And I was stupid enough to want to marry one, Lucy thought.
‘What’s the night life like round here?’ she asked the barman.
‘Are you here on your own?’
‘Yes – no – that is, I’m with my parents.’
‘Ah.’
Lucy wasn’t quite sure what his exclamation signified. As though in justification, she explained that her father used to work at the hotel. Eddy looked interested.
‘That so? What’s his name?’
‘You wouldn’t remember him.’
‘Try me.’
‘No, really,’ Lucy laughed. ‘It’s over thirty years since he worked here.’
The barman whistled. ‘Before I was born.’
‘Me too.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’
They chatted for a while. In the course of the conversation Lucy told him her father had been employed as the hotel accountant in the seventies. A couple of girls came over to the bar and Lucy wandered off to find a free sunbed. The heat was intense as she strolled to the far side of the pool where a row of sunbeds were shaded by palm trees. She lay back and closed her eyes, deciding to give herself half an hour at most before she went inside. Even in the shade the heat was vicious and her naturally fair complexion burned easily.
A shadow fell across her face and she looked up to see Eddy the barman and another man walking towards her. She sat up and tucked her sarong around her thighs as the barman introduced his companion. Tall and broad shouldered, Adrian looked about thirty. His black hair was parted on one side and fell over his forehead, almost hiding eyes so dark she could not distinguish pupil from iris. He flicked it back with a jerk of his head but it slipped down again as he leaned forward to talk to her. His skin was swarthy from the sun, giving him a Hispanic appearance.
‘Adrian’s the hotel accountant,’ Eddy explained, and Lucy smiled.
‘So your father used to be the accountant here?’ Adrian asked, as he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.
‘A long time ago.’
Lucy told him about her father and learned that Adrian had been working at the hotel for just over a year. He had no plans to leave, although he said he had studied in England and might go back there one day.
‘It must have been strange returning after being away for so long,’ she said. ‘How did you manage to settle in again? It’s all so different here. Did you feel like you were on holiday when you came back?’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t really like that. People are very accepting here. And in any case I attended an international school, so friends came and went all the time. Nothing was ever permanent for me, not where people were concerned.’
Even when you believed relationships were permanent people still let you down, Lucy thought bitterly.
‘But I always knew I’d come back. How do you settle for the cold and the wet when you’ve grown up with all this?’ He waved his hand towards the palm trees and the sky. ‘It’s beautiful here and the longer you stay the more you fall in love with the place. If you like I can show you the sights. There’s a coastal road that runs round the island, and paths over the mountains if you fancy a hike.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘Or I could take you into the capital, Victoria.’
Lucy thanked him and explained she was there with her parents.
Adrian smiled. ‘Bring them along too. The more the merrier, and it will get me out of the office for a few hours if I’m showing English visitors around. Especially if it’s someone who used to work here at the hotel.’
It might have been the sun, or the distance from home, or perhaps it was because he was a stranger, but Lucy found Adrian was easy company. For the first time she was able to talk about the break up of her relationship without any embarrassment.
‘Turns out he was a complete shit,’ she concluded her sketchy narrative. ‘He’d been seeing his other girlfriend on and off all the time and I didn’t even know anything about it. Can you believe it? I was completely taken in by him. What an idiot!’
‘I reckon he needs his head examining as well as his morals,’ Adrian replied and she smiled, acknowledging the compliment.
Adrian had to return to work but he promised to look out for her later on. Lucy went up to her room to escape from the heat. Worn out after travelling, she fell asleep without even starting to unpack. When the phone shrilled beside the bed she sat up, wondering where she was. She did not recognise the plain white walls and brown curtains, or the unfamiliar hum of the air conditioning. Only when she looked over towards the window and saw the ocean with its low lying islands did she recall where she was. Her phone was still ringing, so she rolled over on the bed and grabbed the handset, glancing at her watch as she did so. It was half past six.
‘Lucy, where are you? Is everything all right?’
