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Jo and Ben sat with Henry Ho in a chintzy lounge that was idiosyncratic to say the least. The walls were adorned with framed maps and aerial photographs of the Hawaiian Islands, tall potted palms sprouted from the corners of the room like set dressing from a nineteen twenties drawing room, and the carpet’s mind-altering puzzle pattern reminded Ben of the Overlook Hotel in The Shining. Ho rose and moved to a large mahogany atlas globe stationed by the wall. He slid back most of the western hemisphere to reveal an array of half-finished spirit bottles.
“What’ll it be?” he said. The hospitality grin was still out, but on low beam now.
“Beer, please,” said Jo.
“Whiskey’s good,” said Ben.
Jo shot Ben a concerned look. He caught it and returned something more condescending than reassuring. Ho turned around and handed them their drinks, before settling back into the armchair opposite with a glass of beer.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers.”
“So,” said Ho. “You had yourselves a little car trouble, eh?”
“Yeah,” said Jo, slightly taken back. “Erm...?”
“It’s a small town, word gets around fast,” said Ho. “Besides, no one would deliberately come here now. The town’s dead enough in season.”
“Our Camper van’s with Lonesome, in town,” said Jo.
“Mmmm,” said Ho. “He's not much of a talker, but he’s a decent mechanic. Me, I like to talk. I love meeting people. That’s why I went into the hotel business.”
“So, things are slow?” said Ben.
“Everywhere along the Bight’s slow. This is a tough time of year; we just batten down the hatches and sit tight.”
“I noticed a lot of vacant places in town,” said Ben.
“Yeah,” said Ho. “Well, Sweetwater’s had a pretty bad run of luck. Actually, that’s wrong, it was always unlucky. Things have just been particularly bad over the last few years.”
“How so?” said Jo.
Ho returned to the globe-bar and refilled his glass from a stash of beer cans in a fridge disguised as a mahogany cupboard beneath.
“Refill?”
His smile was gone now.
Ben drained his whiskey glass and nodded.
“When the weather’s good, this is a beautiful place to be. The people are warm and the views out here, they’re fantastic. It's like you're standing on the edge of the world. You like surfing? Now, I don’t indulge myself, but I am from Hawaii.”
Ho handed Ben a very generous double and leaned in to wink at him.
“Let me tell you,” he whispered. “Sweetwater has great surfing. The best.”
“Well, that must bring in a lot of tourist dollars?” said Ben.
“No,” said Ho. “Not really. The Bight’s a cruel place. Nature’s cruel. And you don’t get something for nothing.”
Ho raised both hands to gesture, keeping a firm hold of his beer.
“You see, we have pointers to the east, and tigers to the west. And in the middle, Sweetwater’s got the worst of both.”
“What’s a pointer?” said Jo.
“Sharks,” said Ben. “He’s talking about sharks.”
“There’s always been trouble in these waters. You ask anyone along the coast. But people still have to live their lives, take acceptable risks.”
“But...?” said Ben.
“Like I said, a couple of years ago, we had too much trouble all at once. The press got a hold of it and milked it good. When they were done, we were officially a black spot, a pariah. Of course, the drama blew over eventually, but the memories always linger. Nowadays, most people don’t know we’re here, but those that do know tend to steer well clear of the town. A few of us have stayed on to make a go of it, but...you know”
Ho shrugged his shoulders and sipped his beer.
“I think I’ll give the sea a miss tomorrow,” said Jo. “No offence.”
Ho bowed his head slightly to her.
“None taken.”
Sensing a presence, Ben looked up to see Angie Ho’s frame filling the doorway. She held a large plastic spatula in her hand; its end was melted and misshapen.
“Thanks for the drink, Love,” she said, sarcastically.
Ho leapt up and was at the bar in seconds, fixing his wife a drink.
“Sorry Ange,” he said.
“Is he putting the frighteners on you?” said Angie. “There’s nothing wrong with the waters around here. I’ve been swimming off this coast all my life and I’ve never had any trouble.”
Ho handed his wife a beer.
“Be fair Love,” he said. “There’s not many sharks that would want to tangle with you.”
The big woman laughed.
“Yeah. Talk about biting off more than you can chew.”
Ben and Jo watched the Ho’s laugh and took this as a signal it was OK to join in.
Ben, Jo, and Henry and Angie Ho moved to an equally garish dining room, where they all sat around a large table eating platefuls of fried fish. The two couples chatted through a mercifully short evening, dominated by alcohol and Henry Ho’s anecdotes, as the hotelier’s hosting skills went into overdrive. All the time an enormous, sprawling, fake crystal chandelier hung over their heads, like some monstrous jellyfish suspended in mid-attack.
*
Ben and Jo lay awake in their heart-shaped bed by candlelight, listening to the boom of waves pounding the rocks and caves below.
“That was a pretty decent finish to a shitty day,” said Jo.
“So, am I forgiven for earlier?” said Ben.
She kissed his forehead.
“You’re a sarcastic bastard, so I guess you can’t help it. Am I forgiven for crashing the van and stranding us in Eerie Indiana?”
Ben looked pensive, as his thoughts trailed off into the past. Jo screwed her face up in a wince, and then nodded to herself.
“Sorry. That was pretty insensitive, wasn’t it?”
“No. No it’s fine.”
“You sure?”
Ben nodded.
Jo slid her hands under the covers.
“Hey,” she said. “You know this is the honeymoon suite.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, kissing him on the mouth.
“And apparently, we can only stay here, if we practice.”
They kissed again, deeper this time.
Neither of them noticed the tiniest trickle of light escaping from the wall opposite. And neither of them saw the unblinking eye staring at them from the peephole there, hidden amongst the jazzy pattern of red hearts and floating cupids.