David turned on his side, felt the tender muscles contract, but even as he winced the pain lessened, faded away to nothing. What would Inger say to Marianne? Would she tell her that he had thrown himself into the water? He couldn’t imagine what words she would use.
His body was filled with energy, crackling, fizzing. He got up, stretched, walked around the bed, walked back. He had to do something. The thought that Marianne might refuse to come to him was unbearable; he had never even considered it until Inger had put the idea into his head. But now, for the first time, he wondered if he had really committed an act of intrusion, of violation. It was agonising to think she might consider this to be another example of the male need to dominate, to control, just like the attacker at the library. All he wanted was to hold her, to take her home. It was impossible to change his desire for her, and he couldn’t escape the thought that to come this far and not see her would damage him permanently. Making sense of everything depended on her – surely she would see that? And yet, Inger’s calm face would not stress the urgency of it. It would be easy for Marianne to dismiss Inger, to decide that real life could wait.
He found himself jogging out of the door, into the night. The cold and the rain did not change his mind. He shrugged them off, ran faster. He felt stronger, more powerful, for moving, making his lungs and legs work. The gleam of Inger’s torch was his beacon.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Amelia’s collection of Egyptian artefacts is really stunning, and it’s amazing how few women choose to come and visit it, really. I mean, the details are in reception and it’s open at all times, just upstairs. I’d be happy to take you around the upper floors later. It’s a museum dedicated to her and there’s so much to learn, there really is…’
Finally, Vanessa takes a breath. I’m so grateful for that pause; my ears were beginning to hurt. She talks too loud on this, apparently her favourite subject. She’s been talking about it ever since Rebecca brought it up, which was the second we got here.
‘What’s wrong?’ Vanessa says to me. ‘Don’t you like Greek food?’ She’s put together a spread of Greek meze: dolmades, stuffed olives, hummus, souvlaki, rice salad. It covers every inch of the enormous, rectangular glass table. I’ve no idea how she managed to get the ingredients, but the food is abundant and the four of us will never make a dent in it. When I think of the fact that Vanessa was not actually expecting Rebecca and Kay to turn up as well, this banquet becomes inexplicable. Is it meant to be a sign of wealth? Of her ability to spoil herself? Or perhaps she’s like a nervous mother who has overprepared for her child’s birthday party, laying on far too much food and too many games, determined to do too much rather than not enough.
‘It’s lovely,’ I say, not able to think of anything else that begins to cover it. Kay, sitting on the opposite side of the table, has adopted a bemused, entertained expression, barely on this side of polite. I wish I could do the same.
‘Did you recognise the quote on the letter? And in reception? Homer. Quite significant.’
‘Of what?’
‘The male sex.’
‘So, Vanessa,’ says Rebecca, ‘I think it’s so great that you’re really happy to open up about the statue monster thing. When did you first meet it?’
‘I can tell that you don’t believe in it, and really, I can understand that,’ Vanessa says to her, meeting her eyes directly, ‘because you aren’t important, are you? I don’t mean that in a cruel way. It’s just very obvious to me that you’re a bit player in this story, trying to elevate yourself to centre stage, hopping up and down in your desperation to control everything and failing quite dismally. But really, you’re too old for this shit, aren’t you? If I can be forgiven for that cliché.’
Kay makes a coughing sound through a mouthful of dolmades.
Vanessa turns to me. I get a sense of her frustration and annoyance in the way she leans over the table, her hands clenched. I recognise myself in her body language. ‘I don’t know why you found it necessary to invite your new friends.’
I’m not sure either. I don’t think that I did, exactly. When I got back to the chalet they were waiting for me, the two of them, desperate to tell me that the manager of the island was looking for me, that I was in serious trouble, and what was I going to do? Their excitement, their tension, was the reason I told them about meeting my mother, and that act seemed to have established an inviolable group, whether I liked it or not. It was taken as read that they would accompany me to dinner. I can’t say I don’t want them here, exactly. They are muddying things, perhaps, but it’s beyond me to judge it. I had no idea what to expect from tonight. The Greek food alone has thrown me completely.
‘As you say, it’s not about anybody but Marianne, is it?’ says Rebecca. ‘Marianne asked us to be here. So here we are. For her.’
My mother looks at me and raises an eyebrow.
‘Lovely meal,’ says Kay. She’s the only one left eating. ‘Did you have all this stuff delivered?’
‘The Sea Princess brings over the supplies every Saturday. I sometimes put a few bits and pieces on the list. Perhaps I went a little overboard when I found out Marianne was coming.’
‘You wanted to impress her?’ said Rebecca.
‘Is that so strange?’ Vanessa snaps back.
‘After eighteen years, some would say so.’
Vanessa falls into a thwarted silence. Does Rebecca see herself as my champion? I can’t stand the thought of it.
‘It worked,’ I say. ‘I am impressed. It’s very tasty.’ This awful repetitive circle we’re following: the food, the food, the food. Suddenly I hate myself for playing by the rules. ‘If you wanted me to think of you as a good cook rather than as a good mother, then yes, it worked.’
She says, without any hesitation – I suppose this is more like the kind of conversation she prepared for in front of the mirror – ‘Well, at least I’m a good something.’ And I find myself liking her, just a little, in the way that I might like a stranger who has said something witty and cool back to a rude acquaintance.
But then I remember her choice to stay here, and I’m wary of her all over again.
Kay has finally stopped eating. She looks around the dining room as if seeing it properly for the first time: the long purple curtains, the table, the chandelier and the obediently burning fire in the fireplace. There is, unbelievably, a stuffed white cat on a tasselled red rug before the fire. It is curled into a ball, but also elongated and flattened, as if it has been sat on a few too many times.
‘This place is bizarre,’ says Kay. ‘I love it.’
‘I wouldn’t have felt comfortable changing things,’ says Vanessa. ‘I didn’t feel it was my business. Everything is just how Amelia left it. It really reflects her personality, you know, precisely. The… rich, illusory bravado of it.’
‘What an interesting description,’ Rebecca says to the stuffed cat. ‘Illusory.’
‘Old women living alone like to pretend they’re still young.’ Vanessa sighs. ‘I find the photographs the most interesting part – pictures taken of her with so many rich and famous people. She knew everyone.’
‘Sounds like you should open this place up properly. To the public, not just the women here on holiday. You’d make a fortune.’
‘Oh, we could never have that. Besides, we don’t need the money.’
‘Ah…’ says Rebecca, as if a locked door has just been thrown open wide. ‘Of course. No men allowed. Because of the monster. Can I call it that?’
‘I prefer to think of it as a statue.’