by Bea Paige
“You feeling okay? You look a little unwell.”
She swipes a hand over her face. “I’ve felt better, honestly. Just a bit off colour. I’ve got a killer sore throat. Probably working too hard.”
“You do work too hard. Maybe you shouldn’t open up tonight? Why don’t you take the night off?”
“I may well do, unless you fancy opening up for me. You could sing to the punters?” Lola quirks an eyebrow, looking at me hopefully. I pull a face.
“I like working here, but…”
“You’d rather not… what? Open up tonight or sing?”
“Both,” I shrug helplessly. “Sorry. Is that okay?”
“Sure it is. I’ve employed you to help me with breakfast and lunch, that’s all.” She gives me a weak smile, pushing off from the counter. “I was going to catch up properly with Malakai today, but that’s going to have to wait. I need to go to bed.”
Ah, so she hasn’t managed to speak with him yet. I wonder if he’s been avoiding her as much as he’s been avoiding me. “You’ve missed him a lot, haven’t you?”
“He’s been gone a year. I want to know where he’s been and why he didn’t contact me for a whole three-hundred and sixty-five days, the arsehole. It’s a conversation that’s well overdue but I don’t have the energy for it today.” Lola sighs heavily, rubbing at her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Malakai texted me a while ago, Princess went into the workshop a few hours ago. Grant’s really good at his job, he’ll have Princess fixed in no time…”
“Oh,” is all I can manage to say.
“The mast isn’t as bad as Malakai first thought. It’ll take a day’s work, maximum, to fix. Malakai is going to leave, and soon. He never stays anywhere very long.”
“Not even for you?” I ask gently, my own heart squeezing painfully. I thought we’d have more time. A few more days at least.
“Not for anyone.”
I nod. I’m beginning to understand that. “Leave me the key. I’ll lock up if you want to get on home.” Besides, I need to figure out how to make him stay. Perhaps if he gives in to this feeling between us, he won’t leave.
“Would you? That’d be great. I should be okay after a good night’s sleep.”
“Why don’t I open up in the morning too? I can get the breakfast started, if you’d like?”
Lola bites her lip, hesitating. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s no bother. I can handle it.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Just get a good rest and don’t worry about it.”
Lola smiles. “You’re a good kid, Connie Silva. I’ll be in by seven to help with the rush, promise.” Traversing the counter, Lola gives me a brief hug. She feels both clammy and scorching hot.
“Go on. Go home. I got this,” I tell her.
Half an hour after Lola leaves, I finally lock up, fixing a sign to the door telling everyone that The Shack is closed for business tonight. I briefly entertain the idea of wandering over to Malakai’s boat to let him know Lola’s unwell, then decide against it. Our conversation the other morning was surreal, and I’m not sure that we’d be able to talk as freely as we had when the morning was quiet, and no one was about. Besides, it’s time my grandma answered some of the questions I have about Malakai.
When I return home it’s just past five in the evening and Grandma is in the kitchen preparing our dinner. She’s busy fixing a salad and listening to the radio. Some guy is talking about the state of crime levels in London, and Grandma is clucking her tongue at the news. She hates violence of any kind. She’s pretty opinionated for a woman who lives on an island cut off, for the most part, from any real danger. Jack was right when he said nothing happens here. Crime is non-existent.
“Hey, Grandma,” I say, dropping my bag on the kitchen table. “Can I help with anything?”
“There she is! How was work today, sweetheart?” she asks, placing the knife on the counter and offering me her cheek to kiss.
“Busy. Lola’s not well, so she’s not opening up tonight. She looked awful actually,” I answer in quick succession, grabbing a slice of cucumber and giving her a peck on the cheek.
Grandma Silva frowns. “Perhaps I’ll check in on her later, take her something to eat. I don’t like the thought of her alone and poorly. That girl is too stubborn to ask for help when she needs it.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’ll pop over. I was going to head to the beach for a little while after dinner, I can take a detour to Lola’s and take her some food.”
