Something in the Water(28)

“Trust me?” I ask, looking up into his eyes.

He grins wide, eyes creasing. He knows I’m up to something.

“Trust you,” he answers. He squeezes my hand.

I lead him to the suite’s entrance and unlock the door. But he pulls my hand back as I try to push down on the handle.

“Erin?” He stops me. The storm rages on the other side.

“Trust me,” I repeat.

He nods.

I pull down the handle and the door flies back into my hand; the wind’s more powerful than I thought it would be, much stronger than it looked through the window. We step out onto the walkway and somehow I manage to wrangle the door shut again. Mark stands staring out at the maelstrom, the rain soaking fast through his T-shirt, darkening the fabric as I close the door behind us and take his hand again. We break into a run. I lead him along the stilt walkways, over the jetty bridges, onto the mainland of the resort, and on through the puddle-gathering pathways, all the way out to the roaring Pacific coastline. We stumble on through the sand, the wind buffeting us from all sides now. Our clothes, dark and heavy with rain, cling to us as we scramble out toward the waves. We stop at the edge of the South Pacific Ocean.

“Scream!” I shout.

“What?” He stares at me. He can’t hear me over the roar of the wind and sea.

“Scream!!”

This time he hears me. He laughs.

“What?!” he shouts, incredulous.

“Scream, Mark! Fucking scream!”

I turn to the ocean, the wind, the pounding abyss beyond, and I scream. I scream with every fiber of my being. I scream for what’s happening to Mark right now, for what happened to Alexa, for her dead mother, for mine, for Mark’s future, for our future, for myself. I scream until I have no breath left. Mark looks at me silent through the storm. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He turns, seems to be about to walk away, but then he circles back and he screams, long and hard into the lashing rain and fog. Every sinew poised, every muscle ready, a battle cry into the unknown. And the wind roars back.





By dawn, the storm has passed.

We wake in our suite to the usual gentle tapping of room service. The only evidence of the storm is the occasional loose palm frond, floating past in the lagoon, and our own hoarse voices.

I haven’t slept so well in years. After breakfast Mark goes to have a chat with the hotel dive coordinator. Mark wants us to go diving this afternoon. He’s going to see if we can go under our own steam. He and the dive coordinator seemed to hit it off pretty well yesterday, so I leave Mark to it and stay behind.

I promise Mark I won’t do any work, but the moment he’s out the door I’ve got my laptop open. There are emails from everyone. Wedding stuff mostly. But I’m looking for work emails, news about the project. I find one.

Holloway Prison has emailed about Holli.

There are new details about her release date. It’s been moved forward. It’s now set for September 12. Two days from today. Damn. It wasn’t supposed to be until after we were back.

I fire off a couple of emails to Phil, my cameraman, and Duncan, the sound guy; we’ll need to go to Holli’s house to interview her as soon as I’m back. It’s not ideal but we need the footage as fast as we can get it after she’s out. I also remind them of our Alexa-release filming dates. She’ll be getting out a couple of days after I get back, so there’s a little more prep time on that.

Another email catches my eye. It’s from Pentonville Prison this time. Eddie’s release date is set. My interview with him is penciled in for one week after we return.

And then there is a knock on the door. Odd. Mark has a key, why is he knocking? He’s up to something. I smile to myself as I head for the door and pull it open dramatically.

A tiny Polynesian woman stands in the doorway, smiling.

“Special gift. You take!” She beams up at me and proffers a misted ice bucket containing a bottle of very expensive-looking chilled champagne.

“Oh, no, sorry, we didn’t order—” I begin, but she shakes her tiny crinkly head slyly.

“No. Special gift. Gift from friend. Marriage gift. Yes!” She grins.

Well, that does make sense, I suppose. A gift from Fred and Nancy? Or Caro, maybe?

She nods at me to take it and for some reason I bow slightly as I take the bucket from her. Some unconscious nod to cultural respect, I suppose. I really shouldn’t be allowed out of the house sometimes. She giggles merrily, waves her little hand, and wanders back toward the hotel.

Inside the room, I place the bucket carefully on the glass coffee table. Beads of condensation drip down its sides. There is a note. I open up the thick card and read.

To Mrs. Erin Roberts,

Congratulations on the nuptials, sweetheart. Took the liberty of sending you a little gift. A nice Dom Pérignon 2006. Used to be the wife’s favorite. God knows we’ve had our differences over the years but she’s got taste, I’ll give her that. After all, she married me.

Anyway, I wish the best for you both now and in the future. Make sure he treats you right. Enjoy yourself, sweetheart.

Oh and apologies for the call the other week, I wasn’t able to speak freely at the time. But we’ll talk again very soon.

I heard they’ve sent you my release date. So we’re all set. Looking forward to meeting you in two weeks. I won’t waste any more of your time now. Get back out in that lovely sunshine.