by Ella Hayes
He unzipped his life vest, giving his lungs some space. He’d taken Emilie sailing three times and snorkelling, which she’d never done before. They’d swum with turtles and they’d found a small, secluded stretch of reef teaming with bright, darting fish in rainbow colours, but the best sight of all had been Emilie pushing up her mask, face aglow, her smile like heaven. It had been an amazing week, just living in the moment, feeling free...
There’d been so many great moments, like riding rickety bicycles along paths of winding red packed sand to a lagoon bar where the locals raced hermit crabs for low stakes. In the evenings, she’d insisted on cooking because she’d said she would die of guilt otherwise. That was Emilie, so conscientious!
He’d insisted on taking her out one night, though, to an elegant restaurant in Via Garda. They’d drunk Painkiller cocktails at a beachside table under the stars. She’d made him laugh when she’d whispered to him that the cocktails weren’t nearly as good as his.
He dug his hands into the sand, closing his eyes. In bed with Emilie, it felt like something was taking him over, a feeling too pure, too big to hold on to. Maybe it was sexual chemistry, plain and simple, but it scared him because it seemed to have strings dangling from it, and Emilie had said ‘no strings’.
He sighed. She might have said it, but so often over the past week it had felt as if the lines were blurring. So often he’d felt the light in her eyes reaching right into his heart, had felt the light in his own beaming right back. Confusing! It was why he’d never spent a whole night with her, even though he’d wanted to. It was why he was still going off on his own now and again, although it wasn’t the only reason.
He got up, shrugging off the vest and throwing it on to the trampoline. Astrid was still the itch he couldn’t seem to scratch, the puzzle he needed to solve, and today, his belly wouldn’t stop churning. Emilie had been busy with the finishing touches for the cake she was making for Melinda and Erris’s beach party anyway, so he’d split. As long as he was back in time to carry the boxes and drive the boat to Boulder Cay, she’d be cool. No strings!
He fished his tee shirt out of his daysack and put it on, scanning the beach. Salt Island was barely inhabited. There were only a handful of buildings idling under a stand of palm trees near the jetty, but running into people was the last thing he wanted to do. That would mean talking and he didn’t want to talk. He needed to think. He turned, walking in the other direction, taking a sandy path which wound upwards to the top of a small hill. It was a steep climb and the sun was hot. He felt sweat breaking out around his hairline, a trickle sliding down the side of his temple.
‘The thing to hold on to is you were sure once... I mean, you did propose.’
Ever since she’d spoken them, Emilie’s words had been clinging to the edges of his consciousness. For some reason he couldn’t shake them off. He had proposed to Astrid, so he must have been sure once, must have been sure for all these years because they’d set the date for the wedding, hadn’t they? So why wasn’t he broken and bleeding? Why hadn’t he fought for Astrid?
‘You did propose.’
He strode on, sweating into his tee shirt, picturing his screensaver, the selfie they’d taken... Warm pleased smiles, sparkling eyes, Astrid holding out her ring finger, showing off the ring that had been his grandmother’s, the ring that Lars had given him. He stopped, pulse pounding in his throat, a familiar acid ache starting in his belly. Splintered shards were moving together... Their apartment. A party. Their official engagement. Astrid closing the door on the last guest. Collapsing against him.
‘At least this’ll get Karl and Lars off our backs for a while...’
He felt the ache deepening, expanding, moving upwards into his chest. Karl and Lars. Pressure! Had Astrid felt pressured into accepting his proposal? Had she been trying to make Karl happy? Had Karl leaned on her the way that Lars had... Black dots peppered his vision. He fell to his knees, heart hammering like it was pushing his blood backwards. Shards and splinters were flying at him like knives: Lars popping open the ring box.
‘You should make it official, son! Propose to Astrid at her twenty-first birthday party. It would mean a lot to Karl right now!’
His temples pounded. Dryness filled his mouth. Pressure. Legs trembling. Pressure. Like speed-cubing. Hands trembling around the cube. The stopwatch. The fear. Pressure!
