Swimming at Night: A Novel (30 page)

Katie bit down on her lip.

“I am afraid to say that she was not the first to be found at that location. There have been six suicides recorded there in the last eight years.”

“Why?” Finn asked.

“We imagine people go there because it is . . . certain.”

Her stomach tightened: Mia hadn’t wanted to survive.

“If it would be of help, I can arrange transport to have you taken to Umanuk.”

“No!” she said, abruptly.

“Thank you for the offer,” Finn added, “but we probably won’t visit immediately.”

“Of course. Please, keep this map in that case.”

She asked, “Has anything else about Mia’s case come to light? Anything at all?”

“I believe that you’ve already received the details from the witnesses’ statements and autopsy?”

Her fingers were tapping against her thighs. “Yes, but I’m just struggling to believe it still. Suicide?” she said, shaking her head. “Are the police absolutely certain?”

“I have paid particularly close attention to this case because the death of a young person is incredibly troubling. But yes, the police are confident it was suicide.”

“But she didn’t leave a note!”

He nodded. “I understand how extremely difficult it is to live with someone’s death when they’ve left no explanation for it, but it is not uncommon.” He placed his hands on the table, leaning
in, as if what he was about to say broke some form of protocol. “Perhaps it will help you to know that in suicide cases, only one in six people leave a note.”

“Why?”

“Often the decision is made on impulse; suicide has perhaps been something the individual has been considering, but when they decide to act upon it, it is with a sense of immediacy. Explanations are forgotten, which, of course, is terribly upsetting for those left behind.”

Something in the earnestness of his expression made her wonder if his experience of this was personal.

“All I can say to you is that while Mia did not leave a note, we do have several important pieces of information. Firstly, we have an account from two witnesses who saw her minutes before her death. We also have the reassurance of the autopsy, which made it clear there was no sign of anything more sinister at hand. You will also recall, Katie, that Mia had alcohol in her system?”

“Yes.”

“It is possible that your sister was not, therefore, fully aware of the consequences of her decision on the cliff. Alcohol is known to inhibit feelings of danger.”

“Yes,” she said again, not trusting herself with any more words.

“What I would finally draw your attention to is that Mia was carrying nothing on her person except one thing: her passport.” He paused, encouraging them to finish his thought.

“As identification,” Finn said.

“Precisely.”

“That is the information that led the local police to their conclusions. I am afraid it is up to you to draw your own.”

Katie swallowed, knowing how difficult that would be.

*   *   *

The bar of the Khama Heights Hotel was an elegant space, uplit by discreet amber lights. Beyond the tall stone pillars, floodlit gardens stretched down to the sea.

Finn slapped his cards onto the table, then leaned back with arms folded, grinning. “I’m available for lessons.”

“That’s useful to know,” Katie said, spreading her cards neatly beside his.

He snapped forward in his seat. “A flush? You have a flush?”

“Oh. Do I?” she said with a smile.

He stared at her, openmouthed. “You hustled me?”

She slid the large pile of money across the table and into her wallet. “Yes, I believe I did.”

He laughed, a loud, throaty sound that pleased her. “Where the hell did you learn to play poker like that?”

“On my travels.”

“I can’t believe it. You’ve been letting me win for”—he glanced at his watch—“an hour and a half, and then you pull out the big guns in the final play. Katie Greene, you’ve changed.”

She smiled.

“Now I’ve only got four nights to reclaim my dignity.”

She wished he wouldn’t remind her of how little time he had left. She gathered up their cards.

“I suppose the loser should get the next round.” He gestured to her empty glass. “Vodka orange?”

“Please.”

She watched his easy strides, his shorts hanging low over his hips like a schoolboy’s. The other guests wore shirts and light pants, but she liked his casualness; anything else on Finn would be wrong. He said something to the barman, who laughed and clapped a
hand on Finn’s shoulder. She remembered how he used to arrive at the house she shared in London with Jess and two other girls and, before he’d even gotten as far as her room, she’d hear her housemates laughing at some quip he’d made. His ability to make people laugh, to make
her
laugh, was one of many things she’d loved about him.

