My thoughts move on to his parents. Soon, I imagine, they’ll come here amid the ongoing investigation into their only child’s mysterious disappearance. They’ll be over the worst shock by then, and they’ll still be buoyed by hope that someday, somewhere, their wayward but adored boy will turn up. The hope will fade as months and then years go by, but perhaps it will never die completely when a body isn’t found.
Something interrupts my thoughts, a voice – Bianka is speaking to me.
‘Charlotte. Are you okay? You’re miles away. Come on. We need to get him overboard. It’s almost three o’clock.’
I nod, pulling the oars from the water and resting them in the oarlocks. It takes us several minutes to figure out a way of heaving Maxime overboard – he’s heavy and the boat is small, rocking so hard as we shuffle about that I worry it might actually overturn. We also have to be quick – both Can Xara and Sa Capricciosa have sea views and someone could potentially spot us if we’re unlucky. Though I feel confident we’re shielded by the limestone rocks at the cape, I can’t be totally sure. In the end we manage to roll him overboard and it happens so quickly and almost soundlessly that I can’t quite grasp that we’ve done it.
*
‘What if the police come knocking, asking questions?’ We’re only metres from shore now and I can make out the pinprick lights from Can Xara high up on the hillside, separated from the stars by a narrow patch of trees.
‘They won’t.’
‘They might, though. He could have told his friends about what happened between us and that I own the neighbouring property. He could even have told them he was going over here for a little chat. Of course they’ll be suspicious when the guy just doesn’t return.’
‘Listen to me. If you really want to get away with this, Charlotte, you need to assume that nobody suspects you because then you won’t come across as suspicious. People like you don’t kill random men with whom they have no provable connection. They just don’t. So rest assured, nobody is going to look at you and be like Oh, yes, I bet that keto chef lady in the five-million-euro neighbouring house killed that young, rich dude that went missing in Ibiza. Believe me. His reputation is going to work in our favour. I’m sure he has one. He was a total playboy. I bet he has a long bad-boy history of drugs and various women and all kinds of issues. You have to remember that only you and I know that he’s dead. People will not automatically assume murder. Besides, he posted on Instagram from Els Horizonts, remember? Police will trace his phone to that yacht and assume he must have gone wherever it did. Then they’ll hopefully uncover that at least one of his friends was on that yacht.’
‘Yeah, but what about his friends, though? How do we know they won’t point the police in the right direction?’
‘Because they’re mafia, Charlotte. Criminals. Do you really think they’re going to call the police and be like Oh, hi, my friend’s gone missing, could you come here and have a poke around? They’re probably dealing drugs and all kinds of stuff and absolutely not interested in having police come calling. I’m totally sure they’re going to scarper and cover their tracks when they realize Maxime is missing, which is great for us because it makes them look suspicious as all hell.’
‘I guess.’ The boat scrapes against the pebbles on shore and we pull the oars back in before I jump onto the beach. ‘I can’t stop thinking about what we’ve – I’ve – done, though. The brutality of it. That I actually killed him. He was just a kid, you know? How can I possibly live with this?’
‘Look. Cry for five more minutes, while we get the boat back into the boathouse. Then never cry over him again, ever. Promise me? No need to cry about something that never happened or someone you never provably even met.’ I nod and allow the tears to flow freely while we begin to manoeuvre the boat onto the metal track. She’s right, of course – again.
‘Let’s make a pact,’ I say. ‘We never speak of this again. It’s done now.’ Bianka nods and we solemnly shake hands, her hand lingering in mine for a long while.
*
It’s almost four a.m. when we start on the final stretch of the path from the finca back up to the house. We’ve changed back into our party dresses which we left in the finca while we got rid of Maxime wearing old sweatpants and plain T-shirts. If we happen to run into Anette or Linda, we’ll say that we’ve been down on the beach, talking and drinking. They’d believe it; it’s not like it would be the first time. We’re just coming up to the final twist in the path, directly beneath the yoga platform, when Bianka takes my hand.
‘Hey. I just want to say that I really feel it’s important that we try to return to how we were, before all of this terrible stuff happened.’
‘Bianka—’
‘I’m serious, Charlotte. I can’t bear the thought of things changing between us. I just can’t.’
‘Well, obviously things have changed. We just threw a dead body into the Mediterranean.’
‘It doesn’t have to change the amazing thing between me and you, though.’
I know I have to be careful here but at the same time, I just can’t believe she’d stand here, looking as though she’d quite like to kiss me in the moonlight, knowing what we’ve just done. I can’t help but release an incredulous little sigh. ‘Seriously? You seem completely unaffected by what we’ve just done. I find that unbelievable. I need some space.’
‘And I need you. Please.’ Bianka looks desperate and unhinged suddenly, like she might go absolutely crazy if I don’t give her what she wants. But what she wants is me, and she can’t have that. I take my hand back, and have to pull quite hard to release it from Bianka’s clammy grip. I keep walking up the path, but Bianka seizes my arm and yanks me back.
‘Hey, that hurts.’
‘What you just said hurt.’
‘Bianka, will you please stop? You’re freaking me out. You can hardly blame me for wanting some space considering what has happened in the last couple of days.’
‘And you can hardly blame me for feeling a little used, Charlotte.’
‘Look. Can we just forget it, all of it? We agreed we would.’
‘That’s what I just suggested. Let’s just leave this behind now and remember what it was like… It can be like that again.’
‘No. It can’t.’
‘Yes, it can. And it will.’ She has a look of defiance and triumph and I realize that she’s actually threatening me.
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘Well. I think it’s fair to say that I’ve helped you out tonight. Big time. Perhaps show a little appreciation. I mean, why would I keep your dirty secrets if you’re going to cut me off like that?’
‘I’m not cutting you off. I need space, Bianka.’
‘Space!’ Bianka practically shouts the word and I instinctively glance around to make sure nobody heard. Through the branches of the olive trees that grow on the slopes surrounding us I can make out the glass-walled terraces by the pool and become aware of a slight movement up there, then a flash of copper red – Anette. Bianka is standing with her back facing the house and I most certainly don’t want her to realize someone is watching – in her aggravated state I just can’t be completely sure she wouldn’t say something that would give it all away. She might not even have to – we both look pretty dishevelled, I imagine, and Anette might grow suspicious of what we’ve been up to if she sees us in this state, especially later on, in hindsight, when news of Maxime Dubois-Joseph’s disappearance makes international headlines, which I have no doubt it will. I need to throw her off the scent and make her go away. The best way to do that is to make this look like a lover’s tiff, an intimate and awkward moment you wouldn’t want to intrude on.
‘I’m sorry, Bianka,’ I say, loudly. ‘You’re right. Come here.’ She looks up at me, confused. I take a step closer. Then another. I close the gap between us and kiss her hard on the mouth, burying my hands in her hair, and she responds eagerly. It clearly doesn’t matter to her at all that I was throwing up an hour ago or that the hands playing with her curls are encrusted with blood.
Part Two
‘When people show you who they are, believe them.’
–Maya Angelou
Twenty-Nine
