Cinnamon Twigs (37 page)

             
‘
We
were his life, Christopher! He worshipped you. And you didn’t come back.’

             
Christopher didn’t respond.

             
‘Why are you back now?’ Soraya asked.

             
‘I just wanted to see you. This land belongs to me as well, you know. You can’t treat me like an intruder.’

             
I strolled into the room. Christopher turned towards me. His eyes widened and his skin became pale. He gripped the arm of the sofa to prevent himself from fainting.

             
‘It’s D-Daniel Mace!’

             
I’d half expected him to say ‘Cripes, let’s get out of here!’ or some other typical
Scooby-Doo
line.

             
‘Good evening,’ I said.

             
‘B-but you’re dead!’

             
‘And looking good for it, if I do say so myself. The years of advertising moisturizing brands must have paid off. Who are you?’

             
‘This is my brother. His name is Christopher,’ Soraya said.

             
‘But what is he doing here? H-how can he…’

             
‘Calm down, mate. We’ll explain everything to you.’ I walked towards him and shook his quivering hand. ‘And do me a favor: don’t tell me what’s going on in the outside world. Ignorance is bliss for me.’

             
I made three black coffees and explained the situation to him.

             
‘You see, we have a problem now,’ I said. ‘If you tell anybody where I am then I’ll be forced to go back.’

             
‘I won’t.’

             
‘Can I be sure of that?’

             
‘You can be sure of that.’ Soraya glared at her brother.

‘Christopher, I don’t want you here. You don’t belong here anymore. It so happens that I have a bit of money now. I’m willing to give you enough cash for you to live comfortably wherever you choose to go.’

              Christopher drank his coffee in silence.

             
‘What you did was wrong,’ Soraya continued. ‘You should have come back. I know that dad could be stern, but he would have forgiven you. Even if you didn’t set the business world alight.’

             
‘I felt like such a failure…’

             
‘Well, now you’ll have money. You can do what you like. Start afresh.’

             
Christopher continued to sip his coffee in faltering silence.

             
‘But if you tell anyone about my presence here she’ll have every penny back.’ I wagged an assertive finger at him. ‘Incidentally, how long have you been here?’

             
‘Since this morning. I was a bit nervous about seeing Soraya again. I found myself walking around the island all afternoon,’ he replied.

             
‘That explains the footprints. Where’s your boat?’

             
‘I left her in a creek to the east of the island.’

             
‘You can go back to her now.’ Soraya’s tone was cold and uncompromising.

             
‘Soraya, I’m sorry…’

             
‘It’s too late. You have no idea how hard it was with mom being ill. I could have done with you being there. We all could have done with you. And then, when dad passed away… How could you not be there to pay your last respects to our parents?’

             
‘I’m disgusted by myself. But please, can I at least stay until the morning?’

             
Soraya nodded reluctantly.

             
Christopher left the next morning without demur. I made my way into the kitchen and stood beside Soraya. She lit a cigarette and fixed her eyes on the thick plumes of smoke filling the room. My thoughts were clouded by anxieties. My main concern was that Christopher would tell someone about my whereabouts. And yet, if I were to be brutally honest, part of me longed to go back home.

             
‘Are you okay?’ I put my arm around Soraya’s shoulders.

             
‘Yeah. I’m sorry you had to witness that last night. I haven’t seen him for so long. What he did was disgusting.’

             
It had been wrong of Christopher to abandon the people he loved. They had obviously needed him…

             
‘I can understand. You were pretty cold towards him. You’re very strong.’

             
‘He just made me so angry. But I gave him his money this morning and he can do what he likes with it.’

             
‘I wish him luck.’

             
‘I could never forgive him for abandoning us. I can’t forgive him for not coming back when we were in such desperate need. But do you want to know something?’

             
‘Go on. What?’ I asked.

             
‘It was nice to see his face again.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

The Cave

I often found solitude in a sea cave during early afternoons. The cave was cold and dank but I enjoyed sitting inside it. The sunlight struck the calm
sea, scattering into a myriad candicant fragments, and the cool breeze whistled through the hollow shade. Droplets of water hit the rocky ground, and gentle memories passed through my mind as if I were a dying man, witnessing flashbacks. As if my life had ceased to be and I’d been given a final opportunity to observe it before it faded away.

             
I’d left that life behind. Left my marriage, my career, my friends. But they refused to be forgotten. They made me who I was. Maybe it was wrong to leave everything behind. That world was still my world, my reality, and I’d made a mistake.

             
Isla Lacuna had become my home, but I wondered if faking my death had been nothing more than a childish prank I’d played to conceal my inadequacies. My marriage had failed because of
me
, not because of my career. I’d gotten my priorities wrong. Maybe, if I’d tried harder, Lauren and I would have been fine. Things could have worked again.

             
I stayed silent, meditative. Memories echoed in the cave and danced like pirouetting shadows. They swirled around me, dripping into my mind like the droplets of water hitting the rocky ground. The crooks and crevices of the chamber, the pockets of light and shade, blazed into flames long snuffed.

