Soul Storm (34 page)

‘Ali?’ It’s Lewis, outside.

The office door handle turns but the door doesn’t move.

‘Are you in there?’

I shut down my email, close the laptop lid and open the door.

Lewis has a fresh white dressing attached to his head and a shaved patch circling it, making the rest of his hair look even crazier.

‘Is everything OK?’ His face is less deathly, but he looks more anxious than he did in the ambulance – anxious about what I think of him, whether I forgive him. But I
don’t think there’s anything to forgive.

I don’t say a word. Instead I take a step forward and put my arms around him, hugging as hard as I hugged my sister. I feel his body relax and he rests his hands on my back.

Safe. Strong. Right.

‘Everything is OK, Professor. Now, I think we need some sleep.’

A limo driver takes us back to the hotel, after checking that Lewis is not going to bleed on his upholstery. We don’t speak on the way back, but don’t let go of
each other, either. The roads are quiet, the sky a pale blue shot through with pink.

It’s a beautiful morning, all the more so because I might not have lived to see it.

When we get back, the duty manager explains that we can’t go back to our old villa because the Thai police are collecting evidence for their British colleagues. I feel goosebumps form on
my skin and Lewis holds me tighter. Instead, the manager shows us to a ‘cottage’ room. It’s not nearly as private. As she lets us in, I can hear a child playing in the villa next
door.

Outside, there’s a small terrace with a Jacuzzi and inside, the décor is all dark wood, slightly worn. There’s one double bed on a raised platform with steps leading down to a
small wicker sofa and coffee table. There’s a fruit bowl, but it’s a third the size of the one in the billionaire’s villa and the tiny bananas are bruised.

‘We are fully booked,’ the manager says apologetically.

‘It’s perfect,’ I tell her.

And it is. I like that it’s so different from the crazy luxury we had before. The only reminder is that smell, the hotel’s signature scent of sharp citrus fruits. It makes me think
of Ade’s face, of his self-obsessed excuses and of what I had to do. As soon as the manager leaves, I throw open the wooden doors to the terrace to let the signature perfume out. Lewis lets
me shower first and I change into the cotton kimono that comes with the room. Our stuff is inaccessible till the police have finished.

After Lewis has showered, he comes into the room wearing the other kimono. He frowns. ‘Not sure it’s my style, exactly. Especially with the dressing and brand new bald
patch.’

‘It’s fine.’ I feel awkward, now, sitting on the bed.

‘I’ll sleep on the couch, Ali.’

‘Don’t be silly. After everything we’ve both been through, I want you there when I fall asleep. And when I wake up – though that might not be for days, I’m so
tired.’

Lewis nods and sits down alongside me on the cool cotton sheet. ‘If you’re sure.’

And I remember what Meggie said, about how the two of us used to snuggle up at night when we were small, how comfortable it made us feel, how much less lonely we were when we lay close enough to
hear each other’s hearts.

Lewis is different. His body is different. The feelings are different. But they’re every bit as intense.

The phone rings, shrill and unexpected.

I open my eyes and look into Lewis’s. For a second or two I don’t know where I am and I don’t think he does, either. That sleep was the deepest I’ve had in I don’t
know how long . . .

It comes back.
Ade. Danny. My sister
.

Lewis keeps one arm around my shoulder as he answers the phone.

‘Hello? Yes, Mr Tomlinson speaking . . . Oh, yes, we did. But that was before . . . that’s fine to forfeit the full cost but . . .’

He puts his hand over the receiver. ‘It’s reception. The driver I booked has arrived, the one who was going to take us to the beach I thought was Soul Beach. Obviously, after
what’s happened I’ll cancel but we can go tomorrow if you still want to?’

I check my watch. Just before nine. We’ve been asleep for a couple of hours, no more. If anything, I feel even worse than I did when we got back from the hospital. ‘I don’t
think staying tomorrow is an option. Mum and Dad want me home as soon as you’re fit to fly.’

Lewis nods. ‘You’re not looking too great yourself. Beautiful, obviously, but wrecked as well. I think you need to rest more than you need reminding of everything that’s
happened.’

Except this will probably be my one chance to go there. My final opportunity to make sense of the gap between the Beach and my new reality.

