He fixed his gaze on her. His words were clear: 'Because I hoped you'd come.'

She had known this the moment she read his email. There was something between them, a connection she'd felt that first night in Maui, and she knew Noah felt it, too.

Slowly, she brought her hand to his cheek, his stubble rough against her palm. She felt the flicker of her pulse in the tips of her fingers where their skin touched. She sensed a sadness in him that she didn't yet understand. Then she placed her lips to his and kissed him. The rush of longing was so intense that she gasped.

He reached for her, folding her into his arms as if he never wanted to let her go.

Desire, which began somewhere deep inside of her, rippled outwards. Sweat glistened on their backs; slid between their thighs. His breathing quickened. Her teeth pressed into his shoulder. She shuddered.

He expelled a long, low groan and then sank down onto her, his face buried in her hair.

She lay listening to his breathing and the fan whirring above. She could feel his heartbeat in her chest. It was worth everything, she thought, if only for this.

Noah pushed himself up onto an elbow and looked at her. The intensity of his gaze made her feel as if he were searching her face for something lost. With his thumb he smoothed a damp strand of hair away from her temple. 'I'm sorry, Mia, for the way I left.'

He said nothing more for a time but she waited, sensing he wanted to continue.

'The forecast looked good, Jez found us some flights and we just left. I should've looked for you. Told you myself. But I didn't know what to say.' His gaze left hers. 'Or what I wanted.'

She swallowed. 'Do you now?'

He rolled onto his back, stretching so that his stomach flattened. He made a pillow with his arms and said, 'This, what we've got ... it's a lot for me.'

She understood. On the flight to Bali she had flicked back in the journal to reread some of her father's song lyrics. Many of his later songs were about the powerlessness of being in love and she'd found herself rapt by the lyrics, as if he'd opened a door into her own mind and shown her exactly what it was she was feeling. The songs weren't maudlin romantic ballads, they were filled with imagery of both tender ecstasy and emotional imprisonment. They'd become etched in her mind and she felt the symmetry of their lives running like parallel railway tracks.

'It's a lot for me, too,' she said. Yet here they were. In quiet moments, she tentatively pictured a future with Noah: travelling through Indonesia together, walking on empty beaches with their fingers interlaced and, later, a trip to England, to Cornwall, to show him her sea.

'All I know,' he said, 'is that I'm pleased you're here.'

She smiled and tucked the comment away, knowing it would have to be enough for now.

She turned on the bed and lay with the back of her head resting on his stomach. She watched the blades of the fan rotate. Beyond the swirl of air she heard the hum of a generator and the low bass of a song pulsing from the terrace. 'So tell me about Bali,' she said.

He drew a breath and her head rose with his stomach. 'The water is incredible clear and glassy waves peeling right in from the Indian Ocean. It's busy, now. The surf is overcrowded and there's a load of attitude at the main breaks.'

'You've been before?'

'I lived here for a year.'

'When?'

'At 16.'

'With your family?'

'No. On my own.'

She tried picturing herself at 16 living in a foreign country, alone. 'Why?'

'I wanted space. I wanted to surf,' Noah said.

'That was brave.'

'It didn't feel that way.'

'How did it feel?'

'It was a long time ago,' he said. That was all.

'Has Bali changed a lot?' She was eager to keep the conversation going.

'When I first came here the surf scene hadn't fully taken off. The beaches were still quiet. There's a break called Seven Point that's really well known it's in all the surf movies so everyone wants to ride it. A decade ago the only way to reach it was by paying this local guy to take you on the back of his scooter across a dirt track on his land. You had to climb down a sketchy rope ladder and he'd wait with any gear you'd brought until you paddled in. Now a tarmac road runs right up to the point and there's a cafe on the top selling surf DVDs and ice cream.'

'The locals must hate it.'

'Some were pleased. Tourism made them a quick buck. But yeah, a lot of them resent the changes. It's such a beautiful island but it's been disfigured by developers.'

'How long do you think you'll stay this time?'

'I'm not sure. It depends on a lot of things.' He didn't elaborate on what those things were and instead asked, 'How about you? You got plans?'

'I'm meant to be in New Zealand right now,' she said, wondering if Finn had managed to make their flight. 'Finn and I were planning on working out there for a couple of months to get some money together. But everything is a little up in the air between us right now.'

She felt Noah draw in a deep breath as if he was going to say something. Then the air left his lungs and no words followed.

He placed a hand over hers. She brought it towards her lips and kissed the underside of his wrist where his tattoo began. She studied the wave, intrigued by the numbers inked beneath the broken lip. It was a date, she realized, tracing her finger over it. 'What does this mean?'

'It's an anniversary,' he said, withdrawing his hand and pushing himself up so that Mia had to move her head from his stomach and sit up. 'It's the date that my brother died.'

'You had another brother?' She kept her voice level, hiding her surprise.

'Johnny.'

'How old was he when he died?'

'Twenty-two.'

According to the date on the tattoo, he died eleven months ago.

Noah swung his legs from the bed and pulled on a pair of sun-bleached shorts.

When he turned back, she noticed that his features had tightened and a muscle clenched at his jaw. 'Noah? Are you okay?'

He pulled his lips into a smile. 'Sure.'

