Air (10 page)

wednesday

Walking between dumpsters, where a day ago I'd been snogging the face off Zeke, it occurred to me that maybe this sudden change in direction wasn't my cleverest move. A rustle to my left made me jump, and I waited for a knife-wielding maniac to run at me. Instead a stray cat sauntered across my path, gulping some piece of edible garbage.

The alley came out on a busy street and I exhaled. I was, however, totally lost, but I couldn't even be bothered to load up Google Maps, because I didn't want to be found.

If I kept walking, I could stop thinking. But it wasn't so easy. On the crowded night streets of Miami, couples seemed to be everywhere. Laughing as they tumbled out of hipster bars; groping each other's asses as they waited for taxis; gazing into loved ones' eyes as they walked, hand in hand, toward their bloody Lamborghinis.

I'd been such an idiot. You only had to look at Zeke to figure it out.

It all flashed through my head: the poster campaign for a Nike diver's watch that appeared on billboards in Tokyo; the advert for a Burberry coat; the Givenchy aftershave double-page spread and the last two were both ridiculous as Zeke would never wear tweed or any kind of fragrance. You didn't need those things on a beach, which is where he spent his life.

But he looked the way those brands wanted their male models to look, so he was hired. They didn't care about his surf skills or how much work he put into his fitness and stamina. Or the fact that he gave fifty percent of his contest winnings to ocean-preservation charities like Sea Shepherd and Surfers for Cetaceans. They just thought he was hot, thought his look could sell stuff for them. And they were right. His campaigns were all successful and so they kept signing him for more. But every time he came back from one of those shoots, had part of him slipped away from me?

Yes. Why hadn't I seen it before? Was I really that deep in denial?

The wild child of the sea I'd fallen for was turning into someone who chatted to make-up artists as they smeared foundation over the scars on his back, who took direction from experts in posing, who knew how overhead lighting could give extra definition to his abs, who went around signing the necks of strange girls just because they asked him to.

So Zeke had been changing for a while. He had. But had he really changed into the kind of creep who'd suck the face off
some girl who'd fluttered her eyelashes at him? Right in front of his girlfriend?

My head was banging from the alcohol, and I kept my eyes on my pointless, uncomfortable shoes so I didn't have to see any of the happy people. I walked along endless pavement, until I found my way to one of the entrances to South Beach.

Further up the beach, I could see a couple rolling around, and the still forms of rough sleepers. But the path to the sea in front of me was completely clear.

I took off my shoes and walked barefoot on the sand, which looked silvery gray in the moonlight. It wasn't soft like the sand on Fistral Beach; it felt sharp and crunchy underfoot. I grabbed a handful of it and stuffed it in the inner zipped pocket of my bag. I tried to collect some sand at every beach because I knew my little cousin Cara back in Newquay would like it.

Something about that sand gave me an intense pang of sadness. I missed home, missed Fistral, missed walking with Kelly along hedgerows pink with valerian, past brightly colored beach huts down to Tolcarne Beach, ice creams dripping on to our trainers. I missed the scent of yarrow and wild garlic floating on the sea breeze. I missed telling Kelly jokes as she practiced cartwheels; people looking, Kelly not caring a bit.

If only I had her with me, she'd know what to do. She'd make everything OK. My mum would make me feel better too, even if she
was
secretly thinking, I warned you about bloody butterflies. She'd give me one whole day to wallow, and then tell me off for caring so much about a boy's bad behavior when
I should have been flashing my feminist credentials at him and telling him to sling his hook.

Maybe I should jack it all in, I thought. The surf competitions, being a girlfriend, the big dream. All of it. Just give up. Use the money I had left to buy a ticket on the next plane back to England.

I took my phone out of my bag and saw that it was almost one o'clock. I'd put it on to silent earlier, and my heart flipped as I saw that there were seven missed calls from Zeke and a load of text messages.

My finger hovered, but I knew I wasn't ready to talk to him, so I went into Contacts instead. There was someone whose voice I desperately needed to hear. I pressed Call, but the phone didn't even ring, instead going straight to voicemail.

