The Hidden Beach

by Karen Swan

  Tove looked around them furtively, before leaning in. It was the clear sign that whatever gossip she was about to spill was going to be good. ‘Well, I’d better tell you this before they get back here. I mean, they’ll tell you themselves, no doubt, but just to give you the heads-up – Kris and Marc almost split. Well, actually they did split. But they’re back together again.’

  ‘What?’ Bell gasped. ‘But they just announced they are moving in together!’

  ‘I know, but Kris found some messages on Marc’s phone, some junior doctor dude, and –’ She shrugged. ‘It all sort of blew up. Kris got absolutely wrecked and needed to be carried home.’

  ‘But he hardly drinks.’

  ‘And Marc doesn’t usually stand in the street, shouting up at windows in the middle of the night either, but he did. It was all pretty bad.’

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Bell said, aghast. ‘I’ve been gone for two weeks and the whole world’s gone mad! I saw Kris last week and he was fine.’

  Tove gave her freckled shoulders a shrug. ‘I don’t know, maybe it was some sort of reflex to the enormity of what they are doing? Moving in together’s a big deal. Marc must have just freaked, panicked, had a brain fart? But they’re good now. They’ve talked, for like fricking days – I think they’ve worked through it.’ She wagged a finger at her. ‘But don’t say I told you, and look surprised if they bring it up. Kris’ll talk to you when he’s ready, but I think they both just want things to get back to normal.’

  Bell nodded, but she felt upset that she hadn’t been there for her flatmate. She knew better than anyone that Kris had the looks of a god and the heart of a marshmallow. Her own life had been yoked to someone else’s itinerary and agenda – and where had it got her?

  Tove swung her legs off the bed and got up. ‘More of the same?’

  ‘Sure. Make them doubles.’

  Tove’s eyebrows shot up as she shoved her feet into a pair of fake Hermes slides. ‘Don’t look so worried, Bell. They’ll be okay. And the timing of your text was perfect; a massive blowout this weekend is exactly what they need.’

  ‘A massive blowout this weekend is exactly what I need,’ she murmured under her breath, as Tove walked over to the pool bar. She flicked through the magazine, stopping at the social diary spread, her gaze snagging for some reason on a picture of a royal couple in tiaras and sashes. They were in full white tie regalia in some red and gilded room, and beside them was another couple, minus the crowns. It was another few moments before she realized the erect, sharp-gazed woman staring back through the lens was Nina. We’re having dinner in Copenhagen tonight, she’d said. She just hadn’t mentioned it was with the King and Queen of Denmark.

  She remembered Nina’s audacious entrance, turning up unexpectedly, her helicopter just appearing suddenly in the sky. Emil had seemed bemused, if somewhat resigned, to his sister’s forthright attitude and entitled manner – so different from his own. She certainly never would have guessed, from his scruffy appearance in the marina, that he was the scion of an industrialist dynasty, or that he might be the kind of man to consort with kings. Or that he might seduce his own wife.

  ‘Drink up,’ Tove said, returning with a tray loaded with drinks. ‘Double the doubles.’

  ‘Great.’ She was going to get drunk. So very, very drunk . . .

  ‘And tell me – how’s Hanna?’ Tove asked. ‘How are things with our Mogerts’ very chic, oh-so modern family?’

  ‘Ummm . . .’ Bell hesitated. ‘Well, it’s all rather old-school, since you ask.’ Her voice sounded thick.

  ‘Old-school?’ Tove was intrigued, peering over her cat’s-eye sunglasses at her. ‘What does that mean?’

  Bell swallowed, forcing herself to say the words. ‘Hanna’s having an affair. With her husband.’

  Tove’s jaw dropped open completely. ‘The slut!’

  ‘Sshhhh!’ Bell hushed her furiously, glancing around at their neighbours as heads turned at the commotion. ‘Keep it down! There are kids about.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Tove squeaked, not sorry at all. Her body was suddenly tense with excitement. ‘But what the actual fuck?’ she stage-whispered. ‘What about Max?’

  Bell sighed. ‘Quite.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, how do you know?’

  Bell swallowed, feeling the enormity of it all hit her again. ‘Because I saw them in bed together last night.’

