Chapter 29
They didn’t speak on the ride back inland, and Poppy stayed focused on the approaching shoreline, eager to get off the boat.
Eventually, they were back in the harbour, Martin pulling up alongside the jetty and cutting the engine. It left a hollow ringing in her ears.
‘We’re back,’ Martin announced, stating the obvious.
She nodded, though didn’t move straight away, watching him step out of the boat with practised ease, working quickly and efficiently as he looped the rope around the mooring post. The water lapped gently against the hull, a soft repetitive sound that should have been calming. Instead, it only unsettled her.
‘Come on,’ he said impatiently, as soon as he was finished. He was acting so nonchalant that again she began to wonder if she had misread what had happened.
Poppy stood, her legs unsteady beneath her as she made her way to the edge of the deck.
‘Careful. It’ll move.’
‘I know,’ she said, a little huffily.
She refused to take his offered hand this time. Instead, she timed the slight rise of the boat and stepped across by herself, landing a little too hard on the wooden boards of the jetty. The impact jarred through the shoulder she had hit, and she winced.
Martin noticed immediately. ‘You’ve done something to your shoulder.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Probably gonna get a nasty bruise.’
‘I said it’s fine.’
The sharpness in her voice hung between them for a moment, and she hated how brittle she sounded, but she couldn’t help feel angry towards him.
Perhaps if he hadn’t left her in the water, seconds away from having a full-blown panic attack, she wouldn’t have bashed her shoulder on the hull of the boat.
It was a little late to pretend he cared.
‘I need to get back.’
Martin studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a small nod.
‘I can drive you,’ he said. ‘Save you the walk.’
The offer seemed genuine, but her stomach immediately tightened.
‘No, it’s okay,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t mind the exercise.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t.’ She adjusted the strap of her beach bag on her shoulder. ‘I’d prefer to stretch my legs.’
For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then he nodded once. ‘All right.’
That should have been the end of it, but as she turned to leave, she was aware of him still watching her.
‘See you later,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
She didn’t look back.
For a few minutes, she focused on the simple task of walking, still feeling the sway of the boat with each step she took. As she reached the coast road, she tried to shake the tension out of her shoulders. Gradually, the adrenaline that was fizzing through her veins began to subside.
Martin hadn’t made the boat drift. She understood that now. And his explanation about it moving with the sea because he hadn’t thrown down the anchor made perfect sense. If anything, it left her feeling a little foolish.
But why hadn’t he secured them? He had been insistent she go in the water.
And he could have helped her. He had seen she was panicking.
Her phone buzzed in her bag and she reached for it, her heart giving a small irrational jolt when she saw Jem’s name on the screen. He had replied.
Slowing, she opened his message.
So how was it? You survived your first time at sea?
If only he knew.
She wondered if she should tell him what happened, but with everything else that had been going on, would he think she was being overdramatic? A drama queen?
Just about.
She hesitated before adding:
I’ll tell you about it tomorrow night at dinner.
Perhaps she could frame it in a self-deprecating, comedic way. Get the point across that Martin hadn’t helped her, without painting herself as a victim. Let Jem join the dots.
She hit send and slipped the phone back into her bag.
Up ahead, the road was empty and quiet, the low November afternoon sun now casting long shadows across the ground.
As she approached the mini-market where she had first met Jem, she considered whether she should stop and pick up groceries. There was still stuff to eat in the villa, but she was running low on fresh produce and the water she had left wouldn’t last her until the end of the week.
Her shoulder was aching more sharply with every step, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength or the inclination to lug the extra weight back with her.
She would come out again tomorrow, she decided.
By the time she reached the turn-off from the coast road, her damp hair had begun to dry in uneven, salt-stiff strands, and the dirt track leading up to the villa was more gruelling than ever.
She passed the empty shuttered houses on her way up the incline, and, as ever, they were a reminder that hers was the only property occupied.
And then Tom’s villa came into view, its white walls bright against the muted tones of the surrounding landscape, and while it now looked familiar, it still didn’t feel welcoming.
Letting herself through the gate, relieved to see the latch was still in place, she unlocked the front door.
