The Dying Beach by Angela Savage

Charlie scooped up the cobra, seized it by the head and pressed its fangs into the pink rubber stretched over the opening of a specimen jar. He held it up so the audience could see the venom oozing into the container. Rajiv took more photos.
    â€˜I give up.’ He shook his head. ‘It appears these men are not playing tricks. They are simply crazy.’
    Mickey took Charlie’s place in the ring and performed a similar range of stunts with a mangrove snake, coaxing it to leap through the air, placing his index finger in its open jaws, and going mouth-to-mouth with it.
    At this point a little girl with pigtails and a doll under one arm wandered into the arena, took a seat next to the cot of snakes and proceeded to comb her dolly’s hair, unmoved by the spectacle of grown men kissing snakes in the pit in front of her. Jayne wished she had the girl’s sangfroid.
    For the grand finale, Charlie produced a king cobra—‘the world’s largest venomous snake’—and went mouth-to-mouth with it.
    â€˜What is it with all the snake kissing?’ Jayne said.
    â€˜In my country, people are sometimes marrying animals to ward off bad luck.’
    Jayne pressed her forehead to Rajiv’s shoulder. ‘It was a rhetorical question, my love.’
    She started to relax once they left, and Rajiv realised his mistake in taking her to a snake farm. He had better luck with his choice of dinner venue, a seafood restaurant by the beach in Ao Nang, where they ate a delicious meal of deep-fried fish and green mango salad, washed down with cold beer. They lingered afterwards over cigarettes and conversation, before walking hand in hand up the hill back to their guesthouse.
    Rajiv’s luck didn’t hold. He opened the door to their room but before he turned on the light, he noticed something flashing. It was Pla’s mobile phone—Rajiv had left it on the narrow table that served as their desk—and it was flashing with a missed-call message.
    â€˜Shit.’
    Jayne pounced on the device and, although it was nearly ten o’clock, Rajiv knew she would try to return the call.
    â€˜Recorded message. The phone is switched off or out of range.’ She held the handset as if weighing up the idea of throwing it across the room. ‘Shit,’ she said again. ‘First time Pla’s phone rings since she died and we miss it.’
    She tossed the phone on the bed and made for the bathroom. Had it closed properly, the door would have slammed behind her.
    Rajiv picked up the phone and checked the log for the missed call. There was a number but no name and no voicemail message. He opened up the contacts list and found it empty. He checked the record of dialled numbers. There was only one, the same number dialled with relative frequency up until two weeks earlier, after which no calls had been made. He checked the dialled number against the missed call. They were identical.
    Jayne re-emerged from the bathroom.
    â€˜I’m sorry I forgot to check the phone earlier and did not think to bring it with me tonight,’ Rajiv said. ‘But I’ve checked it now and I believe Pla used this phone to communicate with one person only—the person who tried to call earlier tonight. We can be trying them again tomorrow, yes?’
    â€˜Sure.’ She got into bed without meeting his eyes. ‘Do you mind if we have the air con on tonight?’
    â€˜Not at all,’ Rajiv lied.
    He excused himself to use the bathroom, showered quickly and ran a disposable razor over his chin to avoid annoying Jayne further with scratchy kisses.
    But she had already turned out the light by the time he finished and was lying stone still with her back to him. Rajiv lay awake for what felt like a long time, listening to her calculated breathing, the sound of withheld anger.

18
    Paul waited until the phone rang out, unsure whether to be annoyed or concerned that Pla didn’t answer. He’d given