The Girl from Lace Island

by Joanna Rees

  Outside, she flattened herself against the door, her ear against the crack.

  ‘You’ve spoilt her,’ she heard Chan say. ‘That’s why she can’t be disciplined. We should have sent her away long ago. This island is no place for a child.’

  ‘Don’t you dare have an opinion now,’ Bibi said. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Parva scolded, coming up the stairs and shooing Leila away. Today, she was wearing a simple mundu – a white sari – with a plain green shirt underneath. She had faded henna on her bare feet and hands. Leila wondered what festival or wedding she’d missed while she’d been in England.

  ‘They’re fighting about me,’ Leila whispered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into Parva’s arms.

  ‘You and everything else,’ Parva muttered, breathlessly shooing Leila up the stairs.

  ‘Everything else? What’s going on?’

  ‘Never you mind. You’ve caused your poor mother enough stress,’ Parva warned. ‘She doesn’t need any more.’

  Leila pondered Parva’s comments late into the night, waiting for the gentle knock on the door she knew would come. She strained in the dark for the familiar creak of her mother’s quiet footsteps along the floorboards outside, wishing that Bibi would come and sing the lullaby that she always did. Tonight, Leila would even let her brush her hair. Whatever it took to make Bibi happy.

  But the longer she listened, the quieter the house became.

  At two thirty, she woke with a start and, battling out of the swathes of yellowing mosquito nets round her antique four-poster, tiptoed across the moonlit room towards the window. There was a motorbike on the gravel outside, its engine idling. A man waited on the bike, his face only visible from the red glow of a cheroot. She caught a faint whiff of the acrid smoke as it dispersed in the night air.

  She saw a sliver of light spreading out onto the gravel and, a second later, saw the top of Chan’s head as he crept out towards the bike, furtively looking around him.

  She heard a low murmur of voices as he and the man on the bike spoke; then the man handed Chan something – Leila couldn’t tell what it was – hidden beneath a dhoti. Chan nodded, and as he turned away, Leila saw the terrible strain etched on his face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Miami, present day

  Jess walked into the reception area of the Miami hotel from the lift, telling herself with every step that this couldn’t be happening.

  But . . . oh my God, it was, she panicked, seeing Blaise standing by the fancy palm tree in the reception area. He was even more gorgeous than she remembered from the flight. She was so nervous she was tempted to turn on her heel and get back into the lift, but he’d already seen her. She put her hand up in a shy wave.

  ‘There you are. You ready?’ he asked. He was carrying two motorcycle helmets and wearing a white T-shirt with faded jeans, which showed off his taut muscles and scuffed brown boots. The receptionist was looking at him with wide eyes, but it was hard not to, Jess thought. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an aftershave commercial – and he knew it.

  ‘For what?’ she asked.

  He shook the helmet at her so that she had to take it. ‘Seeing the sights. Like I promised.’

  She had excuses lining up in her head. She hadn’t had any sleep. She didn’t have the right clothes to go on a motorbike. And most importantly, she didn’t know a thing about him. Certainly not enough to put her life in his hands. But when he’d called up the hotel earlier and told her how difficult it had been to track down the airline’s hotel, and asked if she was free this afternoon, Jess had been so overwhelmed and flattered that she’d agreed.

  And it was no time to back out now. Jess glanced at the receptionist, who was watching her with unmasked envy. Her eyes were shining, willing Jess to go with Blaise. Her look said it all: that Jess would be a fool to resist someone like him.

  Jess shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own pathetic resolve. Faced with Blaise in person, it was hard not to get swept away by his overpowering charm. Besides, what would she gain from not going? she reasoned. She wanted adventure, didn’t she? That’s what she’d told Andrew Browning. And here it was. What else was she saving herself for? It had been months and months since she’d had any fun. What harm would it do to have some now?

  So she took the helmet and, knowing that she only had her credit card in the back pocket of her jeans shorts and a bikini on beneath, stepped out into the baking afternoon sun with Blaise and climbed aboard his black vintage Harley-Davidson, which the door porter was admiring.