             
Elliott and I were children again, playing cricket. Elliott wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and motioned to swing. I told him he held a cricket bat like a girl and he chased me down the street. I laughed derisively. The houses lining the cobbled path became a miasma of red bricks and cut grass. I fell to the ground as Elliott struck me in the back. He apologized as I cried out in pain. I got to my feet, turned on my heel and went home without a word.

             
Darkness swept over the rooftops and the freshly mown lawns. A cat crept furtively under the pale light of a lamppost, and the occasional owl hooted in the tall trees. Elliott and I sat on the pavement, breathing in the green scents of the summer evening and chatting to each other. We’d forgotten about the incident with the cricket bat, even though my back still hurt. Pernicious thorn bushes grew wild as the night drew on, creeping across the road, towards us. The sky became a black shroud and fresh blood scented the air as the wandering cat caught prey. I still smiled inside. Elliott and I would always be mates.

             
Time passed in an instant. Night returned, filled with the white lights of Christmas Eve. Electricity crackled in the air, replaced the chill. Lisa and I held hands in Cardiff’s Winter Wonderland. People skated on the outdoor ice rink, turning and swirling under the piny branches of a Christmas tree. Kids laughed and squealed on the rides and amusements, slipping down slides and bouncing on an inflatable castle.

             
Lisa looked gorgeous, wearing a thick scarlet coat and a scarf with reindeers on it. She laughed at me because I looked like Bambi as I hurtled across the ice rink. I held onto the side and gasped for air.

             
‘I hate skating,’ I muttered.

             
She skated towards me and gave me a
cwtch
.

             
‘Let’s get you a lager. I think you need one!’ She grinned.

             
We took our skates off and made our way to the bar. I ordered two lagers and fixed my eyes on a giant Ferris wheel spinning beside the moon. The turning lights fizzled through the air as I took my gloves off and brought warmth to Lisa’s cheeks. A choir sang carols, their melodious voices gently piercing people’s earmuffs. The scents of cinnamon and hot chocolate. Cool drops of intermittent rain.

             
I couldn’t wait for Christmas, for my mother’s gorgeous roast potatoes and Lisa’s surprised smile as we exchanged presents. The small details of the day would make me happy.

             
The night folded into day. I sat on my sofa, drinking a can of lager as pale afternoon light seeped through the windows. Michael arrived at my house to give me a Christmas present, but he’d lost it in the local pub. He staggered towards me and nicked my lager. My mother wasn’t impressed.

             
‘Who’s this drunken ass?’ She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

             
‘My name’s Michael, and I’m an angel really. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’ He smirked like an idiot and held his hand out. My mother didn’t shake it.

             
He’d had a few Sherries at his house. And a few pints in the pub. He had made the most of the temporary bar service, mixed his drinks and kissed every old lady he’d seen on the way to my place.

             
‘Come with me, dude. There’s a house party at Damien’s. You know Damien, the one who’s always at the theatre talking about existentialism. All the arty wankers are there. It’ll be great. I fancy a philosophical (cough) drunken debate. Same difference. I’m sure I’ll win.’

             
I knew Michael would win the argument. He was straight to the point (or pint, I should say) and nobody ever tried to patronize him. Damien tried once and he was made to look like a tool. Michael had gained a lot of respect in the local artistic circles. And the beer gardens.

             
‘I can’t, mate. I’m going to Lisa’s house.’

             
‘C’mon, you can’t ditch me for your girlfriend!’ He laughed.

             
I wanted to go to Damien’s as well, so I told Michael I’d give him a call afterwards and see what could be done.

             
‘So, Mrs Lace…’ Michael turned to my mother.

             
‘Mace,’ she growled.

             
‘Look at all these gift wrappers. They’re gonna fill up a fair few rubbish bags, eh?’

             
I nudged Michael hard in the ribs. He knew my mother had an issue with how many rubbish bags went out. It was unwise to poke fun at her. But the corners of her lips twitched. She got the joke and I could tell she found him funny really.

             
‘Yep, there’s a lot of rubbish to go out. Let’s start with you, shall we?’ She ushered him out of the door.

             
‘Hope I see you later, Dan! Merry Christmas, dudes!’

             
Memories of Michael still felt like razors in my chest and throat. I’d never met anyone else like him. Never been so close to a friend. We’d shared everything, our likes and dislikes, sense of humor, even a near-death experience. I remembered a poem I’d written about the terrifying day we nearly died together.

A green cloud above us, we smoke and laugh

our cares and last night
’s hangovers away.

Life, frankly, has never seemed so funny.

Penarth beach is a mix of sand and shingle

that stretches below us, as we perch

on a cliff top. The scents of sea air

and weed burn our nostrils.

The tide is getting closer. It cuts

the beach in half.

The sky grows grey. It’ll be evening soon.

‘
Do you remember last time we got stoned here, and I persuaded you that island

was Majorca?
’

My mate Michael points at some distant flecks of land.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say. ‘The tide is coming in fast. We should make a move.’