I just hope he’s right.
41
AMBER
The dream is always the same.
I’m standing by my mother’s grave, a handful of gritty soil in my fist. A man in a white robe, holding a staff – the vicar? – intones, ‘We commit her body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’
A hand in the small of my back, firm but insistent, pushes me forwards until I have no choice but to peer into the pit. My mother lies on her back, her jeans round her ankles, staring up at me with vacant eyes. A man is on top of her, grunting and thrusting.
He must sense me watching because he stops and looks up. It is Rob Harvey, grinning like a monster in a horror film. He curls a long, crooked finger, beckoning me closer.
I try to step back, to run away, but the hand on my back just pushes me closer. Rob’s face blurs, a momentary relief. But when it comes back into focus it isn’t Rob staring up at me from the grave below.
It’s Felix.
I know I’m asleep and that this is just a dream, but that doesn’t stop me breaking out in a sweat, my pulse rocketing. I force myself to wake, desperate to escape from this horriblenew take on the nightmare that’s plagued my dreams since Rob assaulted me in the photocopying room. I reach out for Dom’s reassuring bulk, finding stones instead. My eyes flutter open and immediately I’m almost blinded by a searingly bright sun.
What the hell?
My head is pounding. My tongue feels furry, my throat like sandpaper. For a second, I have no idea where I am. Stones press into me. Sand clings to my face. I try to move but everything is too stiff, my brain too foggy. All I’m aware of is the heat of the sun on my skin and waves slapping against the shore.
Waves!
I force myself onto my elbows and look around groggily. I’m on a beach, the pebbles bleached white by the sun, a scattering of driftwood and tangled seaweed marking the high tideline. To my left is the jetty where Yannis met us when we first arrived in Pelagia. To my right, the craggy promontory that Villa Paradiso overlooks.
I’m still wearing last night’s clothes, I realise with a jolt. The pretty little sundress I found online is rucked up around my waist and my feet are bare. Filthy. My phone, in the pocket of my denim jacket, is flat. With a creeping sense of dread, I haul myself to a sitting position and order my thoughts. Slowly, memories of last night chase away remnants of the nightmare.
Simone’s birthday. The taverna. The sticky sweetness of my first Kir Royale. Felix’s hand on my knee, his fingertips brushing against my bare shoulder.
More alcohol. Simone’s eyes lighting up when Dominic gave her a copy ofThe Great Gatsby. The look of scorn on her face as she tossed my beautiful leather bag aside as if it was a piece of worthless tat. Barney and Felix rowing about a property deal before Barney stormed out.
Realising I was drunk. Felix following me to the toilet. Forcing himself on me. Dominic’s roar of anger. The dull thud of fist slamming into bone.
Dominic had grabbed my arm. ‘I’m taking you home,’ he growled. ‘Now!’
As he pulled me out of the taverna I’d taken one last look back. Felix was lying prone on the ground. Willow, her face as white as a sheet, was bent over him.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Dominic snapped at me, finally letting go of my arm. ‘Felix is a fucking cockroach. He’d survive a nuclear attack.’
I stumbled after Dom, my ankles turning in my flimsy sandals as I struggled to keep up. The beam of light cast by his phone jerked from side to side as he marched ahead, his back rigid.
‘Wait!’ I cried. Reluctantly he stopped until I caught him up, then he set off again at a furious pace, forcing me to break into a jog every few seconds to keep up.
We walked in silence for a while. My head was spinning – those bloody Kir Royales – and I needed every ounce of concentration not to stumble and fall.
I refused to think about Felix. If I did, I knew I would spiral, and the prospect terrified me. Instead, I said the first thing that came into my head, even though it was like picking a scab I should’ve left to heal. But that’s booze for you. It laughs in the face of common sense.
‘You still love Simone, don’t you?’
Dominic stopped so suddenly I almost collided with him. ‘What?’
‘That’s why you asked me out, isn’t it? Because I look a bit like her.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s OK,’ I sniffed. ‘I get it. She was your first love. No one can compete with that.’
