‘Oh hello. You took your sweet time,’ she says, a suggestive laugh never far from the surface of her words.
He can hear the tinkling of jewellery somewhere around her body and imagines her wrists, her neck, her ears. Her deeply tanned skin so different from the delicate lily of her mother’s. It must be out of a bottle, he realises. A girl with red hair like hers would never be that colour naturally. He pictures her long titian waves but it only serves to remind him of Tobias. They are so alike and he feels his lip curl. Still, all the more reason to screw them both over.
‘I’m coming back down soon,’ he says. ‘Tomorrow in fact. Your father needs me apparently.’
‘Oh good,’ she replies and he hears an intake of air, the draw on a cigarette perhaps. ‘This place hasn’t been the same since you left.’
He laughs.
‘It’s only been a day or so. Surely there must be plenty of boys your own age hanging about down there. What about the local lifeguard?’
She makes a snort of disgust and again he is reminded of Tobias.
‘Too young and inexperienced,’ she says. ‘Not the brightest either. All a bit inbred round here, if you ask me.’
‘Right, well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that. But if you want to be one of the grown-ups, you’ll have to be good at keeping secrets. Can you do that, Bella?’
She gives a throaty laugh. ‘Sure. Don’t worry, Marcus. I’ve had the very best teachers, especially when it comes to my parents. They won’t suspect a thing, I promise.’
‘Great. Smart girl. See you soon, then,’ he says and rings off before she can reply.
13
Olivia watches Drew as he stands, wobbly but erect, on the paddleboard. The instructor is giving him gentle encouragement in the soft burr of his local accent. Drew nods, his young features serious in concentration. As the lesson draws to a close, she can see him look over towards her every so often, still eager for her approval.
She stands now and walks towards Bella who has finished her phone call and her cigarette and is gathering her things together into her oversized bag, as though getting ready to leave the beach.
‘Belle,’ she calls querulously. Why does her voice always sound worried or angry when she speaks to her children these days? Her daughter looks up, Olivia tries not to notice the almost imperceptible eye roll. ‘Hello, darling,’ she says, reaching Bella’s periphery. ‘Drew’s nearly finished his lesson. Shall we find somewhere nice for lunch soon? Fish? Burgers? Your choice.’ Her daughter pushes up into a kneeling position and stares back at her, askance.
‘Oh my God,’ she says, laughing. ‘What is that thing in your hair?’
Olivia’s hand flies to her head. She had momentarily forgotten about the weave. Turning, she sees Drew jogging along the beach towards them, his face full of invigorated pride.
‘Did you see me, Mum?’
‘Yes, darling. You’ve come on so quickly. You’ll be an expert by the end of the week.’
‘You look bloody ridiculous!’ says Bella.
Drew kicks some sand at his sister and she twists away just in time to avoid a dusting.
‘Not you, idiot. I meant Mum. That thing in her hair.’
‘I thought it was pretty,’ says Olivia defensively, picking up the tail end of the weave and inspecting it. ‘Besides, I felt sorry for the woman doing them. She looked a bit desperate. Foreign.’ She says the last word in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.
‘I like it,’ declares Drew.
‘You would, suck-up!’ says Bella with another roll of her eyes. She pulls down her sunglasses like a visor, as though the conversation is closed.
Drew turns back to Olivia.
‘She was probably an immigrant, Mum. Looking for seasonal work. My instructor was telling me about it. He reckons they come over here all the time, trying to steal their jobs and that I shouldn’t accept tuition or anything from anyone who isn’t with an established local firm.’
‘Oh,’ says Olivia, fingering her hair weave tentatively. ‘Well, I thought she looked like she could do with the money.’
‘Fair play,’ says Drew, distracted now. ‘I’m starving. Did you say something about lunch? I’ve just had a recommendation for this amazing-sounding place further down the beach. It’s a bunch of local guys called the Taco Lads and they sell their stuff out of a converted horsebox. Imagine that. Just cooking and surfing, all summer long. What a life!’
‘I’m sure it’s a bit more complicated than that, dickhead,’ says Bella, who seems to have tuned back into the conversation.