He rocked forward, gulping air. He’d squared up to Lars. He’d told him he’d propose in his own good time. But he’d taken the ring. Taken the ring! Proposed. Proposed! Just as Lars had wanted. Just as Lars had wanted!
Pain howled in his chest. All this time, he’d thought he was his own person, blazing his own trail, but it wasn’t true. He’d done as Lars had asked, some fragment of his eight-year-old self still craving approval, and maybe, deep down, he’d been despising himself for it all this time. It was so clear now. Resentment for Lars had been the wind beneath his wings. He’d built Larlock from the ground up to show Lars that he didn’t need him or Larsson Lüning and he’d put everything into it. Everything! Maybe that was why he’d always kept the Lars corner stuck down, because it was too painful, too hateful to peel back. He sucked in a ragged breath. And what about Astrid? Had she only agreed to marry him for Karl’s sake, trying to make him happy because he’d lost a wife and was losing a battle with his health?
No! He sat back on his heels, steadying himself. He couldn’t believe that, any more than he could believe that he’d only asked Astrid to marry him because Lars had prodded him with a ring.
‘The thing to hold on to is you were sure once...’
He closed his eyes. The waves rolling on to the beach below were a steady gush, rhythmic, soothing. He breathed in deeply, saw cherished shards spangling behind his lids... Astrid in her green beanie. Blue eyes, clear as water. Shy smiles. Bright laughter. Pale hands full of lingonberries. Painting the walls in their first apartment. Walking through the snow in Royal Djurgården...
He felt his chest shaking, something breaking apart inside. Astrid had been his friend, his first love, his rock, and he’d loved her. A sob filled his throat. He had loved her, he had, so, so much...but Larlock had taken him over and Astrid’s law career had taken a hold of her, and somehow the years had spun by, happiness turning slowly into a sort of bland comfort. They’d stopped sailing together, their love life had dwindled, but they’d gone on, treading water, coasting on the foundations they’d built in earlier times, all the while drifting further and further apart. They’d stopped feeding the fire, stopped loving each other in the right way and their flames had all burned out, but still, they’d carried on.
Had they been afraid to look at what they’d become because of their families’ expectations? ‘Don’t hurt Karl’s daughter...’ Had he unwittingly been bending under the weight of Lars’s unspoken warning for all these years? Kristus! They’d even set a date for the wedding. He rolled each shoulder forward in turn, wiping his face on the sleeves of his tee shirt. Maybe Johan had actually saved them! As for Lars—his belly flinched—living under the cloud of his father was killing him and holding on to all that resentment was pointless. Exhausting. He’d have to find a way to let it go.
‘Is that why you didn’t want to go into the family business?’
Emilie’s intuition had been spot on! She wasn’t only good with evidence! He breathed in deeply and out again, letting go, wilting. He slid a hand to the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the tightness there. A brown pelican was flying over the sea below, stoop-shouldered, scoop-beaked. He felt his lips twitching. Emilie had been elbow-deep in icing when he’d left, indulging her love of sugar craft, she’d said. She’d made two sugar pelicans and a whole raft of other small creatures and colourful figures. The cake was large and complicated. When it was finished it was going to be less of a cake, more a work of art.
Warmth filled his chest. She was such a perfectionist! She’d blamed herself for letti
ng work come between her and Tom. She’d blamed herself for not talking to him about wanting a family, but Tom could have brought it up! There were two of them in that relationship. She needed to stop blaming herself for everything!
He checked his watch and got to his feet. The quiet café was a good idea, bound to be a success if she could get it off the ground. Emilie had told him that she’d emailed Tom about the money. That was a start! Tom! Would he come through? He felt a twinge in his chest. Why was a small part of him hoping that Tom wouldn’t? He started down the path, feet sliding in the soft sand. When Emilie had told him about the money situation, he’d wanted to offer her what she needed, but he’d held back. She’d have only felt awkward, or embarrassed, and she’d been upset enough already, crying over the baby. But if Tom paid her out, she wouldn’t need his help. She wouldn’t need him at all.
