by Tina Seskis
‘OK,’ Kenny said. ‘As long as you’re sure, love. We’ll get you a lesson at the beach – that’s what we should have done in the first place anyway. Don’t you worry.’ He kissed her, causing his mask to bang into hers, and then he stepped onto the running board of the boat, and jumped.
Kenny survived. Everyone survived. Chrissy felt foolish. But that was then. Now, it was later the same afternoon, and Chrissy had bounced right back. She was currently standing at the edge of the hotel pool, ostentatiously adjusting her bikini bottoms, enjoying the glances. Her feet felt strong and rooted on the smooth hot concrete, and it made her realize just how hysterical she’d been being earlier. Fair enough, she hadn’t liked being out at sea, but the island itself was solid, A-list, perfectly safe. It certainly wasn’t sinking, at least not any time in the next week or so. Tsunamis only happened once in a lifetime. No-one had died of a shark attack in years. (That means someone had once, she’d said to Kenny afterwards, in self-justification.) Turtles didn’t hurt you. But so what, Chrissy thought now – it was her life. She didn’t have to go in the sea at all if she didn’t want to. No-one could force her. The resort pool, plus the one in their bathroom, would be quite adequate for her swimming needs. And although she was embarrassed now of the fuss she’d made earlier, she really hadn’t been able to help hyperventilating like that, not once Kenny had left her – and it had felt nice when Pascal had climbed back into the boat and held her in his slippery arms to calm her down.
The swimming pool ran parallel to the sea, and it was wide, with an infinity edge, and from this angle it looked like an integral part of the ocean. An island of tropical plants, positioned centrally for maximum visual effect, was all that seemed to exist between Chrissy and the horizon. Not only was the view gloriously azure, but, even better, there were most definitely no creatures lurking in here to bite at her ankles, carve out jagged pieces of her flesh. The sun was nicely warm on her skin. She lifted her arms above her head and stretched. She leaned over, touched her toes, gave Arnie, who was passing behind her with a tray-load of cocktails, an eyeful. She stood up again and stuck her toe in. The water was cold. But she was hot, and she needed to wash her hair anyway. Her husband was lolling at the bar on the far side of the pool, and as he swayed in the water, he reminded her of a pink blow-up toy. He really ought to wear more sun cream, she thought, and giggled. Kenny beckoned her, stretched out his brawny arms, and in his left hand he had another cocktail, for her, and it made her love him, love his forgiveness. The world was perfect, would be so forever, now that she’d found her Kenny.
Chrissy bent her knees and sprang up through her toes, into the most graceful of dives. But, as she took off, her right foot slipped and that, plus the cocktails and the pills and the trauma earlier, and perhaps the weight of her new breasts, caused her to get the angle all wrong. As the smooth plane of water slapped her in the face, smashed against her stomach, it was like a rebuke for her happiness. It knocked all the air out of her, so she couldn’t catch her breath, even to panic, and as she started sinking to the bottom she could see the irony that she might end up drowning here, where it was safest …
Just as she was tempted to succumb, Chrissy felt a firm hand on her arm, pulling her upwards, towing her to the side. When she reached the edge, she laid her face against the lapping water, trying to breathe, quell the stinging in her cheek, ease the leaden throb in her belly. Even through her relief she felt humiliated, again. Everyone had seen. It seemed she couldn’t escape being watched, and for all the wrong reasons.
‘Chrissy!’ Kenny said, as he finally made it over to her, having swum across from the pool bar. ‘That was the best bloody belly flop I’ve ever seen. Are you all right, sweetheart?’
Chrissy nodded mutely as Kenny and her rescuer hauled her out of the water and helped her onto her sun lounger. As Chrissy took in the girl’s sopping clothes and recognized her from the boat trip earlier, her heart sank. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I think I owe you one.’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ The girl stood still for a moment, and her dress was clinging to her taut little body, and the fabric dripped dark pools which spread and opened like wounds in the concrete. Her eyes were cut-outs of the sea. ‘You’re welcome. Are you OK now?’
‘Yeah, I’m all right, thanks. I just feel like a complete pillock – again!’
