by C. J. Cooke
‘And?’
‘It was pointed at our hut.’
‘What was?’
‘The telescope.’ She gives a shudder. ‘It was creepy …’
‘But … didn’t the butler say all the other huts were empty as of yesterday?’
She bites her lip. ‘That’s the other thing. When I looked in the window of one of the rooms the bed was unmade. There were clothes on the floor. It looked like someone was staying there.’
‘Maybe one of the groups stayed on? Or a late booking?’
‘But why would they point the telescope at our beach hut?’ She looks on the verge of tears now, terrified. ‘It felt like someone was watching us.’
I tell her I’ll check it out myself. But if I’m honest this has me worried. The fire at the bookshop was no accident, I know that, but I can’t say too much about it to Helen. We were being watched at home, before we left. I saw a guy watching the shop right before the fire. Same car outside every day for a week, and then he followed me home. Couldn’t say anything about this to the police, of course. They’d ask questions. Why would someone be watching you? It was the reason I pushed for us to go abroad for an extended holiday, to buy some time to think.
I can’t change what happened to Luke. I can’t stop them from hunting our family. But I can definitely work out a way to protect us.
I don’t go back to sleep. Nothing unusual about that, though tonight I’m wired, all my senses on high alert. I’ve learned to manage on about four hours a night, with the occasional catnap during the day to keep me going. Four nights a week I’ll set my alarm for 3am and get up to work out. Arms and abs on Mondays and Thursdays, a ten-mile run on Tuesdays and Fridays. Then I read, answer work emails, maybe tidy the house or go for a walk. We live near a beautiful tow path in England and at sunrise you see all kinds of wildlife: otters, foxes, hedgehogs. I’ve tried to persuade the kids to come out with me but they’re not morning people.
Here, though, the wildlife is something else. We’re about a mile from the rainforest but even so, I spot a monkey in one of the trees at the side of our hut. He helps himself to the coconuts, then spies a half-empty packet of crisps left out by one of the kids on the decking. I film it all on my mobile. He’s right in front of me, so close I can touch him. Completely unafraid. I set down my can of Coke to reach out and stroke him. Amazingly, he lets me, then reaches out and snatches my Coke before running off. Little git.
I put my hands in my pockets and take a walk up the bank to the road that links all the beach huts. The family from Alabama are gone, and good riddance. Too many questions about where we were from, why we were here. One of the kids screwed up her face at Reuben and said loudly, ‘Why are you so weird?’ Yeah, so she’s only a kid but the parents didn’t correct her, didn’t tell her gently not to be rude. They just laughed.
The road is clear of cars, meaning that there aren’t any guests in the huts. So why would Helen have seen clothes in one of the bedrooms? There’s nothing but rainforest for about twenty miles. Someone could have been dropped off at one of the huts, or the guests could have gone out for the day. Holiday season’s virtually over, though. That’s what Kyle said.
I walk on the sand, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The moon is bright tonight, a long causeway of silver light tossed over a slate of ocean. I walk carefully around the hut and when I glance into the living room window I make out the shape of the telescope pointed not at the sea but towards our hut, just like Helen said. It could just be pointed at the north end of the bay, though. Hard to tell. The dolphins like that end of the bay so it’s feasible that they were watching the pod … The other windows are at the back of the hut, too dark to make out what’s inside. No lights on. The palm trees sway in the breeze and the sea sweeps forward and back, exhaling. No movement, no sign of anyone around.
After ten minutes or so I turn back.
The butler comes just after dawn. Helen and the kids are still sound asleep, so I press a finger to my lips as he passes over the food box for today.
‘I found pizza,’ he whispers. ‘For your son. I can’t promise that it won’t taste different but at least it’s the next best thing.’
‘That’s kind of you.’ I find a $10 note in my pocket and slip it to him. ‘Reuben will be thrilled.’
He grins, pockets the cash, then turns to leave, but I set down the box quickly and skip after him.
‘I don’t suppose you can tell me if someone has checked into that hut?’ I say, nodding at the one next to ours.
He thinks, shakes his head. ‘Just you and one other family staying for now.’