The twinge in his chest was spreading into his gut. He stopped to catch his breath, swallowing hard. When Emilie had been crying in his arms, he’d felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, to never let anything hurt her like that again. Strings! He walked on. She’d needed him then and he wanted her to keep needing him. He stopped again. The twinge was fading, a strange, wonderful warmth flooding in, a glow that seemed to be getting brighter. He ran his tongue along his lip, trying to fathom it, and then it settled gently in his chest, pulsing a steady warmth.
He faltered, gathering the threads of his feelings together, then his breath stopped. I love her. He blinked. He wanted to be her everything...the one she ran to...the one who could make everything right... He felt a smile ghosting around his mouth. He was tangled in Emilie’s strings, but it felt like freedom, felt like flying the hull with the wind in his hair. Somehow, while he’d been giving his heart and mind a rest, his heart seemed to have made up his mind for him. He was in love—in love—and that changed everything.
* * *
Emilie tucked the last two sugar pelicans into the crumpled tissue paper, then looked down into the box, staring. The flying fish and the turtles, the hummingbirds and the pair of parakeets seemed nice and secure. She sighed, then clicked the lid shut and put the small plastic box with the bigger boxes which contained the sugar palm trees, the baby and crib, and the Moko Jumbie figures. The cake itself was boxed and in the fridge. Now, all they had to do was get everything to Boulder Cay in one piece. Joel had told her not to worry; he’d said he’d take it easy in the power boat, so nothing would get damaged in transit.
Joel! A warm sad ache filled her chest. He’d taken himself off sailing again, a familiar chink of distance in his eyes. She swallowed hard. He’d gone off on his own a few times. He was obviously still trying to piece together his feelings about Astrid, but she didn’t ask him about it. She wanted to—so much—wanted to listen, to help, to fix him, but she’d set the rules. No strings! That meant not getting close, not getting involved. She felt tears thickening in her throat. Too late!
She took off her chef’s jacket, folding it slowly. If Grandma hadn’t called that morning, she’d still have been blissfully ignorant about her feelings; she’d have still been looking forward to baby Ben’s party instead of dreading it.
Misery pooled in her belly. Grandma! She’d only been trying to help...
‘You know you were telling me about your wonderful idea for a quiet café? Well, yesterday I had a dental appointment in Salton and, as I was going along the High Street, I noticed a tearoom for sale. It’s all shut up, but I looked through the window. It’s lovely inside. It could be the perfect thing. It’s on with Cox’s Estate Agents so you should have a look online, see what you think...’
Her heart should have leapt! A café close to Grandma’s village was exactly what she had been hoping for, but instead her heart had withered. In that instant she’d realised that a café in Salton, or anywhere, wasn’t what she wanted any more. She wanted Joel. She wanted a future filled with twinkling blue-grey eyes, and sailing, and babies...
She stuffed the jacket into her tote and started walking. The tears she’d been holding on to all morning were stinging her eyes, making her throat burn.
I love Joel. She went down the steps, swallowing hard. I love him.
She clenched her jaw, pushing hard, trying to push it all back inside. How had it happened? She’d set the rules. She’d been so careful, telling herself that she was cool with him not spending the night, cool with him going off on his own. She’d told herself that maybe he was even trying to underline to her that they were having a fling and nothing more. But somehow, in spite of being cool, her heart had latched on. Behind her back it had wrapped itself around him, all warm, because he was sweet and kind, and wonderful. Special!
She started along the forest path, hugging her tote. The past week had been better than any week she could remember. Joel had made her feel as if she were the one on holiday... He’d taken her sailing. Flying the hull! Such a glorious feeling, being up in the air, skimming through the water with the spray and the wind in her face, her ears full of the breeze and all the alien clinking and flapping and gushing of the boat, and Joel...pulling at the ropes—sheeting in—biceps bulging, the splashing spray making his firm, tanned body glisten. He’d taken her snorkelling too, had shown her a mesmerising underwater world of colour and movement and shimmering light. It had taken her breath away almost as much as the light in his eyes. He’d lined up so much: a hike through the national park, a lagoon swim. They’d drunk cocktails on the deck of a restaurant as the sun went down, ridden dodgy bicycles—which had made them cry with laughter—and in bed, he’d made her feel so good, so wanted, so cherished that it had almost felt...
