Waves of Betrayal (The Isabel Marsh Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

He replaces the photo gently and heads upstairs to their bedroom. He knows that he should do as she has asked but he feels such a desperate need to wait for her here. Surely she would be pleased to see him? If she’s badly injured, he will take time off work and look after her.

He looks up and stares at the wardrobe door, remembering the way she spoke to him on the phone from the hospital. It would do more harm than good at the moment to upset her. He’ll give her the time that she needs, but he will let her know that he is there for her. ‘I will not lose you Isabel. I love you,’ he says aloud as he pulls a suitcase from under the bed and begins to throw his clothes into it. He gathers his toiletries from the bathroom, his books, CD’s, even his favourite mug from the kitchen cupboard and, folding his suit bags over his arm, he drags the suitcase out onto the street.

Once again, he notices the twitching of the curtain next door.
The whole village will know I’ve moved out by the time I hit the main road
, he thinks, feeling angry and defensive.

‘Craig, it’s me. I’ll be with you in about ten minutes if that’s ok?’ he says confidently, slipping his mobile into his trouser pocket and starting the engine of his car.

I
sabel stands next to her bulging suitcase with a flimsy cotton beach bag balanced on top, her only hand luggage. Whilst waiting near the check-in queues, she picks stray pieces of thread from the handles, contemplating how on earth she had been convinced to go with Rachel and Claire on the biggest shopping spree she had ever been on. Isabel hates shopping, but her friends had persuaded her that it was essential after having inspected her wardrobe. They deemed almost everything in it “unsuitable” for a beach holiday abroad!

Thinking about the empty cupboards and drawers, where Paul’s belongings used to be, she feels the almost overwhelming physical pain of sadness and loneliness rip through her again. Even the thought of the missing toothbrush and pot of hair gel from the bathroom cabinet sends a jolt of loss through her chest so strong that she almost runs out of the Terminal building into a waiting taxi. Back to mum and dad, it would be so easy.

Suddenly, her racing mind is filled with feverish images of Paul performing the most passionate acts of intimacy with another woman; with Jules, six years younger than herself. This was not love-making; these were scenes of unbridled eroticism that she thought only happened in pornographic films. Was she not enough then? Was there something that she had failed to give him? She suddenly feels that she never knew him at all. But, this was the man who she wanted to marry! She had re-run the whole Wedding Day in her mind a thousand times.

‘What sort of a judge of character am I?!’ she mumbles, pulling a piece of thread so hard that a little black sequin falls to the ground and lands between her pink painted toes. She stares at it for a few seconds, the images dispersing, then picks it up and pops it in the pocket of her three-quarter length trousers. ‘It’ll be hot when we get off the plane,’ Rachel had told her, ‘so wear layers. Things that you can take off when we arrive. I don’t want you sweating all over me in the back seat of the taxi!’

Isabel, despite ridiculing her friend at the time, had taken her advice and was wearing her new Roxy flip-flops, a thin baggy white t-shirt with a vest top underneath and a grey hooded sweatshirt tied around her waist for the flight. She scans the crowds as the queue for their check-in desk gets longer, then she sees her. Hard to miss, in a pink and yellow flowery, fitted retro sundress. She has a little black cardigan around her shoulders, tottering on canvas wedge heels with a pair of big black sunglasses on top of her head. She is holding a huge wide-brimmed floppy straw hat in one hand and pulling a suitcase twice the size of her own in the other!

‘Rach!’ Isabel calls, ‘it’s this queue!’ as she moves to join the last group of people pushing enormous bags which she can only assume contain golf equipment.

‘Rach, you look amazing! Very Audrey Hepburn,’ she laughs as the two friends hug and receive admiring glances from several people in the queue.

‘How are you feeling? Your face has healed brilliantly and you can hardly see the stitches now.’ says Rachel, examining her closely.

‘Nervous,’ replies Isabel, ‘I had some pretty heavy second thoughts for a while if I’m honest. I had my eye on that taxi rank. I’m soooo glad you’re coming with me. I think that I can definitely say that I would be in the back of a car on my way back to the safety of Cartheston if you weren’t here.’

Rachel rolls her eyes, ‘come on girl, see it as an adventure. You can come back in a week with me if you like but, in the meantime, try to forget about everything and just relax. I’m not saying you’ll be in the mood for partying until 6 a.m... which, by the way, we can if you want...’ she nudges her shoulder against Isabel’s, raising her freshly sculpted eyebrows, ‘but just let yourself be “you” for a while.’

