by Paige Toon
‘Jesus, Leo,’ I murmur. I’m glad I flew into Key West because the journey down from Miami would have been even more heartbreaking, seeing the remnants of people’s lives everywhere – some of the other keys were hit even worse than Key West.
I’d already watched a lot of footage of the aftermath of the storm: sandbanks washed onto roads, houses no longer on stilts, vegetation ripped out, broken signs and battered billboards, homes, sheds, cars and mobile homes destroyed.
Leo described the hurricane as like being in an earthquake – the whole house rocking and shaking. At one point, he realised that the boarding over the attic window had come off – he’d struggled to secure it in the first place because it had been too risky to use a ladder in the high winds. He’d ventured out of the bathroom to try to board it back up again, and moments before he’d entered the room, he’d heard the window glass shattering.
‘I couldn’t see for the rain,’ he said. ‘It was horizontal, and it was dark, like night in the middle of the day. You could just make out the trees swaying, like black ghosts. I got the hell out of there and went back to the bathroom.’
I dread to think what state the attic room was in after the storm. I have a real fondness for Leo’s former bedroom. It was where we first took our relationship to the next level. But on the whole, we were lucky. Others weren’t.
‘How are Patsy and Alicia?’ I ask Leo of our neighbours across the road, a lovely lesbian couple in their fifties who have lived in the Keys their whole lives, but only met each other a few years ago. Leo said their home was badly hit.
Leo sighs. ‘Not so great. Alicia was sobbing out on the street yesterday. I was in the yard and heard her.’
‘Why?’ I’m aghast.
‘A couple of tourists drove past and stopped outside their house to take a photo. The look on the assholes’ faces is what broke her, like her hell was their entertainment. That sort of thing is happening all over the Keys. Disaster is not a spectator sport,’ he spits with disgust. ‘These are actual lives, not fodder for peoples’ Facebook pages. Some people have lost so much.’
My throat swells at the thought of Alicia in tears. She’s such a strong, spirited person. I can’t imagine her breaking down. ‘You wouldn’t go and take pictures of people at a funeral,’ I mutter. ‘Don’t do it here.’
‘Exactly.’ Leo shakes his head with disgust.
‘I’ll go over and see her tomorrow,’ I say.
‘She’d like that.’
Leo had already emailed me photographs, but nothing prepares me for seeing the garden in person. It’s in a terrible state. Our two new, expensive palm trees were uprooted and blown clean away and most of our tropical plants have been shredded. The deck survived, and Leo has drained the plunge pool and hot tub and cleaned it out. MRSA and other infections are a big concern so everyone is being super careful. He hasn’t got around to refilling the pools with post-boil alert water yet, and we’ll have to shock the water before anyone swims in it.
‘Everything is fixable,’ Leo tells me, noticing my distraught expression.
I nod and force a shaky smile. ‘It could’ve been worse,’ I say, trying not to dwell.
He’s replaced the damaged weatherboarding on the house, although it hasn’t been painted yet, so it looks like a patchwork quilt.
‘It could’ve done with a lick of fresh paint anyway,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to get my paint brushes back out.’
‘That’s my girl.’ Leo wraps his arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my temple.
I notice our two new leather sofas are outside on the porch and glance up at him. He shakes his head, his lips downturned. ‘I put them outside, hoping they’d air out, but they’re wrecked.’
‘Maybe we can leave them out here for a bit,’ I say. ‘Make the most of having no house guests. It’ll be like the old days.’
He nods and kisses me again.
It’ll be another few weeks before tourists begin to trickle back. Most people cancelled in the wake of Jackie, but some were intent on sticking to their schedule. I’m glad we’ve got a timeframe to work to. It’ll keep us occupied.
Inside, Leo shows me the watermark on the living room wall. It’s remarkable how much of our furniture he did manage to protect, but the floorboards are warped and will have to be re-sanded before we’ll know if they can be saved. Everything still smells of damp and God knows what else, but the house itself will come good.
‘You want a nap or something?’ Leo asks.
I shake my head. ‘I’d rather push through until bedtime.’
‘Why don’t we go out for lunch?’
‘Is anything open?’
He nods. ‘A few places. Come on.’
I’m only too glad to get out of the house.
The walk into town is depressing. I keep averting my gaze, not wanting to stare at the state of other peoples’ houses.
‘Hey, Leo!’
An old guy I don’t recognise is leaning out of a first-floor window of a house across the road, his white hair lifting from his forehead in the breeze. ‘You got your family back with you?’
‘I sure do. Hank, this is Laura and this is Max.’
‘Thanks again for your help the other day,’ he says to Leo, after we’ve exchanged greetings.
‘Anytime,’ Leo replies amiably.
The guy ducks back inside and I glance at Leo. ‘Have you been making new friends?’ I ask when we’re out of earshot.
‘Helped him rehang his back door,’ he explains.
The same thing happens a block further on when a middle-aged woman, outside in her garden, calls out a hello to him and asks to be introduced to us. Max is now fast asleep in his buggy, but she comes over to have a look at him.
‘He’s a good man,’ she says of Leo. ‘Fixed my fence for me last week.’
Pride warms my insides.
