Page 81 of The Last Train Home
‘It’s not my fault,’ I say.
‘Of course it’s your fault. Whose fault is it then?’ she shouts back.
I blink. Samantha can’t be serious. But my anger has seen hers and it’s ready for the fight.
‘I didn’t cause the credit crunch,’ I shout back at her. ‘I didn’t cause the global economy to tank.’
She stands up. ‘But you switched jobs. You should have stayed where you were. What kind of idiot moves jobs in the middle of a fucking credit crunch?’
There it is. That’s what I’ve known myself, but I’ve been waiting for her to throw it at me. I moved because she can’t stop spending money. I moved jobs because the new one paid loads more than I previously earned, and the bonus scheme was better. I moved to do the right thing for my family.
I can’t win. Whatever I do, it’s wrong. And then it’s as if the universe has decided to stop firing warning shots at me. This time it’s the real deal, and I feel pain galloping up my arm as if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are riding up it, bringing death and destruction. Something’s happening inside my chest. I feel the shock and agony gather all the way up towards my throat, towards my eyes, sending a blackout instruction to my retinas.
It’s so sudden – the darkened collapse – that I don’t even know it’s coming. It’s forcing the breath from my body. I clutch at my chest, but something’s going on inside and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it.
Chapter 52
Abbie
I’ve just gone cold. I don’t know why, but I’ve gone cold. Something’s happened. But I don’t know what. I glance around the beach. It’s boiling, only I’m not. What’s happening? And then the cold, awful feeling ebbs away slowly, to be replaced by the heat again. Goodness knows what that was about.
I fan myself as a waiter brings me a fresh bottle of water; condensation runs down the side of it, pooling onto the table next to me. I gulp the water down and collect myself. I’ve been presented with a menu for lunch, and I’m watching a bride and groom walk past, barefoot on the sand. She’s got a crown of flowers on her head and her light white dress is floating out behind her.
‘The Seychelles are incredible,’ Sean says, staring out to sea as I watch the couple have their picture taken. It’s only them. There appears to be no family with them. I ponder this for a moment.
We’ve already been for a swim to cool off. I’m sure we’re due another soon. Maybe after lunch.
‘Can’t think why I’ve never thought to come here before,’ he continues.
We fell for an advert inCondé Nast Traveller, hook, line and sinker, and Sean splashed out on the nicest hotel I’ve ever been to. Although to Sean it’s not splashing out; it’s par for the course for him these days. How we live our lives now is so at odds with how I was brought up, and how I’d been living until very recently. It feels ridiculous to have this much money floating around, especially given what’s been going on in the world.
The hotel is in a horseshoe-shaped bay with tranquil turquoise waters, lush jungle behind us, all colonial-style low-level wooden buildings – the lot. I thought they must Photoshop a few of these images, but it turns out this is real. Our room is actually a cottage, high up the hillside with panoramic views of the ocean, kitted out in muted soft greys and beiges, white cushions, its own veranda with a daybed. And the main bed is a four-poster. I’ve never slept in a four-poster. Not that much sleeping is getting done. There’s something about hotel rooms, isn’t there? Some underlying connotation, some sort of sexual expectation.
We’re on day three of a ten-day breather from the stresses of Sean’s work. He’s been working so hard, he puts me to shame. Although I have got another magazine gig lined up when I return, so I’ll be sacrificing my morning swims, by the look of things. No time for fifty lengths a day any more. I eye up the ocean. Maybe I should be doing some strokes now.
I pull Sean up. ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘We’re going back in.’
‘Already?’
‘Yes, before lunch, let’s just have a quick dip.’
He groans, hauls himself up. ‘OK, OK.’
In the water he pulls me towards him as I’m about to start swimming. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he says, kissing me.
‘Sean, this is a family beach.’
‘Yeah, yeah – no one’s watching. Tell me how much you love me,’ he says.
‘A lot,’ I reply, squirming in his wet arms.
‘Do you see that couple?’ he asks.
‘The newly-weds?’
‘Yeah, what do you think?’
‘I’m not sure I think anything,’ I say as he brushes my wet hair back off my shoulders.