  Tove’s face crumpled. ‘Oh my God, poor Max!’

  Poor Max. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Does he –?’

  ‘No.’ Bell shook her head. ‘I don’t think anyone does.’

  ‘Except you.’

  ‘Yeah, except me.’

  Tove frowned. ‘And how come you saw them in bed together?’

  Bell swallowed, tipping her head back on the headrest, not wanting to go back there. ‘Oh, long story,’ she said as dismissively as she could. Her voice was strangled, tears were threatening.

  ‘You weren’t hiding in his closet, were you?’ Tove asked devilishly. ‘Because let’s be honest, I would – the guy is hot.’

  ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid,’ Bell said quickly, cutting her off before she could start to extol Emil Von Greyer’s physical virtues. ‘He was concussed, and –’ In spite of herself, she felt the tears begin to slide out of the corners of her eyes, and she thanked God for the gigantic Chanels she had picked up years back in duty free. ‘Hanna and I had to check on him throughout the night, and that’s when I found them together.’ The words ran into each other like children on a slide.

  Tove was quiet for a moment, staring at her. Then she leaned over and pulled off her glasses entirely.

  ‘Tove!’ Bell gasped, reacting just that bit too late. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Why are you crying?’ Tove asked, concern softening her. ‘. . . Oh God, babe, what have you done?’

  ‘We are going to be her pimps.’ Tove looked round at them all seriously. ‘All of us. We are getting this woman a man tonight.’

  It was the kind of Tove comment that they might have shouted down when sober, but after a day of drinking in the sun, it sounded almost reasonable. Kris and Marc had returned midway through her story about Emil, and with every new tray of drinks that came back from the bar, she had revealed more about what had passed between them – he was her Midsommar lover, the confrontations she had won, the insults he had, yesterday’s perfection blighted by his accident on the boat, his cruel rejection in the middle of the night, flaunting the seduction of his own wife to her . . .

  ‘Yes! Do it. Let’s get me a man,’ Bell slurred, as Kris, sitting at the end of her sunbed, gave her a foot rub. At some point they had switched from rum and Coke to mojitos. ‘Lighter,’ Tove had said earnestly, as though it was the Coke they had to watch out for.

  ‘I can’t . . . I can’t choose properly,’ Bell went on. ‘My man radar is completely broken. Pimp me out. I don’t even care.’

  ‘This makes me sad,’ Kris sighed. He rarely drank to excess, but when he did, he was usually a sorrowful drunk. ‘You deserve someone who cares about you.’

  ‘No. That’s the worst thing I could do,’ she protested, shaking her head vehemently. ‘I don’t want love.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Marc said, his skin looking tight after an intense tanning session followed by a competitive volleyball match in the pool. ‘It’s all you want.’

  Music was pumping loudly through the speakers; coloured lights were on around the bar area as the sun bumped along the horizon, unable to sink. It was approaching ten and all the families had long since gone home; the sea club was filled to capacity, with partygoers overflowing onto the gangplanks, beers in their hands and the ambient noise levels of laughter and conversation rising rapidly. Every boat in the marina had people on it, deck parties and dinners adding to the carnival atmosphere as others stood on the rocks with binoculars, watching the lead race boats clip past. It was party time again on Sandhamn.

  ‘Love and good sex very often don’t go hand in h
and,’ Tove said, with a gravity that suggested she was passing on divine wisdom. ‘I mean, I get it when people bang on about intimacy adding to it, blah-blah-blah, but sometimes, with a stranger, it’s actually better.’

  Bell closed her eyes, remembering again the moment she had leaned across and kissed him –

  ‘Stop it!’ Kris wiggled her foot, knowing exactly what she was thinking. ‘Not him.’

  ‘No,’ she sighed again. ‘I wasn’t. I –’ She didn’t have the energy to lie.

  She gave a small shiver as a sea breeze rippled over her bare skin. She was still in her bikini, having just pulled on a pair of denim shorts, and she tried to remember what she had worn here this morning. It was so long ago now. Fourteen hours spent lying and drinking and crying on this sun lounger.

  ‘Bell?’

  They all turned as one to find a blonde-bearded guy smiling down at her, several beer bottles precariously held between his splayed fingers.

