But now something was making Sid charge up under his shirt.
‘Give it a rest, you buzzy little bastard,’ Lucas told it, as if it was the old blue bottle-stopper that was actually causing the problem, rather than his own messed up psyche.
As he reached his room — a pleasant wood-panelled chamber with a high Georgian window overlooking the extensive manicured lawns of Stokeley Lodge — his eye was drawn beyond a row of stately cedars to the far south-eastern horizon. The Suffolk border lay in that direction, just a ten-minute walk from here. This holiday camp with the dead lifeguard was off in that direction too.
It had absolutely nothing to do with him. Nothing.
‘I told you, Sid,’ he said, slamming his bag and his rods onto the antique side table. ‘Shut up.’
4
‘It’s much better than I expected.’ Francis dumped his holdall on the sofa and turned around to take in the cream walls, wood-effect floor and pleasant pine furniture. ‘You always made out it was a total dive!’
‘Well, our chalets were,’ Kate said, dumping her own bag and feeling a little spaced out as she made for the kitchenette area and the kettle. Tea. She needed tea. ‘They put us in the run-down, mildew-infested sheds down the end by the bins,’ she went on, opening the fridge to find a welcome pack of milk, butter and two strawberry yoghurts. There were teabags and instant coffee too, in paper packets by the kettle, and a loaf of sliced white bread. She made tea on autopilot, still trying to process what Gary had told her.
Shit. Martin. She couldn’t believe it.
‘You OK?’ asked Francis, pausing on the way to check out his room. ‘You’ve looked a bit freaked out ever since we got here.’
She pushed her hair — the same colour as his, but a little less messy — off her face, and shook her head. ‘Gary - that’s the Ents Manager guy back in reception — he just told me some really sad, awful news. The whole gang’s going to be shocked.’
‘What?’ prompted her brother, leaning in his bedroom doorway, his face creasing with concern.
‘Martin — the big, sporty guy I told you about? He… he killed himself last week.’
‘Fuck!’ Francis came back and sank onto the sofa. ‘What the hell happened there?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, turning back to the tea, needing the ritual. ‘They found him in the pool. He’d cut his throat.’
Francis shook his head. ‘Did he leave a note or something?’
‘Yeah, apparently so,’ she said, squeezing the tea bags and then firing them into the bin under the sink. ‘It just said “I’m sorry”, according to Gary. He said he’d thought about phoning us all before we arrived today, but then decided he wanted to tell us in person.’
‘God, that’s going to put a serious damper on everything,’ said Francis. He blinked and shrugged guiltily. ‘Sorry — I mean—’
‘No — you’re right. It is,’ she agreed. ‘Although if I know Talia, she’ll turn this whole weekend into a party in Martin’s honour. I guess that’s the only thing to do… get pissed and stupid in his memory.’
‘Did you know him well?’
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘He was one of the gang, of course, but he and I didn’t spend much time together — he always worked in the pool complex and outside, running the sports sessions. He only put his Bluecoat uniform on in the evenings and then he’d hang out with all of us for the last hour or two. I was looking after the kids all day, in the Buntin’s Children’s Theatre with Talia and Uncle Bobby, so I didn’t see him that much. I do know Craig had a massive crush on him, though… unrequited… God, he’s going to be really upset.’
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she picked up a text from Talia: Should be there in an hour! We’re all meeting in the Embassy Ballroom at seven! Magnificent Seven After Seven meeting at seven! Geddit?
Kate sighed. She couldn’t bear to ruin the last hour of Talia’s journey. It would be better to talk about Martin when they could give each other a hug. Gary had said he was telling everyone as they got there, so she guessed Julie, Bill, Nikki and Craig might already know. She didn’t have their phone numbers, so there had been no texts. She guessed she could have been in contact with them all on social media, but she didn’t really do much of that. Talia was the link between her and the rest of the Magnificent Seven. Six now. Six.
‘Come on,’ said Francis. ‘Drink up your tea and then take me down to the crap chalets at the end. I want to see the seamy side!’
It was a good plan. Sitting here drinking tea and brooding wasn’t helping anyone. She drained her mug while Francis checked her room, making sure it wasn’t better than his, and briefly toured the bathroom. It wasn’t five-star luxury, but it was a great deal prettier at this end of the site, where it was being paid for.
‘It’ll do,’ he said. ‘Now… the grotty hut exposé!’
She laughed and they headed out, locking the single-storey chalet — one in a row of six opposite another row of six, with a wide stretch of grass between them. The smell of the sea on the air instantly took her back to sunny days on the steep, stony shore with Talia, a bunch of kids in their care. And rainy days, too — plenty of those. There was no sea view from their chalet, but a walk along the broad tarmac path towards the lower end of the site revealed glimpses of cornflower-blue English Channel. The site