She hugged her bag tighter, aching inside. Maybe her heart wasn’t to blame. So many times over the last week it had felt as if Joel was more than just a friend with benefits. In his arms, telling him about Tom and Rachel’s baby, she’d felt so safe, so protected, as if nothing bad could ever happen to her again. That thing he’d said about a different future, a better one... It had given her a boost. She’d been thinking about the café then, had fired off an email to Tom that night, but after that, she must have dropped the ball, started dreaming impossible dreams.
She looked up, blinking at the light glittering through the canopy. Impossible dreams seemed to be her speciality. Dreams of a life with Tom...brown-eyed and smiling in the college kitchen, his dark mop drawn into a ponytail, pale hands rocking the knife...short-haired at Le Perroquet, handsome and bustling in his chef’s whites...and at Blythe’s in his black tee shirt with the Blythe’s logo... She felt a sharp ache behind her eyes. She’d worked hard on the logo because branding was important. It set the vibe. White copperplate gothic font against black, Blythe’s—his surname—which she hadn’t minded because she’d thought that she’d be Emilie Blythe one day. Her belly knotted tight. Tom was the one who had wanted to leave Le Perroquet. Professionally, he’d hit a ceiling. She’d been above him. She’d been happy, doing well, but he’d always had her back and working there without him had seemed impossible, so she’d handed in her notice. She’d given up everything for him and, when the wheels were coming off, she’d hung on, trying to fix things, clinging to old dreams, clinging to Tom, clinging to the food she knew. Fool!
A week ago Joel had asked her if she’d have fought for Tom if there hadn’t been a baby. How hadn’t she known the answer when it was so obvious? She walked up the cottage path and kicked off her sandals against the veranda steps. It was a pitiful—yes! But it wouldn’t have been fighting. It would have been clinging because clinging was what she did best.
She sank down on to the swing. Would she never learn to stop tangling herself up in stupid dreams? This thing with Joel was supposed to have been a little thing, but she’d let it get bigger, allowed herself to imagine that the fond light in his eyes could be... Fool again! She felt tears burning in her throat, scalding her lids. Joel had signed up for a fling. Nothing more. The writing was on the wall. He was still beset with Astri
d, still taking himself off with distance in his eyes, and he was leaving in a week. Leaving!
Pain blocked her lungs. It was over. For a beat there was no air to breathe and then wetness filled her eyes, spilling down her face. If she didn’t put the brakes on now, then her heart would shatter when he left. It would be a fierce wrench, but she had no choice. She had to step away from Joel, protect herself as best she could. She locked her arms across her belly, holding back a spreading nausea. Going with the flow had been a bad idea. Bad! She wasn’t a fling kind of person. She was a person who got attached, a person who always got hurt. She swallowed hard. What would Joel make of her cooling things off? Hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do, but telling him she was in love with him was impossible. He’d think she was like Lars, not letting a little thing just be a little thing.
She wiped her face, dragging in air, tasting the salt on her lips. Joel would be okay. He had plenty of other stuff to think about. Astrid! She swallowed hard, gulping in more shaky breaths. It would be all right. She would be all right. She licked her lips. It wasn’t too late to put herself back on track, to find happiness in her own skin, on her own terms, standing on her own two feet. No more fantasies! No more impossible dreams.
She got to her feet. Her dream had been Café Hygge before everything had skewed in a Joel-wise direction. It was still a future she could believe in and the place in Salton might well be perfect. She sucked in a big breath, felt her pulse steadying. There was time to look online before she got changed for the party, time to check if Tom had deigned to reply to her email.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