“That’s an idea, save my legs and that poor old car of mine,” Grandma agrees, already grabbing a plastic container and placing some of the salad and chicken breast she’s cooked into it.
“You really need to get a new car,” I tease.
It’s an ongoing joke of ours. Grandma has always said that when the car finally gives up, so too shall she. It’s an old Rover that’s rusty and discoloured from the harsh weather we sometimes get here, but it runs well enough. Just like Grandma who, despite her increasing age, still has a hell of a lot of life left in her.
“Shoo, I’m not getting rid of Rusty, that car will last far longer than these new-fangled electric ones that everyone keeps going on about, I can tell you.” She winks then pats my arm. “Come on, let’s eat.”
After we finish our simple meal of fresh tomato and rocket salad with grilled chicken breast, I help Grandma wash up. She washes and I dry, putting the plates away. This is something we’ve always done together, a routine I love because we get to chat whilst we do. When the last plate has been dried and stored away in the cupboard and our harmless chat about life in general has finished, I turn to her wondering how to broach the subject of Malakai. I’ve waited long enough, not knowing how to start the conversation. In the end, I just come out with the question that burns my lips the most.
“Who is Malakai, Grandma?” I ask softly.
She stills, resting her hands on the edge of the sink. For a moment, she doesn’t acknowledge my question, and I know she’s deciding whether to answer truthfully or not. In the end she sighs.
“Come with me.”
I follow her into the lounge, taking a seat on our two-seater whilst she opens the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulls out a photo album that I recognise as my mum’s but haven’t seen for years. Sitting down beside me she opens it up and immediately I’m drawn to a photo of my mum and dad in their early teens. A rush of memories come flooding back as I recall being a lot younger and my mum showing me this very same album.
“I’d almost forgotten you had this,” I remark, leaning over and feathering my fingers over the photo of my parents.
“It’s been a while since I’ve looked at this photo album myself,” she says as she starts to flick through the pages slowly. Eventually, she rests her hand over one particular photo before I can get a good look, and turns to me, her knees touching mine. “Malakai was indeed your father’s best friend. He arrived on this island when he was twelve with his mother Jacosta, a wonderful woman who doted on Malakai. She loved him fiercely.”
“Loved him?”
“Yes, loved him. She died not long after she left the island with Malakai when he turned sixteen.”
“What happened?”
Grandma removes her hand from the photo and my gaze is immediately drawn to the younger version of Malakai. He’s smiling, and it’s so beautiful that my breath is snatched from my lips as I absorb every inch of him. His hair is longer, there are no tattoos adorning his body and he looks almost carefree. If I’d been alive back then, I would’ve felt the same way as I do now. He’s so very beautiful and yet, even though I appreciate that, I can’t help but wonder what happened to make him so distant, so caustic, so unreachable. His mum dying must have had an impact, but my gut tells me that there’s more to this story, so I wait for Grandma to continue. She strokes her finger over my mum and dad who are standing next to Malakai. My dad has his arm flung over my mum’s
shoulder, both of them are grinning at the camera. They look to be no older than fifteen or so.
“This photo was taken just before Jacosta and Malakai left the island. A few days before, actually. This was the summer when your mother and father finally admitted their love for one another.” Grandma allows herself a bittersweet smile before continuing. “I know Malakai loved your mother too, Connie. I don’t know for sure, but I understand that part of the reason they left was because Malakai was broken-hearted.”
“I see.”
Knowing he loved my mother makes my stomach twist in knots. Is he attracted to me because I look like her? Everyone has always said that we’re alike. That makes me feel disappointed somehow, that Malakai might be confusing his feelings for me with a memory of my mum. I want him to see me, not a ghost of a woman who no longer exists, no matter how much I love her.