Lucy winced at the note of alarm in her mother’s voice. Although she was grateful for her parents’ support since she had returned to them, distraught, she was beginning to feel hemmed in by their protectiveness, and she hated the thought of them worrying about her.
‘I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me. I fell asleep, that’s all. I’ll be down soon but I want to get changed and I really need a shower. Why don’t you and Dad have a cocktail together and I’ll see you soon?’
‘Well, all right, if you’re sure you’re OK.’
‘I’m fine, Mum. Don’t spoil your holiday by worrying about me. You go on ahead and I’ll join you. Just give me half an hour.’
The buffet dinner was excellent. Lucy had never seen so much food. Restraint was unthinkable after several cocktails. She sampled dish after dish until she simply had to stop.
‘You have to pace yourself.’ Her father’s warning came too late.
Feeling sick, and regretting her indulgence, Lucy felt a surge of anger. At her age, she should have been on holiday with a boyfriend, not her parents. Accusing her of being needy and dependent, Darren had blamed her for the failure of their relationship, but he was the one who had lied and cheated. She struggled to keep her composure.
‘It really is perfect here, isn’t it?’ her mother said.
They were sitting over drinks when Adrian wandered over and greeted her. With a glance at her parents she invited him to join them. He pulled over a chair and sat, insisting he had already eaten. Just then a waiter came over to clear their table and tell them about the desserts.
‘Not more food,’ Lucy groaned.
The waiter nodded at Lucy’s father as he stacked their plates with quick, practised movements.
‘You used to work here, sir.’
‘I did indeed. Now how on earth did you know that?’
‘Eddy the barman told me.’
Adrian smiled at the waiter’s retreating back. ‘Tell one, tell all,’ he said.
‘That hasn’t changed then,’ Lucy’s father replied, leaning back in his chair.
Adrian shook his head and his long black fringe flopped forward over his eyes.
‘If you want to keep anything secret in this place you have to keep it very close to your chest. The islanders are the most dreadful gossips.’
Her father fiddled uneasily with his glass. Lucy wondered if she had spoken out of turn in telling the barman about his past connection with the hotel, but that was more than thirty years ago. What harm could it possibly do to mention it? And in any case, if she had not told the barman about her father, she might never have met Adrian who was good company and had offered to show her around the island. It occurred to her that her father might resent a stranger stepping into his role, but just then her father threw his head back, laughing at a joke Adrian had made, and Lucy dismissed her qualms. The holiday had only just begun. She was determined to make the most of it.
2
LISTENING TO GOSSIP IN the bar, he overheard the long-awaited news. Without betraying his interest, he paid careful attention. A conversation on the patio later confirmed his suspicion. It was as well to make sure. He doubted he w
ould recognise the Englishman after so many years. The dark angel would know if he was the one. She had been waiting for his return for a long time.
Without warning, the patio was crowded with people, chattering and laughing. He slipped into the bushes, irritated by the noise. Ignoring the path he wound his way through dense shrubbery until he was completely hidden from view. Making his way back through the gardens, he followed the path down the side of the hotel to his van, and set off. Along the coastal road he stopped. Clambering down from the driving seat, he leaned back against the side of his van, heedless of the small flowers crushed beneath his feet. Moonlight shimmered on the ocean a few yards away, beyond a stretch of golden sand. He closed his eyes, seeing another scene in his mind, another beauty.
A few holidaymakers were walking along in the shallows, parallel to the shore. He barely heard their brief bursts of laughter. Other figures stood with their backs to him, gazing out over water glimmering in the moonlight. He hardly saw them. Two scrawny brown-skinned children hared past, giggling as they chased one another. Their game came to an abrupt end when they spotted a ghost crab. They crept forwards, circling around it. The crab vanished into the sand and they ran off, shrieking. He observed their antics, without really seeing them. He had no recollection of his own childhood games; he remembered only the life he had forged for himself.
