Читать книгу No Escape: The most addictive, gripping thriller with a shocking twist - Lucy Clarke, Lucy Clarke - Страница 12

‘Some of us don’t have legs that can stretch that far!’ Kitty yelled.

Lana paused, glancing over her shoulder at Kitty, who was standing barefoot on a boulder, arms folded over her chest. Her cheeks had pinkened and there was a gleam of sweat across her forehead. ‘Want a leg up?’

‘No, I bloody don’t!’

Lana grinned. Then she watched as Kitty hauled herself up the rock, puffing and cursing.

They climbed the last part together, finally reaching the others who were at the top of the rocky cliff face, standing on a wide ledge that jutted out above the water. A warm breeze stirred the air, carrying the chalky scent of the rocks.

‘Guess I’d better test out this dive board,’ Denny said, moving to the edge of the cliff face and peering down. A 40-foot drop ended in a still blue lagoon, where he’d been snorkelling earlier to check the depth.

Denny removed his T-shirt and knotted the string on his board shorts. His body was lean and tanned and Lana’s gaze followed the contours of his wiry muscles, imagining how she’d sketch him, where she’d shade, and which lines she’d follow. He was fit and seemed to have boundless energy; every morning he swam before breakfast, and if Lana sloped into the saloon before dawn for a glass of water, she’d find Denny awake, a coffee and his laptop in front of him as he worked on a translation.

Denny turned his neck from side to side, then performed a series of elaborate leg stretches.

‘Get on with it!’ Aaron called.

Denny took a few steps back from the cliff edge and then ran forwards, launching himself into the air. Lana was expecting something impressive, but he bunched his knees up towards his chest and bombed downwards, a boulder of limbs. There was a thunderous white splash as he hit the water. A moment or two later, he erupted through the surface to whoops and cheers.

Lana heard the flick of a lighter and turned to see Joseph smiling in the shade, lighting a roll-up.

‘Do me one, Joe-Joe?’ Kitty asked.

‘Thought you only smoked when you were drinking?’ Lana said.

‘How do you know I haven’t been drinking?’ Kitty said with a wink.

Kitty reached across as Joseph passed her his lit cigarette. ‘Thanks, honey.’

They spent the day hanging out on the cliff top where the breeze was at its coolest. The dives became more ambitious, with Denny and Heinrich trying to outdo each other with somersaults, inelegant back flips, and swallow dives – landing with slaps that seemed to echo off the rocks.

Lana noticed the competitive edge to Heinrich, who sought out the others’ praise when he returned to the cliff top after a successful dive. Shell teased him that his formation was a little off, losing points for bent legs on entry. He looked genuinely disappointed by her verdict, until Shell’s face broke into an easy grin.

When the heat became too much for Lana, she jumped from the ledge too, enjoying the burst of adrenalin that pumped hard through her veins in that moment when her feet left the rock. When it came, the smack of water was an exhilarating white burst that filled her nose and mouth with salt water, and she surfaced coughing and laughing.

Around lunchtime, Shell took the dinghy back to the yacht, and returned with a bag full of sandwiches, fruit, and bottles of chilled water. They ate looking out over the incredible view. Not a single boat was sighted and, apart from a plane flying overhead, they were entirely alone.

As the sun began to lower, one by one the crew made their way back to the yacht, until only Joseph, Aaron and Lana remained on the cliff top. Joseph wandered to the edge with another cigarette, peering down at the drop. The breeze flattened his shirt against his body and Lana noticed for the first time how thin he was. She could see the sharp jut of his shoulder blades and the ridges of his spine.

‘Going to jump?’ Aaron said from behind him.

Joseph just shrugged, his gaze on the water.

‘You’re not going to give it a go?’ Aaron asked slyly.

Joseph turned to face Aaron, his back to the cliff edge. Very slowly he drew the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. He blew the smoke upwards to the sky, then he dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his bare heel. He placed his glasses carefully on the ground and took a step back so that his heels were at the lip of the cliff.

‘Careful,’ Lana said.

Joseph crouched down, and then in a shock of movement, he flung himself up and back, his body arching. His arms were outstretched at his sides and he seemed to float silently through an inverse world. His shirt filled with air, rising away from his chest and exposing the pale skin of his stomach. As he neared the surface, he brought his arms together in a neat point, piercing through the blue water.

Lana gasped. White water bubbled on the surface, cloaking Joseph from view. Then suddenly there was a rush of movement as he surfaced.

‘Yeeaaah!’ Denny bellowed from down below, his voice echoing off the rock. The rest of the crew, who were still in the lagoon, whooped and cheered, too.

Joseph trod water for a moment, his blue shirt clinging to his body – and Lana was certain she could see him smiling. Then he turned and swam calmly back towards the yacht.

‘I’ll be damned,’ Aaron said, shaking his head. He looked at Lana for a moment and said, ‘Did that actually just happen?’