‘Rest is for the old, Lewis. Let’s go now! But are
you
well enough?’

He smiles. ‘I’d go to the ends of the earth with you, Ali. In fact, I already have.’ He uncovers the receiver. ‘We’ll be in reception in ten minutes.’

I remember something. ‘We’ve got no clothes!’

‘The hotel will rustle something up. That’s what five-star is for.’

No limo this time. We’re in the back of a boxy taxi which has the roughest suspension ever. Each time we go over a pothole, the car groans and we’re catapulted into
the front seats.

But the driver is determined to get us there some time
yesterday
. I focus on the road ahead and the people I see through the window. Anything to stop me thinking about what we might
find – or
not
find – once we arrive.

After twenty minutes, we turn right through a ramshackle gateway – and suddenly we’re in the middle of a traffic jam of minibuses and tourists and dogs. There’s a pier to the
left, with boats jostling for the best position to attract passengers. On the right, cafés and ticket booths are surrounded by long, snaking queues.

‘We’re not in the True Lily Hotel any more, are we, Toto?’ Lewis says, and I love that he can reference the
Wizard of Oz
despite carsickness. This place freaks me out.
Still, if I can do what I had to do in the last twenty-four hours, then surely I can queue for boat tickets.

‘You are here,’ says the driver and, as I step out, my legs feel unsteady.

I’m trying to choose the shortest queue, when a Thai boatman, tanned the same dark colour as the pier, steps forward and holds out his hand to shake Lewis’s. ‘Mr Tomleeson. We
am your private charter. OK, OK, OK . . .’

We follow the
OK
s through the crowd until we reach a small white boat at the far end of the row. There’s a gangplank linking the shingle beach to the boat and I stumble as I step
onto it. Lewis steadies me.

‘I am Alfred, driver is Bo. Put on life-jackets. To big island first, right, then leetle ones?’ the boatman says.

Lewis doesn’t have time to reply before the engine roars into life, making the boat and my bones shudder.

‘Ever been in a speedboat, Ali?’ Lewis shouts.

‘No.’

‘It’s, um, speedy. So hold on tight.’

He wasn’t kidding. In films, speedboats seem to slice effortlessly through the water. But this one thumps up and down so hard it feels like we’re smashing into concrete, not the
sea.

The shore behind us is getting smaller. I notice that alongside the busy transit port we’ve just left, there’s a second harbour. Lots of people must live there as there are dozens of
houses with pitched wooden roofs and flags fluttering in the breeze.

Except I suddenly realise: they’re not houses. They’re boats too.

Alfred sees me staring. ‘Sea gypsies. Born, live, die, all on boats. They see tsunami coming before it happens. On land, here, so many die. But the sea gypsies survive OK.’

‘This part of the world was hit?’

Alfred nods. ‘Very, very bad. All Andaman Sea. Everything you see, OK? New.’

Suddenly the chaos we’ve just behind left feels very different to me. Hopeful, even joyful.

We’re heading towards a large island up ahead. I can’t wait for this relentless thumping to end, but even from this distance I can tell this isn’t the Beach. The island is too
big and too open to the sea, and every metre of sand seems to be crammed with parasols or sun loungers or little shacks.

Lewis looks at me. I shake my head.

The engine cuts out and we drift towards the shallow bay.

‘We won’t want to stay very long,’ Lewis tells Alfred.

‘Look at feeshes,’ he says and points towards the far edge of the tiny island.

I step straight off the boat into the warm, clear water and a zebra-striped fish nudges my foot. The sun is so intense I can almost feel my skin blistering already, so I pull my hotel-branded
t-shirt out of my hotel-branded bag and pull it over the life-jacket and my hotel-branded swimsuit. Even the flip-flops on my feet have the lily flower logo. Only my sunglasses are my own.

We walk ashore. It’s even busier here than it was at the little port. A group of Chinese tourists have arrived just ahead of us and are handing out coins for loungers, split coconuts,
Singha beers. Everywhere is bright and breezy, crowded with multi-coloured wooden signs offering massages for two hundred baht, or four different flavours of Pringles.

I try to look beyond the clutter and the people. Maybe the rocks
are
the same shape with the same merciless crags. And the sand might be the same blond-white. But then isn’t most
sand that colour when it’s been dried by the sun?

