Chapter Thirteen

Because Izzy and her mate Lucy had done so well in their exams, Adair had organised an überluxurious holiday for them in a resort in Koh Samui. Izzy hated to admit it, but she was bored witless by the joint. It was too ostentatious, too grown-up, and too up its own arse. The description in the brochure had been full of words like ‘majestic’, ‘magnificent’, ‘luxurious’, ‘refined’ and ‘epicurean’. The bedrooms, the brochure told them, were ‘a fusion of continents and periods’ (a.k.a. bad taste, decided Izzy) and were furnished with stuff like Louis XV-style armchairs, lacquered Chinese cabinets, Lalique-style vases, an African lamp on a buffalo-horn base (Izzy found this particularly offensive), an ‘ormolu mounted’ (whatever that was) boulle (whatever that was) kneehole desk and furnishing fabrics with Indian designs.

As soon as the three of them arrived, they were offered iced tea by a smiling waiter, and greeted by the smiling manager. Their luggage was magicked away by a smiling porter, and unpacked for them by a smiling butler, who introduced himself as Asish, and for whom, he told them, with a bow, nothing would be too much trouble. Every evening Asish would come to their suite with the various tools of his trade–ylang ylang to rub on the teak furniture, and scented candles and rose petals and sandalwood oil for the baths he would insist upon pouring.

The couple of times Izzy told him not to bother, he had actually looked so stricken that she began to wonder if she had a serious personal hygiene problem.

The dress code in the dining rooms was ‘smart casual’, and every night the diners all tried to outdo each other by wearing a different outfit. Every evening smiling waiters unfurled pristine linen napkins for them, and topped up their wineglasses and lifted the domed silver lids on their plates to reveal ‘exquisite’ and ‘divine’ food. Everywhere you went, staff bowed and smiled. Izzy and Lucy began to avoid them and hide from them because they really didn’t like being bowed to.

No one applauded the pianist in the piano bar, and Izzy felt so sorry for him–tapping away on the ivories with no one paying him any attention–that she took to clapping loudly every time he finished a tune, and insisted that her father and Lucy join in. He rewarded them with a big smile, and–when he found out their names–played a very mellow version of ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ for them. Except Lucy and Izzy were probably the only two gals in the joint who weren’t wearing diamonds.

The beach was divine, of course–all raked white sand and palm-tree-fringed–and the swimming pools were divine, and the marine life was divine. But really the joint was aimed at folks who were dripping with gold and sagging with middle-age spread. However, in spite of all the luxury–the spas, the shopping, the staff (who seemed by far to outnumber the guests)–nobody looked particularly happy apart from the hawkers on a nearby beach, touting everything from jewellery to tattoos to hair extensions. They smiled and joked and sang, cajoling passers-by to try their wares and spreading their palms philosophically when the dripping-with-gold types strolled on by as if they were invisible. The hotel had warned guests to be wary of these beach vendors, but because Izzy and Lucy were determined to break a few rules, they made it a matter of policy to buy sarongs and sunhats and sandals from this alternative source, instead of frequenting the obscenely overpriced resort boutiques, with their chichi crap.

‘Tattoo, pretty lady?’ a smiling boy solicited them one morning as they ambled along the sand.

Izzy smiled back, indicating that she already had a tattoo, a little Japanese kanji on the inside of her elbow. She’d had it done a couple of years ago to piss off her mother.

‘Another tattoo–here!’ suggested the beautiful boy, touching the hollow beneath his collarbone.

‘No, thank you,’ said Izzy.

‘Or here!’ The boy pointed at his ankle.

‘No, no,’ said Izzy, more firmly. ‘But, hey, why don’t you get one, Luce?’

Lucy shook her head violently. ‘Are you mad?’ she said. ‘You know I have a pathological fear of needles.’

It was true. Izzy had had to accompany Lucy to the GP for her shots before coming away on holiday.

‘Hair extensions?’ suggested the boy, as they moved off. ‘Thai massage?’

This time it was Lucy’s turn to indicate that she already had hair extensions.

‘You, pretty lady,’ the boy importuned Izzy. ‘You get long hair like your friend. Like a beautiful mermaid!’

