The honeymoon, p.1
The Honeymoon, page 1
To my wonderful mum, for everything
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
A heavy storm rolled in last night – a month’s worth of rain in two hours, unheard of outside of the rainy season. The soaking wet steps leading down from the remote viewing platform would have been lethal.
The sudden change in weather caught everyone off guard, including the man whose body now lies at the foot of the rough concrete steps – splayed out on his back, body twisted to the ground, as if he had plummeted from the raised structure. His gaping mouth is crusted with dried blood; his slackened, tanned skin already slowly mottling in the morning heat appears more severe due to the spread of bluish-purple bruises.
He probably came here for the view. After all, the Indian Ocean is just metres away, over the edge of the limestone cliffs. But, this high up, the sea breeze does little to slow the pace of decomposition. The body is already rotting under the glare of the bright sun.
Hundreds of tiny leaves and colourful petals from overhanging trees have been blown across the corpse by the warm wind, but the floral confetti crown does little to soften the man’s haunting expression.
Then, you take a step closer.
The fresh grazes on his thick knuckles. The marbled bruises spread across his exposed forearms. The muddy brown half-moons of dirt in his nails, evidence of a desperate grapple to stop him hurtling towards death.
A fresh gust of salty sea air is all it takes to reveal the truth, the petals covering his neck now dancing away in the breeze.
Suddenly, everything is a little clearer.
This is no accident.
1
Erin
Monday 12 September
As soon as I see her, I know that we will never be friends. Not back in normal life. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. But fate is clearly about to bring us together – so who am I to complain?
I try not to make it too obvious that I’m looking as she pads over in her Chloé sliders, the rose gold lettering sparkling in the sun. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a neat topknot. She seems like someone who invests in herself and takes care of things. Nothing like me.
‘Is this bed taken?’ she asks. She has the voice of a radio presenter, full of energy and warmth. I detect a London accent.
I pretend to look up. ‘Sorry?’
She points to the sun lounger next to me, her nails a pretty pale pink. That’s when I see the ring. It catches the light and makes me blink, despite the very large black sunglasses I’m wearing. It completely overshadows my single stone solitaire.
‘No, it’s all yours,’ I say, as casually as I can. ‘My husband is having a siesta.’
The novelty of calling him my husband hasn’t worn off; I don’t think it ever will. I picture Jamie spread naked across the bed under the chill of the air-conditioning, on top of sheets that still hold the scent of our lovemaking from this morning.
‘Well, it’s hard work, relaxing in paradise.’ She smiles and sinks on to the thick, squishy pad.
Within seconds a member of staff is by her side. ‘Would you like a drink, Mrs Spencer?’
‘No, thank you, Ketut.’ She smiles, shielding her eyes with the side of her hand.
I see a name badge pinned to his pressed linen uniform. Ketut clasps his palms and bows his head; he vanishes as quickly as he appeared.
‘Hot, isn’t it?’ She removes her thin ombré-shaded sundress in one seamless movement, exposing a slender, tanned figure that immediately makes me wish she’d sat anywhere but next to me. ‘They’re saying there’s going to be a thunderstorm later. It makes sense. Something needs to clear the air.’ She fans her face. ‘I like it hot, but not this hot.’
‘They’re supposed to be pretty epic out here,’ I say, then cringe. Who uses the word epic at my age? ‘You here on your honeymoon?’ I nod to her left hand, the glinting engagement ring nestled next to a thick gold band. It’s amazing she’s able to lift her arm with the weight of all that diamond and metal. It clearly cost an absolute fortune.
‘Guilty.’ She laughs. She has this charming, husky chuckle. My own laugh is too loud. It makes people in the street turn in a start when they hear it.
‘Snap,’ I say, but keep my hand by the side of my thigh. I wouldn’t say I was embarrassed by my rings, just that they aren’t quite to my taste. Both my wedding and engagement rings used to belong to Jamie’s grandmother, and I love the sentimentality, but they’re not what I would have chosen. Not that I could ever dare say this aloud to anyone. I’m still getting used to wearing them; perhaps they’ll grow on me.
‘I’m Sophia, by the way,’ she says.
‘Erin.’
Sophia. I couldn’t picture a more perfect name. The way the final syllable rolls off the tongue like slipping into a warm bath on a cold evening. She reclines on the lounger and stretches out her long, slim legs. Of course, she must be thinking what I’m thinking, comparing our bodies, my burnt skin next to her olive tones. I self-consciously rearrange my faded black T-shirt that covers my plain and slightly too snug swimming costume. Chilled beach club music carries across from the infinity pool, all plinky repetitive beats and soulful vocals coming from the DJ booth in a bamboo cabana.
‘Where’s your husband?’ I ask.
