‘Why wasn’t your dad perfect? He sounds pretty perfect to me.’
‘He based his whole life on the philosophy that all people need is themselves. No society and all its trappings, not even family. But in the end, he spent a year wasting away alone, too scared to ask for help from the very people he thought he didn’t need.’
Claire thought of the sight that had greeted her when she’d found him in that flat. Dirty clothes sprawled all over the place; the smell of milk gone bad and rancid meat; the sound of rasping breath. Then him, lying in that sunken, single bed, face concave and pale, when she’d been so used to seeing it tanned and vibrant.
‘If he’d got the help he needed,’ she continued, ‘he might be alive now. Everyone has their issues. No one’s perfect, just like your mum’s not perfect. She may have gone through more than you could ever know.’
‘Like what?’
Like loving your uncle, she wanted to say. ‘Milo said she lost her parents when she was very young,’ Claire said instead. ‘Maybe that’s why she’s the way she is.’
‘Maybe.’ Holly stood up, her face closing up, just as Milo’s did whenever Erin was mentioned. ‘I better do my hair before dinner, it looks a state.’
Claire grabbed her hand. ‘Wait. You know I’m always here if you need to talk. I know you have Milo, and you must always talk to him, he’s your uncle. But if you find you can’t, I’m here too.’
‘I know,’ she said.
Before dinner that night, they all walked up the mountain holding lanterns. When they got close to the top, the white of the snow and the sparkle of the ice on the lake below shone bright, a strange snowy dreamscape. Claire looked at all the lanterns around her then caught her sister’s eye, wondering if she too was thinking of the lanterns their dad used to set off, taking with them any negative thoughts.
They needed a few of those lanterns right now.
‘Look!’ Holly said, grabbing her arm and pointing up to the sky as giant multi-coloured ribbons of red, purple and green flexed up and down above them.
Milo wrapped his arms around Claire, pressing his cheek against hers. They’d seen the Northern Lights plenty of times since they’d got here but to see them through Holly’s eyes made them extra special.
Holly peered over her shoulder at Alex, who was looking down at the ground, his face forlorn.
‘Go talk to him,’ Claire said to Holly. ‘Clear the air.’
‘No,’ Holly said, shaking her head. ‘I’d rather forget about everything.’
‘But that’s not fair on Alex, is it?’ Milo said. ‘Do you like him?’
Holly thought about it a moment then nodded. ‘Yes, very much.’
‘Then go talk to him!’
She smiled and walked over to Alex, taking his hand. He looked down at her, his face lighting up. Sofia watched them, her face darkening.
Claire thought of her conversation with Holly from earlier. ‘There’s something I wanted to talk about actually. When I spoke to Holly earlier, she said her mum might as well be dead.’
He went very still.
‘It worries me,’ Claire said. ‘I feel she’s keeping it all pent up. Maybe it’ll be good for them to repair their relationship when Holly turns eighteen and is no longer a child in the eyes of the law?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It wouldn’t be healthy for Holly. I told you what Erin’s like.’
‘But Milo—’
He tipped her chin up, looking into her eyes. ‘One of the reasons I love you so much – one of the many reasons – is that you help me forget the bad stuff, especially the look in Dale’s eyes when he …’ he looked towards Holly, his eyes watering, ‘when he died. So can we focus on the positive tonight?’
She examined his face for a few moments. She’d said her piece. It wasn’t her place to push it. So she pulled him close to her and he buried his face in her hair. A few moments later, Holly strolled back over.
‘Where’s your other glove?’ Milo asked her.
She looked down at her bare hand and frowned. ‘I must have dropped it on the way up.’
Milo took off his glove and gave it to her. She smiled, tugging it on. Then they all wrapped their arms around each other to keep warm, just the three of them on that little patch of snow, watching the Northern Lights stretch above them. In that moment, Claire felt the happiest she’d ever felt, standing there with the man she loved and a girl she’d grown to love too. It almost felt like they were family.