“But that wasn’t the only reason,” Grandma continues, oblivious to my warring thoughts. “Jacosta was married to a very bad man. A man who belonged to a family that is dangerous. Malakai is part of a crime family that still exists to this very day. They are responsible for much of what you hear on the news. Drug racketeering, prostitution rings and worse…”
“Worse?” I whisper, my heart beating wildly now. Is that what he does on his boat, smuggle drugs? Is he a criminal too? And yet, even with the little I know about him, I’m certain he isn’t that man. Perhaps I’m naïve, foolish.
“Yes, worse. Bernard-Malakai’s father-was brother to a man only known in the criminal underworld as the King.”
“The King?”
“That’s the name given to the eldest son of a long line of men that stretches way back to when I was a girl. Bernard, like most of the Bennett men, was an evil, evil man.” She sighs heavily.
“Bennett? But I thought Malakai’s surname was Dunbar?”
Grandma shakes her head, smiling sadly. “That was his mother’s maiden name. Malakai is a Bennett, regardless of what name he chooses to hide behind.”
“Did Bernard hurt Malakai? Jacosta?” Is that what Lola had meant. He has scars covered by his tattoos, did his father hurt him?
“No one knows for certain, but, yes, I do believe Bernard hurt Malakai. I also believe Bernard murdered Jacosta.”
“You actually think Malakai’s father murdered his mother?” I repeat, unable to hide my surprise.
“I do,” Grandma states with conviction. “I heard about Jacosta’s death a few months after they left the island. They said she committed suicide, but I knew Jacosta and there was no way she would’ve left Malakai alone with that man. No way. As it was, Malakai had no choice but to remain under his father’s keep until he was old enough to leave. When I didn’t hear from him I’d assumed that he’d been drawn into the family’s crime business that Jacosta had tried so hard to protect him from. When Lola arrived a year ago and told me about her friend Malakai who sailed the oceans, I knew he’d finally escaped that life. Knowing that he was safe, albeit living a life on the ocean, was a relief. I’d often considered trying to contact him over the years, but that would’ve meant drawing unwanted attention to myself and my family. That, I couldn’t do.”
“That’s awful,” I say, shocked by the news.
“It is.” She looks down at the photo once more, tapping her finger on Malakai’s image. “That boy, he’s long gone, Connie. I knew that the moment he stepped into this house a few days ago. I know a broken man when I see one. I don’t know what happened to him in the intervening years after his mother died, but I know it wasn’t good. According to Lola, he didn’t start travelling the world until he was in his mid-twenties. She met him a year or so later and that means he was likely part of this crime world for almost ten years of his life. So when I say he’s dangerous, Connie, I don’t just mean for your heart.”
Grandma closes the photo album and places it on the coffee table before taking my hands in hers. “You would do well to avoid him.”
“But if you thought he was dangerous, why invite him into our home?”
“Because I had to see for myself. I had to see if the boy we all once loved is still within him.”
“And is he?”
Grandma eyes well with tears. “I believe so, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.”
“But he sails the world. He’s a loner. He’s not part of that life anymore, you said so yourself,” I argue.
“I believe he’s tried to escape, to distance himself. Yet, his family still exists, Connie. There’s no getting away from being a Bennett. Not ever. No matter how far you run or where you try to hide. Not even the ocean is big enough to hide in.”
“You don’t know that. People disavow their families all the time…”
“It doesn’t matter what he does, what any of the boys born into the family choose to do. Once a Bennett, always a Bennett. The same goes for anyone connected to the family. I’m fully aware of that fact, more so than most…”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m godmother to his cousin, Connie, and Malakai’s cousin is the current head of the Bennett crime family, he’s the King.”
“What?” My mouth drops open, agog. “Why don’t I know about any of this?”
Grandma presses her mouth into a hard line, her fingers gripping mine. “To keep you safe. I’ve not seen my godson for some time, but I hear all about him on the news. He’s not a good man, though one day I suspect I will see him again. The Palace here on the island, it belongs to him…”
“The old castle, but I thought that was derelict?” I frown. I’ve never really got close enough to it, given it’s surrounded by high walls and locked gates. Then again, I’ve never had reason to go there, content enough with my own home and Broken Shores.
