The Last Resort(37)

Tiggy is silent. She won’t make eye contact. ‘Look, I didn’t want to say anything over there, with all the others. I . . .’ She hesitates, trying to find the words. ‘I’m not sure who to trust yet. I mean, I had a nice chat with Brenda earlier, but I know I was the one doing all the talking. James seems nice. I’m just not sure yet about Scott. And as for Lucy . . .’

Amelia looks at the bar again. Lucy is putting two cups onto a tray. She obviously senses Amelia’s gaze, and quickly turns away. The others seem to be engrossed in something that Scott is saying. He’s explaining something, pointing at things. James is nodding.

‘What’s wrong with Lucy?’ she says.

Tiggy groans. ‘Where do I start? She’s a gossip columnist. If there can be any more of a low-life profession than that . . . although, hang on, isn’t James a paparazzo?’ Tiggy glares at the two of them. ‘God, they probably know each other, don’t they? They’re both here to soak up our grubby little secrets. Urgh. I want to go home now.’ She shouts up to the sky. ‘If you’re listening, Big Brother, can you come out of your secret hidey-hole and get me the hell out of here, please?’ She puffs out a breath and crosses her arms over her chest, bringing her knees up and burrowing her face down in the same way she’s done every time she’s been upset before.

‘I’m not sure James is a paparazzo as such,’ Amelia says. ‘He hasn’t really spoken about it. And you know, I haven’t seen him take one single photograph.’

Tiggy’s head flips up. ‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? He’ll wait until you take your top off or something. Bloody leeches, the lot of them.’

‘I’ve really no plans to take my top off,’ Amelia says, puzzled. ‘Listen. Why don’t you just tell me about this party. These girls. The scene that was projected might not be real, but I have a feeling that you were there . . . that something might’ve happened.’

Tiggy drops her legs over the edge of the lounger and twists round to face her. ‘What, you don’t believe me now? You think I hurt her? You think I’m capable of pushing a champagne flute into someone’s face? Some awful bitch’s face? Some awful bitch who, along with her hideous bitch friends, had been taunting me, bullying me, goading me – about Giles, about his behaviour, about me, about my job, my family . . . my looks. Telling me all the time that I’m ugly, I’m not good enough?’ Her face is bright red now, and the words come out in a stream of angry spittle. ‘You actually think I did that?’

Amelia looks at the others, who are all watching with interest now. ‘Did you?’ she asks quietly. ‘You didn’t tell me about the glass before. You said there was an angry scuffle . . . I mean, I knew you were holding something back, but what you describe – the glass in her face – seems . . . extreme.’

There is a long silence, and Amelia starts to feel she’s gone too far. Her heart flutters, waiting.

Tiggy drops her head into her hands. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I did do that. I did glass her. It was this moment of pure rage. That thing people say about the red mist descending? It’s true. It’s actually true.’

Amelia swallows. Although she’d started to suspect it, she’s still struggling to believe that this small, vulnerable girl could be capable of such a violent act. She glances across and sees that James has picked up the tray and is about to bring their coffees over. Their eyes meet and she gives him a small shake of her head, and he stops, setting the tray down on the bar. ‘Let’s go back to the others, shall we?’ A shiver passes over her. Suddenly she is desperate not to be alone with Tiggy.

Tiggy shrugs. ‘Are you going to tell them?’

The vulnerability is here again, and it’s hard to compute. Maybe it was a one-off. Amelia shakes her head. ‘Not right now. I don’t think it would help anything, would it?’

Tiggy whispers a ‘thanks’ as they walk across the sand.

‘Hey, you’re back,’ Scott says, swivelling round on his stool. ‘We were just chatting about this place, trying to work out what we’re doing here. It’s not really what anyone expected, right? Any more word from Giles yet?’

Tiggy shakes her head.

James opens his mouth to speak as Scott swivels round again, and then stops. ‘Hey, did you hear that?’ He peers at the corner of the hut. ‘I thought I heard it before, but then I convinced myself I’d imagined it.’

‘Heard what?’ Lucy says. She’s looking at Tiggy with an expression that’s part intrigue, part fear. She knows. They probably all know. They saw the projection, Amelia reminds herself. She’s the only one who’s had to hear it second-hand.

‘It was a little click, and a whirr . . . electronic. I’ve heard it a few times now.’ He walks over to the corner of the hut and lifts up a triangle of yellow bunting. Then he pokes about in the straw where the roof meets the side support.

‘What is it?’ Brenda says. She’s rubbing at her leg distractedly, like someone shooing a fly.

‘Hang on . . .’ James roots around a little longer, then there’s a small cracking sound and he steps back, a triumphant grin on his face. ‘Et voilà,’ he says, turning and holding the thing out in his hand.

‘What is . . . oh,’ Scott says. ‘Well, I suppose I’m not really surprised.’