‘It did.’ She grinned.

Without another word Aaron walked to the cliff edge, then dived forward, his chest expanded, arms stretched out. It looked for a moment as though he was suspended in the air, offering himself to the sky. When he landed, he didn’t come up for breath but swam underwater, his dark shape visible below the clear surface as he ploughed hard in the direction of the yacht.

Lana picked up Joseph’s glasses from the cliff edge and gathered her things. Before beginning the climb back down, she stood on the cliff edge watching the rest of the crew swimming towards the yacht, Joseph at their centre. She found herself smiling, pleased for him.

Standing there, she felt a strange longing, as if she were watching the scene, not part of it. Somehow she knew these golden moments couldn’t stretch out endlessly. She yearned to press ‘pause’, to freeze this exact point in her life and hold onto it tightly.

*

Later that evening, the crew sat in the cockpit in the glow of a few candles, the cliff casting a dark shadow in the background. The wind had changed direction and small waves shivered through the bay, making the yacht rock. It was a rare, almost perfect evening, conversation moving fluidly from topic to topic and laughter rippling out over the dark water.

Up at the bow, Joseph was sitting alone again, writing in his notebook by head torch. Lana picked up her beer and moved along the deck towards him. ‘Mind if I join you?’

As he turned, the beam of the head torch swung over her face. She squinted, holding a hand up to her eyes.

‘Of course,’ he said, turning off the torch. He closed the notebook and slipped it away into the breast pocket of his shirt.

‘Impressive dive you made earlier,’ she said, lowering herself down beside him. ‘Where did you learn?’

‘Paris. Years ago I join a diving club. Many nights’ practice on the high board.’

‘Do you do any diving now?’

‘No. Not now.’

They sat in silence, the noise and laughter of the others drifting towards them. Lana was comfortable in the absence of words, having grown used to it in her own home. She felt a strange allegiance to Joseph – perhaps because she sensed his isolation from the rest of the crew and knew what it was to be an outsider, often wondering how lonely her teenage years would have been if she hadn’t met Kitty.

She watched the water, noticing how the tops of the waves glinted silver in the faint light of the moon. After some time she turned to Joseph and said, ‘Do you mind me asking what you’re writing?’

He thought for a moment, and then answered, ‘Poetry.’

‘Poetry about what you see, or what you feel?’

It was his turn to look at her. ‘That is interesting question.’ From the pocket of his shorts he took out a tin of tobacco and some rolling papers. His fingers were long and nimble, practised at evenly packing down the tobacco. ‘I write about what I feel.’

She nodded.

‘I see you with an art pad sometimes, yes?’

‘Yes. Sketching, mostly. Out here there’s so much I want to draw.’

Joseph lit his cigarette and took a long drag. As he exhaled, he asked, ‘You have fun on the boat, then?’

‘A lot. We’re very lucky to be part of this.’

‘It is different, to travel by boat. It is freedom, no?’ He took another drag and then offered her the roll-up. Lana hadn’t smoked regularly since university, but she still had the occasional yearning. ‘Thanks,’ she said, lifting it to her lips and inhaling. Nicotine flooded her head, giving her a pleasing rush.

‘Who did you leave behind at home?’ he asked.

She passed the roll-up back, saying, ‘Just my father.’ She pictured him in his worn green cords and a tired office shirt, sitting in his armchair with the newspaper folded at the crossword. She was surprised to feel a stirring of pity as she thought about the lonely routine of his days, wondering who visited the house now. ‘How about you?’

He laughed, but Lana caught the strange, sad note to it. ‘There is no one.’

‘What about your family?’

‘None.’

‘No family? None at all?’

He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘My mother and father are dead. One year ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. What happened – if you don’t mind me asking?’

In the moonlight, she saw Joseph’s expression darken. ‘They died in a house fire.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said with meaning. She remembered Denny telling her about how they’d found Joseph sleeping rough on a remote Filipino beach. He must’ve been out of his mind with grief. ‘Is that what made you leave France? Come out here?’

He nodded slowly, eyes on the water. ‘I had some money, so I could be anywhere. Sometimes it is better to go, yes?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Sometimes it is.’

*

Lana went to bed at midnight and lay sweltering on the top bunk in just a pair of cotton pants, her skin clammy with suncream and salt. She wished there was enough space between her bunk and the ceiling to sit up fully. The porthole only opened a crack, barely allowing in any breeze, and she could feel sweat beginning to bead between her breasts.

The peaceful sound of the sea sloshing against the keel did nothing to lull her thoughts: they kept circling back to her father. Since joining The Blue her days had been so full that she could go for hours without thinking about him, yet often at night she’d find herself examining memories from her childhood, searching them for the faint cracks where the lies ran through.