“No, darling, it isn’t derelict. My godson has returned a few times over the years, always entering the Palace by its own private beach. I’ve not seen him for over two years now.”
“But you have seen him here, on this island…”
“In the Palace, yes.”
“Why have you never said anything? Why have you never talked about him?”
“Because you do not need to be marred by such a family. When I agreed to be his godmother it was because I did so for his own mother, who I cared about. Alas, she too has long since passed. An inevitable outcome for the women who fall for the Bennett men.” Her fingers tighten around my hand, her skin warm to touch. “I love you, Connie, and because I love you I’m asking you not to fall for Malakai. Please,” she begs.
“I can’t control how I feel, Grandma,” I whisper, knowing already that it’s too late.
“Then I pray that he’ll have the good sense to stay away from you, darling girl.”
With that, she kisses me gently on the check and hands me the photo album filled with memories of a boy who has grown into a man that I can’t have.
Fourteen
Malakai
Leaving the boat shop and Princess in the capable hands of Grant, I make my way to Lola’s Shack. It’s almost 9 pm and there are already a few people loitering outside the locked door.
“Looks like it’s the pub tonight lads,” one of Rob’s crew states as I near the crowd.
As they move away from the shack, I notice a sign pinned to the door. Lola has closed up for the evening.
“Shit,” I grumble. I’d been hoping that Lola would be around so I could take her up on her offer of a place to sleep for a few nights. Not that I need permission, given it is my home after all, but I don’t want to turn up unannounced. Clayhill might be mine, given the deeds are still in my name, but it’s her home now and I need to respect that. Pulling my mobile phone out of my back pocket I’m glad to see that there’s enough reception to call ahead. WiFi is hit and miss on the island, but if Lola has a man at her place, I’d rather not turn up without at least giving her a heads up.
Lifting the phone to my ear, I wait for her to pick up. It almost clicks to voicemail when I hear a familiar voice at the other end. A voice that
does not belong to Lola.
“Siren?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
“Erm, no. It’s Connie…” Silence greets me.
“That’s what I meant,” I fumble, internally cursing myself at my stupidity. Why does this girl make me act like an imbecile? More to the point, why is she answering Lola’s phone?
“Where’s Lola?” I snap, hiding my embarrassment with a snarl.
“In bed. She’s not well.”
“What do you mean she’s not well?”
“She was feeling poorly at work today. I sent her home, then came over a couple hours ago to bring her some dinner Grandma made. She’s been fast asleep the whole time, but…”
“But?” I try and fail to keep the bite out of my tone. It’s not her fault I’m an arse and a shitty best friend. I should’ve checked in on Lola, but I’ve been so wrapped up in getting Princess fixed and avoiding the very same siren I’m currently talking to, that I didn’t.
“I stayed to keep her company, but she has a temperature and it seems to be getting worse.” When I let out a growl of frustration aimed at Lola for not calling me, Connie misinterprets it and rushes on. “Don’t worry, I’ve called for Dr Fuller, he’ll be here soon…”
“I’m coming over now,” I state, pressing the end-call button and flagging down Rob’s car that’s just pulled into the carpark next to the harbour.
“You alright, mate?” he asks me through his open window.
“Can I get a lift to Lola’s house? She’s not well.”
His eyes widen with a concern that surprises me. “Shit. Of course, jump in.”
Less than ten minutes later we pull up outside Clayhill and I hop out of the car not bothering to shut the door behind me as I run down the path and into the house. I hear low voices talking upstairs, so take them two at a time and head towards the main bedroom that overlooks the garden, assuming she’s taken the bigger of the two. Baxter, Lola’s puppy, is jumping up and down in excitement as I walk down the corridor, much to my agitation. He’s cute, but right now I haven’t got time to greet him.
