Chapter 18
Violet
‘You’ve missed a bit,’ I said, reaching up to wipe a blob of sun cream from Luke’s face.
‘I can do it.’ He veered backwards out of reach. ‘Just tell me where?’
‘On your nose.’ I wrinkled my own. ‘And your chin – and under your eye, where your scar is.’
The faint white line where Tomas’s toy car had done its damage all those years ago was still visible; the first crack in the veneer of my friendship with Juan’s now-ex-wife, Ana. Even after her son had injured mine, it still felt as if I was the one being judged, and it irked me how she always made a point of lavishing Henry with attention, the implication being that I was neglectful, that he deserved better. I guess I had to admit that she’d been right about the latter.
We’d dropped anchor not far from the main beach at Escorca and having waited the requisite time for our simple lunch of Mallorcan salad, grilled langoustines, bread, and aioli to settle, Eliza and Luke were now going to brave a swim. I watched from the upper deck as first she and then he, albeit less enthusiastically, clambered down the metal ladder and dropped into the clean water. The boat had its own inflatable slide, which the younger members of the crew were busy setting up, while Diego kept an eye on the two in the water.
Antonio patted the seat beside him and flashed me a congenial-looking grin.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘Sit. Talk to me.’
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I asked him warily.
‘The house,’ he said, without preamble. ‘I do not think you should sell it.’
As I sat down beside him, a small ‘huff’ of irritation escaped my lips. ‘It wasn’t my idea, it was Henry’s. Maybe speak to him?’
Antonio fished a packet of cigarettes from the front pocket of his open shirt and lit one, closing his eyes in satisfaction as the first drag filled his lungs. I fanned the smoke away, but he didn’t look remotely contrite. Being or saying sorry wasn’t Antonio’s style; he was a man well accustomed to being pandered to by others. I took a moment to study the craggy outline of his face, the strong nose and closely cropped grey hair. He was still handsome, despite his advancing years, though in a classic rather than noteworthy way. It must have galled him to father a son as exceptionally handsome as Henry, upon whom everyone showered praise. Or used to.
‘Maybe I want you to speak to him,’ said Antonio, resting his cigarette on the edge of a terracotta ashtray and removing his mirrored Ray-Bans. Having picked up one of the heavy cloth napkins left over from lunch, he set about polishing each lens in turn, lifting them up to the sun every so often to check for smears. I heard Eliza shout something, followed by the deep rumble of Luke’s laughter, and smiled despite myself. There had been a time when I wondered if my son would ever go near the water again, and he’d have been justified in deciding not to.
‘He is better?’ Antonio asked.
The sunglasses were back in place, and I saw my own reflection as I turned to face him, warped and ungainly. I didn’t need to ask who ‘he’ was.
‘Getting there,’ I said, although ‘better’ wasn’t quite the right word. Luke had not recovered from who he was as a person, that was implausible – he’d just grown more adept at handling himself.
‘And you?’
‘Me?’
‘You are better?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
Antonio took a long drag of his cigarette. ‘You must fix this... thing,’ he said, waving an expansive arm. ‘This thing between you and my son, it cannot go on.’
The casual way in which he referred to the seismic change in both Henry and my circumstances was typical Antonio, though it also gave me pause. Talking to Ynes had made me wonder how much, if anything, Antonio knew, and this appeared to confirm that it was very little. Henry may blame me, but he hadn’t told anyone else that he did. That had to mean something.
Antonio was twirling his hand in the air now, a conductor with a stick of tobacco instead of a baton. ‘You love him, he loves you, yada, yada,’ he said. ‘Whatever you think is the problem, it doesn’t matter more than that, more than love.’
‘Henry’s made his mind up,’ I said slowly. ‘It was his decision to split up and he was the one to list the house. He won’t change his mind now, not when I— Not when it’s all been decided,’ I finished lamely.
‘What did you do to him?’ He had asked the question quietly, his tone almost menacing in its intensity.
Another yelp filtered up from the water, and I heard Luke call to Eliza, telling her the slide was up at last. It was my excuse to go, end this awkward conversation, tend to my boy, and turn my back on this man who seemed determined to provoke me. I was saved instead by the buzz of my phone ringing in my bag, and having snatched it up triumphantly, I hurried away into the glossy interior of the yacht.
‘Yes, hello?’