‘No, of course you’re not …’
‘Look, let me get you a drink,’ Chrissy said. ‘It’s the least I can do. I’m Chrissy, by the way.’ As she stuck out her hand, she saw the other girl hesitate, for just a moment.
‘OK, thanks,’ she said, taking Chrissy’s proffered hand. ‘I’m Jemma.’ She took a towel that one of the staff had brought over for her, wrapped it around herself, over the soaking sundress, and sat down on the sun lounger next to Chrissy’s. As they started chatting, it seemed to Chrissy that she’d misjudged Jemma. Up close, she wasn’t miserable at all – instead she was sweetly sparky, kitten-like, and her hair glowed like the tail end of sunset.
‘Anyway, cheers, Jemma,’ Chrissy said, clinking their glasses together, after good old Arnie had fast-tracked a couple of Mojitos. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘And you,’ said her new friend. ‘Thanks so much for saving me.’ And at the time, Chrissy thought Jemma had got it the wrong way round by accident.
58
Jemma
Chrissy and Jemma sat by the pool for a while longer, and it felt such a relief for Jemma to have someone else to talk to. After her second cocktail, she was even tempted to tell Chrissy all about her marital woes, but she stopped herself. It was nobody’s business but hers and Jamie’s, and even if she’d be quite happy to be open about the whole sorry tale, it certainly wouldn’t be fair on him.
Jemma wondered where Jamie was. He’d said he was going back to the bungalow to get a long-sleeved T-shirt, but that had been ages ago now. It was fine by her, though; she was having fun at last. When her husband finally returned, his face was sour, and – or was Jemma imagining it? – faintly guilty. The only time his eyes lit up was when he was introduced to Chrissy.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Jemma asked.
‘Oh, I went to the dive centre,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of maybe doing a fishing trip later.’
‘Oh,’ said Jemma. It was clear that she wasn’t being invited, although she could hardly blame him. Jamie knew she hated fishing anyway, thought it was cruel.
‘Look, Jemma, if you’re free, why don’t you go for a snorkel with Kenny,’ said Chrissy. ‘I’m too much of a wuss, and it would stop me feeling so guilty that I’m spoiling his fun.’
‘Sure,’ said Jemma. ‘Is that OK with you, Jamie?’
‘Fine,’ Jamie said, although he didn’t sound it. It was unlike him not to be charming in public, especially around someone like Chrissy. He seemed absent somehow, and yet boiling with indignation beneath the surface, and the combination was unsettling.
‘Well, that’s all sorted then,’ said Chrissy. She lay down on her sun bed, stretched her legs and arched her back as she repositioned her bikini top, the diamond stud in her navel reflecting the sun like some kind of code – and as Jemma turned over to lie on her stomach, she caught Jamie staring at Chrissy, and his expression was inscrutable.
The next morning Jemma got out of bed and went down to the beach in her nightdress. It wasn’t even light yet, but she couldn’t sleep. The thought of another day here with Jamie was torture. She had cycled myriad times around the island. She had walked from their bungalow along the beach to the bar and back. She had swum in the sea and in the resort pool. She’d been on a boat trip. She had lounged in the bath, and had wallowed in their private plunge pool. She had sunbathed, for at least five minutes at a time. She had visited the gift shop, where a bottle of sun cream cost eighty dollars and the trinkets were the price of a meal out at home. She’d even made some new friends – having rescued Chrissy, been snorkelling with Kenny. She had troughed her way through the buffet, smiled at the e
ager chefs who waited with their ladles poised like weapons, and who were so keen to please her. She had booked a massage at the beauty spa, although she hated being touched by strangers. She’d drunk enough cocktails to make her want to throw up.
And what of Jamie? Her husband still only needed to get within two metres of her to set her nerves zip-wiring through her body, her teeth clenching and grinding until her jaw ached. If anything, the feeling of oppressive confusion was even worse here than it had been on their wedding day – as if there were a giant magnifying glass on them, refracting heat into them, burning them alive. She wanted to go home, but even the thought of the journey was torture: having to sit next to Jamie on three different flights as he went pale with fright, while she longed to be somewhere else, perhaps with someone else. How did she feel? It was impossible to tell, here in this parallel universe. But it was so unfair on Jamie, and the more she tried to pretend she was fine, the more bleak she felt.