‘Another family? Which hut are they staying at?’
He turns and points down the bay. ‘The very last hut, right on the edge of the strand. Has there been some trouble?’
‘No, no. No trouble. Thanks anyway.’
Around eight I find Helen in the bathroom plaiting her hair and present her with breakfast on a tray and a kiss. Then I wake the kids. ‘Get dressed,’ I tell them. ‘It’s our sea safari today.’
‘Sea safari?’ Sas asks, her hair sticking out like she’s rammed her finger in a socket. She leaps out of bed and pulls off her nightie. ‘You’ll need to bring your poncho,’ I tell her.
‘Is it going to rain?’
‘No, but the dolphins might splash water over the boat. You know, when they jump through the water?’
She gives a squeal and wraps her arms around my waist.
‘Sooo excited, Daddy!’
The ride out to sea takes an hour on a twenty-foot sailing boat. I tell Reuben and Saskia to stay in the cabin downstairs where they can sit comfortably and eat snacks, though I have to promise that I’ll shout the second I spot anything with a fin.
After half an hour Helen comes out to join me. She rubs my back and lays her head against my shoulder.
‘You were up again all night, weren’t you?’ she says with a sigh.
‘No.’
‘Don’t lie …’
‘I just thought I heard something, that’s all.’
She leans back, maps my face with a look of concern. ‘You don’t have to worry about us, you know. I shouldn’t have said anything about the telescope. I was probably just being paranoid after …’
She trails off.
‘After what?’
She looks down. When she meets my gaze again there’s hardness in her eyes. And something else. Frustration.
‘I need to ask something,’ she says, folding her arms. ‘And I need you for once not to avoid the question.’
‘OK.’
She takes a deep breath, readies herself. ‘The day you attacked Josh’s dad …’
‘I didn’t attack him,’ I start to say. ‘It was a disagreement …’
She raises a hand, signalling that I’m to shut up. ‘When you attacked him, you said you were looking out for Reuben. I still don’t know what you meant by that.’
I don’t want to talk about this. I look around, searching for an exit, a distraction. Unless I’m prepared to swim back to land there’s nowhere for me to go. We’re at least fifteen miles from land and even I’m not that strong.
‘I was protecting him,’ I say at last.
‘Protecting him from what, exactly?’
‘Look, the birthday party wasn’t at a climbing centre,’ I say, anxious to close this up once and for all. ‘Josh’s dad was taking the boys climbing up the Simonside Hills …’
‘And?’
I’m starting to feel angry. What has this got to do with what happened at the birthday party? ‘And I could see Reuben was nervous about it. Look, I told you. It was wrong of Josh’s father to …’
‘To what?’
I look up, catch her eyes. She’s challenging me.
‘To … to put Reuben in a position where he had to choose between his friend and feeling safe.’
She screws up her face. ‘But why …’
‘… and trust me, I did everything to stop it from becoming a scene. You weren’t there. R
euben was freaking out, I could see it in his eyes. And the guy kept talking over him. Even made him start to gear up.’
I see her wince.
‘Josh’s dad wasn’t taking no for an answer. OK, so maybe slugging him was a bit over the mark but I did what I had to …’
She lifts her eyes to mine, an eyebrow cocked. ‘A little over the mark? You knocked him unconscious.’
‘It was an unlucky punch,’ I say, and I can feel a hot ripple of fire in my stomach. I try to swallow it down but it’s insistent. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want?’
She looks hurt, which wasn’t my intention, so I reach out and put my hand on hers.
We stand together in mutually wounded silence. We want the same thing, but we go about it in completely different ways. I’m the head of the home, the bad cop. Helen’s still pissed off because it’s meant Reuben losing his one and only friend, Josh. Nice lad. Like Reuben, Josh is autistic. We’ve waited years for Reuben to make friends. Years without a single birthday party invitation or play date. Finally, he goes out and gets a pal and I wreck it all by busting his dad’s face.
But I did what I had to do. And everything has a price, doesn’t it?
