Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) (10 page)

I should have stuck to kayaking.

I disconsolately stop and look around me. Despite my frantic pedalling I am no more than a hundred yards off shore. I can see McCoy stamping away in a rage, and Ritchie is walking back into the boat house, shaking his head back and forth.

All the adrenaline that kept me going through the argument on the beach leaves me in a rush, and I instantly feel dog tired. I have been awake since five o'clock this morning, so it's hardly surprising.

With a sigh of disappointment, I whip my t-shirt off in order to soak up a few last rays of Maldivian sun, rest my head back against the top of the warm pedalo seat and close my eyes. In a moment, I'll return the bloody thing with an apology to all concerned, but right now, I just want to float on the water for a bit, and feel relaxed for the first time in days...

My eyes spring open. They do this painfully. My whole face feels like it's on fire.

Sitting up, I look around to discover that I am surrounded by deep blue water. Gone is the gentle tranquility of the aquamarine beach water. Replacing it are the cold hard depths of the ocean proper.

With a whimper I sit up in the seat and whip my head around.

I can't see the island!

I'm adrift at sea!

I'm going to die!

I'm going to get eaten by
sh
-

Oh no, wait... there's the island.
Right behind me.

But it looks so small! I'm miles away from it!

I look down at my arms. I'm also hideously sunburned. I must have fallen asleep for quite some time, to have drifted so far out and gotten so burned.

I look down into the scary depths and realise that a current is pulling me further away from the island every second.

With a louder, more desperate whimper, I yank on the pedalo's rudder and start to pump my legs feverishly.

As the boat slowly - oh so bloody
slowly
- begins to turn around, it dawns on me that I could be in a lot of trouble here. If the speed of the current below is stronger than the three mile an hour fart I am able to make the paddles below me turn at, I might be swept out to sea.

With a desperate gulp, I fix both the island and the faces of my family firmly in my mind, and start to pedal like Chris Hoy with the hosts of Hell right behind him.

Laura's Diary

Monday, March 29th

Dear Mum,

And so, a relaxing luxury holiday in the Indian Ocean turns into a frantic man hunt.

'Mum? Where's Dad gone?' Poppy asks from over her second bowl of Coco Pops.

I look at her from over the rather dog eared copy of Cosmo I've been lugging around for the past two days. What’s the best way to break it to your seven year old that her dad has had an attack of the shits and can't be with us right now?

'Dad's fine sweetheart, he just had to go back to the room for a bit. I'm sure he'll be back soon.' I glance at my watch to see just how long Jamie has been suffering for, and note that over forty five minutes have passed. I frown. Even if he was caught a bit short, he would have been back by now. Maybe he's a lot worse off than I thought.

'C'mon sweetie. Let's go see what Dad's up to,' I tell Pops and rise from the table.

We then make our way back to the water bungalow. We're leaving this afternoon, so I make a point of soaking up every last detail of this gorgeous island as we go, a pang of regret already settling in my chest.

'Jamie!' I call as I open the front door. 'Are you alright?'

Expecting to hear the explosive sounds of one man's fight with a toilet bowl, I am surprised to be greeted with silence as I cross the room and go over to the bathroom. 'Jamie?' I ask tentatively by the door.
Still no response.
Where the hell is he?

His stomach issues must have resolved themselves, I suppose. But quite why he didn't come back to the table when he was finished baffles me.

'Dad's not here,' Poppy says in a quiet voice.

I give her a hug. 'I know, baby. But he must be back at the restaurant, eh? We must have just missed him.'

I lock up the bungalow again, and we traipse back across the island. This time I don't bother with the whimsical regret, my mind is on other things.

Over the course of the week, there is one waiter in the restaurant that we have befriended. A big smiling Maldivian called
David,
he's been our ever present congenial host for almost every meal. I see him standing by one of the breakfast buffet stations, and make my way over to talk to him.

'David?'

'Hello Mrs Newman! How is your last day on the island? Not feeling too sad about leaving I hope?'

'No...
well
, a little,' I reply with a nervous chuckle. 'Have you seen my husband, by any chance?'

'No Mrs Newman, I have not. I saw him leave about an hour ago, but have not seen him since.'

'Oh.'

David notices the look of worry now etched across my face. 'I'm sure he couldn't have gone far. Why don't I ask some of my colleagues if they've seen him?'

I give David an appreciative smile. 'Thank you. That would be nice.'

David takes himself off while Poppy and I stand a bit forlornly close to the buffet stations. I have to move away after a few moments as the smells are making me a bit sick. There's nothing wrong with the food, it's just that a little kernel of worry has planted itself in my stomach, and it's making me feel quite nauseous.

A good five minutes goes by before David returns. The look on his face doesn't indicate he's had much success. 'I'm sorry Mrs Newman. No-one has seen him.'

'Oh.'

'Where's Dad?' I hear a tremulous little voice say from below me.

I bend down to my concerned little daughter. 'It's okay Poppet. Dad probably just went for a walk. I'm sure he'll come back soon.'

I don't believe a word of it though. Jamie isn't the type to go wandering off without at least telling me what he's doing. It's completely out of character.

Oh God.

It's completely out of character.

That's what they always say about the missing people on
Crimewatch
isn't it?

My kernel of worry is instantly replaced by an entire bushel of dread. Jamie has suffered some kind of horrific attack of food poisoning, and is lying in a load of bushes somewhere on the island, his last, dying breath escaping his lips...

'David?' I whisper so Poppy can't hear. 'Could you put out some kind of alert for me? I think Jamie has gone missing. I have no idea where he can be.'

'Okay Mrs Newman. Are you sure there's nowhere else he might have gone?'