‘I’m not sure who “me” is anymore Rach,’ Isabel says sulkily.

‘Then we’ll find her,’ Rachel says, grabbing her friend by both shoulders, confident in their
mission.

Armed with a bottle of water each from Duty Free, they board the flight and Isabel manages to sleep most of the way. Rachel has interrogated the poor man in the window seat, who happens to live nearby in the city of Málaga, about everything there is to see and do in the area. By the time they land, Rachel has not only his phone number, but a list of the best bars and places to visit and avoid, scribbled on the back of an old receipt.

Rachel shakes Isabel lightly to wake her and introduces her sleepy friend to the man next to her. ‘This is Rafael, he runs a language school in Málaga. I’ve told him you’re in the same line of work and that we might pop in one day if we’re in the city.’

‘Hi,’ says Isabel, running her hand through her hair, ‘nice to meet you. I’m Izzy.’

‘Isabel has been through a bit of a crisis recently so we’re going away to cheer her up,’ she continues. Isabel kicks Rachel’s foot discretely in embarrassment.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ says Mr Window Seat, eyeing her up and down with renewed interest.

As they head through the tunnel to Passport Control, Isabel actually feels herself smile, in spite of the vast expanse of asphalted runway, as she sees the cloudless blue sky and the mountains beyond. Mr Window Seat has, thankfully, hurried on ahead with his briefcase.

‘Rach, please don’t do that again, it’s embarrassing.’

‘Do what?’ Rachel pouts.

‘Introduce me to some random man like a poor lost puppy who needs looking after. I’m here to find “me” remember, not Rafael or whatever his name is! Girls only... just because you’re engaged to be married does not mean that I’m in a big hurry to beat you down the aisle. Far from it, in fact...’

‘Ok, ok,’ Rachel holds her hands up in defence, ‘seems a shame though, seeing as we have that hot tub...’

‘Raaaach...!’ Isabel laughs, with a warning tone in her voice.

T
he very friendly, English-speaking taxi driver drops them outside the house. They double check the address and Rachel gets out and tries the key in the lock, just to be sure.

As the driver pulls away, handing them his personal call card, the two friends gaze up at the house in front of them. It’s the last in the row of terracotta town houses; the closest to the sea. The paint is a bit flaky in places and the large pretty climbing plant that Isabel recognises as a Bougainvillea, could do with a bit of cutting back as it threatens to take over the front door. As far as holiday homes go though, it looks very promising indeed.

They push their way in, past the invasive plant, and into a cool marble floored hallway. It’s very dark inside as they notice that every window has a sturdy blind and, on the outside, decorative black bars which, they assume, are for security. As Isabel pulls the cord to raise the blind in the first room, they make out a simple dining table and chairs and, opposite, a fully equipped, modern kitchen. There is a sitting room with a pair of worn, comfy velvet sofas leading out onto a small patio area with a wooden table and four chairs stacked in the corner.

Upstairs they find two bedrooms, both with double beds, a family bathroom, and, over in the corner, a small staircase which captures Rachel’s interest. ‘The roof terrace!’ she squeals excitedly as she runs quickly up the little tiled steps to unlock the door at the top. Suddenly, the hallway is flooded with light and the heat of the mid-afternoon sun as Rachel beckons Isabel up urgently.

‘Oh my goooooooddddd,’ she shouts, hands high above her head as if worshipping the sky, ‘this is sooooo cool!’

‘Bloody hell,’ says Isabel, covering her mouth with both hands as she sees the hot tub and the breath-taking view.

They jump around like little girls, holding hands and pointing at the shimmering sea, the distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada, and the long line of welcoming beach bars with sun beds and parasols on their very own doorstep! There is a wide promenade with a special lane for cyclists and roller-bladers, who whizz by happily chatting or listening to music. There are couples of all ages jogging or sauntering along, hand in hand; groups of young people chilling out on the grassy oasis beneath the palm trees; parties of friends drinking cocktails on the trendy white beds with thin white curtains billowing in the afternoon breeze; people perched on stools, nibbling on snacks that Isabel remembers to be “tapas”.

‘Let’s go and explore,’ says Rachel, ‘let’s just go now, as we are, no need to change or anything!’