A few minutes later, they walked back down the hill and headed towards the main lavvu for dinner. As they drew closer, a small gasp rang out from the group in front of them and Claire heard her sister’s voice, a hint of distress in it.
‘What’s wrong?’ Claire asked, pushing her way through the small group with Milo and Holly.
‘It’s all my stuff,’ Sofia said, her face pale under the moonlight. ‘My PalmPilot, my folder, everything.’ She let out a sob. ‘It’s all ruined, the whole case.’
Filipe shone his torch on the ground to reveal several pieces of paper tangled around a nearby fir tree, the red folders Sofia used to keep them in scattered all over the snow. And there, in the middle of it all, was her precious PalmPilot, now smashed to pieces.
Sofia slowly turned towards Milo. ‘You did this,’ she shouted at him, spittle flying from her mouth. ‘You fucking did this!’
‘Milo wouldn’t do that,’ Claire said.
‘Really?’ Sofia asked. ‘You heard what Milo said earlier.’ She looked down at the remains of the PalmPilot then back up at Milo. ‘Don’t deny it, Milo.’
Milo’s eyes found Claire’s then he turned to Sofia, slowly nodding. ‘You’re right, I did it.’
Claire shook her head, not quite believing it. ‘But why?’
He didn’t say anything, just blinked at her.
As she tried to calm Sofia down, she looked over her sister’s shoulder and watched as Milo discreetly reached for a red knitted glove and shoved it into his pocket.
Chapter Seventeen
Ko Phi Phi Don, Thailand
2004
As my husband Will jumps off the boat and strides towards us, I feel nothing but trepidation. No joy at him coming all this way, nor relief.
‘Darling,’ Will says, grabbing me into a hug, his dark eyes sliding over to Sam. He pulls away from me and holds me at arm’s length. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m … I don’t know. I’ve been too busy trying to find Mum to think about how I am.’
‘Too busy to apply sun lotion too, it seems. Your nose is burned and look at your hair!’
I smooth my hand over my hair and Sam frowns. He’s standing with his friend a few feet away. ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask Will.
‘I booked a flight straight after our chat yesterday.’
I think of his harsh words about Mum and my grip tightens on her cardigan. This is so typical of Will, smoothing over an argument with some extravagant gesture.
‘So you’ve left the girls with your parents?’ I ask, voice stiff.
He frowns. ‘I haven’t left them to fend for themselves at home. You could at least look happy I’m here, Louise. And anyway, they’re with your father right now, my parents are picking them up tomorrow.’
I close my eyes. Of course he’s right. He’s my husband, for God’s sake! Plus he came all this way, even if the gesture is a few days late.
‘I’m sorry, I’m just – I’m surprised, that’s all,’ I say.
‘Good, that was the whole point. I’m here to help you find your mother.’
‘How did you know about the boat?’ I say, gesturing towards Sam’s friend’s boat.
‘The girls said the name of the boat you’d be travelling on means sea monkey in Thai. I asked around, found it, flashed the cash. Always works!’ Will turns towards Sam and stretches out his hand. ‘Will Kowalewski.’
Sam strolls over and shakes his hand, his eyes running over Will’s immaculate dark jeans and white designer shirt. Will wipes hi
s hand on his jeans, appraising Sam’s scruffy gold hair, his stained shorts.
‘Sam’s a volunteer,’ I say quickly. ‘He helps people like me. Relatives, I mean. He’s been wonderful.’
‘Looks like we owe you,’ he says, patting Sam on the back. ‘You’ll join us for dinner tonight?’
‘We’re not on holiday, Will,’ I say, cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his lack of sensitivity. ‘There are hardly any restaurants left standing, you know.’
‘Don’t worry, I have it all arranged,’ Will says. ‘A contact of my father owns a hotel on the north-east coast of the island, turns out it was hardly touched by the tsunami.’
I look at Sam. ‘I thought the whole island was affected?’
He shrugs. ‘Maybe not. The north-east is pretty sheltered.’
Hope blossoms. ‘Maybe Mum stayed there?’