Izzy hesitated. She had to admit that, while her Agyness Deyn crop was easy to manage, Lucy’s extraordinary Rapunzel locks attracted a lot of compliments. Underwater her extensions looked divine, like a heroine in a Pre-Raphaelite painting, while Izzy looked as boyish as Saint-Exupery’s Little Prince. She wondered if she shouldn’t have a go. If she didn’t like them, what would it matter here on Koh Samui, where there’d be nobody she knew around to see them? And once they were back in Dublin she could just whizz into her stylist and have them removed. What the hell–live dangerously and all that. She had nothing to lose.

‘I think I’ll go for it,’ she told Lucy.

‘Get hair extensions?’

‘Yeah. I wouldn’t have the nerve to have them done in Dublin. Might as well experiment here.’

‘Go, girl!’ said Lucy. ‘Do you want me to come with you and hold your hand? Or maybe I should get a massage.’

‘Go for it! I bet you’d get a proper hard-core Thai, not that namby-pamby stuff you get in the resort spa.’ Izzy turned back to the beaming boy. ‘Me–hair extensions; my friend–massage. In same place?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said the boy enthusiastically. ‘Hair, massage–nail art too?’

‘No. No nail art,’ Izzy told him. ‘How much?’

The boy did some brief mental arithmetic. ‘Fifteen hundred baht,’ he pronounced.

‘Cool,’ said Izzy, and the boy looked gobsmacked.

‘Come–come with me,’ he said quickly, before she could backtrack. ‘Beautiful hair extensions and massage this way’ He turned and beckoned them to follow him.

Lucy gave Izzy an incredulous look. ‘You’re meant to haggle, Iz! We could have got ourselves a deal for half that!’

‘C’mon, Luce. Just think what they’d charge us at home. These people are desperate for money. I’m not going to haggle over a couple of thousand baht.’

‘Well,’ said Lucy, dubiously. ‘Let’s just hope it’s worth it.’

It was worth it. A couple of hours later, Lucy emerged from the Beach Diva Beauty Parlour in slooow moootion, having been massaged to within an inch of her life; and Izzy emerged sporting tresses that Goldilocks might have envied.

‘Let’s break out of here,’ Izzy suggested to Lucy later that evening, after they’d returned from a night dive. Even the diving in the resort was posh, with St Tropezed divas sporting Pucci-print exposure suits and colour co-ordinated accessories, and men convinced they were the ultimate macho heroes with the contents of an entire dive shop strapped to them: state-of-the-art dive computers and pony bottles, and enormous knives and torches, and the latest in hi-tech camera equipment.

‘What do you mean, break out?’ asked Lucy. They were sitting disconsolately by the edge of the pool, dangling their feet in the water, and eating oversized slices of watermelon.

‘Let’s pay a visit to Koh Tao.’

‘Koh Tao?’

‘Yeah. Tao’s the ultimate dive destination. Didn’t you know? Koh Samui’s the family island, Koh Pha Ngan’s the rave island, and Tao’s the dive island.’

‘But what about your dad? He won’t want to go there. He’s dead happy here.’

This was, indeed, the case. Adair had met a couple who were golf fiends, and they spent most of the day on the spanking-new golf course, and most of the evening chatting over drinks in the piano bar.

‘He won’t miss us for a day or two,’ said Izzy. ‘I’d just love to live like a beach bum for twenty-four hours. This place is beginning to get to me.’ She set down the rind of her watermelon, which was instantly scooped up by a smiling flunky, then turned anguished eyes on Lucy. ‘Oh God, Luce! I must sound like a totally ungrateful spoiled brat. Dad went to so much trouble and expense to do this for us.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘He just wants the best for you, Izzy. He loves to pamper you. I told you before, you’re his princess.’

Izzy drooped a little, then jumped to her feet. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Even princesses have to take a break. Let’s go check out Tao online.’

Back at the suite, sitting at the ormolu-mounted boulle kneehole desk, Adair was working on his BlackBerry. Izzy had tried to persuade him to ditch it before they left Ireland, but he’d been adamant that he couldn’t survive without it for a fortnight.

‘Da-ad?’ she said, in the cajoling voice that she knew always worked.

‘Yes, princess?’

‘Could we check something out online?’

‘Sure. What do you need to know?’

‘We were thinking about taking a day trip to Koh Tao.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘It’s an island not far from here.’

‘Oh, Iz. You know I just want to stay put and chill. I really don’t want to go gallivanting around islands.’

‘Well, actually–’ Izzy started playing apprehensively with a strand of her brand-new hair–‘I meant just me and Lucy’

‘Oh.’

‘You wouldn’t mind, Dad, would you? It’s just that it’s got the reputation of having some of the best diving in Asia.’

