No Escape: The most addictive, gripping thriller with a shocking twist. Lucy Clarke

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      He laughed, but Lana caught the strange, sad note to it. ‘There is no one.’

      ‘What about your family?’

      ‘None.’

      ‘No family? None at all?’

      He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘My mother and father are dead. One year ago.’

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry. What happened – if you don’t mind me asking?’

      In the moonlight, she saw Joseph’s expression darken. ‘They died in a house fire.’

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said with meaning. She remembered Denny telling her about how they’d found Joseph sleeping rough on a remote Filipino beach. He must’ve been out of his mind with grief. ‘Is that what made you leave France? Come out here?’

      He nodded slowly, eyes on the water. ‘I had some money, so I could be anywhere. Sometimes it is better to go, yes?’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Sometimes it is.’

      *

      Lana went to bed at midnight and lay sweltering on the top bunk in just a pair of cotton pants, her skin clammy with suncream and salt. She wished there was enough space between her bunk and the ceiling to sit up fully. The porthole only opened a crack, barely allowing in any breeze, and she could feel sweat beginning to bead between her breasts.

      The peaceful sound of the sea sloshing against the keel did nothing to lull her thoughts: they kept circling back to her father. Since joining The Blue her days had been so full that she could go for hours without thinking about him, yet often at night she’d find herself examining memories from her childhood, searching them for the faint cracks where the lies ran through.

      Lana pushed her hand through the slim gap in the porthole to see if it was cooler outside. It wasn’t. She sighed.

      From the bunk below, Kitty whispered, ‘You still awake?’

      ‘I think my organs are melting,’ Lana said.

      ‘You try this heat with sunburn,’ Kitty said, who’d insisted on the cliff top that she was tanned enough not to need suncream.

      Lana rolled onto her front and lay with her head hanging over the edge, her hair trailing down. Below her, Kitty propped herself up a little on her elbows. Lana’s vision adjusted in the darkness so she could see the outline of Kitty’s features.

      ‘Kit, d’you remember how desperately I used to want to go to Greece?’

      ‘Course. For an entire term your packed lunches were feta-and-olive pittas.’

      Lana’s mother had been brought up on the outskirts of Athens, before moving to England. Lana had only a few wisps of memories of her – like the smell of roasted aubergine and olive oil that filled their kitchen, and the strong angles of her mother’s bone structure that were set in relief by her full lips.

      She said to Kitty, ‘My dad always claimed we couldn’t afford the trip, or he wasn’t able to take the time off work.’ She shook her head. ‘Just another of his lies. I keep on remembering all these little things – hundreds of details that were all bullshit. My whole childhood was a fucking fabrication!’

      ‘Don’t say that,’ Kitty said, pushing herself up as straight as she could within the bunk. ‘Your dad loves you, Lana. I know he fucked up – I know that – but he did it for the right reasons. He was trying to protect you.’

      Right now all Lana wanted was to hear Kitty rage alongside her, the way the two of them had always done. Her hurt was too raw, too full, to allow Kitty to see things from her father’s perspective. She sighed. ‘Think I’m going to go for a swim.’

      ‘Now?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Lana climbed out of the bunk, which creaked and strained beneath the press of her feet. She unhooked her bikini from the back of the door, which was still damp from earlier.

      ‘You’re really going?’

      ‘I’ll stay close to the yacht.’

      ‘But it’s dark.’

      ‘Tends to happen at night.’

      As Lana moved towards the door, Kitty said, ‘Lana, are you all right?’

      ‘Fine. Sorry. Just overheating, I think.’

      ‘Okay …’ Kitty said. ‘Just be careful, won’t you?’

      ‘Course,’ Lana said. As she slipped out of the door and along the passageway, she felt herself thinking of that strange, slithering touch she’d felt a few nights ago and just for a moment she hesitated.

      *

      Lana crept along the passageway towards the galley, where the lingering smell of their mince dinner still hung. She heard the faint sound of snoring drifting from a cabin somewhere and the hum of the fridge.

      Up on deck the air was only marginally cooler, but just being out of the narrow space of the bunk felt good. She was moving towards the stern when someone started.

      ‘Shit!’ Denny said. He was standing with his back to her. ‘You always creep up on people when they’re taking a piss?’

      ‘Sorry,’ she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

      ‘And there’s a queue if you’re wanting to use the open-air bathroom.’

      ‘Think I’ll use the underwater bathroom.’

      ‘You’re swimming?’

      She nodded. ‘Need to cool off.’

      ‘Fancy company?’

      She shrugged. ‘If you can keep up.’

      *

      They dived from the bow, the cool night sea closing around their bodies. Lana led, swimming away from the yacht and the shadow of the island, out towards the silver pathway of the moon.

      They swam without words, hearing only the sounds of their arms cutting through the water, the rhythm of their breathing, the kicking of their feet.

      The moon was almost full – a waxing moon. One of Lana’s ex-boyfriends had once explained how you could tell whether it was waxing by looking at the right-hand side of it, which should be full and rounded – whereas the left edge should be flatter, making it look like a ‘D’ shape. When the moon was waning the edgings were the other way around.

      After some minutes Lana slowed, treading water. Denny paused alongside her. The yacht floated serenely in the distance, moonlight catching on the curve of the hull and the tall line of the masts. She thought of their friends curled in their bunks, the light lapping of waves rocking them in their sleep.

      ‘Joseph’s dive,’ she said, trying to shake free of the СКАЧАТЬ