Chapter 31
AMBER
Barney lied to me. He’s nowhere to be seen when I arrive on the quayside at the time we agreed to meet, sweat running in rivulets down my back and the heavy shopping bags almost pulling my arms out of their sockets.
I shield my eyes against the harsh glare of the sun as I scour the harbour looking for his navy polo shirt and chino shorts, the quintessential Englishman abroad. After a while I give up and perch on a squat iron bollard, the bags around my feet, and wait for the sea taxi.
I bought Simone a handbag in the end. A soft leather hand-stitched navy tote that cost a day’s wages, but a belt or a purse felt a bit cheapskate. I’d be over the moon if someone gave it to me. It sure as hell beats a box of Body Shop toiletries.
Barney still hasn’t appeared when the sea taxi arrives just after three. I should wait for him, but I don’t want the food to spoil in the heat, so I message Dom, asking him to text Barney to let him know I’ve left Thalassia without him.
A reply pops up halfway to Pelagia.
He’s already back, angel. Arrived ten mins ago. Hope you had fun at the market x
Once again, I’m stunned at the total disregard Dominic’s friends show for anyone other than themselves.
Was it too much to ask for Barney to wait for me?
He knew I had a load of shopping to cart back.
At the very least he could have texted Dom and let him know he’d left early so he in turn could’ve told me.
But, no. The selfish prick hadn’t given me a second thought.
I’m of so little consequence to the lot of them that I might as well be invisible.
My anger builds as the boat bobs towards Pelagia, and by the time the skipper pulls up alongside the jetty I’m spitting feathers. I fire off a text to Dom – I’ll just carry all this sodding shopping up the hill on my own, shall I? – my temper spiking when the message sits there, stubbornly unread.
‘Serves them right if they all get food poisoning,’ I mutter as I stomp up the dusty track towards the villa, the shopping bags pinging off my shins.
Sweat is pouring down my face and my armpits are damp.
I stop to catch my breath under one of the old olive trees, wishing I’d thought to buy a bottle of water in Thalassia.
I set off again, the amulet bouncing against my sternum, which just serves to make me crosser still.
Losing my amber necklace is the last straw.
As I pass the hoardings around the Villa Olympus construction site, the gates swing open and a JCB rumbles out.
It’s the one that was being used to dig the hole for the pool yesterday.
I sneak a look through the open gates and, sure enough, there’s a gaping chasm in front of the sugar-cube villa, all ready to be lined and tiled.
My arms are on fire and my calves are cramping when I finally reach Villa Paradiso.
The front door is unlocked and I head straight for the kitchen and unload the shopping into the fridge before running myself a glass of cold water and drinking it in thirsty gulps.
I should probably find the others to let them know I’m back, but they can wait.
I want to look for my necklace. Plus, I’m desperate to take a shower and change out of my sweaty clothes.
The necklace isn’t on the dressing table, nor is it on my bedside cabinet. I look under the bed and behind the bedhead. I check under the paperback Nessa lent me and I scrabble through my make-up and washbag. I even pull all my clothes out of the drawers in case it has snagged on a top or a scarf.
As I pull the room apart looking for the necklace, my despair grows.
I’ve worn it every day for the last sixteen years, ever since Gran gave it to me on the morning of my eighteenth birthday.
I’m assailed by a memory of her raspberry-jam breath on the back of my neck as she fastened the catch for the first time.
We were sitting at our tiny kitchen table finishing our tea and toast when she produced a clumsily wrapped gift box from the pocket of her lilac terry towelling dressing gown.
‘I know you said no presents, but I couldn’t let such a milestone go by without giving you anything.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s that new laptop you’ve been going on about.
Bought it on the never-never from Gary down the pub,’ she said, deadpan.
I caught her eye and we both broke into a gale of giggles, because the box measured twenty centimetres by five centimetres and clearly was not a laptop.
I laughed until my stomach hurt and tears rolled down my cheeks, but then Gran’s giggles turned into a wheezy coughing fit that had her doubled over in pain and me sprinting to her bedroom to fetch her oxygen tank.
Only when her breathing was back under control did I peel off the wrapping paper and prise open the small oblong box.
The amber pendant had glowed against the navy velvet box as if lit from within. I took it out and rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger, liking the perfect smoothness of it.
‘It’s amber for my Amber,’ Gran said, her eyes still shiny from the coughing fit. Or maybe, just maybe, my level-headed grandmother was feeling a bit emotional.
‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’ I bent down to drop a kiss on her papery cheek. ‘I shall wear it every day.’
Eight months later, I was standing in the crematorium as the curtains closed around her pitifully small coffin. Her poor, diseased lungs had put up a heroic fight but they finally gave out the night before her seventieth birthday.
I’ve worn the necklace every day since, except today.
I can’t have lost it. I just can’t. It’s all I’ve got left of her.