Adair looked up at her, clearly crestfallen. ‘Isn’t the diving here any good, sweet pea?’

‘It’s fine. But it seems mad not to dive in Koh Tao when it’s right on our doorstep.’

Adair looked uncertain. ‘I’m not certain that I like the idea of letting you two girls go off together to some island by yourselves. What if something happens to you?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like–I dunno–falling into the hands of white slave traders—’

‘Dad!’

‘Or–or having somebody sneak drugs into your bag. I hear that happens all the time. Traffickers target innocent-looking people and use them as–um–donkeys.’

‘They’re called “mules”, Dad.’

‘Whatever. And remember that I’m in loco parentis for Lucy. I’m not sure her parents would like the idea.’

‘I’m pretty sure they’d be cool with it,’ said Lucy.

Izzy tried not to smile. Lucy’s parents were Trustafarian dope heads, who grew their own marijuana and couldn’t understand why Lucy never joined them in a toke.

‘Ple-ease, Dad,’ said Izzy, putting on her most winning expression. ‘Let’s just have a peek at the island online.’

‘OK, then.’ Looking mulish, Adair twinkled his thumbs over his BlackBerry. ‘There it is.’

‘Oh! It’s so pretty!’ exclaimed Izzy, swishing her hair back over her shoulder as she leaned in closer to the screen. ‘Oh, I’d love to go there! Isn’t it gorgeous, Lucy?’

‘Yes,’ said Lucy, giving her friend a catlike look that said, ‘I know exactly what you’re up to–go, girl!’

‘And it’s so near! Only an hour on the ferry.’

‘I’d lay on a speedboat for you.’

‘No, no, Daddy! If we do this, we’ve got to do it the proper way, like all the backpackers do. And look–we could sleep in a beach hut! Yay!’

‘You mean you’re thinking of staying overnight? I’m not sure—’

‘But, Dad, if we have to spend two whole hours travelling, that’ll give us hardly any time there at all. And we’d only be able to fit in one dive.’ Izzy gave him the benefit of her most beautiful bewildered look, her eyes wide, her brow furrowed, her mouth pouting in a perplexed moue.

‘What about a helicopter?’

‘No! Could you imagine the effect that would have on our street cred? Helicopters may be fine and dandy here, Dad, but not on a laidback joint like Koh Tao. That would be a bit like going to Burdock’s for fish and chips in a chauffeur-driven limo.’

‘I’ve done that, actually,’ said Adair, with a touch of nostalgia.

‘Yeah, but you have no street cred at all, Dad.’

‘I’ll have you know that I was dead streetwise when I started out in the property business, Isabella. You had to be a cute divil to get anywhere in those days.’

‘And I bet you were the cutest of them all!’ Izzy clapped her hands and did a little dance, setting her hair extensions jumping like skipping ropes. ‘So, Daddy, what do you say?’

Adair gave a great sigh. ‘I suppose I can’t keep you wrapped up in cotton wool for the rest of your life. When do you plan on going?’

‘Tomorrow?’ she hazarded.

Adair heaved another sigh. ‘Tomorrow, then.’

‘Oh, Daddy–thank you!’ Izzy stooped to give her father an enormous hug and a kiss on the end of his nose, and Lucy went ‘Yay! Thank you so much!’

Then, setting aside his BlackBerry and reaching for his wallet, Adair took out a wad of baht. ‘Have fun, princess’ he said.

On the ferry, Izzy and Lucy looked just like all the other backpackers who were heading to Tao. The decks were crammed with golden kids from all over the globe, all good-looking, all loose-limbed, all disenfranchised. Izzy finally felt that she belonged–that she’d found her niche in life at last. Giddy with delight at having been sprung from their gilded cage, she and Lucy laughed like drains with two New Zealanders for the hour-long journey, and impressed the boys no end by lapsing into Irish from time to time, when they wanted to make private observations about which of the two was the hotter.

The sun was hot too, and Izzy had forgotten her hat, though she’d taken care to slap on buckets of factor 50. But as she tossed her head in response to some jokey remark by a New Zealander, she realised with dismay that one of her hair extensions had detached itself and gone flying out into the Gulf of Thailand. What the hell! Nobody else seemed to have noticed, so she kept shtoom, and desisted from flinging her hair around as much as she’d been wont to since having the false locks put in.

