Authors: James Dawson
‘No luck?’ Ryan asked anyway.
‘She texted me,’ Greg said. ‘We’d only been driving for about five minutes when I got a signal, and then her text came through from last night.’
Ryan felt as though a ten-ton weight had been lifted from his back. Erin was alive. ‘Oh, thank God!’
‘I know, right?’ Katie dropped her beach bag onto the kitchen counter. ‘We thought about going to the airport to see if we could find her, but she texted at, like, four a.m. so
she’ll probably be home by now.’
A new, arguably worse thought than Erin being dead occurred to Ryan. ‘What if she tells the police?’
Greg wouldn’t look him in the eye. ‘She says she won’t.’
‘Oh, well, if she
says
she won’t then I guess we’re all fine.’ Ryan rolled his eyes.
‘Ry, back off,’ Katie said. ‘He’s upset. And, anyway, Erin can’t say anything, just like we can’t.’ Katie looked out at the inferno on the terrace.
‘Is that Rox’s stuff?’
‘Yep. I got rid of everything.’
‘Did you burn her phone?’ Greg asked, eyes burning into Ryan.
‘Yeah,’ Ryan lied.
‘What about her so-called “evidence”?’ Katie asked.
He shook his head. ‘If she did have anything it wasn’t in her luggage. You know, she might have made the whole thing up. Perhaps it was just a way of getting money out of us.’
Ryan didn’t really believe it, but it was an avenue worth considering. If he hadn’t had such massive doubts of his own about Janey topping herself, it would have been fairly
plausible.
Both Greg and Katie looked disappointed by this news. Resigned, Katie headed for the stairs.
‘I guess we’ll have to carry on looking,’ she said. ‘I’m going to take a shower. Greg, are you gonna be OK?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, thanks Katie. Thanks for driving and everything.’
‘No worries.’ She disappeared upstairs.
Ryan waited until he heard the bathroom door shut. ‘Greg, what’s going on?’
Greg steered him out of the villa. ‘She heard us.’
‘What?’
‘Are you deaf? I said
she heard us.
What we said last night. Erin was in the shower while we were talking – she heard the whole effing conversation through the air
vents.’
Holy mother of little baby Jesus. Ryan exhaled deeply. ‘Shit.’
‘Er, YEAH!’
‘What did she say?’ The bonfire was still crackling and Ryan wafted the smoke away from his face.
Greg folded his arms. ‘She wasn’t happy, put it that way. I think . . . what with everything else, it was the last straw.’
‘Do you think she’ll tell people . . . about us?’
Greg exploded. ‘How the hell should I know? I’m not a bloody psychic, Ryan!’ His reaction suggested he was far more worried that their sordid fling would come out, than about
Erin spilling the beans about Roxanne – which struck Ryan as mixed-up priorities.
Ryan was about to reach for Greg’s hand when a familiar pair came into view at the edge of the pool. It was Ben and Alisha, back from their trek on the beach. Both looked tired and
tousled, like they’d survived something. Everyone was wilting in the relentless sun.
‘Hey,’ called Ben as he and Alisha made their way up the terrace stairs to join Ryan and Greg. ‘How did you get on? We didn’t even find a footprint in the sand, I’m
afraid.’
Greg backed away from Ryan as if he had leprosy. ‘No worries,’ Greg muttered, blushing. ‘Erin went home. She’s fine.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Alisha threw her arms around her brother in relief. ‘I was so worried.’
‘It’s cool. She’s OK.’ Greg, however, didn’t look OK. He looked fraught.
Ryan noted that Ben looked a little embarrassed, too. He hovered at Alisha’s side like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. For a moment, Ryan wondered if something might have
happened between him and Alisha on the beach, but then he laughed it off. The viewers would never buy those two together – everyone knew it was all about Ben and Katie.
‘That’s really good news, mate,’ Ben said. ‘You must be so relieved.’
‘Yeah.’ Greg did a poor job of looking relieved. ‘I reckon my arse is dumped, though.’
Ben gave a wry laugh. ‘Plenty more fish in the . . .’ He pointed in the direction of where they’d dumped Rox’s body and the smile fell from his face. ‘Well, you
know.’
Alisha tugged on his arm. ‘This is a good thing,’ she said gleefully.
‘What is?’ Katie joined them on the patio, towelling her wet hair.
Alisha sparkled. ‘Erin’s fine. We’re safe!’
Oh, if only it were that simple,
Ryan thought.
‘I hate to be a harbinger of doom,’ Katie said, ‘but someone still killed Roxanne.’