Lewis buys us a bottle of water each and we gulp it down. The Chinese tour group are being led towards a shallow area of rock pools, so we walk behind them and as soon as my feet touch the
water, I feel fish circling. I look down and there are hundreds of them this time, doing a wild rainbow dance between people’s legs. It tickles and it makes me giggle too.

I catch Lewis’s eye and he smiles back, but cautiously, as though he can’t quite believe I’ve forgiven him for everything.

I lean forward in the water and kiss him briefly on the lips. His skin still smells slightly of hospital antiseptic.

Alfred is smoking a cigarette and watching us. ‘OK?’ he calls out.

‘Very OK,’ Lewis whispers. ‘But the Beach isn’t here, is it?’

I shake my head. ‘Close, but no cigar.’

We return to the boat, dodging hawkers. Alfred hops aboard and Bo starts the engine.

I try to guess which of the smaller islands we’re heading for. There must be hundreds, popping out of the pale turquoise water like floating sea creatures.

The boat judders and the horizon stretches ahead of us like a silk ribbon, shimmering on the water.

That colour, that horizon, is so familiar that I feel an ache deep inside me. A longing.

The engine cuts out again, some distance from any of the islets.

‘You swim,’ says Alfred. ‘We have snorkels. Fleepers. Or you just,’ he shrugs, ‘float with life-jackets to where you like. We here all afternoon. But watch out for
sea urchin. Spiny. Very painful. OK?’

Lewis looks at me. ‘Snorkelling or floating?’

‘Floating,’ I say. But as he heads for the ladder at the side of the boat, I realise I’d forgotten Lewis’s head injury. He took the dressing off before we left, but the
shaved patch and the red cut look so brutal. ‘I don’t think you should swim.’

He laughs. ‘It’s a graze. I only got them to put on this big a bandage so you’d take pity on me. And it worked.’

He’s already climbing down the side before I can do anything to stop him.

I follow. There’s a gap between where the rope ladder ends and the sea begins. I let myself fall gently into the water, which seems to welcome me in. It’s weird, being kept afloat by
the life-jacket. No effort, like when you fly in a dream.

‘Where to, boss?’ Lewis asks.

I turn through a hundred and eighty degrees. It all looks so different from sea level, especially once I can’t see the boat any more.

To our right there’s an island. From this low down, all I can see is the deep green shrubbery that scours the top of the rocks, but something is drawing me in.

This is it,
my body is telling me.

‘This way,’ I say.

As I swim, I catch glimpses of life under the clear water: rippling plants, black-needled urchins, glistening scales of fish in coral, violet and jade. Maybe one day I’ll return so I can
learn to dive and immerse myself in the incredible underwater world. But right now I must focus on what’s above it.

I sense Lewis behind me. Watching my back. The island is further than it looks and the salt water is making the grazes on my wrists sting badly. I try to control my impatience, to swim steadily,
take it easy.

But impatience wins.

Finally, I glimpse the strip of sand ahead.

Sea, shore, rocks. They look like a flag of turquoise, white-gold and black. There’s no sense of scale. It could be as long as Bournemouth beach, or as short as one of the rock pools we
saw on the big island.

But it looks
right
.

My heart is pumping, my skin tingling.

Don’t be too disappointed if it’s wrong
. None of this is important any more. Not really.

I’m not fooling myself.

My shin hits something under the water. A sea urchin?

I look down and the water’s so clear that I can see almost all the way down. My leg has just hit the shattered wooden foundations of a small jetty.

Lewis has caught up with me. ‘Is it here?’

I blink, look up again, as the gentlest of currents seems to reel us in towards the island.

‘I think it might be.’

The bay is bottoming out. I reach out with my foot and feel soft sand give slightly under my sole. I begin to walk.

A memory flashes through my brain: Tim arriving on Soul Beach, blinking at the unexpected sight in front of him. The bar, the beach huts, the Guests.

It’s not like that now.

Sun-bleached flotsam litters the shoreline. Timber and metal lie in sorry piles, too big to move by hand. There must have been people living here once, but not now. Tiny green shoots push up
through the sand. Saplings-to-be, to replace the ones the tsunami must have uprooted.