Inside, the villa was silent and the air was cooler than outdoors.
It prickled against her now dry skin, the temperature drop making her suddenly aware of how tired she was. And how alone she felt too.
She dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter and stood there for a moment, realising she was now counting down the hours until she could be back in England.
Running mentally through her plan for the rest of the afternoon and evening, she realised she didn’t have one. A shower was first on her list, scrub that sea grime from her skin, then she would pour a glass of wine and go outside to watch the sunset, before putting together a dinner of sorts.
She felt better after showering. The hot water had washed away the salt and the tension in her muscles, and after dressing and towel-drying her hair, she headed back through to the living area.
The sun was already starting to set and, determined not to miss it, aware it was one of the few bright spots in her day, she opened a bottle of red, taking her glass outside to her usual sun lounger.
Cretan sunsets really were spectacular and watching the kaleidoscope of colours blaze up the sky as she sipped at her wine, her only companion a lone grasshopper chirping in the distance, was the one thing she was really going to miss when she headed home.
She stayed outside until the sun had sunk out of sight, darkness now creeping in, then headed back into the villa, careful to lock the patio doors behind her.
As before, the silence lingered. It was always worse when night-time came and she turned on the television for company before moving into the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning the contents.
There wasn’t much that appealed, but she had peppers, onions and tomatoes that needed using up, and she had seen there was a packet of fusilli in the cupboard.
It would be a quick and easy dish. The kind of thing she sometimes made back home.
She filled a pan with water and set it on the hob, then as she waited for it to boil, she chopped her ingredients, part distracted by the episode of Friends that was playing. It was one she had seen countless times before, with Joey giving Ross advice on how to get his leather trousers back on.
Absently, she put pasta in the pan, grinning as Ross added cream to the talcum powder on his legs, making a paste. Why hadn’t she turned to the TV on other evenings? It was drowning out the awful silence she had been tolerating for too long.
Truthfully, it had felt a bit of a cop-out when she was supposed to be on holiday. But really it wasn’t. It was helping to make her feel less lonely.
The episode ended with Rachel overhearing Monica and Chandler flirting on the phone. Invested, Poppy moved over to the sofa, taking a seat and completely losing track of time.
It was the smell that reached her first – a sharp, unpleasant tang of burning – followed by hissing.
‘Crap!’
Frowning, she rushed over to the hob. The water had boiled away, the scorching pasta sticking to the bottom of the pan.
Conscious the smoke alarm was going to kick in at any second, she quickly pulled it from the heat.
Smoke curled up into the air, and she tried to wave it away with her hand, coughing as the smell thickened.
Her first thought after dumping the pan and ruined pasta in the sink, the metal fizzing as she ran it under water, was that she’d had a lucky escape, beating the smoke alarm.
But even as she looked at it, the logical part of her brain told her it should have gone off. The burning smell had certainly been strong enough.
Was it not working? There was a solid red light on.
Grabbing a tea towel, she waved it upwards, deliberately trying to waft smoke towards the detector.
Nothing happened.
Was it broken?
She thought of the ones in her flat back home. The light wasn’t on all the time. Instead, it flashed intermittently.
Perhaps it was losing power.
Remembering she had seen some batteries in one of the kitchen drawers, she decided to take a closer look. She could change it for Tom so it was something he didn’t have to worry about when he returned home.
Dragging over one of the dining chairs, she climbed up, twisting the device. It came away easier than expected, but as she stared at it in her hand, she realised it didn’t look like any smoke detector she had ever seen before.
For starters, it felt too light. The ones she had in her flat were solid and she usually needed a coin to pry open the battery cover.
She turned it over, frowning. This one didn’t even have a compartment for the battery, that she could see. And there was no test button either. It was just smooth white plastic.
As she twisted it in her hands, unease tightened in her chest.
Was it even a smoke alarm?
That was when she saw it. A tiny glass circle in the plastic that caught the light. So small that she would never have noticed it if she wasn’t holding it close. And as realisation started to dawn, dizziness took hold, her legs suddenly unsteady on the chair.