There were exactly seven more days to get through, Jemma worked out, as she sat on the beach watching the sky lighten and turn pink. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. She’d definitely go snorkelling again with Kenny, no matter what Jamie said about it. Snorkelling passed the time. It was one of the few things that helped her feel sane. She would put her head into the clear, pure water and swim with the turtles and the fish and, for a while at least, she would feel free. And then, in a week’s time, she would go home, and surely put her ill-fated marriage behind her.
59
Chrissy
Kenny is such a pig, Chrissy thought fondly. He was just coming back from the buffet, and his plate was loaded with a veritable smorgasbord of delights, including various dim sum, some kind of curry, a slice of melon, a sausage, and, rather improbably, a box of Coco Pops.
‘I thought I might go snorkelling with Jemma again this morning,’ he said, his chair scraping as he sat down. ‘You all right with that?’
‘Course I am,’ Chrissy replied. They were sitting on the side of the restaurant’s terrace that was nearest the sea, under the palm trees. She took a sip of her tea. ‘I know you prefer her to me anyway.’
Kenny looked uncertain for a second.
‘Oh, Kenny, love,’ Chrissy said. ‘I’m joking. Course I don’t mind. Besides, you know I’d rather sit by the pool and read.’
‘You sure? It’s just that we were talking about swimming round the island.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ said Chrissy. ‘And won’t it take hours?’
‘Nah, it’s not that far. It’s just the rip we need to watch on the other side, Pascal says.’
‘What about Jamie, is he going?’
‘Dunno. Don’t think so. He’s got the hump anyway.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘Well, it’s true. He’s a moody git. Jemma’s all right, though.’
‘Obviously,’ said Chrissy, and a flinch of jealousy stabbed at her, right in the fleshy part of her stomach. She caught herself. It was no big deal. Just because it turned out that she hated snorkelling, it wasn’t fair on Kenny to expect him not to do it either. If this went well, perhaps Jemma could entertain Kenny in the sea every morning, and she, Chrissy, could take it easy. Plus she and Kenny still had their siestas in the afternoons to look forward to. It wasn’t all bad.
‘You sure you’ll be all right, Chrissy?’ Kenny said now. ‘Why don’t you treat yourself to a massage or something?’
Was he trying to get rid of her, Chrissy wondered. She studied his face, looked for a sign, but there was none. The bright red of his nose made his eyes look bright and his teeth white and even.
They stared at each other, until Chrissy felt absurdly shy suddenly and dropped her gaze. She kicked him under the table, to ease the tension, and Kenny caught her foot and pressed his own bare one onto the top of it. Grains of sand dug into her skin, and she found that she enjoyed the sensation. Kenny took her hand.
‘I love you, Mrs Copthorn. Remember that.’
‘I will,’ said Chrissy. ‘Be careful.’
‘I will. I promise.’
60
Jemma
Jemma stood up from the breakfast table and walked over to the buffet, where she could have anything she wanted, but found she wanted nothing. How could there be all this choice, and yet everything left her cold? It reminded her of how hard it was to find something to watch on TV now that there were hundreds of channels. She felt faintly nauseous.
‘Are you all right, Jemma?’ Jamie said, as he passed her at the dim sum counter. His plate was loaded already. ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’
‘Um, yes, I’m just deciding,’ she said. She was grateful that he was acting fairly normally today, even if she wasn’t. Even though her ‘period’ was going on forever. Did Jamie realize the extent of how she felt, or did he just think she was having one of her neurotic spells – albeit an unusually long one – towards which he had learned to act fairly indifferently anyway? Or was he too busy enjoying the pool and the buffet and the boat trips to care?
When Jemma got back to the table, she had a single piece of pineapple on her plate. Jamie looked at her, incredulous. ‘Is that all you’re having?’ he said.
‘I’m not very hungry.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you just haven’t seemed yourself since the wedding.’