“This is Kelly. I'm probably out of credit, so call me back later, m'kay.”

“Kel, it's me. I really need to talk.”

It was the early morning in the UK, too early for Kelly to be up and about, so no wonder her phone was switched off, but I wished so hard that it wasn't. For a second my finger hesitated over Daniel's name.

I pressed Call.

Two rings. Three. Four.

I moved the phone away from my ear, preparing to hang up.

“Hello?”

He didn't even sound groggy. He sounded alert.

What could I say?

I'd cut him off completely. He was dead to me that's what I'd told myself for months. Told myself I'd never speak to him again.

Talk or hang up? And then I stepped over the edge of the moment.

“It's me.”

“
Iris?
”

“Yeah. New number sorry.”

“How's it going?”

“I shouldn't have phoned. Sorry for disturbing you.”

“You all right?”

“No. I'm really not.”

“What's wrong?”

“Christ, I don't even know where to start.”

“Where are you?”

“Miami. I was at a bar with Zeke and then I left. I'm on the beach.”

“Wait, ain't it like the middle of the night there?”

“Yeah.”

“You safe?”

“I think so. There's people around.”

What was he going to do, even if I wasn't safe? Reach across an ocean and save me? But it felt good that he'd asked.

“So why'd you ditch the Yank?”

I sighed. He couldn't just ask a question; he had to be a git about it.

“I'd better go. Sorry I woke you up.”

“D'ya want me to do something?”

“No. Of course not . . . Like what?”

“I dunno. Come out there.”

“To Florida? Uh, no. Anyway, I'm leaving soon.”

“Well, why did you ring me? Must've had a reason.”

“It's just, what do you think of Zeke?”

I heard him exhale. Why had I said that? Asking my ex-boyfriend for an opinion on my new boyfriend was the definition of stupidity. I'd hardly get an objective response.

“Fake as fuck.”

“Fake?” I winced. I thought he might have gone for poseur, or pretty boy, or manwhore or something, but not fake. “Seriously? You think he's, what, putting on some act with me?”

“You and the world. No bloke's like that. All that meditation and yoga and shit, and the way he does that blatantly fake smiling
thing all the time. He makes out he's so perfect, but deep down he's just like the rest of us. Plus, I hate his fucking teeth.”

“What's wrong with his teeth?”

“One: he's got too many of 'em; and, two: they glow in the dark.”

“No, they don't.”

“Yeah, they do, and considering the bloke's a smoker, it's not natural. He must get them bleached. That and his hair.”

“He doesn't bleach his hair or his teeth. Why do you have to be so mean all the time?”

“Why do you have to sound so American? You've only been there a few months.”

“I don't sound American.”

“Well, you sure as shit don't sound Cornish. Talk normal.”

“I am.”

“Come home. You belong in Newquay. Not there.”

“I can't just come home, even if I wanted to. Which I don't.”

“Iris, get a fucking grip, woman. You need to—”

“Bye, Daniel.”

After hanging up, I opened Google and tapped in the search term I'd been secretly using, like a drug, since I'd left.
Fistral beach webcam
.

And there it was, my home break at high tide, a glorious dawn on the horizon, perfect clean waves stacking up and a bunch of surfers already in the water.

Someone with a yellow longboard walked right in front of the camera. My friend Caleb had a board like that. Was it him? Maybe.

I watched as two figures kicked a ball around for a dog. The dog chased it down to the water, where wave after wave pushed on to the beach.

At that moment I'd have given anything to be one of the surfers riding those waves. Real waves. Not the tiny green micro-waves of Miami.

I closed down Google and promised myself that would be the last time. Looking never solved anything, and every time I gave into the urge, it got stronger.

If I went home, I knew I'd never leave again. Traveling the world was awesome, but did it make me happier than being with my family and friends in Newquay?

I slumped down on the sand, pushed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and refused to cry.

OK, I thought, I was on a path and I couldn't get off it until I got to the end, but this was what I'd wanted. This had been my dream.

My phone lit up again as it received a call, but it wasn't from Kelly or Daniel. Zeke was trying to get through.

No. I wouldn't pick up. Screw him.

