Always and Only You

Chapter Thirty-One

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Present Day

I float face down in the clear blue water. The only sound is my breath rasping in and out of my snorkel. Below me, the ocean floor is maybe five or six metres away. The volcanic rock is covered in coral of all shapes and colours: multi-coloured tubes, delicate black feathery fans, bright orange baubles clustered together in their hundreds.

And the sea life …

Vast shoals of tiny silver fish glitter like shards of sunlight as they dart this way and that, sometimes engulfing me, sometimes shooting away if I move too quickly. I can see round fish – angel fish, I think – with stripes and spots, and silvery snapper with long yellow stripes. Now and then I see a flash of sapphire, which may or may not be a blue tang, but it never stays still long enough for me to work out if it matches the picture on the ‘Sea Life in the Caribbean’ leaflet that I picked up from the hotel reception.

I push myself through the water with a lazy breaststroke, taking myself further away from the boat but not far enough that I can’t see it if I lift my head out of the water and look behind me, which I do every few minutes, just to make sure I can still see it anchored a short distance away.

I stop swimming, allowing myself to float. The water is so close to body temperature that it’s almost as if it isn’t there, as if I’m suspended weightless above this surreal landscape. Almost as if I’m flying.

This is the first time in days I’ve felt like myself, that I’ve felt even remotely relaxed. I wish I could stay here all day. Possibly for the rest of my life.

The gentle waves nudge me along bit by bit. I let them take me where they want. We’ve got a whole hour here, and last time I checked my activity tracker, we still had twenty minutes left.

I’m just about to turn back towards the boat when I spot a creamy pink shell on a sliver of white sand between two large rock formations. A conch. And it looks as if it might be empty.

It would be wrong to take it home with me, but I’d like to have a closer look. I fill my lungs, then dive. The gap is narrow and as I swim down between the rocks, a surprisingly strong current tugs at me. I know I need to be careful here.

I’m within a body length when I feel a telltale prickling in my lungs. Frustrated, I do a one-eighty in the water and kick back towards the surface, where I gulp in a few mouthfuls of air before diving back down, putting all my effort into reaching the shell this time.

It’s no good. I time it wrong and end up fighting the current as it’s pushing back against me. I run out of breath even more quickly than the previous attempt and have to return to the surface. I give my body a moment to calm before diving again. This time, I wait at the entrance to the short rocky ravine until the current turns and pulls the other way, allowing it to propel me towards my prize rather than push me away from it.

My fingers touch the shell as I get close to the point of no return, but it’s heavy and so smooth that I can’t get a grip on it. I glance back at the surface to judge how far away it is, then swim another stroke closer. Both my hands close around the conch. I twist it around to check I’m correct about it being empty, then push back towards the surface, dragging it with me. I’ll return it to its resting place shortly.

Once I’ve blown the air out of my snorkel and grabbed some oxygen, I float, mask submerged, and run my fingertips over the hard, silky surface, delving into the opening, marvelling at the soft pink colour. I’m just about to turn it over to examine the nobbles, spikes and ridges on the exterior when something tugs at my foot.

I scream and drop the shell.

Our snorkelling instructor had said it was unlikely there were sharks in this area, but he hadn’t been able to rule it out completely.

Trying not to panic, I pull my face from the water and bring my legs under me to tread water, hoping I’m not about to be up close and personal with a pointy white face with several rows of teeth and two soulless black eyes.

I’m almost right. But only because Gil has just the one row of teeth.

‘You made me drop my shell!’ I say, but I forget that I have a snorkel in my mouth, and it just comes out as unintelligible babbling. I hook the mouthpiece out with my fingers and try again.

He looks back at me, bemused, then shakes his head, dismissing that piece of information entirely. ‘Erin, I—’

‘It might not matter to you, but it matters to me!’ And without waiting to listen to his muffled shouting, I jam my snorkel back into my mouth and dive back below the waves. Whatever Gil has to say can wait.

I spot the shell on a rocky ledge below me and head for it, but I’m overtaken by another figure shooting past me, streamlined like a seal, and just before I get my hands on the conch shell, he scoops it up, practically snatching it from my grasp, then pushes off the rock with his feet and heads upwards. Hardly able to believe his audacity, I make a flurry of frustrated little bubbles, then follow him back to the surface.

When my head breaks the water, I rip my mouthpiece out and start talking, even as I’m spinning around trying to pinpoint exactly where he is. ‘What toxic little game are you playing now?’

He frowns at me. ‘You wanted the shell … so I was getting you the shell.’

‘I’m quite capable of doing that myself, thank you very much!’

He shoves it in my direction, and I grab for it, almost dropping it a second time before pulling it to my chest. ‘You’re welcome,’ he adds, with that all-too-familiar sarcastic tone of his.

I glare at him. If he thinks I’m going to thank him, he’s got another think coming. It was his fault I dropped it in the first place. I do my best to ignore the little voice in my head telling me that if it had been anyone else who’d done that, I’d be thanking them, not tearing strips off them. But I don’t want to listen to it.

‘I’m surprised you found the time to come and dive for shells, anyway,’ I say. ‘I thought you were too caught up with your “little friend”.’

Gil looks back at me as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

‘In the bikini,’ I remind him sweetly.

Gil’s gaze doesn’t waver. ‘Really?’

‘Really what ?’

He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes. ‘You think I’d do that? On our honeymoon? Just to get revenge or something?’

He has a point. Even though I’ve never particularly liked Gil, now I think about it, I’m not sure he would stoop that low to score a point over me.

‘I don’t know why I bother,’ he says, pushing backwards in the water but still facing me. ‘I only came to tell you we’re moving on to the next snorkelling spot in a few minutes. You’ve drifted quite a way from the boat.’

I quickly check the coastline and realize he’s right. It’s a complete rookie mistake and I should know better. We’re floating closer to the rocky headland than we were earlier. I am grateful that he came to find me. If I were him, I probably wouldn’t have bothered.

I don’t know why I react to him the way I do. I’m like a puffer fish, inflating hard, poking out my spines every time he’s close, and especially if I sense any hint of judgement or displeasure in him.

I have no sensible response for him, and if we’re going to be leaving this spot soon, I need to put the shell back where it belongs. When I dip my face in the water, I can’t see the two rock formations I found it in any longer – we must have drifted while we were arguing – so I pick the nearest patch of suitable sand and deliver it there.

I’m surprised to see Gil’s legs treading water as I near the surface on my return. I hadn’t expected him to wait for me, but then I see he’s cleaning his mask before we swim back to the boat, and realize maybe he didn’t.

I look past his head, scanning the waves between us and the beach, and then, frowning harder, I spin in a slow circle, my eyes searching the horizon. When I come face to face with him again, my stomach feels as if someone just dropped a lead weight inside it.

‘Gil …’ I croak, hardly able to get his name out.

He looks warily at me. ‘What?’

‘Where’s the boat?’