  ‘Mats?’ She saw Kris and Marc give him the once-over. He was an attractive guy – athletic physique, twinkly eyes, ready smile. ‘Mats!’ she cried, scrambling to stand and accidentally delivering a glancing blow to Kris’s nether regions in the process.

  ‘Oof!’

  ‘Guys, this is Mats. He’s Emil’s skipper.’

  ‘Emil’s skipper?’ Marc repeated, as though this counted against him. Guilty by assocation?

  She reached over the lounger and greeted him like an old friend, giving him an enthusiastic kiss on each cheek. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked excitedly. ‘I thought you went back to the city.’

  He hesitated. Could he tell she was tipsy? Perhaps she wasn’t doing a terribly good job of hiding it. ‘I did, but I just got back in time. I always like to watch the race from here.’

  ‘From the bar?’ she laughed, looking down at his beers.

  He gave a rueful shrug, as though busted. ‘That was the plan, anyway. You want one?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t, I’ve had so much already,’ she demurred, before taking it in the next instant anyway. ‘Oh okay then.’ She took a swig. ‘So what are you doing here?’ She winced, catching herself as he laughed; she’d already asked that. God, she was drunk. ‘I mean, I mean, who are you here with?’

  ‘Those guys over there.’ He jerked his thumb to show a group of eight or so, standing on the other side of the pool. There were five guys and three women, all talking in a group.

  ‘Oh.’

  He looked back at her quickly. ‘But they’re not, I mean, I’m not –’

  ‘You’re not . . .?’

  His gaze fell to her mouth, then back to her eyes. ‘I’m not with them.’

  Did he mean the women? ‘Oh.’ She put her lips to the bottle and watched him as she drank. Everything seemed to slow down a little.

  ‘And you?’ His eyes grazed over Marc and Kris questioningly, as they stood protectively a step behind.

  ‘Oh. Oh, no,’ she laughed. ‘We’re not a . . . four. They’re a two, in fact,’ she said, taking both Kris and Marc’s chins in her hands and squeezing their handsome faces together like chipmunks. The two men blinked back obligingly.

  ‘Right,’ Mats grinned, looking relieved.

  ‘Yes, this is Kris and I’m Marc,’ Marc said as they all shook hands. ‘We’re her pimps.’

  ‘And me. I’m Tove,’ Tove said, leaning in. ‘I’m her pimp too.’

  ‘Actually, I’d say you’re the chief pimp, Tove,’ Marc deadpanned.

  They all looked back at Mats, who was motionless and open-mouthed, before collapsing into fits of hysterics. ‘Uh . . .’

  ‘They’re messing with you,’ Bell laughed, slapping a hand on his chest and leaving it there. He looked down at it – and back at her again. ‘It’s just an inside joke.’

  ‘Right. Well good,’ he smiled. He stepped in closer to her, encouraged by her initiation of body contact, and she sensed the others draw back as their conversation became more intimate. ‘. . . So, it’s funny running into you like this. I was really hoping I’d see you again,’ he said quietly. ‘Did you read my note?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And were you going to call me?’

  ‘. . . Of course.’

  He gave a mock-outraged gasp. ‘You weren’t!’

  She laughed. ‘I was! I was!’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ he protested, grinning anyway.

  She leaned into him slightly, pressing her curves gently against him. ‘Does it matter? We’re here now, aren’t we?’

  The question was coquettish, and he stared down at her for a moment, a question in his eyes that she answered with a look in her own. She was wildly drunk and she didn’t care who knew it. Him, the whole bar . . . Nothing mattered anyway. Not really. She had made the first move and it was his call whether to respond or not.

  He bent his head and kissed her – just like that. It was that easy. His lips were chapped and a little rough, but she didn’t mind; it was better than being kept hanging in mid-air.

  ‘Attagirl!’ she heard Tove yell, and someone – Kris – gave a two-fingered whistle.

  ‘Pimps or cheerleaders?’ Mats grinned as they pulled apart.

  ‘Both!’ she giggled, feeling woozy and silly and like she was on an unstoppable train.

  He kissed her again, emboldened now. ‘I wanted to do that all day yesterday.’