‘There’s a chance.’ He quickly glances at the cardigan in my hand then away again. I can see what he’s thinking. There’s too much evidence Mum was staying in those ravished bungalows.
‘It’s a thirty-minute boat ride away,’ Will says, looking Sam up and down again. ‘Your friend said he’d take us.’
‘I better leave you to it then,’ Sam says. He turns to me, and the look on his face reminds me of how Mum had looked the first time she’d met Will. It was after he’d proposed to me. I’d set up a lunch, just the three of us. She’d walked into the restaurant, late of course, dressed in one of her trademark long skirts, rushing towards the table with a smile on her face. But when she’d caught sight of Will, she’d slowed down, her smile disappearing. I’d wondered if it was because he screamed of money in his expensive suit, slicked-back hair, uptight smile, her socialist tendencies making her take an instant dislike to him. But then she’d married Dad, hadn’t she?
Maybe that was exactly why she’d looked so disappointed: she was worried our marriage would end like just like theirs had.
‘Good luck, Louise,’ Sam says now, forcing a smile onto his face. ‘I’d like to know how you get on so call me once you find your mum, all right?’
I suddenly feel lost and realise I don’t want him to go, not like this.
Will frowns when he notices the look on my face. ‘I won’t hear of it,’ he says, turning to Sam. ‘We owe you dinner and, anyway, how will you get back without your friend’s boat?’
Sam’s brow furrows. ‘But I—’
‘We better hurry, I’m starving.’ Will takes my arm and marches me down the beach towards the boat without waiting to hear Sam’s response. I twist around to see Sam standing there, watching us for a few moments. Then he sighs and follows us.
During the boat ride to the other side of the island, I just stare out into the darkness as Will regales Sam with stories about his job, his black hair blowing in the breeze. He barely notices the destruction around him. Even though it’s dark, it’s still possible to see the wrecked shoreline in the moonlight, outlines once smooth and curved now jagged and ruined. Every now and again, the boat bumps into something, despite Sam’s friend trying his best to avoid whatever’s being brought in by the tide. I can’t bear to think what that something might be. I can’t bear to see how indifferent Will is to it too. Instead, I focus on my theory that Milo James is Holly James’s father. Did Mum suspect? Did she know? It wasn’t widely known considering Dale James was referred to as her father in the article I read.
The boat soon begins to slow and I look up, surprised to see lights dotted over a shoreline that looks completely normal and intact palm trees swaying in the breeze. We’re approaching what looks like a cove, a mountain shrouded with trees curving around it to its right. I can smell barbeque food, I can even hear music, a Thai woman’s voice lifting in the warm night air. It’s a complete contrast to the other side of the island.
We have to step through the sea to get to the hotel, a strangely warm and soft sea. I think about the destruction it wrought a few days ago and can’t quite believe it. As we approach the complex, it’s clear it’s five star, with a huge rectangular pool and straw-roofed villas dotted here and there.
Despite the smell of food and laughter, when we walk through the resort there’s a sombre feeling in the air, people watching BBC News 24 in the bar, others on their phones. It feels quiet and I wonder if people have checked out early, not willing to take the risk in case another wave hits.
A fat Thai man is waiting for us when we walk through a reception area housed in a larger version of the surrounding villas, the floors a shiny white marble. I think of the scene that greeted us when we arrived earlier in the day. For such a tiny island, it’s amazing to think this part of it was barely touched.
The manager shakes Will’s hand vigorously. ‘Welcome, Mr Kowalewski. I’m very pleased to see you here.’
‘And I’m very pleased to see your hotel still standing, Niran. My father sends his regards. This is my wife, Louise,’ Will says. ‘And this good man is Sam, he’s a volunteer who’s been helping Louise to find her mother.’
‘Very good,’ Niran says, bowing low to us. ‘I got that information for you, Mr Kowalewski.’
He looks at me quickly then hands an envelope over to Will.
‘What’s that?’ I ask Will.
‘Oh, nothing, darling, just business stuff for my dad.’ He turns back to Niran. ‘So, what’s on the menu for dinner? I’m starving.’
