Right now, though, she needed water. She was probably dehydrated. Where was the waiter? She made her way towards the kitchen, following the exposed stone wall. Music was playing faintly from the direction of the kitchen. Beyond it, she heard a woman’s voice: low, strained.
She followed the corridor, passing a fire exit and stack of empty crates.
She halted.
Fen was standing near the entrance to the kitchen, facing the waiter who’d been serving them. His white shirt sleeves were pushed up and he had a stack of dirty plates balanced along a tanned forearm.
Her expression was steely, a fixed groove in her brow. Her feet were planted wide, head jutting forwards, tendons in her neck exposed.
In Fen’s hand, something flashed silver.
42
Fen
Fen could feel the knife in her grip, the cool metal handle, the blade still close to her thigh. ‘Seven years ago I came for dinner here.’ Her voice trembled with a barely contained rage.
‘Is a long time ago. Popular taverna, yes? So many tourists.’ He smiled uncertainly. ‘I hope you had a good holiday.’
‘Let me jog your memory,’ she said, blood pulsing in her fingertips. ‘I had long blonde hair back then. Was wearing a denim miniskirt. I was here with my aunt. She spoke to your father; he said you and your sister would take me to some clubs, show me around the island. We went to Club Carlos together. Danced. Drank. Your sister left early, so you offered to drop me back at my aunt’s villa. It’s at the end of the island, on the clifftop.’
His smile slipped. ‘Look, I can’t remember—’
‘No! You don’t get to erase what you did.’ Fen’s eyes blazed as she leaned closer.
There was nowhere for him to turn. He was standing with his back pressed to the wall, eyes shifting from Fen’s face to the hand holding the knife. She’d not raised it. Not threatened him. It simply waited at her side, a silent reminder of who had the power. This time.
‘You dropped me home and I thanked you. You said you could use a beer – one for the road. You went out onto the terrace and I fetched us both beers. But that wasn’t what you really wanted.’ Fen’s voice was gravelly, raw with emotion, as she continued. ‘You drank your beer, then took mine out of my hands and shoved me back against the wall. Kissed me roughly.’
Nico said, ‘It’s a long time ago. I don’t rem—’
‘I told you to stop! I told you I was attracted to women, not men. Instead of understanding, stepping back – you pinned me to the wall. You put your body in front of mine so there was nowhere for me to go. If I’d leaned back, even by a few inches, I’d have gone over the edge. And you knew that.’
Fen drew herself closer, the blade of the knife grazing her thigh.
‘You stood there, arms on either side of me like a barrier, your face right up in mine. You said, I don’t want you. No one will ever want you. Men won’t sleep with you because you’re fat. Worthless. You disgust me.’
The plates balancing on Nico’s forearm clinked as his hand trembled.
‘Now tell me you don’t fucking remember!’
‘I’m sorry, okay?’ His voice was high, urgent. ‘It was wrong, what I did. Yes? I’m sorry. I was just a boy.’
How many times had men got away with things under the label of being just a boy?
She lifted the knife, felt his eyes following it. There was an oily sheen of sweat lining his forehead. She could hear his breath, shallow and fast. ‘Yes,’ she said, slowly placing the knife on the top of his stacked plates. ‘And I was just a girl.’
Then she stepped back, allowing him to leave.
Nico ducked past her, hurrying away, disappearing into the kitchen.
The moment he was out of sight, Fen slumped against the wall as if her legs had no more energy left to hold her. Her face was pale, bloodless.
‘Fen?’
She turned.
Robyn was standing a few feet away. It was clear from her concerned expression that she’d heard everything.
‘I can’t go back to our table,’ Fen said.
Robyn nodded once, then took her hand, squeezing it hard in her own. ‘Come,’ she said, steering her away from the kitchen.
Along the corridor, a fire door led out of the restaurant onto a side street. Robyn moved towards it, pulling Fen with her. ‘We’ll get a taxi. I’ll text Lexi, tell her I wasn’t feeling well.’
They emerged onto a narrow, cobbled road, strung with lights, the night warm and fragranced. Fen hesitated, looking at the white motorbike with thick tyres, a helmet strung over a handlebar.