‘Wow Rach, that’s the first time I’ve heard you even think of leaving the house without your heels or at least re-touching your make-up!!’ Isabel stares, ‘You feeling alright?!’

‘Oh don’t be daft, there are people down there eating their dinners in bikinis with cut-off jeans, salt dried hair and sarongs for goodness sake!’ she laughs, feeling totally carefree.

After hiding their passports and the majority of their euros in various inconspicuous places around the house, they safely zip the door key away in Rachel’s handbag and head across the road to join the happy throng of sun worshippers. Following a little wooden path down towards the sea, they remove their shoes and then run the last few metres through the burning sand onto the wet shoreline. ‘Well, now we know why they have the boards!!’ laughs Rachel, ‘That stuff is
hot
!’

They wade out up to their knees, planning a trip to as far as one of the little tourist shops to buy a lilo, one each, the next day. Rachel holds on to her floppy brimmed hat covering her face. ‘I need to be careful, my nose will be like a beacon tomorrow. Not a good look!’

‘Fancy a nibble of something in this bar?’ suggests Isabel, ‘I can’t remember a lot of Spanish anymore but I’m pretty sure I can handle food and drinks!’

They settle themselves at a table on the shaded terrace of one of the many beach bars. Inside, there is a big Spanish family of about twenty people or so, still eating lunch at five o’clock in the evening, others are sipping cocktails or drinking coffee at the bar.

‘
Hola,’
Isabel greets the waiter in Spanish, ‘¿
qué tapas tiene?’
The smartly dressed waiter reels off a list of tapas that are available. Isabel looks pensive.

‘So? What do they have Iz?’ asks Rachel.

‘Hmmmm, well not sure about everything but they do have
ensaladilla rusa
which is a really nice potato salad with boiled egg and tuna and a little fish called whitebait in English, I think. Shall we have one of each, just to try?’

‘Go for it! And two dry white wines.’

‘
Gracias guapas,’
smiles the waiter, ‘You are English, no?’

‘Sí, pero estudio español...
err long time ago,’ stammers Isabel.

‘You come here and I teach you,’ he replies with a very thick Spanish accent.

‘I bet he says that to all the girls,’ laughs Rachel as the skinny waiter swaggers back to the bar. ‘But, it doesn’t make a girl feel good when all the waiters around here have a twenty-eight inch waist!’

‘You’re right! Talking about waistlines,’ says Isabel, leaning her elbows casually on the table, twisting her earrings between her fingertips, ‘I spotted a little supermarket just over the road. How about we pop in there after this, get something easy to cook, stock up the fridge a bit and try out that hot tub under the stars?!’ she flaunts, jokingly.

‘I’m up for that! Sure you don’t want to ask Pedro or whatever his name is to join us?!’ she giggles, nodding her head in the direction of the approaching waiter with their wine and tapas.

‘
Gracias,’
says Isabel, blushing, as he lays everything on the table between them.

S
itting on the roof terrace with a half-eaten, family-size, four-cheese pizza between them and a bottle of white wine in a special “Moët” cooler they’d found in the cupboard, Isabel smiles contentedly and leans back in her chair. ‘To think I nearly turned this down!’ she sighs.

‘I know!!’ exclaims Rachel, ‘and if we’d checked the fridge before we went out we wouldn’t have even had to go to the supermarket! Joan must have called the lady who looks after the place. Joan’s so lovely. Comes across a bit stern but then again, I suppose that’s the Headmistress coming out in her,’ she laughs. ‘That’ll be you one day, Iz! Telling off my kids for playing football in the street!’

There’s a moment’s uncomfortable pause.

‘I’m not sure anymore Rach.’ Rachel notices Isabel’s eyes mist over and immediately regrets her insensitive choice of conversation.

‘I do still love him you know,’ says Isabel with a distant tone in her voice. ‘Would you forgive Stephen if he cheated on you?’

‘No I bloody well would
not
, not in a million years and I can’t believe that you would forgive Paul either. Come on Iz, you’re a long way from home, feeling nostalgic, whatever, but going back is not the answer honey.’ She studies her friend’s vulnerable face and decides it’s best to break the mood. She shimmies over on her bare feet to the hot tub, wearing her halter neck maxi-dress and folds the top off... ‘Time for some bubbles, baby!!’