‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I understand.’
‘So,’ Kate said. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No. I just – I just wanted to talk to you. Check you’re OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ Kate said, her mouth tightening. ‘I’m a big girl, Phil. I can look after myself.’
‘I know, but—’
‘And how did you get this number?’ Kate said.
‘I asked your mum and dad where you’re staying.’
The answer was too quick; she knew Phil and she could tell it was a lie he’d prepared earlier. She wasn’t even sure she’d told her parents where she was staying. It pissed her off; this whole phone call pissed her off. She decided not to let him off the hook.
‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘I don’t recall telling them the hotel name. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t, now I think about it. So how did you get the number?’
He paused. ‘I called around,’ he said finally.
‘Called around what?’
‘The hotels.’
Kate stared at her reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. ‘You called every hotel in the resort?’
‘No!’ he said, a hint of outrage in his voice that she would suggest he was that desperate. ‘I knew you were staying near the harbour, so I called those hotels and asked to be put through to your room.’
‘Right,’ Kate said. ‘So you called every hotel near the harbour.’ She shook her head, exasperated. Why couldn’t he leave her alone, even for one week? One week, so she could enjoy her holiday.
‘Well, it’s nice to talk, but I’m kind of busy right now,’ Kate said. ‘We’re getting ready to go out for breakfast.’ She looked at Gemma, spread out in a star shape, her cheek pressed against the pillow, her mouth half-open as she snored lightly. ‘May and Gem are by the door.’
May suppressed a snort of laughter. Kate glared at her.
‘I only wanted to chat. I miss you.’
‘Can we talk later?’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go. They’re waiting. And we’re hungry.’
‘Will you call later?’ he said.
‘Sure.’
‘You promise you’ll call?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I promise.’ It was a promise she felt she would be justified in forgiving herself for breaking.
As she put the phone in its cradle, Gemma’s eyes opened.
‘Who was that?’ she said, her voice little more than a croak.
‘Phil,’ Kate said. ‘He tracked me down.’
Gemma frowned. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘I know he’s hurting, but he needs to get over it. And tracking you down like this is – well, it’s kind of fucked up, Kate.’
‘I know,’ Kate said. ‘But he means well. You know Phil, he’s—’
‘Don’t make excuses for him,’ Gemma said. ‘He can’t do this. And you’d think he’d know better, after what happened to Beth.’
There was a long pause. ‘It’s not like that,’ Kate said. ‘Beth was a totally different situation.’
‘We didn’t think so at first, though, did we?’ Gemma said. ‘And things might have worked out a hell of a lot better if we’d paid a bit more attention to how serious it was.’
‘We were young,’ May said. ‘We didn’t know any better.’
‘We do now,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s my point, and Phil needs to know he has to give this a rest.’ She looked at Kate. ‘Anyway, let’s not argue. Forget Phil. Which is something you didn’t seem to have any problem doing last night. Where were you, you dirty slapper?’
Kate reached down and picked up a handful of the clothes that Gemma had strewn around the room. She tossed them to her friend.
‘Put these on and I’ll tell you over breakfast,’ she said. ‘And then let’s go to the beach and enjoy the last few days of this holiday.’
She was back. Phil knew this because he had been waiting for this day to come the entire time she had been gone, had been thinking about her incessantly every minute of every day, had been hard-pressed not to call her on the hour, every hour, contenting himself with a few – well, maybe a few more than a few – phone calls each evening.
None of which she answered, until, desperate, he had tracked her down by calling nearly every hotel in Kalkan, a place which was, it seemed, littered with hotels. It wasn’t very big, looking at it on Google Earth – which he had done at least three or four times every day in the stupid hope that he might see her, even though he was fully aware that Google Earth was not a live feed from a satellite and that the images he was looking at were months or years old – but, small size notwithstanding, there were a lot of hotels.
And all of them full of men looking for someone to have a summer fling with, perhaps a pretty woman in her mid-to-late twenties who’d recently broken up with her boyfriend and was emotional and vulnerable, and would easily fall for their cheesy lines.
Only once in the entire week had he heard her voice and it had been such a relief to know she was alive, to be in touch with her again, to be connected to her in however paltry a form, at least until she had hung up on him and then it had all been even worse than before.
Yes, it had been a long week, but now she was back. She. Was. Back. He’d tracked her flight on the Internet, watched the tiny plane crawl across the screen from Dalaman airport to Manchester airport, then, when it landed, gone online and checked the arrivals board just to be sure.
Of course, he was only sure that the plane had landed, not that she was on it. So, unable to sleep, he got on his bike – a cyclo-cross, designed to work both on and off-road, that he had bought second hand a few months back – and rode to her house – their house – at midnight (when he was pretty sure she’d be through Customs and back home). He used his bike as often as possible these days; riding it cleared his mind. He tended to stay off the roads, preferring the paths and snickets and alleys that connected most parts of the town, routes that most people didn’t even know existed, leaving them quiet and unused, which was perfect for the solitude he craved.
As a cloud obscured the moon, he turned into the street their house was on, and there it was.
Her car. Parked outside the house. Proof, absolute proof, of her return.
And upstairs, a light on. Her – their – bedroom was at the front of the house. The house he
