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Chapter 12 Kate

12 KATE

NOW

The boat for the dolphin cruise is at the port at the top end of the island. The heat of the day has cooled, now that the sun is lowering, and a reviving breeze lifts from the sea. A boatman invites Kate, Camilla, and Darcy to climb the ladder at the side of the boat to the rooftop, and, after a bit of a wrangle with the narrow steps, Kate finds herself watching the islands that appear in the far distance and the fish that move like shadows in the water below.

There are eight guests up there, five on either side, seated on padded mats on the wooden roof, small bottles of wine and soft drinks sitting in ice buckets in the center. Darcy and Camilla are sitting side by side, deep in conversation; to Kate’s left a couple lie facing each other, and opposite them is another couple in their seventies. A retirement holiday , she thinks. She and the man to her right make eye contact.

He leans forward onto his knees, reaching for an ice bucket. Plucking out a bottle of white wine, he turns to Kate.

“What would you like?”

She smiles at him, noticing a thick accent, Spanish or Italian—she can’t place it exactly. Even so, he spoke English to her. “A Coke, please.”

He passes her a bottle of Coke, then a plastic cup from a stack beside the bucket.

“Cheers.”

“Salud.”

He pours the contents of his wine bottle into the cup. “You don’t drink?” he asks.

“Only very occasionally,” she says. “Since I turned forty, alcohol tends to give me restless legs. Do you know what that is?”

“You mean ‘itchy feet,’ like you are bored and seeking adventure?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “It’s a condition. Restless legs syndrome. It makes you feel like bugs are creeping beneath your skin.”

He grimaces. “Oof. I’m sorry to hear that. Yes, very smart to avoid alcohol, in that case.”

He’s older than her, mid-to-late fifties, attractive in a world-weary way. Salted sideburns and quiff, the rest of it jet-black. Heavy brows, sharp cheekbones, dark-brown eyes that don’t miss a beat. He wears a white linen shirt and khaki shorts with flip-flops, has inordinately hairy legs. She immediately likes him. Consideration from strangers goes a long way with Kate. That, and his eyes have yet to fall to her breasts.

“Have you been to the sister resort?” he asks, nodding at the island they’re passing.

“No, not yet,” Kate says.

“It’s identical to this one,” he says. “But good to kayak across to. Only twenty minutes. The water is so clear you can see all the way to the bottom. You can rent a glass-bottomed kayak. The reef is beautiful.”

“Are you holidaying alone?” she asks.

“I’m with my nephew,” he says. “Salvador. He’s eighteen, just graduated from high school, so I brought him here to celebrate. But unfortunately, boat trips like this don’t interest him.”

She laughs. “Teenagers, eh?”

“If someone had offered to take me on a boat trip in the Indian Ocean to see dolphins at his age, I’d have ripped their arm off,” he says, and she laughs. “But he has TikTok, or whatever it is, so dolphins do not matter.” He sips his wine. “And what about you? A holiday for one?”

“I’m with a couple of friends,” she says, nodding at Darcy and Camilla opposite. “Darcy’s just got divorced. We’re celebrating.”

He nods, understanding. “Congratulations. Divorce can certainly be a good thing. Especially if no children are involved.”

“Well, children were involved, sadly,” she says.

“The divorce was not her decision?”

Kate shakes her head and smiles. “No. Not at all.”

He processes that. “I’m Antoni,” he says then. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Kate. Likewise.”

“You’re English?”

She nods. “And you?”

“Catalan.”

“Oh,” she says, her interested piqued. “I’ve been to Barcelona a few times. Do you live there?”

“Not quite. Girona. Salvador is planning to attend university in Barcelona, however.”

“Nice. What will he study?”

“Archaeology,” he says. “A strange subject nowadays, I grant you. But his passion is for old things—”

“Not a strange subject at all,” Kate interjects. “I’ve been to the Altamira cave.”

“You have? Oh, this is Salvador’s favorite place in the whole world. A cave with paintings inside, yes?”

She nods, enjoying the chance to chat about something she adores for a change. “From the Stone Age. An eight-year-old girl discovered that cave, did you know that?”

“This I did not know.”

“But sadly, you can’t go inside the actual cave unless you’re a special visitor. And even then, you must wear a biohazard suit.”

He studies her with a smile. “But you—you’ve been inside? The real cave, not the replica?”

She reddens. “Oh, many years ago. It was a very special moment.”

“I shall tell Salvador,” he says sincerely. Then, leaning in to her: “He might want to touch you, given that you’ve been inside that cave.”