‘Have you been doing a lot of that sort of thing?’ I ask when we’ve walked on.
He shrugs again. ‘A bit.’ And I know he’s being modest.
My Leo. My handyman. He’s come a long way since he took to the bathroom with a sledgehammer.
A family of chickens darts out of the undergrowth – a mother and a dozen tiny chicks.
‘The chickens survived!’ I exclaim.
Where London has pigeons, Key West has chickens: hundreds of them free-ranging all over the island, and roosters crowing, day and night.
‘Of course, they survived,’ Leo replies, returning my smile. ‘They’d survive a nuclear bomb.’
‘I think you might be thinking of cockroaches,’ I say with a grin.
A gloriously resplendent rooster hops out onto the pavement in front of us and lets out a loud cock-a-doodle-do. I laugh and wince simultaneously. I don’t want Max to wake up. It’ll do him good to sleep a bit longer.
Key West is like a ghost town. Duval Street, normally jam-packed with tourists, is eerily quiet.
‘People were driving boats down here after the storm,’ Leo tells me.
I’d already seen the footage.
‘Mallory Square is deserted, too,’ he adds. Normally you’d never be able to get a parking spot.
It’s surreal without the tourists, but I kind of like it.
Many of the establishments are still closed, but some are open. A lone guitarist is playing to a few chilled out locals in Sloppy Joe’s, the famous bar that Ernest Hemingway once frequented – albeit when the bar was in a different location, a few doors down to the west, just off Duval Street.
‘Mojito?’ Leo asks.
I smile at him. ‘Why not?’
It’s a surprisingly lovely day, in the end.
The next day, Max and I go with Leo to help rebuild the Tiki Hut outside the old dive centre where he and Jorge used to work. They’ve stayed friendly with the previous owner, who passes work their way when his own school is overbooked.
The dive centre is a couple of keys away – we pick up Jorge on the way.
‘Man, were you missed,�
� Jorge says in my ear when we hug. It’s great to see him again – I’ve been worried about his safety, too. ‘I’ve never seen him so miserable and that’s saying something.’
‘We’ve been miserable without him, as well,’ I reply. ‘How are you? How’s Lisa?’
Lisa is Jorge’s girlfriend who works for them at the dive school. She’s only been with them for ten months, but has become indispensable, captaining the boat and managing bookings, and even their accounts – jobs I used to help out with before Max came along. She’s all-round awesome and Jorge, who has never been one to mix business with pleasure, was smitten from the get-go. I really like her – we’re on our way to becoming good friends.
‘She’s fine,’ Jorge replies with a cheeky grin. ‘She’s just about forgiven me for not evacuating with her.’
‘Bet you had some making up to do?’
‘Hell, yeah.’ He smirks.
It’s hardly surprising the Tiki Hut didn’t survive the hurricane – it’s an open-air bar with a roof made out of thatched palm fronds, so hardly likely to withstand high winds.
Marty used to call it Ye Olde Thatched Tiki Hut when we did our dive course here – she, Bridget and I would come here to prop up the bar for a bit after our lessons: they’re days I’ll never forget.
I can’t do much with Max around, but I pop him into his baby carrier and pass twine, hammer and nails when needed. Leo is just happy to have us close – he keeps looking over at us and smiling, and I keep catching Jorge chuckling at the change in him.
Last night, as we lay in bed, arms and legs intertwined, Leo asked me if I still wanted to marry him…
‘Is that a proposal?’ I ask with astonishment.
‘If you’d like it to be,’ he replies, staring at me seriously in the dim light.
It happens almost instantaneously – a strange lightness lifts me up, and I realise then and there that I don’t need to walk down an aisle to feel like our relationship is set in stone.
‘Oh, Leo,’ I murmur, brushing my thumb over his lip. ‘It means the world to me that you’d do that, but we don’t need a piece of paper to tell us that we’re in this for life.’
‘Are you sure?’ His eyes are shining.
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘But if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know,’ I add with a smile, leaning in to kiss him.
He pulls away after one peck. ‘I am so in this for life with you,’ he says solemnly, and he looks youthful in that moment, full of promise and hope for the future. ‘I want to make more babies with you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’d knock you up now, if you’d let me.’
I grin at him. ‘You don’t think it’s too soon?’
‘No, but you do. Don’t you?’ he asks with surprise when I say nothing.
I purse my lips and slide my hand down to my stomach.
His eyebrows jump up. ‘You’re kidding?’
I shake my head slowly. I’ve known since last week, but I’ve been waiting for the right time to break it to him in person.
‘When did we manage that? How did we manage that?’
‘That night in the hot tub,’ I tell him, giving him a distinctly unimpressed look. Turns out some rules are made to be broken.
‘Holy shit.’ He exhales loudly.
‘My thoughts exactly.’
I am nowhere near ready to go through that again. Luckily, I still have quite a few more months to prepare myself.
‘Oh, man,’ he says, pulling me into his arms and holding me tight.
‘Are you happy?’ I ask.
‘You have no idea,’ he replies. ‘You, Max… My life was nothing until you came along. I don’t want to stop at two. I want a big family.’
‘Steady on!’ I laugh.
