It’s as if some malign entity is controlling my life for its own hideous amusement. A malevolent puppet master, sitting over me and Ray, pushing us around like pawns on a chess board, laughing itself into insensibility at our reactions to all of the gross, inexplicable ‘coincidences’ it’s forcing upon us. Maybe it’s doing it just for its own amusement – or maybe it has an audience. A collection of ethereal, otherworldly psychopaths, who live to take delight in the misery of others.
If I ever chance to come face to face with this entity – which is about as likely as finding yourself in the fucking water bungalow next door to Joel – I will kick it right in the testicles.
You hear me, you smug bastard?
There will be a reckoning!
Oh yes, there will be a reckoning, or my name is not Amy Caddick! And you and all of your friends will rue the day! You will rue, I tell you! Rue!
‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ Ray says, coming to stand next to where I’m gripping the edge of the sink and staring into the mirror. I’m not sure how long I’ve been stood here thinking up impossible things that still feel more likely than my current circumstance, but it’s probably been quite a while. Long enough for Ray to have had a shower, certainly.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I reply in a brittle voice. ‘Just very jet-lagged.’ I can’t let him see how angry I am about my ex-husband being next door.
‘Why don’t you go relax on the veranda for a bit?’ he suggests. ‘I’ll make us a couple of drinks from the mini bar. They have a nice white wine in there.’
White wine.
That sounds like a good idea to me.
White wine will help me to relax.
That should piss off the malevolent entity somewhat. I bet it doesn’t want to see me relax. That’s not funny for it in the slightest.
‘Yeah, okay,’ I say, snaking an arm around his naked torso to give him a kiss. Ray’s naked torso is usually enough to make me want to do more than just kiss him, but I am extremely jet-lagged right now, so I’m not quite in the mood for any of those kinds of shenanigans just yet.
I try to ignore the fact that I’m probably also not in the mood because Joel is only a few feet away from me. I walk through the bungalow and go out on to the veranda.
Aah . . .
That’s better.
There’s that view again.
It’s the one I remember well from my honeymoon six years ago, and one that is even better this time around thanks to the upgrade to the water bungalow.
I cannot wait for the sunset this evening.
Even if I fall asleep this afternoon, I will set an alarm to make sure I am awake to see it. I’ve been dreaming about that sunset for weeks now, and intend to drink in every single second of it, lying here on that comfy sun lounger with a glass of wine in my hand. I had Ray ask the resort for a bungalow that faced west, and they were happy to oblige (for an extra fee, of course; I wanted to pay for it, but Ray had none of it).
Actually, come to think of it, I don’t know whether that sun lounger is comfy or not. It certainly looks it, but I think I’d better give it a try just to make sure.
Yep, it’s more comfortable than our bed back at home.
I sink down on to it, feeling some of the tension drain out of me as I do so. There’s every possibility I’ll fall asleep right here and now, if I’m not careful.
But that would be absolutely fine, as I’m on holiday, and sleeping during the day is a thing you can do on holiday without worrying that you’re getting old. I have a feeling it’s secretly the reason why most people take a holiday in the first place. The sun, sea and shenanigans are lovely and everything, but having an excuse to just conk out at three o’clock in the afternoon is worth all the money and hassle it takes to get here all by itself.
I manage to stay awake long enough for Ray to bring me a white wine, but by the time I’m halfway through it, I can feel myself sliding into unconsciousness.
Fabulous.
Maybe I’ll just have a half an hour snooze to charge my batteries a bit – and then I’ll suggest to Ray that we go for a walk around the island to get better acquainted. It’s obvious a few things have changed since I was here last, and I’d like to see what’s different.
But first . . . forty winks.
Yes.
That’s the stuff.
A gentle afternoon snooze . . .
‘Where’s the sun cream?’ Joel cries out to me from the back of the bungalow.