When he returned with their drinks, he set them down and said, “Right. I’ve been very courteous and avoided bringing this up since visiting Richard Hastings, but that was a week ago now. So, I’d really like to know: when are you planning on going to the Umanuk cliffs?”

She took a long swig of her drink. “Soon.”

“Not good enough. I’m looking for a date. A time. A mode of transport.”

“I’m not ready. Honestly. I can’t go there yet.”

“It’s a huge thing,” he said more gently, “I realize that. But you need to do this, Katie.”

She placed her drink down and pressed her lips together. They felt cool from the ice. “Once I go there, this whole thing . . . following Mia’s journal . . . it ends. I always imagined I’d go to the cliff with answers. But I don’t have any.”

“Maybe there will never be answers.”

“There have to be. Because what am I supposed to do afterwards? Just fly home? Get on with my life?”

“Does that scare you?”

The couple at the next table stood and carried their drinks through to the restaurant to be seated for dinner. “There’s nothing in London for me anymore. No family. No fiancé. No job.”

“It’s going to be hard, but you
will
manage. You’re strong, Katie. Resilient. You’ve got your friends. You’ve got me.”

Was he setting himself apart from the category of a friend? She
glanced at his face, but his expression seemed impassive, difficult to read.

“Why don’t we go back together?” he said. “If you’re not ready for London, you can crash at Mum and Dad’s for a while. Teach me your poker moves.”

She smiled.

“You’ve got to go back at some point. I’d rather it were with me.”

“What will you do when you’re home?” she said, shifting the focus. “Are you staying in Cornwall?”

“Depends on work—whether I get back into radio.”

“Will the station take you back?”

“I doubt it. They weren’t hugely impressed when I quit.”

“You worked so hard to get that job. I thought you loved it there?”

“I did.”

“Why did you leave?”

He lifted his shoulders. “I was never able to say no to her.”

The thought of what happened between Finn and Mia reared up in her mind. It was one of the few things they’d not talked about and it hung between them now. She fixed her gaze on him. “Were you in love with Mia?”

He drew in a breath. “Yes.”

She felt the stab in her gut, a sharp pain that spread outwards and made her want to hug her arms to her middle. Instead, she picked up her drink to give her hands something to do. “Since when?”

Finn scratched a knuckle back and forth beneath his chin. “When we were sixteen we were at a gig and she kissed me. Just a peck on the lips, that was all. She didn’t mean anything by it. But for me it was the first time I’d thought of her as more than a friend.”

Her eyes widened. “All this time you’ve . . . ”

“No. No, I don’t think so. It’s hard to untangle because Mia always meant so much to me.”

“But when you traveled together . . . ”

“I realized that I was in love with her.”

Her throat felt tight. She took another drink and finished it. “It must have been hard seeing her with Noah.”

“It was hell.”

“What was he like?”

“He was an incredible surfer. Completely focused on it. I think Mia was drawn to that intensity in him.”

Katie nodded.

“But he was also distant, a bit of a loner, really. He hung back from the crowd. He always struck me as troubled. I’m not claiming that’s an objective opinion. It’s just mine.”

“Mia wrote the same thing. She said there was a sadness about him that reminded her of herself.”

Finn swallowed. “You know, if I’d thought he’d loved her, then maybe my opinion of him would have been different.”

“Why?”

“It would’ve been easier to let her go.”

They were both silent for a time.

Finn shifted and when she looked up, she saw his foot was jigging nervously. “I’ve got questions, Katie. About her journal . . . About some other things Mia may have written.”

Of course he would have, she realized. “Ask me whatever you need.”

“Did Mia write anything,” he began, his gaze slipping to the floor, “about why she slept with me?”

She thought back to the entry, the description of the stars
dripping from the sky and the rum warm in Mia’s throat. “She wanted to feel what you did.”

“Only she didn’t.”

“You’d always been her best friend. She wrote that it was too big a jump for her to think of you as anything else.”