I muffle a sigh. Will seems more concerned about the food than whether Niran lost any family in the tsunami. I can see Sam notices it too, his brow creasing. I look between them both. It’s funny, how someone’s faults can suddenly come to light when you see them through another person’s eyes.
Niran bows down. ‘You are welcome to eat at any of our restaurants, just give your name to one of the staff,’ he says, gesturing towards a board featuring menus from three on-site restaurants.
Will smiles. ‘Wonderful.’
‘I’ve also arranged a room for you, Mr Kowalewski. I can arrange one for your friend too?’ He peers at Sam.
Sam shakes his head. ‘No, really, I’m—’
‘You have to freshen up before dinner,’ Will says, looking him up and down. ‘And it’s unlikely we’ll be going back tonight. Might as well make the most of the luxury here. I expect you don’t get much of it usually?’
Sam’s face flushes and I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is unbearable.
When we get to our rooms – two villas next to each other with their own private pools – Sam looks at me with a bemused expression on his face before he walks into his room. It’s obvious he’d rather not be here but Will’s known for bulldozing people into doing what he wants them to, it’s the reason he’s risen so quickly in the recruitment firm he works at. Maybe the reason I’ve stayed with him too, despite the way he treats me, the things he does.
‘Funny chap, that Sam,’ Will says as we walk into our room.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, just … different, I suppose.’
He closes the door and I fling my bag on the bed, Claire’s atlas tumbling out.
He walks over and picks it up. ‘What on earth is this?’
‘I found it in Mum’s bag. It belongs to a journalist called Claire Shreve, she was connected to Mum’s best friend’s daughter, Holly James. We think that’s why she was out here.’
‘Ah, yes, your father mentioned something about all that when I checked in on the girls earlier.’ He flicks through it. ‘There’s stuff in these pockets.’
‘I know, I think Claire kept mementoes of her travels. She was a travel journalist.’
‘Journalist, huh? Maybe I can recognise something. I read a lot of newspapers.’ He digs around the folder next to the map of the UK, tearing a bit of the pocket. I flinch. ‘Ah-hah,’ he says, waving the awards invite about. ‘This I know about.’
I take it from him, staring at it. ‘The Flora Matthews Foundation Prize,’ I say. ‘How do you know about this?’
‘Your mother.’<
br />
‘Mum went to this?’
‘She tried to. She called me on the evening of the awards and asked if I could pull some strings to get her in.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
He shrugged. ‘No need. Plus I was working on a big account then, I didn’t have time to tell you every detail of my life.’
I sigh. ‘Why did she want an invite?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘Did you get her one?’
He laughs. ‘Of course not! She gave me two hours’ notice! I don’t know why she thought I could. I know my job’s very important, but even I can’t perform miracles.’ He takes my hand. ‘Enough about all that though. It’s so wonderful to see you, darling.’
I look down at his hand. This is just like the time when he whisked me off to a plush hotel in Edinburgh after I’d found a saucy text on his phone from one of the firm’s secretaries.
I pull my hand away from him. ‘Why did you come? I asked you as soon as I found out Mum was missing and you refused.’
‘I didn’t realise how serious it was then.’ His face softens. ‘I love you, Louise. I want to be here for you.’
‘Are you really sure about that?’
‘How could you say that? You’re my wife, the mother of my children.’
I think of that photo of Claire and Milo, their eyes so full of love. ‘That’s not enough of a reason to love someone. There needs to be more to it than that.’
He wraps his arms around my waist. ‘Then let me show you.’
I step away from him. ‘No, Will. That’s not enough to show me either. And you can’t just pretend you didn’t say all that stuff about my mum yesterday. Just because you came all this way doesn’t erase the things you said from my mind.’
His nostrils flare. ‘Fine. Looks like I’ll be needing a cold shower then.’
He marches to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and I lean my forehead against the wall in frustration, trying to suppress the tears. It’s all too much, having Will here. And yet shouldn’t I be delighted? What does that say about our marriage if all his presence does is make me feel anxious?
The Atlas of Us Page 25