  They set off out of the concrete hotel driveway and onto the main road.

  ‘Welcome to Miami,’ Blaise yelled, before applying the gas and zooming away. She yelped and held on tight round his waist. She could feel the ripple of his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and once again, she felt something sexual stir within her. But it was crazy, right? Blaise was a first-class passenger. Rich and handsome and clearly connected. He was – dare she even think it? – a fantasy man. So what was he doing with her? Could this really be happening? Was Angel up in heaven, Jess wondered, pulling strings?

  She’d spent so many months putting on a mask, putting on her professional caring face, but now, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt genuinely excited. She grinned. A real grin, she realized, feeling butterflies again in her stomach. It was as if Blaise had levered open a door and the hot Miami sun was filling up the dark shadows, and she remembered how brilliant it felt to be impulsive. To be herself.

  Except she wasn’t being herself, she realized with a jolt. She was being the cool girl with the travelling-musician mother. How the hell was she going to explain that one? she wondered.

  In minutes, they’d overtaken several sports cars as he headed out onto the highway and took the signs for Miami Beach. Jess knew the exclusive resort where all the rich people were was on an island, connected by bridges, and sure enough, soon they were crossing into the north of the island, where the hotels were impossibly expensive and chic.

  She watched their shadow as they sped down Collins Avenue in the late-afternoon sun. Man, they looked cool, she thought, feeling suddenly like she was in a movie. To her left, she caught glimpses of the long white beach and the Atlantic Ocean sparkling in the sun, surfers riding the waves. This was the life.

  She’d read a tourist brochure in the hotel about the famous sights of Miami, but nothing had prepared her for the wealth on display – the Porches and Ferraris and the manicured men and women who drove them. Soon, they were on Ocean Drive, with its restored 1930s art deco buildings in pretty pastel colours. Jess had read that the prime real-estate properties with their view of the ocean were worth a fortune and she could believe it. Who were these people who lived here?

  People like Blaise, she reminded herself. She wanted to pinch herself for being here. She was an estate girl from London with just her monthly wage to her name, suddenly looking like she belonged. She wanted to whoop with the absurdity of it all.

  They sped on, through the traffic lights and down to South Beach. Eventually, Blaise slowed and turned into the parking lot. Below them, the beach itself was crowded with people, all enjoying the sun and the glorious white surf.

  They drove past the cars and stopped by a bar, and Blaise helped Jess get off the bike before hoisting it onto its stand. Jess liked watching his tanned, muscled arms, and she wasn’t the only one. She watched a blonde bikini-clad girl sashay past, her eyes lingering on Blaise. But Blaise didn’t seem interested in her false breasts and pert bottom. The girl threw an avariciously disapproving look at Jess.

  ‘You want a soda?’ Blaise asked. ‘I’m thirsty.’

  She nodded. ‘Sure.’

  She followed him to the bar and they sat on the high stools overlooking the beach.

  ‘Looks tempting. I can’t wait to go in,’ Jess said, squinting at the water.

  ‘We’re not stopping here
,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something else I want to show you.’

  He ordered Diet Cokes and Jess realized the guy behind the bar recognized him. He glanced over at Jess as if he was checking her out, and his lips curled into a private smile. How many other girls had Blaise brought here? she wondered. She was still unsure about how this date – if you could call it that – was going. Or whether she should be here at all. Back home in London, she was so suspicious of people. Always on her guard, but now this was happening. She was sitting on Miami Beach with a total stranger, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. And not just any old stranger . . . Blaise.

  She clinked bottles with him, feeling out of her depth and tongue-tied as he stared at her. There was so much she wanted to ask about him, but she didn’t even know where to start.

  ‘So—’

  ‘Where—’

  They started talking at the same time and both laughed, embarrassed. He nodded for Jess to go first.

  ‘I just wondered how you know Miami so well. Do you work here a lot?’ Jess inwardly cringed. She sounded so uptight, like she was asking him for his CV.

  ‘I have business interests here I check in on.’

  Business interests? What did that mean? Jess wondered, but Blaise didn’t seem to want to elaborate or talk about work.