‘I mean it,’ he says seriously. ‘I want to fill this home with children.’
‘What about leaving rooms for our guests?’
‘Screw our guests.’
‘How many Mojitos did you have again?’ I ask with amusement. I opted for mocktails, but didn’t tell him why at the time.
‘I’m drunk on love,’ he replies.
‘Did you really just say that to me?’ I ask with incredulity. ‘Leo, that is cheese on Parmesan levels.’
He’s laughing too, now, but when we both finally calm down, we’re still in each other’s arms.
‘I love you,’ he says.
How I waited to hear those three words, once upon a time. They still mean so much to me.
Lisa comes to join us at the dive centre later that day and it’s great to see her again. She gives Jorge a lift home, so it’s just Leo, Max and me on our return journey.
As we cross over the final bridge that takes us into Key West, I notice a big, hand-painted sign that I didn’t see on our way off the island:
After the hurricane comes the rainbow.
Welcome home.
Tears fill my eyes and I reach over to take Leo’s hand – we meet in the middle: he was already on his way to taking mine.
Suddenly, he pulls over on the side of the road, overcome with emotion. He leans across to cup my face in his hands.
‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ he murmurs, kissing me on my lips.
‘So am I.’
It’s been the longest time, but my heart is finally where it’s meant to be: home.
Author’s note
At the time of this book’s publication, it will be just over a year since Hurricane Irma struck the Florida Keys, leaving devastation in its wake. Hurricane Jackie is fictional, taking place at a different time of the year than Irma, but my research was drawn from real events, and my heart goes out to everyone who has been affected.
If you visit the Keys in the future, please support local businesses, tip big and be sensitive towards the locals. Don’t ask about the hurricane; it was hard enough to live through it.
Q&A with Paige Toon
Sophie Kinsella, author: When you write a short story, do you ever fall in love with the characters so much, you want to turn it into a full novel?
I’ve done this once, with The Last Piece of My Heart. Bridget first appeared in The Longest Holiday as a friend character, then again in Thirteen Weddings. Both times, readers asked for a full-length book for her. I wrote her a short story – which is now the prologue for The Last Piece of My Heart. I think she’s my favourite female character – I love writing from her perspective.
Lucinda Kirby: Which of your characters would you most want to be stranded with on a desert island?
As long as we’re both single, I’d say Leo from The Longest Holiday because just looking at him would pass the time. Or Ben from Pictures of Lily because he’s also fit and I reckon he’d be best in a crisis.
Rhiannon Baker: What made you decide to write realistic love stories?
Realism is really important to me – I get annoyed when reading books or watching films and thinking, that just wouldn’t happen. Also, realism has a knock-on effect of making things unpredictable. You’re never quite sure if the characters will end up where you want them to, and although an ending might break your heart, at least it’s true and there’s comfort in that.
Lindsey Kelk, author: What’s your favourite part of the writing process?
The actual writing! Research is amazing because I usually visit the beautiful places that I’m writing about, but there’s nothing like the thrill of catapulting towards a climactic scene when your fingers just can’t type fast enough. It’s like living in my own little movie inside my head – I love it.
Eva Duncanson: If you could spend one day as a character in one of your books, who would you pick and what moment of the book would you choose?
I put my characters through so much emotional turmoil that I had to rule out a few books straight away. I think it would have to be the day at the end of Baby Be Mine when Meg and Barney go with Johnny to the Goodwood Festival of Speed. I don’t want to spoil it for people who haven’t read the book, but I do think it’s one of my h
appiest ‘ever afters’!
Giovanna Fletcher, author: What would you be doing if you weren’t an author?
Possibly acting – I went to Redroofs Theatre School as a teenager. Writing is a bit like acting because you have to get inside your characters’ heads in order to be able to connect with them. I feel what they feel, whether they’re laughing or crying.
Lila Grigoriou: Why did you decide to connect characters from different books?
I was inspired by Marian Keyes. After reading Watermelon, I was thrilled to get an update about the Walsh sisters in other books. When I came to write Johnny Be Good, I wanted to do the same for readers of Lucy in the Sky so I added Meg’s small-part character into Lucy during the editing process. I’ve linked books ever since. Five Years From Now is the only exception, partly because of the novel’s decade-spanning timeline – a link just didn’t present itself and I’ll never force it.
Milly Johnson, author: If you could be any heroine from a ‘classic’ novel, who would you be and why?
I wouldn’t want to be any of them because they were so repressed, but I do have a soft spot for Marianne Dashwood from Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. She was so torn and heartbroken; she definitely inspired some of my plots!
Eva Kiss: How do you say goodbye to your characters when you are done with a story?
Sometimes I can’t and I end up writing an extra chapter, as you’ve seen in this collection. It’s part of the reason I came up with The Hidden Paige – I feel like my characters are all still out there, going about their lives, and I know I can drop in on them whenever I like to see what they’re up to. Five Years From Now was the hardest to leave behind as it was so emotional. I had to take a break from writing afterwards.
Catherine Isaac aka Jane Costello, author: I saw the video of you weeping when you wrote the stunning ending for Five Years From Now, but what book, by another author, has made you cry?
