Chapter 37
Fifteen minutes later, I’m back at the villa. It’s four o’clock – siesta time – so the house is quiet. My eyelids are heavy with lack of sleep, so I strip, dial up the AC and flop onto my bed.
But after half an hour, I still haven’t nodded off. Mark hasn’t returned, and it’s making me antsy even though there’s no logical reason to be anxious.
Needing a change of scenery, I put on my bikini and sarong, and head outside, passing Pen who’s lazing by the pool.
‘You put sunscreen on?’ I ask.
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Where is everyone?’
‘Yan went to find a gym and Tig and Theo are sleeping. Haven’t seen Mark.’ She lifts her head and squints at me. ‘Are you okay?’
The smell of chlorine is making me nauseous. And panic isn’t far behind.
‘I’m fine,’ I tell her automatically.
I hear a car in the drive, and I instantly relax – Mark’s back.
‘I’m going to go and explore,’ I say, pointing towards the garden.
The further I get from the pool, the better I feel. I pass lemon trees and gnarled old olives, and soon the stink of the chlorine is replaced by the soothing scent of lavender bushes.
Right at the bottom of the garden, a full hundred metres from the house, is a shed I’ve never noticed before.
A quick peek inside reveals it’s where the unused garden furniture is stored – wooden sunbeds, folding chairs and a wrought-iron table.
I drag a sunbed out, find a spot shaded by a row of cypresses and lie down.
My finger reflexively hovers over Instagram on my phone, but I stop myself. Doom-scrolling will only feed the latent anxiety I’m only just keeping at bay. Instead, I select a body scan meditation, put in my AirPods, and throw my phone under the sunbed.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly but struggle to keep my mind on the meditation. It’s airless and hot, even in the shade. A bottle of ice-cold Coke would be heaven right now, but I’m enjoying the solitude too much to go and get one.
A tap at waist level next to the dilapidated shed catches my eye. I get up, half expecting it not to work, but I’m pleasantly surprised when I twist it open and water gushes out. I sprinkle cold water over my arms and legs, shivering at the delicious mix of heat and chill on my skin.
I cup water in my hands and splash it over my shoulders and torso. It feels great for about ten seconds, before the Mediterranean heat reasserts itself.
I shake my hair out of its messy bun and dunk my head under the tap, squirming as the icy water cascades down my neck and face. Properly soaked, I lie back on the sunbed, closing my eyes against the sun.
The droplets of water trickling down my cleavage and across my belly are like expert fingers massaging me into a blissful slumber.
For the first time in hours, the weight in my chest lifts and I can breathe again.
But then a twig snaps, breaking the spell, and when I look up, Mark is approaching.
He’s wearing board shorts and a white linen shirt that hangs open, drawing attention to the tanned contours of his pecs and abdomen. Heat prickles the nape of my neck, making my wet hair stick to it. He’s still five metres away, but he’s already upped the ambient temperature.
Sitting up, I self-consciously rearrange my sarong so it covers my legs. My damp bikini is clinging to my nipples, but there’s not much I can do about that.
It’s only when he’s right in front of me that I notice he’s holding two bottles of Coke.
My discomfort gives way to delight.
‘Oh, God, you read my mind!’
‘I didn’t have to. I know how much you like this stuff.’
I’ve been drinking Coke since we got here, he must have seen me, so why does it feel like he’s thinking of the night he gave me the can that’s stashed away in my parents loft?
‘Everyone likes Coke, don’t they?’ I say, trying to deflect.
‘Personally, I find it tastes like fizzy cack.’
‘We all have our vices.’
He hands me a bottle. We’re at different heights because I’m sitting and he’s standing, and it’s awkward for me to reach up.
He taps my Coke with his own. ‘To our vices.’
He holds my eye for a fraction too long before he takes a sip. It’s unsettling because now I’m thinking about that vice-filled night. About how he kissed with his whole body. And wondering what new vices he’s mastered.
I’m thirsty and hot, and I’d love to sink half the bottle in one go, but I force myself to take ladylike sips because the last thing I want to do is wrap my lips around the bottle like a schoolyard impression of fellatio.
He’s sort of exactly at the right height.
My eyes dart to his swimming trunks without any input from my brain.
‘Did you want something?’ I ask, then regret it because for a mad second, I hear him answering, ‘A quick blowie?’ like we’re in an episode of The Inbetweeners.
‘Why are you out here by yourself?’
‘I like it here with the cypresses and olive trees. Besides, I thought everyone had either gone out or was sleeping.’
‘Pen’s by the pool.’