His thoughts began to race. With trembling fingers he rolled a cigarette and stood staring at the sea, his mind in turmoil. His arms hung loose, the cigarette dangled from his bottom lip. As a thread of smoke rose fluttering in the air, he tried to recall exactly what he had heard. It was growing dark, but he was not ready to talk to her yet. First, he wanted to think. Whatever happened next, he must not fail her. At last he climbed back in the van, muttering under his breath. With a sudden jerk he put the engine into gear.
Leaving the road after a few miles, he drove up a wide track and turned off onto a narrow path. Even with his window wound down, he could hardly hear the sounds of the forest above the whine of his engine. The van laboured up a steep incline, the terrain increasingly rugged. A couple of times the engine growled and knocked loudly and the vehicle juddered. He took no notice. Even when the path was completely hidden beneath overhanging branches he did not brake, but followed every twist of his route until he could go no further. Continuing his journey on foot, he reached the hut where she was waiting for him.
He burst in, eager to share his news. ‘He has returned! And he has a wife and daughter with him.’
He could not read her expression. She had waited so patiently for this moment. Closing the door, he crossed the room and took her in his arms, gently stroking the top of her head as it rested against his shoulder.
After a moment she pulled away from him with a crafty smile. ‘You want to know what I’m going to do.’
He waited for her to speak again.
‘I’m not going to tell you,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’ Her grin broadened, stretching her pale face.
He lowered his head in silent homage.
3
THE NEXT MORNING, LUCY’S father hired a car as soon as they finished breakfast. They wanted to drive to the capital, Victoria, before the heat became unbearable. At the far end of the bustling street a granite hill dominated the view, a reminder that the island had been there long before the road with its ramshackle shops and crowded pavements. Everywhere Lucy looked she saw brightly coloured apparel, as though the people were striving to outdo the brilliance of the flowers that grew on the island. They negotiated their way through a forest of brown limbs, flowering shrubs in large terracotta pots, cars, children trotting along the street, the whole scene buzzing with the noise of people and traffic. Despite having passed a restless night, Lucy felt fresh and alive. Admittedly she had been tipsy when she had gone to bed, but walking along the busy street in the daylight it seemed ridiculous that she had gone to sleep crying about Darren. The exuberance of the dirty street was infectious.
Blue railings enclosed the market. As they walked through gates twice as tall as a man a powerful smell reached them, an indeterminate blend of vegetables, raw fish and the zingy scent of fresh fruit. Garbage bins and buckets of mouldy food detritus stood just inside the gate. Lucy held her breath at the stench. A cloud of tiny birds flew up from a mound of spilled flour, startling her. Following her father in the shade of a corrugated metal ceiling, her senses were assailed by vibrant colours and pungent aromas, and a hullabaloo of clamouring voices. Stout women with large bags slung over their shoulders haggled with stallholders beneath the shade of umbrellas. All the fruit and vegetables were massive compared to the ones Lucy was accustomed to seeing in England. Only the tiny bananas were smaller than those at home. Oranges, purple cabbages, green peppers, white cauliflowers, yellow bananas, red watermelon – produce of every colour was there on display.
‘I don’t remember the market being on two storeys,’ her father said, staring at the bright fabrics hanging over the first floor railings in a second level of colourful display.
‘Maybe you never noticed the upstairs because it was clothes,’ her mother replied. ‘You were probably more interested in the food.’
He chuckled and began pointing out different fruits: guava, papaya, lime, star fruit and fresh coconut. All available now in supermarkets at home, thirty years ago they had been virtually unheard of in the UK.
‘The place is definitely more upmarket than it was when I lived here. And I definitely don’t remember it being so colourful.’ He looked around. ‘No, it was more downbeat then.’
‘You can see the paintwork isn’t thirty years old,’ Lucy said.
She squinted up at wooden struts supporting a corrugated iron roof, the whole edifice held up by metal pillars painted red and blue and yellow to match the railings up the stairs.