They parted with the Kiwis in Mae Haad, and made the short journey to Sairee Beach by motorbike taxi along dusty dirt tracks. As Izzy whizzed along, the wind tugged at her hair, and she felt as if she was starring in a bio-pic of someone with a fabulous life. She wished she could be this girl all the time–a carefree, sun-kissed beach babe with Kate Hudson tresses.

There was to be a big party to celebrate the full moon later that evening, they learned when they arrived at the dive outfit, with an international DJ spinning ‘fresh and funky’ sounds, but before the party started, there were bubbles to be blown.

They’d booked two dives over the internet. The first took them and half a dozen other divers by cabin cruiser to Shark Island, where their dive master took them down twenty metres to visit a fairy-tale city of hard coral surrounded by gardens of multicoloured soft coral, where starry pufferfish gaped at them and titan triggerfish headbutted them, letting them know in no uncertain terms that if their nests were disturbed, they were in for it. A leopard shark lay basking on the sandy bottom, looking like a pasha being cooled by coral fans, and Izzy got a breathtaking glimpse of a spotted ray, soaring high above her like a blue angel.

Back on board, Izzy and Lucy and the other divers dismantled their equipment before speeding back to Sairee, where they lugged their gear up to the dive shop, and hosed it down. On Samui, all this had been done for them by dive masters. Here, everything was hands-on, and Izzy revelled in the sheer hard physicality of the work. This was what diving should be about, not having your kit donned and doffed and disappeared by a team of dive masters behaving like footmen. But as Izzy went to hose down her mask, she saw that another of her hair extensions was wound around the rubber strap. She felt a flutter of panic.

‘Lucy?’ she said sotto voce, as they queued to have their logbooks signed. ‘Is there something wrong with my hair? I think I’ve lost a couple of extensions.’

Lucy took a look, and shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell while it’s still wet,’ she said. ‘I’ll have a proper look when it’s dried off.’

A beach-side cafe beckoned for supper. They ordered slurpy Thai noodles, fish cakes and a bottle of Tiger beer–no sommelier to proffer wine for tasting here, or maitre d’ choreographing a host of waiters with ‘exquisitely presented’ fusion food on silver salvers.

‘Wouldn’t it be bliss if we could stay here for the rest of the holiday?’ Lucy said. She took off her sunglasses and slid them onto her head, the better to observe a beautiful boy who was setting up for a night dive.

‘I couldn’t do that to Dad, Luce. The very most I could push it without feeling guilty would be one more day’

‘Why not phone and run it by him?’

‘He’d probably freak. He’d think that I was making the call under duress, with some white slave trader holding a Luger to my head.’

‘You’re lucky to have a dad who cares so much about you. Mine probably doesn’t even know where I am right now.’

Izzy shrugged. ‘It can be a real pain. I dread the first time I’ll have to bring a boyfriend home to meet him. He’ll be like Robert De Niro in Meet the Parents.’ Izzy picked up the bill and scanned it. ‘Shit. Can you believe it? This entire meal cost what you’d pay for the cheapest starter in that joint on Samui.’ Extracting baht from her bum bag, Izzy handed the banknotes to a passing waiter. Then she reached up, shook out her hair, and ran her fingers through it. ‘It’s dry now, Luce. Will you take a—’

Izzy froze suddenly, eyes fixed on her hands. Hanks of hair were dangling limply from her fingers like strands of seaweed. She turned stricken eyes on Lucy, who had clamped her hands over her mouth, hiding what might have been an expression of horror, or one of guilty amusement.

‘Ohmi–ohmigod, Lucy! My hair! Ohmigod! What am I going to do?’

‘Oh,’ said Lucy. ‘Oh dear. Oh. Dear.’

And then Lucy started to laugh.

Izzy shook her hands to rid herself of the offending hair extensions, and fixed her friend with a hostile look. ‘Well, thanks a bunch. That is helpful’ Yanking her sarong from around her shoulders, she draped it over her head. ‘It’s that bad, is it?’

‘Um. It’s pretty bad, all right,’ said Lucy, clearly making an effort to contain herself.

‘On a scale of one to ten, how bad?’

‘Um…seven?’

‘Seven? Oh, fuck! I’m a laughing stock. What’ll I do?’

‘Don’t worry about it, Izzy. We’re going on a dive now. Nobody’s going to see your hair underwater. Chill’

‘Chill yourself. It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who looks like Worzel Gummidge.’