I stuffed my phone back into my bag and dropped it on the sand.

Moonlight made a soft silver path on the black water, and even though it was nighttime and I knew Florida's waters were super-sharky, visited by bulls, hammerheads and even tigers, my stupid drunken brain urged me to get in there. Submerged in water, I could be myself, I could relax.

I waded so far into the water that my yellow shorts turned black.

If only I could swim home.

The sea had a faint tang of oil and decay, but after the heat of the bar it felt wonderful to have cool water swirling around my legs. If some sea beast was eyeing up my calves at that very second, then it was a risk I'd have to take, because no way was I getting out. I dunked my face into the water, picturing black lines of mascara staining my cheeks.

“
Just breathe
,” I told myself. I'd told myself this exact thing so many times over the preceding few months that anyone listening would have thought I was asthmatic.

Something cool moved against my leg and I jumped, but it was only a glass bottle.

I fished it out and saw it was some kind of wine. I wondered who'd drunk it and then I thought of Chase, with his outrageous clothes and expensive champagne. Had he seen Zeke kissing that girl? Was he surprised? Maybe he knew Zeke was a player. Had he seen what happened to me?

I looked up to the bright silver sky overhead, and tried to do the ujjayi breathing that Zeke's yoga-teacher friend had taught me. Eventually my heart began to slow down and my brain too.

I turned shorewards, and that's when I saw them.

A group of lads were walking down the beach toward me, joking around. I saw one of them bend down and pick up my bag.

My cash and all my bank cards were in it. I couldn't let it get nicked.

I waded back toward shore and, when I was fifty feet away, I made eye contact with one of them.

He looked really startled to see a person coming out of the water. Maybe he'd assumed the bag was lost, or left by someone on a suicide mission.

“Hey there,” he said. He had a grade-two buzz cut, an eyebrow piercing and dark eyes.

“That's mine,” I said, pointing to the bag. My voice came out really weird; sort of posh and bossy, much like Saskia's.

Then my gaze went to the guy's pocket, where something was jutting out.

A gun.

No, it couldn't be a gun.

It was totally a gun.

I held on tightly to the glass bottle in my hand as the baby waves swirled around my ankles.

No, no, no. That was panic talking. It was probably just his wallet or phone.

But loads of people in Florida walked around with guns, or had them in their cars. One in three that's what my mum had said. She'd warned me to be careful, to stay safe, and this was the exact sort of situation that would crop up in her nightmares: her daughter, alone, at night, face to face with an armed gang.

“Girl, are you insane?” he shouted over the swish of the sea.

“No, I was just hot.”

“You don't look so hot.”

“Thanks,” I said, alert to the insult.

“Cold. You look cold. Maybe you should step out of the ocean and warm up?” I put my arm across my chest, in case my nipples were doing something mortifying, and I tried to decide what to do.

I couldn't stay in the water forever. One way or another, I'd have to get off this beach, even if it did mean fighting a potential gangbanger for my handbag.

As it happened, I walked out of the sea with my head held high and the boy handed me my bag right away.

“Thank you,” I said, and then added, “Good evening.” I figured politeness was a good strategy, but I really was starting to sound like I was doing an impression of Keira Knightley. I tried to dodge around them, when the boy I'd been talking to touched my arm gently.

“You OK? It's kinda late for a swim.”

“It's not really that late, considering,” I said, in the lamest retort ever. “And yes, I'm all right. Sort of. Rubbish day.”

He nodded.

“That your wine?”

“It was floating in the water. I'm not an alky. I just need to find a bin a trash can.”

“Well, Lady Di, you shouldn't be out here alone,” one of the others said. “There are some shady dudes out tonight.” They looked at each other and grinned, and I wondered if they meant that they were the shady dudes in question.

“I'll be fine. Thanks for the concern though. That's nice of you.”

“You hear that? We're nice. Ha ha. Y'know, you look like you lost a dollar and found a quarter.”

He had me there. I felt totally and utterly gutted, and was about two seconds from crying. This random guy's concern was not helping on that front.

I shrugged.

“Do you need us to take you somewhere? Play chaperone?”

