Victoria Fox - Temptation Island

The pancake Rosa was holding fell to the floor with a slap.

‘Lori, what the hell— ?’

The item had moved on but the reporter’s words looped hideously through her mind.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t .

Lori fell into a chair. Thought she was going to be sick.

‘You were there,’ babbled Rosa, backing away. ‘You were there!’

‘No,’ she managed to mumble, ‘I—I wasn’t. He never showed up.’

‘Oh, you wait till Mama finds out,’ Rosa spluttered. ‘Rico Marquez, a murderer ! We always knew it would happen, that he’d go the exact same way as his brother and the rest of that useless family—’

‘Shut up.’

‘—and now he’s proved us right. What did Mama tell you? We were right!’

Lori put her hands over her ears. ‘Shut up!’

Rosa gave a burst of hysterical laughter. ‘You’re in so much shit it’s not even fair ! Loriana Garcia, in love with a murderer—’

Lori stood and slapped her sister round the face. It made a clean, sharp sound and left Rosa’s cheek burning pink. She wanted to do it again, and again, till Rosa was silenced and she could be left in peace to think straight. It was impossible to focus. Her vision was swimming.

She remembered Rico’s words in the salon yard: There’s somethin’ I gotta do …

The floor seemed to bend and shake till Lori realised it was her legs that were giving way. She collapsed against the wall. Rosa went for her, pulling her hair, calling her a bitch, a killer, clawing with her nails, but Lori didn’t feel a thing.

Rehab was a total waste of time. Aurora had known it would be—after all, she had only gone to please her parents and to help her mother get over the trauma of walking in on her young daughter in a state of such disarray, and everyone said that rehab only worked if the person genuinely wanted to change. She’d had a blast that day with Sebastian, got horny even now just thinking about it, and while it was unfortunate—and just a tad embarrassing—to have Sherilyn walk in at such an inopportune moment, she didn’t regret it.

What she did regret was that Julieta had got fired from her housekeeping duties. On top of that being a rough ride for a poor Mexican family, it was also the end of any rough rides she could expect to enjoy with Sebastian again.

She’d spent a month at the Tyrell Chase Center with her consultant, a gnarled old shrink called Dr Lux, but it was always ‘Call me Ed’—it wasn’t the first time she’d been. Dr Lux went over the same tired ground: her reckless behaviour was down to overindulgence, hedonism, lack of boundaries, blah blah fucking blah. Sherilyn took this diagnosis as a personal affront and always wept heartily after a meeting with Dr Lux: she hated Aurora going into rehab as much as Aurora did. Had she been a bad mother? Where had she gone wrong? Was Aurora suffering from being an only child? While Aurora sat and picked her nails, wondering when the hell they could get out of there.

By the time she did eventually get out, it seemed Sherilyn had just about recovered from the shock. Her father informed Aurora she’d been upping her sessions with Lindy the Therapist—no doubt Lindy would have several things to say about the pool-table episode—and had some new pills to pop that came in a fancy pink packet and sat serious as a Bible by her mother’s bed.

Today was the eve of Aurora’s sixteenth birthday party. They’d had people attending the mansion all week: caterers and planners, stylists and organisers, even a horse trainer attempting to map a route from the drive to the pool, where a white stallion would enter with the birthday girl on its back. She even suspected Tom was sorting a guest appearance from the Black Eyed Peas, and MTV was coming to film a special all-star Super Sweet —it was going to be amazing!

‘You’re lucky we’re going ahead with this,’ Tom had said when they’d talked about the celebrations. ‘After the trouble you’ve got yourself in.’

‘I know, Daddy,’ she’d said, eyes wide. ‘You and Mom are so kind and generous—I know I don’t deserve it!’

‘As long as you’ve learned your lesson,’ Tom had gone on, as stern as he’d ever be and always with a twinkle that suggested he didn’t think whatever she’d done was that bad, ‘we’re not going to deny you your sweet sixteen.’

He’d ruffled her hair, and that had been that.

Ramon, her hair stylist, arrived. He was doing a colour before her big appearance tomorrow. Sherilyn had insisted on sitting in on the session: Dr Lux had told her she wasn’t to be left alone with men—the girl had a sex addiction that temptation did nothing to ease.

‘Mom!’ she yelled up the stairs. The word bounced hollowly off the high ceilings, precise as a tennis ball. ‘Ramon’s here!’

Upstairs, Sherilyn Rose applied a flush of rouge to her alarmingly pale complexion. She looked bad. The lighting in her dressing room was unflattering, but, even so, she was tired, overworked and under-slept. Opening a drawer in her vanity table, she extracted a bottle of little red pills. She chucked a handful into her mouth and took a slug of water.

‘All right, sweetheart!’ she sang, her soft Alabama tones melting down the stairway to her waiting daughter. Sweet-As-Pie-Mom was a hard act to maintain, she thought grimly. It used to come to her naturally—recently she felt like a gruesome monster wearing a little girl’s skin. Ugh, that was horrific. But that was the sort of image residing in her head these days.

It was hardly any wonder her nerves were shredded. The pills Lindy had given her were the only things that allowed her to sleep at night. She had been enduring terrible dreams of late: memories that she’d thought were buried deep in the past. And yet every time Aurora misbehaved—this latest episode the worst yet—they returned to her in vivid, appalling detail.

The vast Indian Ocean. The island. That man …

If it ever came out, the reasons why they’d done it, her life would not be worth living.

Another couple of tablets, that was all. Shakily she chucked them down her white throat.

Was her life worth living now?

Sherilyn took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, just as Lindy had taught her. She tried to smile, making her way slowly down the mansion stairs, one step at a time. As always, she shuddered when she passed the open games room, its equipment cleanly polished and disinfected on her instruction. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her daughter in that context. It disgusted her.

Not that her husband seemed to care. People said fathers were always closer to their girls: that the mothers got left out in the cold. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she was jealous of their connection, a bond she had tried so hard to feel, to engage , and, failing that, to manufacture. It hadn’t worked. How could it, when week after week she was subjected to yet another reminder of her daughter’s monstrosity?

What on earth had she and Tom raised?

Whatever it was, she knew they deserved every bad thing they got.

Aurora’s first impression was that her mother could do with a visit from her own stylist: a recent dye job had rendered her hair the same colour as Barbie’s and she wore tight frayed jeans and precarious white shoe boots. Dated.

She hitched herself on to a stool by the patio doors, making sure she could see the poolside arrangement and issue preferences if necessary, while Ramon, young with a Mohawk, plonked down his cosmetics bag and laid out his tools. He was so clearly gay that any notion of chaperoning was absurd. Still, Aurora adhered to the new rules—it was a novelty to actually be made to do something.