  ‘Did you?’ she breathed, remembering how Emil had stared up at her from her lap all the way back, her hands stroking and cradling his face as she told him it would all be okay . . . What a joke.

  She could still see him so clearly, even now, like he was right there –

  He was right there.

  ‘Boss!’ She felt Mats stiffen with the surprise, his hands falling from her waist.

  Hanna, Emil and Linus were standing on the other side of the fencing that partitioned off the sea bar from the boardwalk. Judging by their collared shirts, she could tell they had come from having dinner in the hotel.

  ‘Mats,’ Emil said back, staring at them evenly – before remembering his manners. ‘This is Hanna, my w– . . . Linus’s mother.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Hanna said quickly, her eyes darting to her son like a dragonfly on the river. ‘I think we passed by each other in the house yesterday? I’m sorry if I was rude, rushing like that. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘All good, I hope.’

  ‘Of course. I understand it was thanks to you he received medical aid so quickly. Not to mention, the hit from the boom would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t pulled him down.’

  ‘Not quite fast enough, though,’ Mats said ruefully, looking back at the boss again. ‘How are you now, honestly? I didn’t think you’d be up and about so quickly.’

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  Mats looked sceptical. ‘Yeah? You took a proper wallop there.’

  ‘Just some headaches. They’ll pass. I’ve been well looked after.’ He draped an arm over Hanna’s shoulder, as if to prove she was his Florence Nightingale. Bell looked away. Was she going to get any credit at all – she had clipped him back to safety again, protected his head from further blows, held him all the way back – or had he erased her completely from his version of events?

  She realized that Hanna hadn’t greeted her. And that in fact, although friendly to Mats, she was seemingly unable to even meet her eyes? She must have realized that she had fallen asleep in the bed, that Bell would have seen her there.

  ‘Uh, Hanna, about that –’ She pulled a face, hoping she could pull off the lie. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry about this morning. I was going to text you. I’m afraid I slept right through the alarm for the five o’clock check.’

  She felt Emil’s stare spring on her like a cat as she watched Hanna’s expression change, relief suffusing her like a spring bloom. ‘You did?’

  She shrugged, not sure why she was rushing to save her boss’s blushes. ‘Yes, I’m so sorry. I mean, clearly everything’s worked out well, but still,
I feel terrible about it.’

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ Hanna said quickly, glancing at Emil with a secret look. ‘It’s fine. He’s fine. Aren’t you?’

  Emil nodded, his eyes meeting hers finally and scorching her. He was looking smarter than at any other point since she’d met him, a pale-blue Oxford shirt making the most of his eyes, white chino shorts with Tods, shoes with actual backs. He looked a step closer already to the man in the wedding photo. The Hanna Effect. He was getting what he wanted – his old life back. First his son, now his wife.

  ‘Bell,’ Linus said excitedly, interrupting now that the first round of pleasantries was over. ‘You should have been there today. We went skateboarding down the halls and had a picnic at the hidden beach!’

  ‘Oh!’ she nodded, trying to see only one of him and trying not to look as drunk as she actually was, hanging off a handsome sailor in just her bikini at ten o’clock at night. ‘I wish I’d been there.’

  ‘Where did you go? You were already gone when I woke up.’

  Her smile set in place. ‘I came here.’

  ‘What? All day?’

  ‘Yep.’ She nodded. ‘All day.’ Drinking from that bar . . .

  ‘Well, it’s good to see you letting your hair down, Bell,’ Hanna said, smiling warmly, relaxed now that her indiscretion had gone unseen, generous now that it was Bell – and not her – who was wrecked. ‘It looks like you’ve had a great day.’

  ‘Oh, the best. So much fun. Very . . . needed.’ She refused to look Emil’s way, even though his stare was like a hot needle dragging over her skin.

  Linus looked between her and Mats with open curiosity. ‘I didn’t know he was your boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh! He’s my . . .’ A silence opened up. Her brain wasn’t working fast enough to work out what to say.

  ‘Special friend?’ Mats supplied for her, looking bemused.

  ‘Yes!’ she said, pointing a finger at him. ‘Very good.’

  ‘We’re special friends, mate,’ Mats said with a wink.

  ‘So does that mean you’re going to New Zealand too?’ Panic lit in his eyes.