He turns back to me and cups my face in his hands. ‘You are nothing like Simone. You hear me? Nothing.’ His lips brush mine and he takes my good hand. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
I pull back. I have no idea if we’re going to make it off this damn ledge and there’s something I need to tell him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt.
‘What for?’
‘Not believing you. I thought you still loved her. I thought…I thought you asked me out because I was a younger version of her, or because you wanted to make her jealous. And then, the other night, I was convinced you slept with her.’
‘Oh, Amber, you couldn’t be more wrong.’
‘But you said—’ My eyes sting, and I brush the tears away impatiently. ‘You said you would always have her back. You told me never to ask you to choose.’
His face is troubled. ‘I was drunk when I said that. And stupid. I’ve spent half my life believing it because it’s what she wanted. But it was habit. Guilt. Whatever you want to call it.’ He thumbs a stray tear from my cheek. ‘It’s you I love, you crazy girl.’
He crushes me in his arms and I melt against him. ‘I love you too,’ I whisper, because I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
Eventually, he pulls back. ‘Ready?’
I’m not. My legs are weak as jelly, my head is spinning and my right hand is throbbing like it has a life of its own. But I smile at Dom, my brave, handsome boyfriend who was prepared to risk his life to save me. I nod.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
Every step sends pain shooting through me, but I try to block it out. All that matters is climbing off this rock face, inch by sodding inch. I shut out the roaring sea and the screeching seagulls and I focus on Dominic’s instructions as he guides me from bush to bush.
When he finally drags me over the edge of the cliff, I collapse onto the ground, sucking in air.
Neither of us speaks. Then Dom lets out a long, laboured breath.
‘If I ever suggest we come to Pelagia again, you have my permission to shoot me,’ he deadpans, and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, the pain in my wrist forgotten. Soon Dom is laughing too: at the ridiculousness of our situation, the bullet we have dodged and the fact that we are both still irrefutably, undeniably, gloriously alive.
And then I hear a rustle in the scrub. A shadow falls over us. I shield my eyes from the sun and look up, and there she is, Simone, looming above, her face a mask of fury.
A glob of spittle lands on my face as she snarls, ‘Please, do share. What’s so fucking funny?’
69
WILLOW
Mum’s finally here. I walk down to the jetty to meet her, and when she gives me a hug and I breathe in her familiar Chanel perfume, I’m not gonna lie, I burst into tears.
‘Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry about your dad. How are you doing?’
It’s the question everyone’s been asking me. Usually, it sets my teeth on edge. My dad’s been murdered. How d’youthinkI’m doing? But it’s different coming from Mum.
‘It’s been awful,’ I weep. ‘I wish you’d been here.’
‘I came as soon as I could, darling.’ She fishes around in her handbag, pulls out a packet of tissues and hands them to me.
I blow my nose. ‘I know.’
‘How far’s the villa?’ she asks, looking around.
I’d forgotten she’s never been here before. Dad bought the land a couple of years after their divorce. He’d have let her use the place if she’d asked, but she never did. She’s too independent.
‘Ten minutes?’ I pick up her carry-on and she threads her arm through mine. She keeps up a stream of chat on the way to the villa, telling me about the perfume she found in duty-free, the screaming toddler on the flight and the surprise upgrade ather hotel in Corfu Town. Listening to her is like a salve. Before long I can feel some of the tension in my shoulders easing.
As we pass the hoardings for Villa Olympus she stops and points.