In my haste to escape Antonio, I’d blithely overlooked the fact that it was an unknown number calling.
‘Hello, Violet.’
I went very still. ‘What do you want?’
‘That’s not very polite,’ the caller said mockingly. ‘Aren’t you going to ask how business is going?’
‘That’s of no interest to me,’ I hissed, raising a hand to shield my lips from view. ‘I told you in my message that I can’t help you any more.’
A tutting sound followed this declaration, as if I were a child who needed scolding.
‘We had an arrangement. I help you; you help me – remember?’
‘Things change,’ I said. ‘You’ll get what you’re owed. Soon, I promise – but I can’t do the other stuff for you any more.’
‘Can’t?’ asked the caller. ‘Or won’t?’
‘Both,’ I said defiantly, though from the drawn-out sigh that followed, I knew it had been the wrong thing to say. All I had done was goad when I should be placating.
‘This deal we made, you agreed to the terms. It is non-negotiable.’
‘You’re not hearing me,’ I said insistently, pacing up and down on the polished wooden boards. ‘The decision has been made for me. I’m not even in England any more, I’m in—’
‘I know where you are. When are you coming back?’
‘I... I’m not sure. But when I do, I’ll have what I owe you.’
‘Do you mean money?’
My confirmation was met with brittle laughter.
‘You’re going to have to do better than that, Violet. A deal is a deal.’
I started to argue, but my throat had turned dry. I clutched the phone more tightly against my ear as he reiterated his demands, dread dripping through me like acid.
‘Do we understand each other?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered, and again, ‘yes.’
Antonio had come into the cabin and stopped right behind me, an empty glass in his hand that he held up with an enquiring look. I shook my head, resisting the temptation to shoo him away on his own boat, and watched him pad like a panther over to the bar. Having unscrewed a bottle of brandy, he poured out a generous measure, then reached down for a second glass.
The call ended and I went across to join him, sinking down on to a stool and putting my head in my hands.
‘You are upset.’
‘I’m not,’ I lied, the word muffled by my hair, which had fallen forwards over my face.
‘You look as if you have received bad news,’ he said, and for once, his concern felt genuine. Antonio was right, it had been bad news, but not the kind that comes as a shock. I had tempted fate into motion, and now it was catching up with me.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, making myself look up and smile at him. ‘It was my mum, calling to complain about something the neighbours have done. You know how she can be.’
Antonio opened his mouth to reply only to be distracted by Eliza, who had appeared on the deck outside, soaking wet in a bright green bikini with her pink hair slicked back. There was no sign of Luke and, for a second, panic gripped – the echo of a response that had altered the very shape of me.
Antonio must have been studying me; I saw the crease of discernment cross his brow.
‘Maybe I will have a drink after all,’ I said, shaking my head at the offer of brandy and asking for something non-alcoholic. Out on the deck, Eliza was posing for photos at the top of the inflatable slide, contorting her body into preposterous positions to make Luke laugh. Everything was clean – the sky, the glistening water, the polished surfaces of the sleek yacht, even the tonic in my glass – but inside, I felt putrid. Through the grubby residue of the phone call, Antonio’s question stood out in stark relief: ‘What did you do to him?’ Overwhelmed by a need to unburden myself, resolved suddenly to tell Antonio the truth, I put down my glass and took a long, steadying breath. But before I could speak, the older man started coughing. Really coughing.
‘Toni,’ I exclaimed. ‘Are you all right?’
He was bent double, one hand on the counter and the other pressed to his chest. The cigarette he’d been in the process of lighting dropped to the floor. Hurrying around to his side of the bar, I thumped him gently between the shoulders, then again with more force. Antonio’s cheeks and neck were a livid puce, his eyes bulging behind the sunglasses that had slipped down his nose. I was on the verge of shouting for help when he finally gained control. The spluttering stopped, and he stayed where he was for a few long minutes, breathing heavily and wiping tears from his cheeks.
‘Ice,’ he croaked. ‘I choked on the ice.’
‘What ice? There wasn’t any ice in your glass.’
‘Yada, yada,’ he wheezed, waving me away.
‘Toni,’ I began, but he was already striding away from me, back into the sunshine to join the others. Shaking my head, I crouched down to retrieve his dropped cigarette and saw something else on the floor, a sight nobody ever wanted to see.
Multiple splatters of bright red blood.