Kate tilts her head back and laughs. “He can have a lock of my hair. Though to be honest, the replica’s every bit as good.”

“So, you’re an archaeologist?” he says, sipping his wine. “This is what you do for a career?”

She hesitates, struck by how difficult it is to say that she isn’t. “I’m a writer.”

“A writer? For newspapers, or…?”

“For other people,” she says enigmatically. “I’m a ghostwriter. I write novels that other people claim they’ve written.”

Antoni looks puzzled for a long moment, until a voice breaks into his thoughts.

“I see you took the last wine,” the voice says accusingly. Kate looks up to see Camilla on all fours, studying the contents of the drinks buckets. She lifts her head and glares at Antoni, who studies the cup of wine in his hand.

“The last one?”

Camilla plucks the other bottles from the ice buckets in mock disappointment. “Coke, Coke, Fanta, Sprite…”

“Here,” Antoni says, passing her his cup. “You can have the rest of mine. I only drank a little….”

Camilla gives a laugh and waves it away. “No, you can keep your germs, thank you very much.”

“My germs are all very healthy and strong, I promise,” Antoni says, continuing to hold the cup out to her. Kate smiles, noticing how riled Camilla is becoming.

“You could have the plague for all I know,” Camilla shoots back. “I don’t even know who you are—”

“Antoni Caballé, born October twelfth, nineteen sixty-four,” Antoni rattles off loudly. “I’m a dance instructor from Girona.”

Kate is amused. She risks a glance at Camilla, who is rolling her eyes with her whole body. Antoni seems unfazed. He extends his other hand to Camilla. “And you are?”

“Unimpressed,” Camilla says, turning her back to him to lie on her belly, her knees bent. Antoni looks at Kate with a shrug.

“I tried,” he says lightly.

A clamor from the lower deck alerts them, and the boat slows. “Oh no,” Kate says, fanning herself. “Is it engine trouble?”

“Dolphins,” Antoni says. He points over the side, and she turns to see the slick, bullet-gray bodies arcing through the waves. They’re beautiful, a big pod of them. Golden light spirals over the curves they cut through the water and the spray flinging up, diaphanous in the low sun. As the boat picks up speed, the dolphins move faster, impossibly fast, the boatman clapping to draw them close.

As the dolphins gather near, Kate worries they’re too close to the boat, that the engine will cut into their skin. She rises to her feet, troubled. Everyone around her is clapping now, calling to the dolphins. She glances behind, noticing some of the pod trailing in the white furl that the boat is plowing through the sea. What if they get caught in the engine? What if the blades of the propeller slice into their beautiful skin, cutting them up? She can’t help the direction of her thoughts, spinning quickly to unfathomable scenes of blood and bodies.

Her mind plunges underwater, seeing the scene from beneath the boat: the churn of the engine, the screams of the pod, babies lost in a cloud of red….

Her skin goes cold, a storm gathering at lightning speed in her brain, her throat tightening. Her heart rate has gone through the roof, and she feels so dizzy she can barely answer when Antoni and then Camilla are suddenly leaning over her, asking what’s wrong.

She’s conscious that she’s sitting down again, her legs straight out in front of her, palms pressed to her eyes. Her face is crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks, and it’s hideous—she hates crying in front of anyone , never mind complete strangers, but she can’t stop. The air won’t reach her lungs, and no matter how hard she tries to suck it in, she can’t control it, can’t make the panting stop.

The clapping has stopped, the boat’s engine cuts out, and all eyes are on her. What’s happened? Is it a heart attack? Should we call a doctor?

Someone offers a drink of water, but she can’t take it.

She can’t breathe.

The scene that plays out in her mind is more colorful than the one on the boat, more real, too—bodies and blood everywhere. Not dolphins now. People.

“Kate? What’s the matter, darling?”

Darcy is there, kneeling in front of her. Someone is asking if anyone on the boat has medical expertise.

She sees Professor Berry on the bed in the hotel room, his head turned and his mouth open as though he wants to tell her something. She sees the awful stillness of his chest, the way his legs have folded beneath him. You could never lie like that for long, not without getting a cramp in your leg. There’s a dark stain at the crotch of his khaki trousers from where he pissed himself. The glint of his wedding ring beneath bright red blood. The deep cut two inches above his collarbone, two flaps of skin like a snarling mouth.

“Breathe, Kate,” someone says. “You need to breathe!”

The crushing sensation in her chest is rising now, the edges of her vision starting to blur. Professor Berry’s eyes are fixed on her.

I’m so sorry , she thinks, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. I’m so sorry.

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