‘It’s in the zipped compartment of my suitcase,’ I tell him in a slightly sluggish voice. Why can’t he find these things for himself? I don’t know how many times I have to tell him to—
I sit bolt upright on the lounger, instantly awake.
I’m not here with Joel!
‘Sorry, sweetheart?’ Ray asks from the doorway into the bungalow. ‘Did you say something?’
‘No! No, nothing!’ I tell him.
But I did say something, didn’t I? I said something to my bloody ex-husband – as if we were still together!
But why? Did I dream it?
‘It’s definitely not out here!’ I hear Joel shout again.
Oh God. He’s on his bloody veranda too!
The bungalows are thankfully completely obscured from one another visually by tall fences made from what looks like thick bamboo, but that doesn’t do much to stop sound from travelling over.
‘Oh, I’ve found it, Cara! It was under the lounger! Do you want me to come and do your back?’
I grip the edges of the sun lounger harder than I did the edges of the sink.
Every word that falls out of his mouth makes me cringe. There’s an obsequious tone to the way he speaks that makes my teeth tingle. There’s a reedy quality to his voice that I just – can’t – stand.
And it’s a mere few feet away from me.
For the whole of the next week.
I swing my legs off the lounger and get up, striding over to the bamboo fence and opening my mouth to shout over at Joel to shut the hell up.
But I manage to bring myself up short before I actually do, thank God.
I’d sound like a crazy woman.
So instead, I punch the bamboo fence, making it ripple slightly. This does nothing, other than to hurt my hand, so I turn on one heel and march back into the bungalow, pulling the glass sliding doors closed as I do so.
Ray looks up from where he’s sat at the small desk that sits under the TV, with a quizzical expression on his face. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks me.
I point out at the veranda. ‘I can’t do it, Ray!’
‘Can’t do what?’ He rises from the seat, his face a picture of concern.
‘I can’t . . . I can’t listen to him!’
‘Who? Joel?’
‘Yes! He’s out there next to me! I can hear his voice floating over, and it puts my teeth on edge!’
Ray’s brow knits in what I hope is worry, and not anger at me feeling this way. ‘Oh no. That’s no good. Maybe we should go for a little stroll around the island? That’ll get you away from him, and by the time we get back maybe you’ll be a little . . . a little calmer?’
Bless him, Ray is trying to understand, but I can tell he’s having difficulty with it. I’m sure to him having his fiancée’s ex-husband next door is awkward – but nothing really more than that. He probably doesn’t get why I’m so much more riled up about the whole thing. But then, I never really went into the details of what happened with the breakdown of my marriage, and the house that Joel christened Goblin Central. I didn’t want to put Ray through it.
Maybe it’s time I laid things out a little clearer, though . . .
I need Ray to understand why I’m so unable to just ignore Joel’s presence here on the island. I need him to know that it’s not because I care about Joel anymore – it’s because of what happened with that stupid house!
‘Yes, maybe a walk would be a good idea,’ I tell him. ‘It’ll help clear my head a bit, and we can have a chat about why Joel being here has m
ade me this upset.’
Ray’s face is a picture of hurt confusion. He does think it’s because I care about Joel still, I can tell. I must nip that idea in the bud as soon as possible.
‘Okay, come on then,’ I tell him, walking over to pop my flip flops on. ‘Let’s go see what’s what.’
Ray nods his head and puts his Birkenstock sandals on. Now we’re actually at the resort, and he’s in his chino shorts, the Hawaiian shirt doesn’t look quite so incongruous anymore. In fact, he looks just the part.
I probably do too, now I’m in my cotton summer shorts and vest top.
Ray opens the front door for me, and for a second my heart jumps into my throat as I look across the wooden walkway to the front door of Joel’s bungalow.
If I see their door swing open right now, I’m likely to scream at the top of my lungs.
Thankfully, it doesn’t, so I hurry out of our door as quickly as possible, and scurry to the start of the main, wide deck area between the rows of bungalows.
This is intolerable.