They seemed decent enough, but they had me surrounded, on a night beach, and my hackles were up. My mum had drilled me, since I was about three, in scenarios that might lead to my violent death. But by wandering off in a strange city on my own, I'd already seriously departed from her script.

“This is going to sound sort of tragic, but my mum would kill me if I went off with a load of strange blokes in the middle of the night. She's been mainlining
CSI
.”

“Your mom might like it better than you walking the streets alone,” one of his friends murmured.

“Cheers, but I should go find my boyfriend. He'll be around here somewhere.”

“He ditched you in the middle of the night? Some boyfriend.”

“Yeah, ex-boyfriend is more like it,” I said, trying to sound tougher than I felt.

But Zeke hadn't ditched me.

“Technically I ditched him. I was provoked though. Massively provoked.”

“He hit you?”

“God, no. It wasn't like that.”

“Stepping out on you?”

“Well, no, I don't think so. But he did kiss another girl in a bar just now.”

“So you ran off?”

This was not the answer I was expecting. He was frowning at me as if
I
was the one in the wrong.

“What was I supposed to do? Stay and watch them get to second base?”

They didn't get it. Zeke had completely betrayed me. He'd kissed her and he hadn't even cared if I saw. Maybe he'd kissed her because I'd beaten him at pool and he couldn't handle being beaten by a girl. The whole idea of that was revolting.

“What if you got it wrong? You should have, like, asked the dude for an explanation. Or homeboy pulled this shit before?”

“I don't think so.”

The boy with the nice eyes took a breath mint out of a pack and offered me one. I shook my head and watched him suck it.

“So you broke up with him, right?”

“Not yet, but I'm going to.”

“His loss.”

That was not true though. If I broke up with Zeke, it would be my loss, because Zeke would always have zillions of girls that wanted to be with him. Whereas I almost never found kindred spirits who got me.

I looked down at the sand.

“You gonna puke?”

“No, why do people keep asking me that?” I said. I had gone past the hot, flushed stage and gone straight over to nauseated and weak. My head was swirly and I had become very, very cold. The vest/tiny-shorts combo was fine in a bar, but not so great when soaking wet and stranded on a beach.

“What's your name?”

“Iris.”

“Irisss?” he said, rolling the word around his mouth.

I nodded.

“Nice to meet you, Iris. I'm Seb. This is Javier, Paul, Ernesto and AJ. So what's your next move?”

“Don't exactly have one.”

“Where you wanna get?”

That was a good question, with no good answer. I totally didn't want to go back to my hotel and face Zeke but I had nowhere else to go.

“Grove Hotel.”

“British chick don't stay in any
no-tell motel
, huh? OK, so we're gonna hit the streets and walk to the Grove Hotel. You can stay out here and take your chances if you want, but if you follow us, you'll get to the Grove safe. How's that work for you?”

My choices were limited. Even if I called Zeke, it'd take him a while to get to me, and in the meantime I'd be alone, trying not to get in the way of anybody serious.

I didn't usually trust people I'd met five minutes before, but there was something about Seb that seemed decent.

“Great. Thank you so much,” I said, my teeth chattering. Seb pulled his blue hoodie over his head and passed it to me. His wallet fell on to the sand, and he stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans, which made them sag even more.

“You sure?” I said. “Aren't you going to get cold out here?” I looked at the black vest top he had on underneath and couldn't help noticing great arms.

“I'll be absolutely fabulous, darling,” he said in a mock British accent, grinning. Then he said, “OK, we're gonna go now.”

I put on his hoodie, which smelled of boy sweat and aftershave, and watched the five of them cut across the beach and walk on toward the car park.

I weighed up my options and decided to follow them. I also decided to keep carrying my empty wine bottle, just in case. Not the greatest weapon, but better than nothing.

Seb looked over his shoulder every now and then to make sure I was still with them. After fifteen minutes of walking I recognized an awesome fifties-style diner next to an Italian place with foot-long pizza slices, and then we were at the mini-mall. The guys crossed a side street which led to the hotel's underground parking, and stood outside the main entrance, where the doormen gave them dirty looks.