At this, Lucy laughed so hard that she’d actually went, ‘Ha-ha hee hee hee,’ like Taz in Looney Tunes.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Izzy.

‘Worzel Gummidge! That’s it! That’s exactly who you remind me of! Hee hee ha-ha-ha!’

‘Shut up, Lucy.’

‘Sorry’ Lucy looked contrite, and then spoiled the effect by letting rip a great snort of mirth. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.

A couple with whom they’d dived earlier raced past them, heading for the dive boat, which was moored some eighty metres down the beach. Lucy threw a look at her dive watch and made a face. ‘Yikes. We’re late.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t care? If we don’t get going now, Iz, we’re going to miss the dive.’

‘I’m not going on the dive.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t go, looking like this.’

‘Oh, don’t be daft! It’s not that bad, really.’

‘You said it was a seven.’

‘I meant more of a six. Please, Iz. It’s a beautiful night for diving. We can’t miss it. Look, why not grab a hat from that stall.’ Lucy got to her feet and headed towards a beach vendor who was selling souvenirs and novelties. ‘C’mon, Iz!’ she threw back over her shoulder. ‘We’re running out of time. Look, they’ve nearly all boarded.’

Further down the beach, the divers were congregating on board the boat. Even at this distance, Izzy could hear laughter, and get a sense of the buzz that was beginning to build. She wanted to be part of it, she wanted to be down there, weightless in water. Hell! What did it matter what she looked like? Impulsively, she followed Lucy over to the souvenir stall.

‘A hat, please–no, not for me, for my friend,’ Lucy was saying.

‘A beautiful hat for a beautiful lady!’ said the smiling vendor. ‘This one is good, yes?’ He took a wide-brimmed sunhat from a hook, and brandished it at her. Izzy could hardly wear a floppy sunhat on a night dive. She shook her head and pointed at an assortment of baseball caps.

‘This one?’ said the vendor, waving a cap at her. ‘Or this one?’

‘That one,’ said Izzy, pointing randomly as she pulled baht from her bum bag.

‘Quick, quick, Izzy!’ Lucy started legging it down the beach. ‘They’re doing a head count.’

Izzy handed over the requisite amount of baht, took the cap from the vendor, and jammed it on her head. Then she raced off after Lucy, feeling the flap flap flap of the rubbish hair extensions–or what was left of them–as they bounced off her shoulder blades.

Their hire gear was on board, waiting for them. There were more divers on this trip, so a little confusion reigned as people stepped over piles of equipment, trying to identify what belonged to whom. Izzy pulled on her neoprene shortie and made her way to the port side, where Lucy had started to fill in details of the morning’s dive in her logbook. She glanced up as Izzy joined her, and Izzy registered at once the taken-aback expression on her friend’s face.

‘What is it now?’ she demanded.

‘It’s–um–it’s just…what on earth made you choose that hat?’

‘I could hardly go for a sunhat. I know baseball caps are a bit naff, but—’

‘It’s not the cap,’ Lucy told her. ‘It’s the slogan on it.’

‘It has a slogan?’

‘Yes.’

Glancing to left and to right to make sure no one was looking, Izzy whipped the cap off her head. Another hair extension came with it, and she threw it overboard with a vexed ‘Get off!’ before turning her attention to the slogan on her cap. It read: ‘I Like 2 Dyke.’

‘Oh, no!’ cried Izzy, slamming the cap back on her head. ‘Oh, no!’

Beside her, Lucy started to laugh again.

‘Some friend you are, Luce,’ Izzy told her crossly. ‘How can you laugh? This is beyond mortifying.’

‘You’re telling me. Everyone will assume I’m your girlfriend, girlfriend.’

Folding her arms and legs in an attempt to make herself look smaller and thus less conspicuous, Izzy started casting surreptitious looks from under the peak of her baseball cap at all the dudes and dudettes who were diving with them this evening. Nobody was wearing headgear, apart from a hot black guy who was sporting a green, white and gold bandanna. Izzy’s naffness stuck out like a sore thumb, and the worst thing in the world was that she could not take the cap off. On the starboard side, two stunning girls were whispering and giggling together, and she was convinced that they were giggling about her ‘I Like 2 Dyke’ cap.

‘Good evening,’ Izzy heard an Australian accent say, as she glowered down at her toes. ‘I’m Howard Hanna, and I’ll be leading this evening’s dive along with my assistant dive masters, Lee from China, and Finn Byrne, who hails all the way from Ireland.’