And then, there they are, about ten feet from the boat. Whales, as long as buses. Helen spots them and runs to the cabin to alert the kids. By the time they emerge the captain has cut the engine. Sas squeals and jumps up and down at the sight of them while Reuben claps his hands and shouts ‘Magic!’ The captain tells me in concerned tones that humpbacks out here, especially at this time of year, is a bad sign. They could be sick or dying. Of course I don’t mention any of this to the kids. We are close enough to see the barnacles studding their backs, long white lines etched along their bellies, their mouths scissoring the water. A way out to sea another whale bursts out of the water, landing with a huge splash and the peace sign of his tail as he dives below.
‘Look how happy they are, Dad!’ Saskia shouts, and I agree with her, because sometimes love means telling lies.
‘Michael. Michael! Wake up!’
‘What? What’s wrong?’
I sit upright, my head buzzing. I can’t believe I fell asleep. The window squares off a lapis lazuli sky speckled with a million stars and a silvery moon. Helen is out of bed, bending over me as I pull back the sheet.
‘I think someone’s outside,’ she says. ‘I heard footsteps in the back garden and when I went to …’
I’m already up on my feet, pulling on a pair of shorts.
‘I thought it was an animal, at first,’ Helen says. ‘But I saw a man.’
‘How sure are you?’
She bites her lip. ‘Pretty sure.’
‘Stay here,’ I whisper quickly. ‘Keep everything locked behind me.’
In the kitchen I search quickly for something weapon-like – a baseball bat, ideally – but the cupboards yield only a rolling pin and a meat knife. I plumb for the latter and open the side door. Suddenly Helen is there, holding my arm, tears wobbling in her eyes.
‘Why don’t we phone Kyle?’ she says. ‘Or I can look for the tour operator …’
‘And what are they going to do? It’s two in the morning …’
‘I know, but … I shouldn’t … I shouldn’t have woken you …’
I peck her on the forehead. ‘Stay here. I won’t be long.’
I step outside and wait until I hear the click of the door locking behind me. The dark is impenetrable, the only light coming from the moon and the stars. The garden is swallowed by night. No Coke-thieving monkeys to be seen.
I hear a noise to my right. Quick, stealthy strides headed towards the road. I move towards the sound, squinting. I can’t see anything. The footsteps stop, and I hold my breath.
But then, movement on the hill that leads up to the road where our rental car is parked. It’s difficult to see, but I can just make out someone or something moving briskly up the bank.
‘Hey!’ I shout, and the figure moves quickly. My heart is racing. I hold the knife in front of me and go after him.
4
Helen
30th August 2017
I’m wool-headed this morning after last night’s escapades. Not nearly as sexy as it sounds. I woke up to use the loo around two in the morning and heard noises outside. I went to check and saw a man moving around in the garden. At least, I think I did. I was so sure last night and now I’m not. I feel so guilty. I woke Michael and he went after him. He was gone for over an hour. The longest hour of my life. When I saw him coming in through the door I almost collapsed with relief. He was sweaty and out of breath, but not injured.
‘Did you find him?’ I said, my voice trembling. I found myself looking him over for signs of blood.
He set the torch back in the block on the kitchen bench. ‘No. It was too dark.’
‘Didn’t you take a knife? Where is it?’
He sank into a chair by the table and wiped his face. ‘Dropped it.’
I waited for something more – where he’d been, details of a confrontation with an intruder, a fight. A narrative of any sort to put all the questions whirring through my head to bed. Michael wouldn’t make eye contact.
‘But … you were gone for ages. I was out of my mind … I was absolutely beside myself, Michael. Did you catch up with him?’
He rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn. ‘I followed him into the trees and then I turned back. I got a bit lost, though. Luckily I saw the lights from the bay through the trees and followed them home.’
I gasped. ‘You were in the rainforest?’
He was tired, keen to shrug off the memory of it. ‘It was pitch black. Couldn’t see a thing. One minute I was on the road and the next I was surrounded by trees and frigging monkeys.’
I studied his face. He looked amused by the memory of being surrounded by monkeys, not bothered at all by the fact that he went racing out after a suspected intruder.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, deciding that I had somehow got it all wrong. I’d let my paranoia get to me. ‘But … you really didn’t see who it was?’