Lana pushed her hand through the slim gap in the porthole to see if it was cooler outside. It wasn’t. She sighed.

From the bunk below, Kitty whispered, ‘You still awake?’

‘I think my organs are melting,’ Lana said.

‘You try this heat with sunburn,’ Kitty said, who’d insisted on the cliff top that she was tanned enough not to need suncream.

Lana rolled onto her front and lay with her head hanging over the edge, her hair trailing down. Below her, Kitty propped herself up a little on her elbows. Lana’s vision adjusted in the darkness so she could see the outline of Kitty’s features.

‘Kit, d’you remember how desperately I used to want to go to Greece?’

‘Course. For an entire term your packed lunches were feta-and-olive pittas.’

Lana’s mother had been brought up on the outskirts of Athens, before moving to England. Lana had only a few wisps of memories of her – like the smell of roasted aubergine and olive oil that filled their kitchen, and the strong angles of her mother’s bone structure that were set in relief by her full lips.

She said to Kitty, ‘My dad always claimed we couldn’t afford the trip, or he wasn’t able to take the time off work.’ She shook her head. ‘Just another of his lies. I keep on remembering all these little things – hundreds of details that were all bullshit. My whole childhood was a fucking fabrication!’

‘Don’t say that,’ Kitty said, pushing herself up as straight as she could within the bunk. ‘Your dad loves you, Lana. I know he fucked up – I know that – but he did it for the right reasons. He was trying to protect you.’

Right now all Lana wanted was to hear Kitty rage alongside her, the way the two of them had always done. Her hurt was too raw, too full, to allow Kitty to see things from her father’s perspective. She sighed. ‘Think I’m going to go for a swim.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

Lana climbed out of the bunk, which creaked and strained beneath the press of her feet. She unhooked her bikini from the back of the door, which was still damp from earlier.

‘You’re really going?’

‘I’ll stay close to the yacht.’

‘But it’s dark.’

‘Tends to happen at night.’

As Lana moved towards the door, Kitty said, ‘Lana, are you all right?’

‘Fine. Sorry. Just overheating, I think.’

‘Okay …’ Kitty said. ‘Just be careful, won’t you?’

‘Course,’ Lana said. As she slipped out of the door and along the passageway, she felt herself thinking of that strange, slithering touch she’d felt a few nights ago and just for a moment she hesitated.

*

Lana crept along the passageway towards the galley, where the lingering smell of their mince dinner still hung. She heard the faint sound of snoring drifting from a cabin somewhere and the hum of the fridge.

Up on deck the air was only marginally cooler, but just being out of the narrow space of the bunk felt good. She was moving towards the stern when someone started.

‘Shit!’ Denny said. He was standing with his back to her. ‘You always creep up on people when they’re taking a piss?’

‘Sorry,’ she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘And there’s a queue if you’re wanting to use the open-air bathroom.’

‘Think I’ll use the underwater bathroom.’

‘You’re swimming?’

She nodded. ‘Need to cool off.’

‘Fancy company?’

She shrugged. ‘If you can keep up.’

*

They dived from the bow, the cool night sea closing around their bodies. Lana led, swimming away from the yacht and the shadow of the island, out towards the silver pathway of the moon.

They swam without words, hearing only the sounds of their arms cutting through the water, the rhythm of their breathing, the kicking of their feet.

The moon was almost full – a waxing moon. One of Lana’s ex-boyfriends had once explained how you could tell whether it was waxing by looking at the right-hand side of it, which should be full and rounded – whereas the left edge should be flatter, making it look like a ‘D’ shape. When the moon was waning the edgings were the other way around.

After some minutes Lana slowed, treading water. Denny paused alongside her. The yacht floated serenely in the distance, moonlight catching on the curve of the hull and the tall line of the masts. She thought of their friends curled in their bunks, the light lapping of waves rocking them in their sleep.

‘Joseph’s dive,’ she said, trying to shake free of the thoughts of her father that still lingered at the periphery of her mind, and think of something light-hearted to talk about. ‘Wasn’t it brilliant?’

Denny grinned. ‘I love that he’s been on board for almost two months, yet he’s not breathed a word about being some Parisian diving god. He just let the rest of us get on with our hooting and gooning – and then ends the day with that manoeuvre. I was feeling pretty pleased I’d nailed the swallow dive until I saw that.’

‘Nailed?’ she said, an eyebrow arched.

‘Okay. Attempted.’

Lana rubbed the water from her eyes and said, ‘I was talking to Joseph earlier. He told me about his parents. They were killed in a fire.’

Denny nodded. ‘Only last year. There’s no one else either – no other family. I can’t … I can’t even imagine that.’

‘You’ve got a big family?’

‘Not huge. Just my parents and a brother. How about you?’

‘It’s just me and my father.’

‘Are you close?’

She made a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. ‘Not right now.’