Ireland? Izzy glanced up from her toes, and snuck a peek stern-ward at the Irish dive master.

‘Yo, Finn!’ came a call from aft. ‘Great name for a diver.’

‘Not as good as my mate, Muff’s,’ came the ready reply.

There was much laughter, and as Finn’s eyes scanned the faces of the assembled divers, Izzy lunged for the sunnies on Lucy’s head, and jammed them on.

‘What are you doing?’ asked an indignant Lucy.

‘Shut up!’ said Izzy. ‘Sh, sh, sh! Ohmigod!’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s him! Finn!’

‘Who?’

‘The bloke I told you about. The cute bogger from Lissamore.’

‘No! The one whose mother is after your dad?’

‘Yes. Oh, oh–what am I going to do, Lucy?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just–I just don’t want him to know it’s me.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why do you think? Not only am I wearing a baseball cap that says “I Like 2 Dyke”, I’ve got the worst hair in the world.’

Lucy started to laugh again. ‘So here you are, trapped on a boat with him. How do you intend to keep your identity secret? You can hardly go diving in your current disguise. Or are you going to keep my sunglasses on under your mask?’

‘Shut up, Luce. Let me think.’ Izzy pulled her sarong up around her face, and thought. Then: ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘When we’re donning fins and masks, be sure to keep yourself between me and him, will you? Once we’re in the water, he won’t have a clue who I am.’

Izzy had a point. With regulators in their mouths, and masks obscuring most of the face, it was virtually impossible to recognise people underwater.

Howard had set up his whiteboard, and was preparing to draw a map of the dive site. ‘OK. Listen up, people, while I outline the plan,’ he said in his authoritative Australian accent, and Izzy and Lucy shut up at once. They could be in for a thrill at White Rock, according to Howard. Word around the dive outfits was that a whale shark had been sighted there, and if they were very lucky, it might still be in the vicinity.

‘Y’all know the hand signal for shark?’ he asked.

As one, the divers raised their hands to their foreheads, fingers together, representing a shark fin.

‘Good. When you see Finn or me or Lee making that hand signal, you’ll know there’s a once-in-a-lifetime treat in store. Sightings of whale sharks at night are extremely rare.’

Izzy could feel her heart pitter-pat a little faster in anticipation, and tried to slow it down by taking deep breaths. As the boat dropped anchor, she adjusted the strap on her mask, slid her feet into her fins, and stuck her reg in her mouth. On the command, she stepped off the dive platform into the sea, loving the surge and fizz of the warm water as it churned around her in an explosion of bubbles and refracted, silvery light. Then she was at the surface, bobbing next to Lucy, and the next diver into the water was…She waited until he’d resurfaced after entry, then steeled herself to look into his eyes behind the mask…Finn.

Finn Byrne, the instructor had called him. Funny, she’d always thought his name was Kinsella. But then she remembered that that was the surname of his mother and aunt, which must mean that Byrne was his father’s surname. Who might his father be, she wondered. Probably some local Lissamore hippy type, if the mother was anything to go by. He didn’t look much like Río. His black hair was slicked against his skull, his eyes behind the mask were fringed with dark lashes, and on each of his earlobes, a bead of water hung, like diamond droplets. Sheesh, he was übercute, and–having copped a load of him clad in surf shirt and shorts–Izzy was more aware than ever that he was pretty damn fit too.

Finn showed not a flicker of recognition as his eyes met hers, and Izzy knew that, once underwater, when her features would be even more indistinct, her anonymity was guaranteed. She and Lucy looked at each other and gave the OK signal, and Izzy could see that behind the mask Lucy was still smirking as they switched on their torches and descended.

The dive was as near to heaven on earth as Izzy could ever aspire to: the reef came alive at night, like a red-light district in some Gothic metropolis. They negotiated swim-throughs and peered into caves and under rocky outcrops where murderous morays glared back at them, disturbed by the light of their torches. They somersaulted, they played peek-a-boo with anemones, they communed with the jewel-like inhabitants of the big blue, and finally they were rewarded with every diver’s dream: they finned alongside the biggest fish on earth. The whale shark emerged from sapphire depths and cruised past them, and Izzy understood at last the real meaning of the words ‘majestic’ and ‘magnificent’. She felt as if she were in a cathedral, and the words of the world’s first great diver, Jacques Cousteau, came back to her: ‘Underwater, man becomes an archangel.’ Oh, Izzy so adored being an archangel that when Finn finally made the signal to ascend, she wanted to take her regulator out of her mouth and shout: ‘No, no, no!’