He gulped back a glass of water. ‘That’s what I said.’
‘But who could it have been?’ I said. ‘Why would someone have been outside?’
‘Are you sure it was someone?’ Michael said, and I did a double take.
‘You saw him, Michael. You went after him …’
‘I was half asleep. I spent an hour walking in circles in the bloody jungle.’
And there it was again, the edge of guilt against my skin. I looked down, ashamed. ‘Sorry. I think we were both possibly being paranoid.’
‘Both of us?’ he sniped back.
I fell silent. I had been absolutely sure that I had seen a dark figure, a man moving through the garden and up the bank, but just then doubt slipped in, like a lie sliding inside a truth.
‘Let’s just go to bed,’ he said, rubbing his face. ‘We’ve got a long drive back to the airport tomorrow.’
No one is happy when we shut the door on the beach hut for the last time. Reuben has his headphones on but is clicking his fingers and stamping his feet in the way he does when he’s particularly stressed. Saskia is long-faced and holds Jack-Jack extra tight.
‘Maybe we can come back next year,’ Michael says cheerily, though I catch his eye and give a small shake of my head as if to say, let’s not make promises we can’t keep. I have no idea how we’ve afforded this trip, never mind how we could possibly afford round two in a year’s time. We’re still paying off Reuben’s iPad, for crying out loud.
We spend the first hour of the drive to the airport in a gloomy silence. In reflection of our mood it starts to rain, and before long it’s coming down in great sweeping chains. The air feels cooler, which is no bad thing. Grey cloud spreads out across the sky. It’s been blue skies and belting heat for six weeks straight. Saskia decides she needs to wee every four minutes, so we pull over for the dozenth time and let her go at the side of the road.
‘I’ll driv
e for a bit,’ I tell Michael as he heads back to the driver’s side. ‘You have a nap.’ I’m not completely comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road but I feel guilty at the dark circles under his eyes.
The kids settle down in the backseat, Saskia holding Jack-Jack tightly and looking mournfully out the window, Reuben plugged into his iPad. Michael folds his arms and leans his head against the window. I find a British radio channel and turn the volume just enough to hear. Enjoy the lack of traffic, I tell myself, forcing optimism. It’ll be bumper-to-bumper when you get back home.
About an hour into the journey a white van appears as we approach a bend, moving at high speed along the road towards us. Instinctively I press the brake as I reach the curve of the road. The van draws closer. It appears to be speeding up. Odd, I think. And dangerous. Why speed up on a bend, especially when the road is wet?
At the very last moment, the van veers sharply into our lane, two tyres lifting off the tarmac as it swerves and plunges straight into us.
There is no time to react.
An explosion of metal slamming into metal, the sound of tyres screeching like a wounded animal, the air slashed by screams. An airbag explodes in my face and the car careens wildly, glass shards whipping through the air.
5
Michael
14th June 1995
The minute I finish my exams I get the cheapest flight I can out of Heathrow. Luke and Theo are already gone – their parents got them first class tickets. I buy the most sophisticated climbing equipment I can squeeze into my tatty rucksack: shorts, T-shirt, hiking pants, sleeping bag and dry bag, tent and stakes, crampons, stove, towel, light, cutlery, thermometer, thermos, Swiss Army knife, rain gear, balaclava, goggles, sandals, granola bars, noodle packets, Chapstick, headlamp, first aid kit, ice axe, carabiners, prusiks, harnesses, rope, flask, and my lucky bear claw.
I expected Chamonix to be a campsite. Instead the bus pulls up to a charming Alpine village with hotels, B&Bs, shops, restaurants with verandas and parasols, right in the crease of a mountain range. It’s pretty mind-blowing here, like being on another planet. All around me are unimaginably tall, jagged peaks, like the spine of a massive dinosaur. I stand in the middle of the street looking up at them, awe-struck. They’re so tall I suddenly feel scared. Ben Nevis didn’t look this big. That’s because it isn’t, you moron, I tell myself. Mont Blanc is fifteen frickin’ thousand feet tall. It takes me a moment to spot her, and then there she is: the almost-perfect triangle at the very top of the massif.