‘I know, but like I said, I wanted to spend time in nature.’
‘Earlier, at the beach, you went white as a sheet when I fell in the water. And then you lost it with that kid.’ He pauses. ‘That wasn’t like you, and I should have realised; I should have made more of an effort to ask you how you were.’
‘I’m fine.’
He shakes his head. ‘Theo could have picked me up. You needed to stay here, resting with your family.’
‘He offered, but I insisted.’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe I wanted to see Doctor Moron.’
He looks serious. ‘From the moment you stepped into my room, you didn’t look at him once.’
‘What do you want from me, Mark?’
‘Yan said you were angry with me.’
I blow out a breath. ‘Firstly, I’m going to kill Yan, and secondly, even if that’s true, you don’t deserve it.’
‘You’ll feel better if you scream and shout at me. If you were a guy, I’d tell you to punch me.’
‘But because I’m a girl, I’d probably hurt my dainty hand on your cheekbone?’
He smiles. ‘Rookie mistake. Always aim for the chin or jaw.’
‘Thanks for the tip, Rocky. But you’re the one person who had a worse night than I did. I’m not going to punch you – I’m not a monster.’
‘No, you’re a human being who has a tendency to bottle up her feelings.’
I shake my head. ‘Enough with the analysis.’
‘I was a wreck after my first cardiac tamponade,’ he says.
‘It’s when blood pools around the heart after surgery and if you suspect it, you don’t hang around.
It was a Saturday night. My consultant was off – at home with his feet up, watching Morse – and I was the most senior doctor in the hospital.
I had to organise an emergency team and get the patient back into theatre.
I’d assisted on dozens, but it hits different when everything rests on you – on your skill, your judgement, your cool head.
All I could think was, if he dies, it’s on me.
We reopened his chest, drained the blood and fixed the bleed – it went like clockwork – but when I got out of the hospital, I went on a six-hour bender and ended up going home with the barmaid. ’
‘I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.’
‘I trained for years before they let me loose on a patient. And, more importantly, I chose to be a surgeon, but last night you didn’t get that choice. You didn’t get time to prepare or to even think. How can it not have affected you?’
‘So, the moral of the story is: drink and fuck away your trauma?’
‘The moral of the story is to let it out, Nella. Express your pain because if you don’t, it will eat you up from the inside.’
I nod mutely. My pulse has kicked up, and I’m too restless to stay sitting. I stand, and a moment later, Mark takes a tentative step towards me.
‘Talk to me, Nella.’
A heaviness settles on my chest, and my throat tightens.
‘You could have died,’ I whisper. I try to speak up, but I can’t get enough air into my lungs and suddenly I’m back in the pool, the water weighing me down as I fight to draw breath.
‘You could have died.’ This time, my voice is louder. ‘And I can’t be responsible for both of you dying.’
He stares at me for long moments. ‘Both of us? Nella, you weren’t responsible for what happened to Leo.’
‘That’s not how you felt at the time.’
‘Please, forget what I said at the funeral. I was angry and grieving and lashing out. I’d just lost my brother, and I wasn’t in my right mind. Surely you knew that?’
‘The problem was, Mark, I agreed with you. I was to blame.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ he says fiercely. He drags a hand through his hair.
‘Jesus Christ, why didn’t I see this before?
I tried to rationalise it over the years, telling myself that you’d understand, and that I didn’t need to explain myself, but I realise now that sometimes you just have to hear the fucking words.
You need it spelled out. I’m never going to get an acknowledgement or apology from Giovanni, but you will get both from me.
I’m sorry, Nella, I was wrong to say what I did, and I would give anything to take those words back. ’
‘But I could have saved him,’ I say, my voice small. ‘I went to the hospital to tell him I wanted to get back together. But I was too late … it was too late.’
His face is twisted in pain. ‘No, Nella. He had a heart condition. You’re not to blame.’
‘I couldn’t save him. But I had to save you, or I … I … wouldn’t be able to live with myself.’
Fresh anger bubbles to the surface, propelling me forward till we’re toe-to-toe.
‘You could have died.’ I jab his breastbone with each syllable. ‘You could have died, you bastard. You could have fucking died!’
He grabs my hand and lays it flat against his chest. ‘Feel that?’
His heart is pounding underneath my palm.
I nod.
He rests his forehead against mine. ‘I’m alive, Nella. We’re both alive.’
We stand face-to-face, close enough to breathe each other’s air, and something ignites inside me. I feel it like an electric current, shocking and thrilling.
A shadow passes overhead, blocking out the sun. Then the sky rips open, and it starts to pour.