But up they went. Slowly Ascend from Every Dive, thought Izzy, repeating one of scuba’s many mantras while scrutinising a novice above her who was evidently having problems with his buoyancy. This boy was more hippo than archangel, ascending in fits and starts, and clearly giving Finn cause for concern. As he tweaked his protégé’s fin to attract his attention, the boy executed an awkward kick–and got Finn directly in the face. In the beam of her torch, Izzy saw Finn sweep his right arm out to the side, a sure indication that his regulator had been dislodged. As had his mask, Izzy realised. Finn made no attempt to grab it as it drifted downward–his priority was to reinstate his breathing apparatus–but Izzy knew that a diver without a mask is effectively a blind diver. She had lost her mask once during a training session in a flooded quarry, and the sense of vertigo she’d experienced had completely disoriented her: for several terrifying moments she hadn’t been able to work out which way was up and which down, and she’d suffered from nightmares for weeks afterwards.

Keeping her torch trained on the runaway mask, Izzy tucked her knees against her chest, exhaled, and swooped down after it, scooping it up before performing a nifty upward jackknife and finning back to where Finn was continuing to ascend with remarkable sang-froid. She touched his hand, then wound his fingers around the strap of his mask and watched as he clamped it back on and cleared it. His lovely green, upward-tilting eyes smiled at her as he took hold of her hand to high-five her. Are you OK? she asked, putting thumb and forefinger together in an ‘O’, smiling back at him when she received a corresponding ‘OK’ to indicate that all was well.

‘Smug cow,’ Lucy said when they were back on deck, and Izzy had reverted to her disguise of ‘I Like 2 Dyke’ cap, shades and sarong. ‘Trust you to be the one who saves the dude. I suppose your log will read, “Saved dive god on ascent”.’ She reached for her logbook. ‘Did you get a load of that pipe fish?’ she added. ‘Ugliest one I ever saw.’

‘That wasn’t a pipe fish,’ said Izzy. ‘That was another of my hair extensions.’

‘Hell, you really are moulting, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe I could start a funky new trend. My real hair’s full of sticky bits where the glue has melted in the sun. They must have used really cheap stuff’

‘Hi.’

Izzy peered up through her wraparound sunglasses from under the peak of her cap. Finn was looking down at them, smiling.

‘Which of you girls was responsible for retrieving my mask? I owe you a drink.’

Izzy didn’t hesitate. ‘It was Lucy,’ she said, giving her friend a dig in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Wasn’t it, Luce?’

Lucy gave Izzy a nonplussed look. ‘Um…’ she began.

‘Yes, it was,’ insisted Izzy.

‘Oh yes, then,’ said Lucy, ‘that would definitely have been me.’

‘You’re Irish?’

‘Yeah. Dublin.’

‘I’m from Lissamore, in Coolnamara.’

‘I know.’

‘Oh?’

‘I can–er–tell by your accent.’

Finn smiled down at her. ‘That manoeuvre took some pluck, as well as skill,’ he told her. ‘You’re definitely dive master material, Lucy. How many dives have you notched up?’

‘A hundred and fifty-seven,’ Izzy told him, for Lucy’s benefit.

Finn looked impressed. ‘Then go for it. Maybe you should aim for certification while you’re here.’

‘I’d love to,’ said Lucy, batting her eyelids and clearly enjoying her role as heroine. ‘But we’re leaving tomorrow. Or the day after.’

‘Definitely tomorrow,’ Izzy corrected her.

‘Shame,’ said Finn, looking at Lucy with interest. ‘Will you be going to the party in the AC bar later?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ said Lucy, with her best smile. ‘And just in case you’re wondering, I’m not gay’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Finn, flicking an amused glance at Izzy’s cap, and returning the smile.

As he moved away along the deck, Izzy turned an outraged face to her friend. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said.

‘I’m flirting. You’re right. He is very, very cute.’

‘But I found him first!’

‘Then you shouldn’t have pretended not to know him.’

‘What was I meant to do? Take off my cap and reveal my gummy hair extensions?’

‘Well, at least if you’d done that he wouldn’t have thought you were a dyke.’

‘Bummer. Bummer?’ Izzy’s outraged expression turned into one of anguish. ‘I’ve dug myself into a big hole, haven’t I?’

