Free A Kind of Eden by Amanda Smyth Page B

one life; there is no room for compromise.
    Georgia comes closer for a better look. Hundreds of silver fish are jerking and flipping on top of one another, gasping, dying. Thin long fish with sharp long noses, big broad fish with thick lips. Tiny baby fish, no bigger than a finger. Grey and white fish with meaty bellies. Georgia pulls a face. Above the wind, Martin says, ‘My daughter doesn’t approve. She’ll eat the fish, but she doesn’t want to know how they got onto her plate.’
    â€˜Dad,’ Georgia says, embarrassed. Everyone is gatheringaround the catch, and he realises they ought to head back; it will take ten or fifteen minutes; by now Miriam will be starting to fret.
    They say goodbye, and set off along the beach, feeling invigorated and excited about their adventure.
    Miriam is indeed anxious, standing under the casuarinas, her towel folded up, her beach bag packed. He sees her relief when she spots them swimming around the rocks. She waves and then sits down on the steps. She watches them climb out of the sea.
    â€˜I was worried,’ she says, handing him his towel. ‘I imagined calling the police to say you’d gone missing.’
    They eat lunch at a small pizzeria in Crown Point. They sit near the window overlooking the paved garden in the air-conditioned restaurant. After the heat it is a relief.
    For some reason, their rental car—a silver Nissan Tiida—has no air conditioner. It will not be comfortable or big enough for long drives. He wonders why Juliet chose such a small vehicle. There are no seat belts in the rear; no stereo. Tomorrow morning he will drive to Scarborough and change it for something more suitable.
    This part of the island feels busier. Last time he was here, the place was swarming. It was Divali, and at the end of the trip, Safiya came to meet him for the weekend. She took him to a well-known tourist beach. The first time he saw the bay with its jetty, little cabanas, and clear green water—he thought it was paradise. ‘My God,’ he said, ‘look at this.’ Safiya held his hand and they walked along the white sand. He’d felt proud tobe seen with her. This beauty was with
him
; she had chosen
him
. The water was warm and shallow; they walked out for thirty metres or so and it still only reached his waist. He’d wanted to hold her close, to kiss her, but Safiya said no. ‘One day you will leave and I will be left with my reputation to think about.’
    Yes, he will take Miriam and Georgia there; perhaps they can spend the day. There are restaurants and beach hut facilities. They can even take a cooler. He has decided that it is best to keep busy.
    They drive home via the supermarket, and pick up basics to add to their provisions. While Georgia scans the aisles for local sweets, Miriam is disappointed by the lack of choice, and after a while, she gives up. There are few fresh vegetables, and what fruits there are look bruised, wrinkled. The bread, she says, reminds her of Nimble, a low-calorie bread she used to buy in the ’80s. It’s like eating air. There must be a decent bakery somewhere; he will ask Terence.
    On the way to the villa, he misses the turning to the private road. He finds himself driving along the edge of the golf course where the coconut trees stand tall on the rolling stretches of clipped grass. They pass Mount Irvine bay, and it is flat and blue and shimmering. Up on the right is a low-rise house. He would like to wake up to a view like that! Perhaps one day he will. There are cars parked along the side of the wall where the beach starts, and people are cooking, smoke is rising, a make-do barbecue. They look like they are enjoying themselves.
    No one seems to have noticed that they have come too far. He turns off to the left, into a village where the houses areold, wooden and patched up. Is this where Conan lost his leg? There is a concrete church on the right, a Centre for Worship, and