I cannot spend this whole holiday scurrying around like a frightened mouse!
Ray joins me and laces his hand in mine.
Good. That’s a good sign. He’s obviously not angry with me, but he still has that vaguely worried look on his face.
I have to set his mind at rest.
It takes me a good fifteen or so minutes to work up to it, though. I spend those minutes, as we slowly circumnavigate the tiny island of Wimbufushi, trying to marshal my thoughts into a sensible order, which will enable me to get my point across as quickly and as succinctly as possible.
This isn’t easy, as I keep getting distracted by the bloody scenery, which is, of course, flippin’ gorgeous. On my left is a wall of waving palm trees and other tropical plants and trees, and on my right is the most beautiful ocean on Earth. It’s a little hard to formulate the contents of a serious conversation with stuff like that hanging about.
But then that’s the point of a place like this, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to have serious thoughts here. You’re supposed to forget all about serious stuff like that, and just drift along in a serene holiday fug, lulled by all that beauty around you.
But I have to talk to Ray – aesthetically perfect island environs be damned!
‘Ray, can I say something?’ I eventually blurt out, just as we round the tip of the island, to begin the walk back towards the other end.
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘Shall we go and sit down by the pool? Maybe dip our toes in?’ Ray points over to where a long, low building is situated in a raised position slightly above the beach. In front of it is an infinity pool that I remember frolicking in quite happily six years ago.
At first the memory of Joel doing the same thing makes me want to run away and go nowhere near the pool, but I take a deep breath, come to my senses and nod. ‘That sounds nice,’ I reply, and we make our way over to it.
There are about six or seven guests lounging around the pool, but none are actually in it. It’s a lovely swimming pool, but entirely surplus to requirements, given how inviting the sea is.
Ray and I kick off our shoes and sit at the pool’s edge. When I dip my toes in, I shudder with pleasure as the cool water caresses them.
I look out at the horizon, and take another deep breath. ‘Ray, I don’t want you to think I’m mad about Joel being here because I care about him anymore.’
‘Okay.’ There’s a note of caution in Ray’s voice I’m not happy to hear at all.
‘Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve had no problems forgetting about him completely in the past two years – which makes his presence here all the worse.’
‘Right.’
‘You’ve probably noticed I’m . . . quite angry.’
‘Yes, I might have.’ Ray tries not to smile ruefully as he says this.
‘Well, there’s a good reason for that. I never really went into the details of how my marriage to that idiot actually broke down, did I?’
‘No. You told me you had a lot of arguments at work, and that the marriage just fell apart because of it. I didn’t want to pry, because it was obviously hard for you to talk about.’
I nod. ‘That’s right. But I owe you a better explanation, so you understand why I’m so mad he’s here now.’ One last deep breath. ‘I lost everything thanks to Joel’s slapdash attitude towards everything, and because of a house called Goblin Central.’
Ray’s brow furrows as I say this.
Sigh.
Time to explain . . .
Joel and I were business partners before we were in a relationship. We both came to work at Rowntree Land & Home within six months of each other. He was a slightly more experienced agent when he started, but I had more enthusiasm for the job, I think. RL&H only dealt with high-end properties, dotted across the whole of the UK. Nothing was under a million, and quite often the prices soared into the tens of millions.
There was an obvious attraction between Joel and I, but we tried to resist it at first – because mixing business with pleasure rarely works out for the best. That attraction created great chemistry between us as agents though, and sparked off a working relationship that was of huge benefit to us both. Joel always used to refer to me as ‘his muse’. He used to say my presence alongside him always boosted his confidence and his chemistry with the clients, which helped us sell the houses. The fact he had complete trust in me to handle all the important stuff did as much for my own sense of self-worth.
