part0010

Disorientated, Paul lifted his head, wiping grains of sand from his dry lips. He rubbed his temple and gazed out across the beach. It was morning, the woozy sun peeking up over the horizon, and so peaceful he could hear his dehydrated mouth click when it opened. He forced himself up like an ancient mummy rising from the grave and tottered forwards, feet sinking into the scorching sand. Head swooning, he found his way to the nearest stall. The owner, a middle-aged Thai woman with tired eyes, was packing up, the night’s festivities having drawn to a close many hours before. Paul fished a crumpled note from his pocket and bought a Coke, making sure to collect his change. It was warm, but helped soothe his scratchy throat. He checked his other pockets, relieved to find his phone and wallet still there.

He looked at his iPhone and soon wished he hadn’t. Through the spiderwebs of the cracked screen, his iPhone displayed thirty-three missed calls from Rachel and seven from Ana. Oh boy, Rach was gonna be pissed. He tried to recall the last time he had seen her and couldn’t. They had gotten a drink at the start, Ana trailing along behind them like the little lapdog she was, then he had gone to the toilets and found a pool hall. Well, a shed with two pool tables in it. He remembered some English cunt challenging him to a game. That was the initial catalyst. A small bet. Paul, a sucker for a wager, particularly one he knew he could win, hustled that poor fucker for everything he owned. He had been unstoppable, and when some snot-nosed American kid started bad-mouthing him, Paul bet his winnings on a best-of-three. He threw the first game, letting the confidence go to the kid’s head, and slammed all his money on the table. The kid failed to match his bet, so Paul made him a different offer and the dumb bastard took him up on it.

Paul, of course, won the next two games with ease. The kid looked crestfallen, devastated , but his girlfriend didn’t seem to mind.

Paul looked back over his shoulder to the tree where he had woken up. The girl lay there still, snoring gently, her bare breasts rising and falling, an imprint of his body on the sand next to her. Paul admired her naked, sun-dappled form. She had been one hell of a prize. He wondered where her clothes were.

‘Shit,’ he muttered under his breath. He considered listening to the myriad voicemails, instead opening the Tracker app.

Not again, Paul , he thought, staring at the sleeping girl he had spent the night with, her legs splayed out in a most undignified fashion, giving him quite the view.

He tried to be faithful to Rachel. He really did. But what guy in his situation wouldn’t have done the same thing? Rachel was cute, and she was great in bed, but sometimes a man wanted a little more, a bit of variety. He cast his mind back to last night, as he and — Christ, he didn’t even know her name — had fucked in the sand, surrounded by hundreds of laughing partygoers, most holding up phones, snapping photos and filming them. He remembered taking her from behind, smacking her ass with his bare hand as she ground her hips into him and he yanked on her hair, the cheers from the assembled throng music to his ears.

Had the videos hit YouTube already? That’d be a great thing for Rachel to see, her own boyfriend in a live sex-show on the beach. At the time it had been exciting.

Actually, it still was. He decided to find the video later, to see if it was as good as he remembered. He wondered if the nameless girl would be as cool about it as he was. Kinky bitch had been pretty wasted. Her boyfriend would get quite a shock too, no doubt. The idea made Paul smile.

Checking the Tracker, he saw there was a signal coming from further up the beach, identified by the initials AL. Ana Logan. Funny that Rachel’s initials weren’t registering. No matter. He took a last look at the girl, dusted the sand off his shorts and followed the signal, leaving her naked and alone in the shade of the palm tree. As he stumbled along the beach, he decided to tell Rachel the truth about where he had been all night.

Hustling people at pool.

He had the money to prove it, several thousand Baht, however much that even was. The whole winning-a-girlfriend/live-sex-show thing he would skip. She didn’t need to know every damn detail. After all, what’s a relationship without a few secrets?

Paul stepped over a young guy lying prone on the sand, one of many sleeping off last night’s wanton debauchery, curled up on the beach like bodies washed ashore from a shipwreck, their skin visibly blistering under the intense glare of the sun. Plastic bottles and buckets littered the sand along with countless items of clothing, the waves slowly encroaching on them. Soon they would be swept out to sea forever, to fulfil their ultimate destiny of choking a dolphin to death. The smell of frying meat sizzled in the air and Paul felt his stomach grumble. He licked his lips. It would have to wait. He had to find Rachel soon before she went totally radge at him.

According to the app they were much further down the beach. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the sand. He rubbed his bleary eyes. The hangover was bad, but not apocalyptic. His balls ached more than his head, but that wasn’t the drink’s fault.

As he walked, the beach got more and more deserted until finally the stalls came to an end, giving way to the thick jungle that ran parallel. They must have walked some distance from the main body of the party, probably to get some sleep. Why hadn’t they just gone back to the hostel?

Mind you, why hadn’t he?

What if Rachel hooked up with some guy? The idea infuriated him.

Paul wasn’t normally a violent man, but he was possessive. And if Rachel thought she could get away with banging some arsehole behind his back…

The golden sand curved all the way to the horizon. There were several sets of footprints leading down the beach. He shielded his eyes from the sun and felt the sweat dripping down his brow. If only he’d bought a second Coke, or even a beer. Hair of the dog, and all that shite. In the distance a silhouetted figure wandered the beach. Paul sped up, found running in sand to be a lot more difficult than Rocky Balboa made it look, and slowed when he saw it was a wiry old Thai man in a turquoise tracksuit.

Here the footprints ended in a pile of discarded clothes, bags and sunglasses.

Paul checked the app; he should be right on top of them.

The Thai man smiled at him and went back about his business, which was either tidying up or stealing the abandoned garments. Paul didn’t give a shit either way, so he opened his Contacts and called Ana. The strains of ELO’s Sweet Talkin’ Woman emanated from the pile of clothes in front of him and the old man dashed forwards and grabbed the yellow dress with the dinosaur print, rummaging in the pockets.

‘Hey, that’s mine,’ said Paul wearily. Not a morning person at the best of times, today he wanted as little human interaction as possible.

The man took the phone from a pocket in the dress and answered it.

‘Hello?’ he said, then chattered excitedly in Thai.

‘What are you doing?’ asked a dumbfounded Paul. The man held up a palm as if to say, Wait, I have to take this, it’s Tokyo and the deal’s gone through . Paul put his own device to his ear. ‘Give me the phone you stupid old bastard,’ he said into the mic, listening to the man’s voice through the crackly speaker.

The man turned to walk away and Paul strode forwards and shoved him. He landed on his back in the sand and Paul wrenched the phone from his surprisingly strong hands.

The man shouted something in Thai, picked up as much of the loose clothing as his arms would allow and scuttled away. Paul let him. He recognised the print on Ana’s dress — those stupid, childish dinosaurs — but couldn’t recall what Rachel had been wearing.

Ana’s phone had a picture of her and Rachel posing in front of a golden Buddha on the lock screen. Paul had taken it only yesterday on the neighbouring island of Koh Samui. He saw Rachel’s smiling face and felt a momentary pang of disgust. Then he ran his hands through his hair and quickly got over it. More footprints led away from the abandoned clothes and into the sea. It took Paul a while to do the maths.

Man, he wouldn’t have minded seeing that. Particularly if Lillian was there too. He chuckled to himself, realising he had just let some old bastard run off with all their clothes.

There was something odd about it though; there were no footprints leading back out of the water. He looked left and right, scanning the beach but the only other set of tracks belonged to the old man.

The smile died on his face. Had they drowned? He checked the app again. No sign of Rachel’s signal. He pinched the screen and zoomed out, widening the map until it covered the whole island. Still nothing. Heart beating faster, he tried again and found her.