‘And unless Erin wrote that message on the wall, there’s something bigger at play,’ Ryan said, fully aware the statement was on the histrionic side.
The five of them stood in a loose circle on the top terrace. They’d come a long way from playing tag and kiss-chase at Telscombe Cliffs Primary School. For the first time, Ryan felt the
prick of tears. One of these people wasn’t his friend any more. This wasn’t just about Janey and Roxanne; there was something else going on, but he had no idea what. Who had written the
message on the wall – and why?
Think on thy sins.
Lust, ambition, greed, anger, envy, deception, murder. Between them they had so many sins, thinking on them might take a while. ‘I think we should go home,’ he announced.
‘But you said—’ Alisha started to argue.
Ryan cut her off. ‘I know what I said – that it will look suspicious. But if we all stick to the same lie we might just get away with it. Hell, we don’t even have to leave
Spain, but I would feel a whole lot safer in a highly populated tourist area with five bars of phone reception.’
‘I second that,’ Ben said with a sigh.
‘I dunno.’ Greg massaged his temples, looking drained. ‘People are already going to be asking questions about why Erin left.’
‘It does look a little shady,’ Katie agreed. ‘Sooner or later someone’s going to notice Roxanne is missing. And then what? People might start to put two and two together.
This
is why we should have gone to the police yesterday, guys. It’s going to follow us around forever. With all these lies, one of us is bound to slip up sooner or later.’
Ryan knew she was right. He might have to start writing them somewhere secret to keep everything straight in his head.
‘Maybe we’re safe here,’ Alisha said, ever the optimist. ‘Rox only died because she blackmailed us.’
‘This isn’t just about Rox.’ Ryan was on a roll. ‘What about Janey? We still don’t know why
she
died.’
It was all too much for Greg. ‘I can’t do this.’ He squatted down, face in hands as if his spine could no longer support him. He swore at the top of his voice. ‘I need a
break.’ He stormed through the sliding doors and headed for the stairs.
That left four of them. ‘I think we should leave,’ Ryan repeated, ‘like now.’
Ben chewed his thumbnail. ‘Ry, no one wants to get out of here more than me, but we haven’t even drained the pool yet.’
Ryan sighed. He’d forgotten about that little task. Doing it in broad daylight felt a little risky – all it would take was one stray surfer and they’d have a witness to testify
they’d changed the pool water. Highly suspect. ‘OK. I guess we drain the pool after dark and get the hell out of here tomorrow. Right?’
This time, no one argued.
Greg was crying in the shower. Ryan sat on the bed in Greg’s room listening to the patter of the water and how it failed to cover the shaking breaths and low sobs. The air vents carried
the noise with clarity. No wonder Erin had heard. The sound of Greg crying was more disturbing than any other part of this week. Ryan wondered if he was the only one even vaguely holding it
together.
Ryan was an actor, the star. He’d never envisaged himself as the director/producer. He didn’t want to call the shots. But if everyone else was going to crumble, he’d have to.
Somehow, he wasn’t exactly sure where, the black and white had bled into one another to form a mucky grey. He wasn’t sure who the heroes were any more. He couldn’t even say with
certainty that he wasn’t a villain.
The pipes groaned as Greg turned off the shower. The bathroom was quiet now, except for a few sniffs as Greg dried his eyes. The door to the en suite opened and Greg entered the bedroom, a towel
around his waist.
Ryan expected more anger, a command to get out and stay out. Instead, Greg’s face was puffy and red, his posture hunched. Greg was broken. He dragged his feet across the tiles, saying
nothing. He leaned over Ryan and took his face in his hands, tilting it towards him.
The kiss that followed was the Hollywood kiss Ryan had always wanted. It was fireworks, sweeping violins, the final frame in the pouring rain. It was the kiss that said Greg
needed
him.
Ryan wrapped his hands around the back of Greg’s head and pulled him closer. Greg climbed onto the bed and tipped him onto his back. The kiss intensified, Greg’s mouth pressing hard
against Ryan’s. There was a desperation to him, a frenzy. Ryan could so easily allow himself to be swept away, but he found himself anchored to reality.
Questions. This was what he had always wanted, so why was his head full of questions? Was this weird angry-hate snogging? The fact that Greg had pinned Ryan’s hand above his head suggested
so. Did that matter? Was this Greg finally accepting the way he felt? Or was this more about Erin than Ryan?
There were too many questions to enjoy the moment.