“She regretted it?”

“She regretted how it changed things.”

“Sorry, I know it must be odd talking about this. After us.”

She looked at him closely. “When we were together, were you . . . in love with her?”

He took a deep breath. “I found it hard that Mia and I weren’t speaking. Really hard. But when I was with you, I was never wishing I was with Mia.”

It was a relief, at least, to hear that. “I’m sorry for how things ended between us,” she said suddenly.

“It’s in the past.”

No, it’s not. It’s here in the present,
she thought. “Do you remember what I said to you at the end? We went to that bar in Clapham.”

“Course. You told me it had been fun, but you didn’t see a future.”

Her heart began to drum. “That wasn’t the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was worried about Mia. It was tearing her apart that we were—”

“Miss Katie!” Ketut was rushing towards their table. “I have a message for you!”

She blinked. “A message?”

“Yes, a fax. It is here for you.” He passed her a white sheet of paper.

She angled it towards the light and read:

Katie,

Following your visit, I was pleased to make some inquiries regarding your stolen backpack. It seems that you are in luck: yesterday the police arrested part of the Malaysian gang we spoke of. I am told your backpack has been recovered, although I’m not sure if anything of value remains.

I do not claim any part in having the backpack returned to you. The police were scheduled to do so later in the week; my inquiry simply prompted a marginally swifter delivery. I do hope its return gives you a little pleasure; no doubt you deserve it.

Yours,
Richard Hastings

She looked up at Ketut.

He beamed. “Your backpack has been taken to your room.”

*   *   *

She ran from the bar, her sandals clacking against the tiled floor. Ducking past a family dressed for dinner, she raced along the wide corridor towards her room, Finn behind her. She slipped the key in the lock and burst in.

Propped against the foot of her bed was Mia’s backpack. It looked more worn than she’d remembered. There was a rip along the front pocket and a dark stain spread from the bottom upwards, as if it’d been sitting in oil. She crossed the room and lifted it onto the bed, not wanting to think about why it felt lighter. She groped
with the buckle and drawstring and then dug her hand into the belly of the bag.

Please,
she said to herself,
please be in here.
She began yanking items free—clothes, shoes, and toiletries were bundled up together and she tossed them onto the bed. A shampoo bottle had leaked over her belongings, turning her fingers damp and sticky. She pulled out item after item: a green dress, a paperback, a pair of earphones, a flashlight. Then her hand met with the bottom of the bag. There was nothing more in it.

“No!” She flipped it upside down and shook fiercely. “Come on!”

She shoved the bag aside and pawed through the belongings littering the bed: flip-flops, a hairbrush, a cardigan, sunscreen, a pair of shorts. She must have missed it. She turned everything over, shaking out clothing, tossing aside shoes. She sieved through the pile again, twice. “It’s not here! Her journal’s not here!”

She turned and saw Finn crouched beside the backpack. He was running his hands along it and then he unzipped a side pocket, which she must have missed in her hurry. She saw a flash of sea blue as he pulled out the journal, a magician performing his best trick.

“Thank God!” she cried. She took it, her fingers moving over the cover. The spine was worn and cracked and the fabric seemed thinner. She flicked her thumb through the pages: it was all there!

“Finn—” she said, spinning around.

She froze.

His expression was serious and in his hands he held a dress. It was the color of wet grass and belonged to Mia, one of the few items of her clothing that Katie had kept in the backpack. She watched as he fingered the light cotton straps that would once have rested on Mia’s shoulders. She wondered what memory it
stirred to make his eyes close for a moment. He lifted the dress, as if trying to find weight or substance in the empty material, and then he drew it to his face and breathed in the smell of her sister.

Even though you’re gone, it will always be you and Finn, won’t it?

Finn opened his eyes and his gaze met Katie’s. Neither of them spoke. It felt as if Mia’s presence suddenly loomed so large that the air in the room constricted with it. They both held part of her in their hands.

Suddenly Finn loosened the dress from his grip and cleared his throat. “You’ve got the journal back.”