But his reassurance only troubled her because it was a gesture that reminded Mia of herself.

'You got a room here?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'Maybe you should head back now. It's pretty late.'

She had expected this: she had never stayed overnight with him and sensed that now wasn't the time to again ask why.

She threw her clothes back on and moved towards the door. He followed, picking up his room key. 'You're going out?' she asked, turning.

'For some fresh air.'

The light had disappeared from his eyes and she guessed it had been the mention of his brother. She hesitated in the corridor, searching for the right thing to say.

He locked the door and dropped the key into his pocket.

Nothing came to her.

'Night,' he said.

She watched him leave, glimpsing flashes of the black wave on his swinging arm, Jez's words ringing in her ears. He's good at leaving.

21.

KATIE.

Bali, August 'Have there been any messages?' Katie asked, spreading her palms flat against the cool polished wood of the Khama Heights Hotel front desk.

'Yes,' Ketut replied. 'One message for you.'

Please, she thought as he lifted a slip of paper, tell me my backpack's been found.

'It is from Passport Services. A replacement passport will be sent to you by the end of the week.'

'Oh. Were there no others?'

'That is all today, Miss Katie. I am sorry. Perhaps tomorrow they will find your luggage?'

Her hands slid from the desk, a faint trail of condensation left behind. 'How long have I been here, Ketut?'

'Twelve days,' he answered, without needing to check.

Which meant it was twelve nights ago that she discovered her backpack had been stolen. Thankfully, she'd had her bag on her and could pay a taxi driver to take her to a 'safe hotel'. She remembered drifting, luggageless, into the grand lobby of the Khama Heights Hotel. It was Ketut, standing behind the front desk in a pressed burgundy blazer with neatly oiled hair, who smiled warmly and asked how he could help. On her behalf he made calls to the police and the British Embassy, while she stood next to the desk, picking at a loose thread on her dress until the hem came undone.

She had visited the police station three times since then, waiting in the sweltering entrance that smelt of metal and disinfectant, listening to the bounce and clicks of men speaking Balinese behind a high wooden counter. Each time she was told the same thing: they would be in touch if there was any news.

She had lost everything clothes, underwear, a bag of Chanel make-up, her new set of acrylic paints, two dresses of Mia's, her engagement ring, her passport but it was only the loss of Mia's journal that she cared about. She found herself fantasizing about meeting the person who'd stolen it, grabbing them by the shoulders and screaming into their pitiful face until they understood the damage they'd done.

'Miss Katie?' Ketut said. 'Miss Katie, are you feeling not well?'

She placed a hand to her forehead and could feel the damp heat of her skin against her palm. She hadn't been sleeping or eating properly. 'I'm fine. I just need a little fresh air.'

She concentrated on breathing steadily as she moved through the lobby towards the gardens. As she took the tiled steps, she caught her reflection in an ornate wooden mirror hanging from the wall and paused. Her hair had grown out of its style and was lank, darker blonde at the roots where it hadn't been highlighted. She'd lost weight, too, which showed in her hollowed cheeks and the new prominence of her breastbone. She wore no make-up, not bothering to replace anything that had been lost in the backpack except for a few cheap cotton dresses she'd picked up from a market stall.

She ducked her head and continued on, moving through the manicured hotel gardens where a light breeze carried the sweet fragrance of frangipani to her. Ahead, she noticed an older woman bending to grasp her sun hat, which had been lifted by the breeze. It rolled casually out of reach and the woman flounced after it, her heavy bosoms only just remaining concealed beneath a flame-orange sarong. The hat pin-wheeled into Katie's path and she bent down and plucked it from the lawn.

'Thank you!' the woman said, as Katie handed it to her. 'I keep meaning to grip it in place.'

Katie smiled and moved to walk on.

'Another beautiful afternoon. Aren't we spoilt? I hear it's been solid rain for a week at home. You are English?'

Katie nodded. She hadn't yet interacted with the other guests, avoiding the bar and restaurant, and preferring to take her meals in her room where there was no one to watch her pick at the food.

'Thought so!' The woman's cheeks were pink from the heat and a web of broken capillaries deepened the colour. 'I don't recall seeing you with anyone. Here alone?'

'Yes.'

She leant close, placing a warm hand on Katie's arm. 'It's a man, isn't it?'

'Excuse me?'

'That's why you're here. Mending a broken heart. Am I right?'

Katie shook her head.

'Oh. Usually I've got an instinct for these sorts of things. Must be losing my touch!' The woman laughed, pressing her hat to her chest. 'What brings you to Bali, then?'

Katie swallowed. 'My sister died here recently.'

'Oh, goodness! How awful. I'm so sorry. It wasn't that poor girl in the papers? Came off her moped?'

'No,' Katie said, impatient to move on.

'Such a beautiful girl, but no helmet! Could have saved her life! Tragic. But any young person's death is, isn't it, when there's still so much life to live? How did you lose your sister?'

'She committed suicide,' Katie said matter-of-factly, surprised at herself for wanting to shock the woman, but more surprised for wanting to say those words aloud to see if the idea had become any more possible.

The woman's mouth opened but no words came out.

An awful silence stretched between them. Katie could hear the faint trickle of water and the breeze stirring palm fronds.