‘Nothing stays the same,’ her mother said.
Lucy thought about the granite mountain they had glimpsed beyond the town, and the orchids they had seen growing wild along the side of the road.
They wandered on past stalls displaying huge avocados, bunches of green and yellow bananas, red tomatoes bigger than apples. Fish lay side by side on a grey slab: whole silver tuna, mottled grey groupers, red snappers that were bright pink with silvery scales, grey fish emblazoned with astonishing red dots, and a stunningly beautiful turquoise fish with purple scales.
Lucy gazed along the row of glistening cadavers laid out in a morgue bursting with life. ‘It’s enough to put you off eating fish,’ she muttered, but no one was listening. ‘And we think London’s cosmopolitan,’ she added, gazing around at the market packed with local people of every ethnicity.
Alluring scents of spices and fruit were superseded by odours of garbage and fish. A large white bird perched on a railing, eyes fixed on a brawny man chopping heads off fish with a cleaver, while women clustered around waving their hands and chattering shrilly.
They watched a man cut the end off a coconut so that it stood upright on his table. With rapid swipes of his knife he peeled back the husk at the other end, pierced the flesh, and poked a straw through the hole. Finally he decorated the coconut with a small bright flower before handing it to a waiting customer. Lucy was tempted to buy one, just so she could watch the speed at which the stallholder transformed the coconut into a drink.
‘I wonder if it’s nice?’
‘You can bet on it,’ her father answered. ‘Coconuts here are nothing like the dried up versions you get at home.’
‘Coconuts are very high in saturated fat,’ her mother said.
‘Don’t be boring!’ he scolded her and they both laughed at some private joke.
With a faint shriek Lucy’s mother pointed to a large spider, its thin yellow legs crawling across a cobweb.
Lucy’s father laughed. ‘That’s a comparatively tiny one.’
While her parents were chatting, her attention was caught by a figure standing in front of some cardboard boxes on the far side of the market. She was almost certain he was
the same bowed old man who had startled her by the pool the previous day. He stared intently at her from beneath his battered straw hat. As she watched, he grabbed another man by the arm and the two of them engaged in animated conversation before the second man turned towards her. He also seemed to gaze straight at her, eyes narrowed, while the first man continued speaking. She was convinced they were talking about her. Losing interest, the second man shrugged and turned away while the first man pulled his shabby straw hat lower over his corrugated forehead and crossed his arms. His eyes almost hidden beneath the brim of his hat, he leaned against the wall, motionless, his face still turned towards her.
‘What’s he looking at?’ she asked her father.
‘What’s that?’
‘That man over there, I just wondered why he was staring at us . . .’
She looked round but the old man had vanished into the crowd.
‘What’s the matter?’ her mother asked, instantly wary. Automatically she checked that her bag was zipped shut.
Lucy shook her head. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing. I just thought a man was staring at us, that’s all.’
‘The Creoles often stare at tourists,’ her father reassured her.
He turned to feel the guavas at the next stall. The vendor yelled at him in Creole and he replaced the fruit quickly, as though it had stung him.
‘You wanna buy? You wanna buy?’ the stallholder shrieked. ‘For you, special price.’
‘But he was staring at me,’ Lucy persisted, troubled.
Her father turned to her. ‘Don’t worry. It’s natural. You’re a beautiful girl. Of course you’re going to get admiring glances.’
She nodded, forcing a smile. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
The old man had not appeared to be admiring her good looks. On the contrary, there had been something menacing in the way he had glared at her. Not normally anxious or paranoid, after Darren’s betrayal she did not think she would ever trust anyone ever again. With a sigh, she shook off her feeling of disquiet. Maybe she had misinterpreted his glance. And if local people resented foreigners coming to their island, there was nothing she could do about it. She was on holiday with her parents. All they had to do was enjoy the market before they followed the coastal road back to the Garden of Eden.
Journey to Death Page 3