‘Mark? Oh, he’s gone to the local market, but I wanted to have a lazy day before we fly home. We’ve been doing all sorts of activities all week, but today is our last full day. I couldn’t face trawling around packed stalls, not in this heat.’
The hotel is up on the cliffs but today the air is unbearably close. Cloying. Without a fresh breeze wafting through the rattan parasol every so often, the heat feels suffocating. My pale English skin has protested enough during this honeymoon, hence the T-shirt cover-up.
‘We’re leaving tomorrow too. First thing.’
‘Ah, we’re tomorrow evening.’ She lets out a heavy sigh. ‘God, I really don’t want to go.’
I nod in agreement, but I don’t mean it – this tropical heat is wearing me out.
Sophia rummages in the woven beach bag resting by her bare feet. Her neat toes are the same colour as her fingernails. She pulls out some sun cream and squeezes a dollop on to her hand and starts massaging it into her shoulders. Her arm twists into a funny angle as she tries to get to the part in between her shoulderblades.
‘Do you want me to do it?’ I offer.
‘Oh. Thanks. I just can’t get this bit here. I don’t know why they haven’t invented anything that lets you put it on without needing help.’ She laughs again and I notice the awkwardness in her voice.
I take the sun cream. The heavy scent of coconut rushes up my nose. It’s not the type I use – you can tell straight away that it’s expensive: it doesn’t drip like the cheap one I picked up in Boots. This feels more like a luxurious body soufflé. She flinches at the coolness of the cream against her warm skin that heats my palms.
I make sure to be as gentle as I can.
The next few hours pass by quickly. I’m taken aback by how effortless the conversation is considering we are two complete strangers. It’s not deep and meaningful by any means, we mostly chat about our weddings, but she doesn’t make any excuse to leave.
‘I mean, I would give anything to relive it all but this time really enjoy it. Less stress, you know? I know everyone says planning a wedding is stressful but I had no idea how exhausting it would be!’
I gather that they had a big day, lots of guests, a detailed schedule, a seating plan military leaders would be proud of, made up of hundreds of tiny decisions which all fell to her. ‘I can’t believe I got so worked up over such small things. Seems a bit silly now. I just wanted it all to be perfect.’
I nod in agreement but, in all honesty, I never cared about the pointless details of the day itself. No wonder she has so much tension in her back.
‘What is it you do?’ I ask, expecting her to say she works in fashion or PR.
‘I’m sort of in between jobs at the moment. I worked in the City but the long hours got too much,’ she says, adjusting her bikini straps. ‘Mark works as a mortgage adviser. What about you?’
‘Jamie owns his own security system business and I used to be at Red Bees, it’s this sort of youth facility which takes care of challenging teenagers – the ones that no one else wants to deal with.’
‘Wow, stressful but rewarding, I bet?’
‘Just like planning a wedding.’ I swat a buzzing insect away.
She laughs. ‘Exactly!’
I flush; not many people think I’m particularly funny.
At one point she goes for a swim, does several powerful lengths then rejoins me. There is still no sign of Jamie, or of her husband, Mark.
‘So, what are you doing for your last night? Anything nice planned?’ she asks, sliding off her hair elastic and combing her fingers through her wet hair.
‘We’ve got a table booked at the Blue Fin.’
Her eyes widen, as I knew they would. We were lucky to get in; Jamie booked it ages ago as a treat for our final night.
‘Oh, wow. I’ve heard amazing things about that place.’
‘You should come!’
The offer spills out of my mouth. I expect her to turn it down immediately but she pauses. Her green eyes crinkle.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ I waft a hand to pretend it’s no big deal. As though we go to places like the Blue Fin all the time, which is a lie. I’ve looked up images online; even our wedding venue wasn’t as fancy as this place. It’s a little further along the cliffs, nestled against the limestone rocks, with its own viewing platform suspended over the vast ocean. The kitchen staff actually go down to one of the sandy coves and fish while you wait.
‘No.’ She shakes her head. Droplets of water sprinkle on her flat stomach as she does. ‘Thank you, but I don’t want to intrude on your last night.’
‘You wouldn’t be, honestly. It’d be nice to have some company. I’ve had ten full days, twenty-four seven, with Jamie, I think we’ve almost run out of things to say to one another!’
I don’t know why I say that. It’s supposed to be a joke but she doesn’t laugh. Instead, she chews her bottom lip. ‘Are you sure? Really?’
I nod, and push my feet into my flip-flops. ‘I’ll go and ask reception to call and add two more chairs. I’m sure it’ll be no problem.’
‘Don’t you want to check with your husband first?’
‘Jamie’s so laid-back about things like this.’ I swipe my hand and dash off, buoyed by my sudden spontaneity.