'No, I don't think so.'

'Maybe he went on a last tour of the island, and has sat himself down somewhere?

I shake my head. 'That's not like him. Besides, we've been here a week, there's nothing left for him to do really - '

The image of a large plastic pedal driven boat fills my vision.

'Oh you little bastard!'
I spit, loudly enough to be heard by some unfortunate nearby holiday makers trying to enjoy their eggs benedict and coffee.

'Mum!' Poppy gasps.

'I'm sorry honey.' I turn back to David. 'Cancel the alert, I know exactly where my idiot of a husband is.'

'Ah, so you do not think he is in any trouble then?' he replies.

'Oh, he's in trouble alright David,' I sneer. 'Thank you for your help and sorry to bother you.'

'No problem! It is what I am here for.'

'I'm sure. Let's hope you know some first aid too. You're likely to need it soon. Come on Poppy!'

I drag my daughter out of the restaurant, and make for the boat house. As I cross the island for the third time in ten minutes, I am neither filled by whimsy nor worry, but am instead powered by a towering rage that is singularly directed at the man whose penis I should never have allowed within fifty feet of me.

We reach the boat house to find a short man in his autumn years looking out to sea with a scowl on his face, and both hands planted firmly on his hips.

'Excuse me? Do you speak English?' I ask him, trying to contain my unholy rage for a second.

The old man sees us both and his expression instantly warms. 'Hello there. Yes, yes I do speak English,' he says.

'Could you possibly help me?'

'I would hope so, my dear.' The old man looks down at Poppy, and provides her with a warm, avuncular smile. 'Hello there, young lady,' he says, eyebrows wiggling up and down. This instantly makes Poppy giggle.

'I'm looking for an idiot,' I tell the man.

'Oh?'

'Yes. An idiot. Otherwise known as my husband Jamie. He's five ten, brown hair, wearing a blue t-shirt and grey board shorts?'

When the old man's face darkens I know I'm on the right track. 'Yes, I know who you're on about,' he replies.

I sigh heavily and cross my arms. 'What's he done this time?'

The man introduces himself as Sylvester and proceeds to spin me a tale of such unbelievable stupidity, it could only be Jamie Newman at the centre of it.

I start to issue profound apologies the moment Sylvester finishes his story.

'No matter, my dear, he says. ‘The more important thing right now is the fact that your husband has been gone for quite some time. Over an hour I'd say. I've certainly been waiting here a while for his return.'

That kernel of worry replants itself in my gut. 'You've got a good point,' I say, looking back out to sea. In my anger, I'd glossed over the fact that Jamie has been gone far longer than he should. Even if he has taken the pedalo out, there's no way he would have actively stayed away from me this long. He's an idiot, but he's not completely inconsiderate. He'd never do anything to deliberately make me worry.

Poppy looks up at Sylvester, narrows her eyes a bit and pulls on one lip thoughtfully. 'Can you get my Dad back?' she asks him.

Sylvester takes her hand. 'I wish I could little one. But I'm sure your Dad is fine. He'll be back soon.'

'But you're a wizard,' Poppy says, which I find a little bizarre. 'You know Gandalf.'

Sylvester smiles a bit awkwardly. '
Aah
. I see what you mean.'

I certainly don't.

'I'm an actor, Mrs Newman,' the old man says when he sees the expression on my face. 'Poppy here may have seen me in a film.'

I'm taken aback. 'Oh. Popular film was it?'

Sylvester smiles. 'Quite a bit, yes.'

I'm about to ask more when Ritchie the boat house guy turns up on the scene. 'Mrs Newman,' he says to me, 'when will your husband be back? No-one is supposed to take the pedalo out for more than an hour.'

'I know Ritchie, something's wrong. There's no way he'd be gone this long without telling me!'

Ritchie picks up on my fretful tone and puts a hand on my shoulder. 'Don't worry. This happens every once in a while. People just get out a little too deep. I'll jump on the
jet ski
and go find him. I'm sure he's fine.'

I thank Ritchie for his help, and stay next to Sylvester the actor as we watch the Maldivian jump onto the
jet ski
moored on the short pier thirty yards away and go speeding off across the water.

'Everything will be okay,' Sylvester says.

'I hope so,' I reply, nibbling one fingernail.

Thirty minutes later, everything is
not
okay. Ritchie has returned with no sight of my husband, and hurries off to the centre of the island to raise the alert proper.

I am now a bag of nerves, and am barely able to hold back the tears. My mind is awash with images of Jamie drowning, being eaten by sharks, or suffering a heat induced heart attack.
Possibly all at once.

Ritchie returns, and lets me know that he's sent the balloon up, so to speak. Across the island, near the main dock where the plane comes in, I can see a lot of frantic action as various Wimbufushi staff members are taking to a variety of small boats in order to track down Jamie's corpse.

A flutter of panic threatens to escape from my throat.

'Perhaps you should go back to your bungalow, Mrs Newman,' Ritchie suggests. 'You might be more comfortable there.'

This is his attempt to get me out of the way so I don't have to see my husband's bloated body being dragged up onto the beach in half an hour.

'That sounds like it might be a good idea,' Sylvester agrees. He can't help but flick his eyes down at Poppy as he does so, indicating that he can read between the lines just as much as I can.

'Okay,' I agree reluctantly. 'But I want to know as soon as you know anything.'

'Of course Mrs Newman, of course!' Ritchie reassures me.

'Would you like some company?' Sylvester asks.

'Yes please,' I tell him. There's something ever so comforting about his presence, but I can't quite put my finger on why. He certainly seems to be good with children.