Chapter 20 Polly
Polly
The three women lie in a diagonal, their towels aligned towards the sun, at the far end of the beach.
Lake Wakatipu is so vast that they might be by the sea, but there are giveaway signs that they are not; the sand is more like shingle – hard, like a bed of concrete might lie a few inches beneath it – and a dozen or so ducks bicker to their left.
After a chilly morning, it’s now surprisingly warm.
The sky is blue, and there’s barely a breath of wind. The water is deathly still.
Polly has been at the beach for about an hour, and her skin shines from sunscreen and perspiration.
Faith was already here, and Jessie turned up a little later looking sheepish.
She didn’t say where she’d been, but Polly has a pretty good idea, given she disappeared at the same time as Miles.
Faith called her out immediately, though.
G’day, stopout! she yelled, loud enough that it turned a few heads.
Faith didn’t notice how Jessie was wounded by that remark, how she turned away to hide her shock.
It’s surprisingly conservative behaviour for someone who Polly suspects is quite promiscuous.
But it’s a strange group, this. That’s what happens when you’re travelling – Polly remembers that from her gap year.
When you’re in a strange country, far from home, the social barriers that normally keep people apart are removed, and you band together with people even if you have very little in common.
Here they are: three women from three different continents, all behaving like they’ve been friends for years.
Jessie and Faith met via a Facebook group called Solo Women Travellers NZ.
When they spotted Polly sitting on her own at The Globe they approached her and introduced themselves.
Polly is glad of it – hanging out exclusively with Miles and his friends for the next fortnight could easily have sent her mad.
Polly turns, shifting on to her back, and spots Miles, who kicks off his flip-flops and carries them in his hand.
She waves, and he waves back. Stopout. If any logic were applied, someone who’s endured what he has would be very cautious about embarking on a one-night stand.
But there is seemingly no stopping the cretinous impulses of young men. Her brother included.
Miles stops and beckons Polly towards him. Polly doesn’t move, just turns her palms upwards, and Miles repeats the gesture. His face is serious. Polly sighs and gets to her feet, then plods towards him.
‘Hey, sis,’ Miles says, leaning in.
Polly recoils slightly from his hug – she doesn’t like being touched when she’s all sweaty. ‘Good afternoon, Miles.’
He straightens up. ‘I need to brief you on a couple of things.’
Polly rolls her eyes behind the lenses of her shades. She looks over her shoulder at the girls, checking they’re out of earshot. ‘Oh, great. And what have you done now?’
‘It’s nothing serious.’
‘Okay.’
‘Firstly, I told Jessie that our surname is Davis.’
‘Oh for—’ Polly shakes her head. Questions pop into her head but they largely answer themselves. ‘So, I’m Polly Davis? Brilliant.’ She doesn’t like lying for him – it doesn’t come naturally. She didn’t think lying came naturally to him, either.
‘Sorry about that. But it’s for the best.’
‘Is it? You’ll tie yourself in knots, deceiving people like this.’
Miles rakes his fingers through his hair. ‘I panicked, okay? I’m sorry.’
She sighs. ‘Right.’
‘Also, I received another email. Another Caira voice note.’
‘Oh.’ Polly wrinkles her brow. ‘What did it say?’
‘“I hope you’re enjoying New Zealand.”’
She shrugs. ‘It was pretty well documented that you were going to New Zealand.’
‘I know; I’m not particularly worried about it.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. Then you should forget about it.’ She places her hands on his shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Come on, then, Miles Davis’ – the reassuring smile she’s forced disappears – ‘oh, bloody hell – Miles Davis? You really are a moron.’
They walk over to the girls. Faith is sitting up, watching them, and Jessie lies on her front, propped on her elbows and reading a book. Some small talk ensues: benign chatter that is at odds with the awkwardness created by whatever Jessie and Miles got up to last night.
After a few minutes, Faith stands. ‘Who’s coming for a swim?’
‘Sure,’ chirps Jessie, sitting up and arranging her hair into a high bun.
Polly looks at the water. It’s a clear tea-green for the first few yards and then it’s dark and pondlike – a far cry from the inviting cyan seas found in places like Greece and Thailand. ‘I’m good here, thanks.’
Polly sits and watches as the pair of them tiptoe towards the water, studying their bikinied bodies: Jessie slender and pale, and Faith, not.
She remembers how Faith’s body bulged dangerously in her dress as she cosied up to Elis last night.
He didn’t seem to mind. A tingle of irritation rises in her at the memory of it.