‘Looks like it. You can hardly turn round and say, “Oh, I made a mistake! I was the one who came to your rescue, actually, not her.’”

‘Oh! Why am I such a loser?’

‘You’re not a loser, honeybun. But you do tend to complicate things unnecessarily sometimes.’

And as Izzy turned to stare morosely at the navy-blue horizon, she realised that, as usual, Lucy was absolutely right.

After they’d dumped their gear, they had to queue for their logbooks to be signed. Izzy’s face was swathed in batik’d cotton, and even in the comparative gloom of the dive shop, she was still sporting shades and baseball cap.

‘Sunburn?’ Finn asked, looking at her with sympathy as she handed over her log.

‘Yes.’

‘What a bitch. Have you tried aloe vera?’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Well. Take care.’ Finn signed her log, then turned his attention to Lucy. ‘Hi, Lucy! I should really sign this “With thanks”!’

Lucy gave a little tinkling laugh. ‘My pleasure!’ she said.

‘There should be plenty of Irish at the party. You’ll have a blast.’ Finn set Lucy’s log on the counter and scribbled his signature. He was just about to hand it back to her when he hesitated, looking puzzled. ‘Where did your tattoo go?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘Your tattoo,’ he repeated, indicating the inside crook of Lucy’s right elbow. ‘I was sure I saw a tattoo there, on your arm, when we high-fived. I noticed it because it was unusual’

Lucy and Izzy exchanged glances, and Izzy immediately folded her arms tightly across her chest.

‘It was just a temporary peel-off tattoo,’ said Lucy. ‘It was the–um–the Japanese symbol for–um–’

‘Water,’ provided Izzy. ‘And it’s a kanji, not a symbol’

‘Cool. You should have it tattoo’d on permanently.’ And Finn gave Lucy the benefit of his great smile before handing back her logbook, and moving on to the next doe-eyed dive girl.

He looked just like a film star signing autographs, Izzy thought. Damn and blast! Why, why, why hadn’t she just come clean about who she was? But what could she have told him? This isn’t my real hair, and I’m not really a lesbian? And then she remembered the vile things that his mother had said about her family, and she decided that it would be a bit like fraternising with the enemy if she ever became chummy with Finn Kinsella. Finn Byrne. Maybe it was just as well that she’d stayed incognito.

Once outside the dive shop, Izzy and Lucy moseyed down to the beach, heading for the hut they’d booked themselves into.

‘Well, there’s no way I’ll be boogying over to the AC bar tonight,’ said Izzy.

‘Don’t be stupid, Iz,’ Lucy told her. ‘Have a shower, and I’ll work on getting rid of the rest of those extensions. Then we’ll go get something to eat. After you’ve had a couple of beers, you’ll feel better. We can’t miss out on a full moon party!’

Twisting a soggy strand of hair around a finger, Izzy reflected. Lucy was right. It really wasn’t fair of her, Izzy, to put a dampener on things just because she had messed up. ‘OK, then,’ she said. ‘We’ll go. And if I run into him I’ll just make a joke of—Ow! What the fuck?’ A stabbing pain shot through Izzy’s foot. It felt as though the sole had been pierced by a white-hot blade. Lunging for Lucy’s arm, she clung on for support, and started hopping up and down on one leg. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’ she gibbered.

‘Hey!’ said Lucy. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve stood on something,’ whimpered Izzy. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’

‘Sit down. Let me see.’

Izzy sat down on the sand and Lucy took her foot between her hands and examined it, before turning pale.

‘Ohmigod! Help!’ she cried, jumping up and waving her arms. ‘Can anyone help?’

Indeed they could. Within seconds, Izzy and Lucy were surrounded by a bevy of beefcake, and within minutes, they were being transported on the back of a couple of motorbikes to the nurses’ station in a nearby resort.

‘Teh, tch,’ said the nurse, shaking her head. ‘That is a nasty wound. I can clean and bind it for you, but you must get to a hospital as soon as possible.’

‘Where is the nearest hospital?’ asked Izzy, blinking back tears of agony.

‘Koh Samui,’ said the nurse.

‘Nooooooo!’ wailed Izzy.

‘Go straight to gaol,’ said Lucy, with a resigned shrug. ‘Do not pass Go…’

And within the hour, Izzy and Lucy were on a speedboat heading for Samui, just as the full moon was making a tantalising entrance from behind a curtain of tangerine-coloured cloud.