures. He’d love it.’

I said nothing. I was staring at the space where Kathleen’s hotel should have been.

‘Different when you see it in three-D, though,’ he observed. ‘I thought I could see it on the plans, but this brings it to life.’

‘It’s a mistake,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be a disaster for the area.’

Mr Reilly deflated slightly, stood up. ‘I’d heard you’d gone native. You surprise me, Mike, given how hard you fought for this place.’

‘I saw what you would lose,’ I said, ‘and I didn’t want to be part of it.’

‘I don’t believe we’ll lose too much.’

‘Just your whales and dolphins.’

‘You’re being a little dramatic, mate. Look, the coastguards have had a clampdown on those disco boats. There’s been none here for over ten days now. They’ve got the message.’

‘Until the building starts.’

‘Mike, there’s no evidence that building on shore is going to stress the animals.’

‘But the watersports will.’

‘Beaker have promised to put some pretty tough regulations in place.’

‘You think an eighteen-year-old with a jet-ski cares about regulations? It’s all cumulative, Mr Reilly,’ I said. ‘It’s all adding to the stresses on the whales.’

‘I’d have to disagree,’ he said. ‘At least two humpbacks have been spotted this week, which is about right for this late in the season. The whale-watchers are out again. Dolphins are there. Forgive me for saying this, but I don’t really understand why you’re so opposed to it.’

We stood opposite each other, the great glass case between us. I wanted to hit him, which was unusual for me, and a pity, as I suspected in other circumstances I might have liked him. I took a deep breath and gestured towards the model. ‘Mr Reilly, do me a favour. Tell me what you see when you look at this,’ I said.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Apart from the fact that I wouldn’t mind staying there myself? I see employment. I see life in an area that’s pretty short on it. I see a new bus and a brick-built library for the school, and I see commerce. I see opportunities.’ He smiled wryly at me. ‘You should know, Mike. It was you who got me to see those things.’

‘I’ll tell you what I see,’ I said. ‘I see men who’ve had a beer too many skidding too fast round the bay in motorboats. I see dolphins injured by rudders when they can’t get out of the way in time. I see disco boats trying to catch passing trade and too many dolphin-watchers, disorientated whales beaching themselves on that pristine white shore. I see what remains of the humpback migration moving many miles from here, perhaps losing numbers in the process, and the people who relied on them losing their jobs. And I see a bloody great hole where a family-run hotel, a place that has existed seventy-odd years, should be.’

‘There’s no reason why the Silver Bay Hotel can’t exist quite happily alongside the new development.’