  ‘It’s kind of fun. I like it here,’ he said, looking out over the beach.

  ‘You know, I just can’t place your accent,’ Jess said.

  ‘That’s because I’ve lived all over the place. My mum’s in Australia, my dad is – was – Italian, but my great-grandfather’s family was Indian, believe it or not. I’m a bit of a mongrel dog.’

  He said it like he meant in, but groomed Blaise with his swarthy good looks was anything but a mongrel dog. If anyone was a mongrel, she was. Not that she was going to admit that anytime soon. She tore her eyes away and looked out over the beach.

  ‘There’s so many people,’ she said. ‘I could sit here all day and watch them.’

  ‘You like people-watching? Me too,’ Blaise said. ‘You can tell so much about a person straight away. But you must know that in your line of work.’

  ‘I guess,’ Jess said with a shrug. ‘You know immediately when people come on board what type they are.’

  ‘Type?’

  ‘Yeah, well, sort of,’ she clarified. ‘Just the way people talk to each other, or sit down next to strangers, tells you a lot about them.’

  ‘Oh? And what did you find out about me, then?’ he asked, as if reading her mind.

  ‘That you’re nosey,’ she said, with a smile.

  He grinned. ‘Guilty. I prefer “curious”, though. When I saw you talking to that little girl on the plane, I couldn’t help spying on you. You were very sweet to her.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  There was a beat and Jess was unsure what had just passed between them. She wondered if he was about to tell her that she’d make a good mother, or something like that. Because if he was, then she’d have to correct him. In fact, she’d have to correct him on everything. She’d have to come clean and tell him that everything he’d witnessed was all an act. But right now, as his eyes connected with hers, she couldn’t. She liked being the version of herself he thought she was.

  A second later, he grinned and pulled his mirrored shades down over his eyes and she saw herself reflected back, the glamour of Miami Beach behind her. But she felt like she was looking into a camera lens and he held all the power. She wanted to tell him to take his glasses off, but she didn’t know him well enough yet. She held his gaze, wondering what his eyes were saying, but his mouth was smiling. Like he liked what he saw.

  ‘Drink up,’ he said, draining his bottle. ‘We’re going.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lace Island, 1990

  It was just gone dawn and Leila couldn’t sleep, but Anjum was up in the kitchen, whistling. Leila sauntered along the back path towards the sound, but she hardly noticed the birds hopping in the bushes, or the pretty yellow butterflies dancing among Anjum’s prized pepper plants.

  She’d thought it would be so different coming home, but it was as if everyone was suddenly in a bad mood. Bibi and Chan, even Parva. Had she done this? she wondered. Was all this tension because she’d failed at school?

  Perhaps it was because there were so many guests staying and Bibi was stressed with all the entertaining. The bungalows were full, and Parva and the other staff seemed rushed off their feet.

  Anjum grinned at her as she walked in through the kitchen door. ‘Good morning, Leila,’ he said. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. Probably jet lag.’

  ‘You must be hungry after such a long journey.’

  She shrugged. Food hadn’t been much on her mind.

  ‘Let me make you some breakfast.’

  ‘Maybe later,’ Leila said. She was going to cycle down and see if she could talk to Rasa before the guests needed him. She fancied a swim in the sea. Perhaps that would wash away all her misgivings.

  ‘You must eat. It’s not like you to be missing breakfast. Were you like this at school? Because it’s no good for studying to have an empty stomach.’

  ‘School breakfasts were horrible,’ she told him. ‘All I craved was your masala dosas.’

  He laughed. ‘OK, OK, I will make you one, if you insist.’

  Leila smiled and slid onto the high stool by the kitchen counter.

  ‘Make yourself useful and strain that yoghurt for me,’ Anjum instructed, pushing the metal bowl across the marble counter towards her. She picked up the heavy muslin cloth filled with yoghurt curd and watched it drip into the bowl.