Is she . . . jealous? No, that’s not it; Polly might be attracted to Elis, but she doesn’t actually want him.
And besides, Faith was probably just being friendly – she was cosying up to Reubyn as well.
Jessie reaches the water first and shrieks as it hits her ankles.
The shock on her face is instantly replaced by a bright, carefree smile and she places her hands on her knees to steady herself as she folds over in laughter.
Jessie has no idea – no clue at all that she just spent the night with someone who’s been on trial for murder.
It’ll be interesting when the truth about that comes to light.
Polly wonders if Jessie gave Miles the full rundown of her own baggage: a divorce at twenty-nine, the nervous breakdown that followed.
Polly got the whole story last night from Faith.
‘We need to make a decision,’ Miles says.
‘What?’
‘We’ve only got a couple more nights left at the hotel – where are we going next?’
She digs her toes into the coarse sand. ‘There’s no hurry, is there? We could extend the booking, if we want?’
‘You like it here, do you?’ Miles pulls his phone from his pocket.
‘I didn’t say that. But I need to get some work done, and it’s hard to do that if we’re moving around the whole time.
’ Polly’s immediately aware her argument is undermined by the fact she’s lying on a beach.
It is true, though. Her business is currently being looked after by Dee, her most senior employee.
Dee’s been a lifesaver, but she can’t manage everything on her own.
Her other two employees, Marco and Callie, are quite green and need a fair amount of handholding. And there’s admin to keep across.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Miles’s words come out airy and slow, and suggest he’s stopped listening. He’s been distracted by something on his phone, and his eyebrows are low as he stares at the screen. Out in the lake, there’s a scream as Faith splashes water on to Jessie’s dry upper body.
Polly turns to face her brother. ‘What’s the matter?’ she says.
‘I’ve got another one. Another one of those Caira emails.’
‘Yeah, you already told me that. Are you sure you’re okay?’
He turns to look at her and shows his screen, on which Outlook is open. ‘No, I mean I’ve got another one. Like, just now. Look.’ Miles points to the timestamp. 12.39 p.m. – the same as on the digital clock at the top of the screen.
Polly removes her shades and folds them in her hand, squinting at the blinding sunlight reflecting off the lake. ‘I don’t think we should listen to it. Just send it on to the police.’
Miles presses his lips. ‘Maybe we should listen to it – at least then we know what we’re dealing with. Are you sure we shouldn’t just play a—’
‘Oh, just play it, then.’
His eyes widen in surprise, and he holds his phone out between them, eyebrows raised. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Go on,’ Polly says. She leans in closer and fans herself with her hand.
Miles presses play, and Caira’s voice, or more accurately the computerised reproduction of it, begins: Hi, Miles. I hope you’ve not got a sore head after drinking all that Macallan. This is not over.
Polly knew it was coming, but the voice still causes her skin to prickle.
There’s something about the way the words are delivered so dispassionately, in a matter-of-fact tone that is completely detached from the context.
Exactly as might a ghost. Miles’s eyes have lost focus, and she can almost see the colour draining from his face.
‘Macallan,’ she says. ‘That’s weirdly specific. ’
Miles rubs his hand across his forehead. ‘I know.’
‘But you weren’t drinking that, were you? You were on beer and wine, as I remember.’
Miles doesn’t reply, then he lurches to his feet. ‘Bloody hell,’ he says, half under his breath.
Polly stands. ‘What’s the matter?’
Miles pulls at his fingers. ‘This is bad.’
‘What is?’
‘The thing is: we did have Macallan yesterday. At the bar, when we arrived at The Globe. So how do they know that?’
Polly thinks for a moment. She needs to say something reassuring. But he’s right, this is bad. ‘I’m sure there’s an explanation. Who knew about the Macallan? I don’t remember you mentioning it.’
‘Just the boys, as far as I know.’
‘Maybe one of them posted about it on socials? Their accounts aren’t private, are they?’
Miles glares at her. ‘Or maybe one of them is trying to wind me up.’
‘You think one of them is sending the emails? That’s impossible.’
‘Is it? Everything seems impossible until it happens. And a lot of things that I thought were impossible have happened to me, lately.’ He turns to walk back in the direction he came, then looks over his shoulder. ‘Nothing surprises me anymore.’
Polly starts after him. ‘Wait!’ She points at their belongings on the sand. ‘I can’t just leave all their stuff here.’
‘You stay,’ he hollers back. ‘This is between me and them.’