We started dating after only a few months of knowing each other, and within a year we were the agency’s ‘power couple’. Joel was very good at his job, but I think I may have been even better. I came into work every day with a spring in my step, eager to go to the next enormous, grandiose property. Joel always tended to be the more ostentatious of the two of us. He definitely was the one to charm the clients. But I was the brains of the operation – at least I like to think so. I handled the details. Clients came to rely on me for both my accuracy and my discretion. We were often dealing with famous or rich people, given the size of the properties we were selling, and it was Joel’s job to wine and dine them, while it was mine to make sure everything was properly taken care of.
I loved my job and, for my sins, I also loved Joel.
Marriage was rather inevitable. Not least because us having the same surname would solidify our power-couple reputation even more at RL&H.
And after the marriage, the next two or so years were very exciting – and very profitable. Okay, Joel and I could rub each other up the wrong way from time to time, but that’s the hallmark of any creative, ambitious relationship, isn’t it? The disagreements and arguments we had were down to a combined passion for the job we were doing.
We just worked together so damn well. We complimented each other in a way that was almost spooky.
And we kept the money rolling in, much to the delight of Roland Rowntree, the aging owner of the agency. It was a barely concealed secret that he was thinking of handing off the responsibility of running the whole operation to Joel and me when he retired. We would be set for life.
But after two years of this, things started to . . . deteriorate.
You see, Joel and I are very different personalities. He was never a details person – whereas I have always been someone careful about that kind of thing. His attitude towards things like paperwork and due diligence absolutely stank, and I frankly started to resent him for that.
I didn’t like having to haul him up on things that he should have taken care of that he found boring, and he hated it when I did.
Our passion for each other, and our jobs, kept this resentment under wraps for a long time, but eventually the cracks started to show. You just can’t hide differences like that forever.
Our success at RL&H meant that the pressure on us to continue to sell even bigger and better properties grew almost exponentially. And we all know what happens to cracks when you apply pressure to them, don’t we?
&nb
sp; We started to argue all the time. Began to pick at one another’s character flaws. Where once our differences were the fuel that fired our partnership, now that fuel was the catalyst for an almost constant supply of disagreement, resentment and conflict.
It was horrible.
But I still loved Joel, and he still loved me. So we kept going with it, papering over those cracks as best we could. Both of us were probably terrified that if we couldn’t make our marriage work, we’d lose our working partnership as well. And we were so close to taking over. So close to running Rowntree Land & Home ourselves. That prize was just too huge a thing to sacrifice.
Then Goblin Central came along . . .
The house was a huge twelve-bedroom mansion, about five miles off the M3 corridor in Hampshire. It had everything. So much so that if I tried to list it all now, I’d still be talking by the time Doomsday arrived.
It certainly ended up being my own personal Doomsday, both for my job and my marriage.
Joel nicknamed it Goblin Central because it had gargoyles on the roof above the enormous double doors. Eight of them in total. Ugly buggers they were, each and every one.
I think he even named them individually, but I can’t recall all of them. They all began with B though. Boris, Burt, Barrington and Boglinchops. I remember those four at least.
Joel gave nicknames to everything and everyone. It was one of his worst traits. Although some of them could be very funny, for the first few years of our marriage I probably thought it was a charming quirk of his personality.
Goblin Central was a much-coveted property by all high-end real estate agents in the country, given its size and price. Whoever got to sell it for the vendor would earn a gigantic amount of kudos within our relatively small field. And big contracts always lead to more big contracts. Roland Rowntree was desperate for RL&H to land the deal.
So were Joel and I. It would pretty much guarantee our ascendency to the top of the company.
It all came down to a meeting with the owner – a pompous and unpleasant fellow by the name of Viscount Alastair De Ponsonby Long.
Yes, that was indeed his full name.
He insisted on being called Viscount Long – though Joel secretly called him Lord Ponsonbollocks. In fact, I think the full nickname might have been Lord Ponsonbollocks of Twatingly Gardens, but I can’t quite remember. I know Joel only ever used that name when he was talking to me about him. The same goes for all the nicknames Joel used to make up. They were a private joke between me and him, nobody else.
You Again? Page 7