Jemma looked at her husband, and she didn’t know what to say. The words dammed up again, behind her eyes. It seemed her mini-attempts at affection where it was safe, at the bar, by the pool, hadn’t worked. He knew. Each night-time had been torturous for her, and surely for him too, and so breakfast was somehow the hardest to pretend over.
‘It’s cost us a lot of money to come here,’ Jamie said. ‘So can you please try to start enjoying it a bit more? You were the one who always wanted to come to the Maldives.’
‘So, is that what’s worrying you?’ she said. ‘That we’re not getting our full value for money?’
‘No, I don’t mean it like that.’
‘Well, what do you mean?’ Jemma was aware she was picking a fight, because that was easier than telling him the truth.
‘It’s just you … you seem different. Maybe it’s because you haven’t got anything to organize here.’ He smiled and took her left hand, stared at her wedding ring. She nearly asked him what he thought they should do, but then thought better of it.
‘Morning,’ said Kenny as he passed their table. His smile was broad but his sunburn looked worse than ever this morning. His muscly arms were blushing furiously beneath his tattoos. His nose was peeling. Jemma returned the greeting, but Jamie barely acknowledged him, which seemed odd to her. What did Jamie have against Kenny? Jemma wondered if it was because they both worked in the City, and perhaps Jamie looked down on what Kenny did. He’d muttered something about it, but Jemma hadn’t understood what he was talking about and hadn’t bothered asking. The City was the City, wasn’t it? High-powered and awash with money. Hadn’t that been at least part of Jamie’s initial appeal for her?
Out of time, out of nowhere, Jemma pictured herself, drunk on champagne, kissing Jamie in front of Dan, and she felt almost as ashamed now as she had at the time. Why had she betrayed Dan like that? And had Jamie only played his part because it meant he had won? Perhaps she’d simply been the prize, the meaningless prize, the bird caught in the jaws of a monstrous sibling rivalry that was bigger than her, and always had been. It sounded too brutal to articulate.
Jamie finished his plateful of food and went up for more. He looked like he hated her now, and maybe that would be easier. The bed was so big, they could pile their luxuriously plumped pillows high like sandbags down the centre, and they could take up position in their respective trenches for the remainder of their time here. Plus annulment was still an option, as long as she continued to avoid her conjugal duties. It seemed that that was the important bit, as far as the law was concerned.
Jemma�
�s mind was unplugging now and the bad stuff was in danger of swilling out, like effluence through a sewer. What had happened to her love for her husband? Where on earth had it gone? It was as if the blindfold was off at last, and it was so disconcerting she almost laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ Jamie said, as he came back to the table. He was scowling and his presence was like the sun going in. Bobbi, their breakfast waiter, came by with more tea, and Jemma accepted it gratefully. Like all the other waiters, Bobbi was gentle and smiley and he looked after them as though they were family, which seemed to be part of the Maldivian way. Jemma thanked him, and as he moved away she wanted to beg him to stay, to sit down with them, not leave her there with her husband.
‘Nothing.’
‘Jemma. We need to talk.’
‘What about?’
‘About what the fuck’s wrong with you.’
Jemma was shocked. This was so unlike Jamie. It wasn’t an accusation as such, more a tacit admission of his incomprehension of Jemma’s apparent misery at having married him, at long last. Its aggressive tone was to hide the whine of insecurity behind it. Jamie was not used to feeling unwanted.
‘I don’t think we should talk about it here,’ Jemma said.
‘Well, we need to talk about it somewhere. This is like being in purgatory.’
Jemma stayed silent, but she knew it was true. They were in purgatory, with palm trees. Jamie kept eating, and a trickle of soy sauce caught on his chin, and he didn’t look like a successful banker now; he looked like a twit. A needy twit with soy sauce in his stubble, in palm-treed purgatory. Jemma giggled. It was unravelling at last, and she was glad. Jamie pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘There’s something wrong with you.’ He stalked away from the table, and the abandonment was clear for everyone to see, in the broken angle of his chair. The gloves were off, and they were stranded in paradise, and Jemma had no idea what was going to happen.