  Anjum took a bowl of batter from the ancient fridge and put a dollop of it on the crude griddle-stone above the gas-bottle flame. She’d always thought the kitchen was sophisticated, but compared to Judith’s parents’ kitchen, with its big electric oven and dishwashing machine, it now seemed primitive. She wondered how Anjum managed to produce so many incredible meals with such limited resources.

  ‘So tell me what happened. Did you go to London?’ Anjum asked, his voice laden with awe. She smiled at the way he said ‘London’.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Leila said. She thought about Judith and that awful night they’d been to the theatre. And about Harry. And how Judith had chosen not to believe Leila and how much that still hurt.

  ‘All of that wonderful city to explore,’ he said, a faraway look in his eye. ‘I can only dream. Did you meet the Queen?’

  Leila laughed. ‘No. She wasn’t around. But London? I didn’t like it that much. It’s dirty and loud, and the people there are horrible.’

  Anjum tutted. ‘There are horrible people everywhere, Leila, if you look for them.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  There was a hiss as he expertly scraped the dough round the hot plate.

  ‘What is the matter, Leila?’ Anjum asked. ‘Why are you looking so sad? That long face will curdle my yoghurt.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Everyone seems to be so angry that I came back early.’

  ‘You are a silly girl to waste an opportunity, that’s all. Your mother will have lost a lot of money because of what you did,’ Anjum said, giving her a sobering look.

  Leila nodded, feeling small. She’d never considered that her mother would be out of pocket, but she must have lost the school fees, Leila realized. She watched Anjum make the perfect pancake she’d so craved, but as he slid it onto the plate with a little dish of coconut curry, she no longer felt hungry, and she ate miserably in silence, feeling awful about how much trouble she’d caused.

  Later, cycling along the lagoon, on her way to find Rasa, Leila tried to make sense of her time at school. Should she have been different? she wondered. Should she have made more of an effort to fit in? Why couldn’t she just have been accepted for herself?

  Suddenly, a yellow-and-black tuk-tuk swerved round the corner into her
path and Leila wobbled, falling towards the steep bank and then slipping down it a small way, falling off her bike into the mud.

  ‘Hey,’ she shouted, as the tuk-tuk’s horn blasted and she coughed in the blast of fumes belching out from the back. Further along the road, the tuk-tuk stopped.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she heard.

  Leila scrambled up the bank. The American guy – Adam, wasn’t it? – held out his hand to her and pulled her back up towards the road. She puffed, standing up, rubbing the mud from her hands. Now Leila saw the driver get out too, his huge bulk unfolding from the tuk-tuk. What the hell was someone like Adam doing taking a tuk-tuk ride in this part of the island, and at this time of the morning?

  ‘I’m fine,’ Leila said, as Adam gingerly stepped past her and retrieved her bike.

  ‘We thought the roads were empty. We were probably going a bit fast.’ He said it as an explanation, with an ‘it can’t be helped’ shrug. It was a confusing type of apology – if it was an apology. The ‘we’ implied that he and the driver knew each other. ‘Where are you going this early?’ he asked, placing the bike next to her. It looked unscathed, but this bike had been in many similar scrapes.

  ‘I’m just visiting an old friend,’ Leila shrugged, uncomfortable with Adam’s scrutiny. She flinched slightly as he squeezed the top of her arm.

  ‘So long as you’re OK.’

  Leila stared between Adam and the driver, trying to fathom out what their connection could be. She took in Adam’s wide smile, but his eyes were hard. There was something creepy about him, despite his attempt at open charm. She stayed silent, but he seemed unfazed.

  ‘You know the island pretty well, huh? You should show me around.’

  Leila nodded.

  ‘Great. That’s settled, then. Come and find me later. I’m in the beach bungalow.’

  Leila brushed the mud off her hands and got back onto her bike, as Adam stepped back inside the tuk-tuk. As she looked over, she saw the scary-looking driver staring at her. His face was grim and she felt fear prickle all over her. She watched him tap a brown cheroot on a packet he was holding; then he flicked a match and lit it. Leila’s heart thumped hard. Could it be the same guy who’d been to visit Chan in the dead of night? And if so, what was he doing driving Adam around now?