‘Stop!’ Ryan said between kisses. He’d probably regret it later, but Greg wasn’t in control any more. He was.
Greg didn’t stop though. He tugged back on Ryan’s hair and started on his neck, his tongue working its way up to his earlobe. Ryan shivered, but clung to this side of ecstasy.
‘Greg, stop.’
‘What’s up?’ He looked up. ‘Am I doing it wrong?’
Ryan laughed. ‘No! No that, as ever, was very good! But what are you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing? Greg raised an eyebrow and rolled off Ryan, flopping next to him on the bed. ‘I don’t know, Ry. I don’t know what I’m
doing. I’m a mess. I’m a total effing mess.’
‘No shit, Sherlock.’
He covered his face with his hands. ‘It . . . it . . . Oh, God.’
‘What?’ Ryan prodded.
‘It’s like I’m constantly spinning plates. All the time. It’s like if I stop for a second one’ll come crashing down. Then another and another. It never stops, Ryan.
It never bloody stops.’
Ryan pulled Greg’s hands away and gave him a tender kiss. ‘It’s not easy being you, is it?’ he said, his face millimetres from Greg’s.
‘I’ve told so many lies, I think I’ve started to believe them.’
Ryan wondered how many lies
he’d
told this week.
‘I should have just got with you in the first place. You’ve been so good to me and I’ve been a total massive idiot.’
Ryan laughed. ‘Well, yes. I’m not gonna argue with that. And we do get together in the end, Greg, don’t worry. But not, like, till the end of series six.’
Greg propped himself up on his elbow and ran the tips of his fingers across Ryan’s stomach. ‘What?’
Smiling, Ryan said, ‘It sounds mad, but I like to pretend we’re all in a big TV show.’
‘That does sound a
bit
mad . . .’
‘Thanks! But it gets me through the day. You know, on TV, everything will all work out in the end. All the people who are meant to get together
will
get together. You can’t
get to happy-ever-after too fast, though. You have to overcome all the obstacles, all the twists and turns.’
Greg planted a kiss on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘But how do you know where the end
is
?’
‘It’s when I’m happy.’
‘And then you’ll stop?’
‘Well, I won’t need to pretend any more, will I?’ Something told Ryan that the stopping point was a long way off. Here was Greg, half-naked, vulnerable, and entirely his. For
now. But he knew from experience that if they were to fall asleep, when they awoke, the walls would be all the way up again. ‘Come on. Get dressed. I suppose we should pack or
something.’
‘No, wait. Don’t go.’ Greg took hold of Ryan’s waist. He looked so lost, so needy. Ryan could gloat about the power shift, about how far the mighty had fallen, but he
mainly felt sad for his lover. ‘Can’t we . . . chill for a while?’
Ryan could only argue so far. He was human at the end of the day and Greg’s warm, smooth skin begged to have his hands on it. ‘OK.’
‘Will you just hold me, yeah? Like you used to?’
A lump rose in Ryan’s throat but he swallowed it back. ‘Yeah. Am I being big spoon or little spoon?’
‘Big.’ Greg rolled over, his back to Ryan. Ryan wrapped his arms around him and let himself be content. For now, he closed his eyes, rested his head and allowed himself the notion
that
this
could be the happy ending.
T
he heat wouldn’t let up for a second. Even with the air-con on, she could feel sweat running down the arch of her back. Alisha squirmed
uncomfortably, but it wasn’t just the blistering temperature. She couldn’t get the kiss out of her mind. She scrolled through endless Spanish TV stations – shopping channels,
music videos, news – without seeing any of them. Instead, she played the kiss on constant loop, trying to recapture the soaring sensation that she’d felt. Ben and Katie were outside on
the terrace, but neither was speaking. Even their comfortable silence made her a little jealous.
If she talked to Katie, perhaps she’d give them her blessing. But it seemed unlikely after what Katie had said about their secret clifftop kiss and subsequent text messages. Now that
Alisha had had a chance to dwell (and dwell and dwell) on it, that’s what she didn’t understand. If Ben and Katie had been ‘best friends and nothing more’, then why did they
start getting it on behind Janey’s back? That made no sense whatsoever.
But she couldn’t forget what Ben had said on the beach. Maybe he really
did
like her. Alisha’s imagination started to run away with her, taking her far into the future. She
always did this. She’d meet a guy a couple of times and then start thinking of loved-up scenarios: a weekend break to a cottage (does anyone
actually
do that?), meeting his parents,
a cosy night on the sofa with a takeaway. All that before they’d even held hands.