Despite him telling me it’s fine, I can tell that Jamie isn’t enchanted by the idea. I probably shouldn’t have woken him from his siesta, but he must see how excited I am. So, to keep his new wife happy, he doesn’t dampen my spirits and tell me it’s ridiculous having dinner with a couple we’ve only just met. I feel a thrill when asking the receptionist to amend our reservation, telling her that it’s now a table of four, not two.
2
Sophia
‘Don’t you think it’s weird to make friends on our honeymoon?’ Mark asks as we walk into the clifftop restaurant.
‘I already tried to get us in here and there was a waiting list,’ I say, shifting in my silk jumpsuit, hoping it’s smart enough for a place like this. Up close, the Blue Fin looks even better than it did online. A petite waitress leads us past a DJ playing ambient house music, his decks under low-hanging chandeliers made from driftwood that sway in the air-conditioned breeze. Sun-bleached drapes hang on either side of the doors, framing the view. Flickering candles in glass lanterns light our way across the large terrace that juts out across the Indian Ocean.
Mark flashes a winning smile and shakes his head. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.’
‘Well, there’s still time to turn around.’
‘It’s fine. Let’s just hope they’re a nice couple.’
‘If not, the food will make up for it,’ I say behind my hand, spotting Erin waving at us. They are sitting side by side, waiting for us to take our positions. A spectacular spray of delicate white orchids and vibrant lotus flowers takes up the centre of the table.
‘Sorry we’re late!’ I give an awkward wave, unsure whether to kiss her hello or not.
Erin is wearing a sleeveless dress covered in wide, dark green palm leaves. She flicks her hair back and I try not to wince at how sore her burnt shoulders look.
‘I’m Sophia, and this is my husband, Mark.’
‘Hey! I’m Jamie.’ The men shake hands across the table. I guess they’re around the same age as us – early thirties.
Jamie is one of those people who smile with their whole face. He welcomes us and gestures for us to sit down. A waft of expensive oaky aftershave fills my nose as he goes to sit back in his chair. He looks nothing like I imagined. Dark wavy hair, a hint of stubble across his tanned jaw, and the most piercing blue-green eyes. I’m ashamed to say I’m surprised – Erin is so . . . plain.
‘I still find it strange introducing you as my husband,’ I say to Mark, laughing, feeling flushed. ‘Wow, this place! Thank you so much for inviting us,’ I continue, pressing my hands to my cheeks.
‘No problem,’ Jamie says warmly.
‘Our pleasure!’ Erin grins.
Just then a waitress appears and hands out drinks menus. I focus on the extensive list of fresh fruit cocktails and try to get a grip. Of course Mark is handsome too, in a cuddly, honest, salt-of-the-earth kind of way. When you’ve been together for as long as we have, it’s easy to overlook this. I give his thigh a stroke under the tablecloth, grateful that he can’t read my thoughts.
I choose a lemongrass-infused mojito. The men have gone for spiced rum cocktails.
‘Oh, hang on,’ Erin says, as the waitress is about to leave. ‘Please can I change my order? I’d like the same as Sophia.’ She gives me a wink.
‘So, whereabouts do you live in England?’ Jamie asks.
‘London. How about you?’ I say, picking up a complimentary spiced rice cracker.
‘Same, well, I used to live in Battersea but recently moved out to the country,’ Jamie says.
‘I was so used to living in small flats, I couldn’t believe it when we first went to see the house in Sussex,’ Erin adds.
‘Sussex? My sister is over in Harrow End,’ Mark says.
‘Really? We’re in East Fern. We only just moved there, literally a week or so before the wedding.’ Erin smiles.
I sit back. ‘You moved house, got married and planned a honeymoon? Wow.’
‘Makes sense to get the stresses in life out of the way in one go,’ Jamie says casually, shrugging. I imagine he’s downplaying how hard it’s been.
‘If you’re ever nearby then let us know,’ Erin says. ‘The house has plenty of room for guests.’
At first, when Erin invited us tonight, I was only thinking about being able to say we’ve dined at the Blue Fin. Now I feel mean for taking this couple’s hospitality for granted. They’re clearly just very generous and friendly people.
‘Sophia told us you went to the market today?’ Erin asks Mark, fanning her face with the menu. ‘Was it full on? I don’t know how you coped in this heat.’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t too bad.’
‘I’ve never been a fan of markets,’ she says. ‘All the pressure of haggling and having to make decisions on the spot. I get all flustered. Then add in the heat. God, I would have been useless!’
Jamie lets out a warm laugh. ‘You’re not that bad.’
‘You just have a much better poker face than I do,’ she says to Jamie, who pours cucumber-infused ice-cold water into our glasses as we wait for our cocktails.
‘The moment you hesitate, that’s when you’ve lost. You can’t let them see any sign of weakness, right, Mark?’ Jamie replies.
‘Exactly, mate.’ Mark nods in agreement. ‘Nerves of steel is what you need. It’s all about willpower, really.’