Denny waited, saying nothing. In his silence, Lana was horrified to find that tears had sprung up on her lower lids. She wiped at them hurriedly.

Denny swam nearer. ‘Hey, what is it, Lana?’ he asked gently.

She didn’t know whether it was the darkness cloaking them, or the anonymity of being at sea, or the open, intent way Denny was looking at her – but Lana found herself beginning to explain. She told him about the last time she’d seen her father, which was a few weeks before she’d left for the Philippines. She’d been kneeling on the floor of her father’s bedroom, when she heard the front door opening downstairs.

‘Lana? Is that you?’ he’d called.

She hadn’t answered. Hadn’t moved. She’d listened to the slow tread of his feet as he climbed the stairs, sliding his palm along the banister. The floorboards creaked as he crossed the landing to the doorway of his room.

‘Lana, what are you—’

He’d stopped when he saw his old leather suitcase open, and a Manila envelope in her grip. Her father lifted a hand to his throat, pinching at the loose skin around his Adam’s apple. ‘Lana …’

It scared her the way his whole face changed into something blank and fearful, and his voice sounded hollow, as if he were two people: the one she’d always known, and this new version of himself.

‘You … you …’ she began, but couldn’t seem to make her lips work. Her tongue had felt numb and thick in her mouth. She lifted up the envelope, which contained a letter from a Greek solicitor. ‘She didn’t die, did she? Not when I was three.’

Her father had closed his eyes, the muscles in his face slackening so that all his features dragged downwards.

Lana told Denny that she’d always believed her mother had been killed in a car crash – but that the truth was entirely different.

Her mother had walked out on them, returning to her homeland. She had been desperately unhappy living in England, and had found comfort in a Greek doctor who was on secondment at a hospital where Lana’s mother worked. When his contract was finished, she returned to Athens with him, saying nothing of the family she was leaving behind.

‘I tried telling you the truth at first,’ her father had said, his voice choked with emotion, ‘but you were too young to understand. Some mornings I’d wake to find you sleeping on the rug by the front door waiting for her to come home.’

Eventually her father decided they needed a fresh start, so they moved to Bristol, buying a small terraced house on a street that Kitty would move to a few years later. ‘When I took you for your first day at primary school, your class teacher asked that you tell her a little about yourself. Do you know what you said, Lana? You told her you were four, your birthday was in August, and that you didn’t have a mummy because she’d gone away to heaven. I was horrified,’ Lana’s father had said. ‘I’d no idea where you got that from – but your class teacher was already patting you on the arm, saying, “I’m sure your mummy is watching you from heaven.” You’d beamed then, the largest smile I’d seen in months. And so … I didn’t correct you.’ Her father had simply stayed silent, and from there, the lie strengthened and grew until it became so permanent that it seemed to be the truth. Later, when Lana started asking how her mother died, her father had come up with the story of the car crash.

Lana’s mother never wrote or phoned from Greece. Apparently she’d come back, just once, when Lana was sixteen. Lana had been out at the time and her father had explained to his ex-wife that Lana believed she was dead – and that he wasn’t prepared to undo that unless she was committed to establishing a regular relationship with her daughter. Her mother had cried, saying her new husband still did not know about Lana. And then she walked away for a second time.

‘I would never have found out the truth,’ she said to Denny, ‘except I discovered a letter from a solicitor that said my mother had passed away two years ago.’ She paused, shaking her head. ‘All those years I mourned her – but she was alive. And my dad knew.’

When Lana finished talking, her mouth was dry and the muscles in her legs were beginning to ache.

Denny was watching her closely, his expression fixed on her face. ‘I’m so sorry, Lana,’ he said, and she could hear the earnestness in his voice.

The only other person Lana had told the story to was Kitty, and she felt oddly exposed for talking like that in front of Denny. She pulled her gaze away, staring upwards. The sky was an ocean of stars and she felt the inconsequential nature of her existence – just a speck, floating. She allowed herself to be calmed by the idea that all the thoughts that consumed her, looming large in her mind, were – in the end – really nothing.

Gradually her breathing began to settle and she felt the water rise and fall over her chest with each exhalation. She wondered how far down the seabed lay – 100 feet, 200 perhaps? Seaweed and soft corals swaying below in the dark, fish feeding and resting, shells closing for the night.

When her gaze returned to Denny, he was still watching her, his hair flattened to his head. Moonlight glistened on his arms as they stirred the surface, his eyes on her.

‘Well, that’s my story,’ she said with a forced brightness. ‘What’s yours?’

A fleeting tightness passed over his face. Then he rolled onto his back, spread his arms at his sides, and let the sea bear his weight. ‘I don’t have one,’ he said to the sky, matching the brightness of her tone.

Lana pressed her lips together as she watched him, a strange feeling ebbing through her as if she’d just lost something that she hadn’t quite found.