You Again?

by Spalding, Nick

  I pause, thinking for a moment about what to say next. ‘I let him do it, Ray!’ I wail. ‘For a split second I let him kiss me!’

  His face crumples in confusion. ‘But you said you kissed him?’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘But then you said he kissed you?’

  ‘Yes! And I let him do it!’ If I wail any louder, Azim will be down here with a fire extinguisher, a medical kit and a very concerned expression on his face.

  ‘For a split second?’ Now Ray sounds more confused than angry. I don’t know which is worse.

  I still sound like a blubbering mess, because that’s exactly what I am. ‘Yes!’

  ‘But you didn’t kiss him back?’

  ‘Well . . . I . . . Er . . .’

  Ray might have a point here, damn him. I’ve worked myself up into hysterics over this whole thing, but that one question is forcing me to re-evaluate what happened somewhat.

  ‘No . . . I guess I didn’t kiss him back.’ I wipe the tears out of my eyes. ‘But I let him do it, Ray.’

  ‘For a split second, though?’

  ‘Yes. About the time it took for the universe to expand to make a sherry trifle.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Nothing. Ignore me.’

  A few moments ago I pushed Ray away, but now I need to hug him more than I have ever hugged another human being in my entire life.

  My lip trembles as I shift myself across the floor to sit closer to him. ‘I’m so sorry, Ray. I’m so, so sorry.’

  He regards me for a second, his face lined with thought. ‘Are you trying to say that your ex-husband sprung a surprise kiss on you, and it took you no more than a second to push him away?’

  I nod, and then sniff.

  He reaches out and puts an arm on my shoulder. ‘Do you really think you actually have anything to apologise for?’

  I look in his eyes and ponder the question.

  And for the first time since I did push Joel away, I think about what happened in a calm and rational manner.

  I’ve been an idiot.

  I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?

  Unless you want to criticise the speed of my reflexes. Because as soon as I realised what was happening, I did push Joel away. I did not kiss him!

  ‘Oh bloody hell,’ I say with a heavy breath, and hang my head.

  ‘You were married to the guy for four years, Amy. I’m surprised you managed to fight him off that quickly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ray holds up both hands, palms open. ‘This isn’t a fantasy world, Amy. You don’t just stop having feelings for people you’ve spent a large chunk of your life with – no matter what happens between the two of you. Love is a really weird thing. I don’t doubt that you love me, but I’d be a child if I thought that meant you had no feelings left over for Joel. That’s not how the world works.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ I reply, genuinely shocked by both this viewpoint, and the way Ray is putting it across.

  ‘No, of course not. That’s why you wanted to come back to this island, wasn’t it?’

  ‘What? No! I just wanted to come back because it’s such a lovely place!’

  ‘But part of the reason it was lovely was why you were here. It was your honeymoon.’

  ‘Yes, but my love for it has nothing to do with Joel!’

  ‘Doesn’t it? Because it’s okay if it did. You loved him back then. I’m sure you had a wonderful time with him here.’

  ‘Yes, but it all went so horribly wrong, and I wanted to . . . wanted to . . .’

  ‘Come back with me?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘And recreate how you felt back then?’

  ‘No! Feel better than I did back then! I love you, Ray! I love you so much more than I ever loved Joel!’

  Ray shakes his head and smiles. ‘We haven’t been together long enough for you to know that yet, Amy. But I’m hoping that you will do. The same goes for me. In the meantime, pretending that you never loved anybody else, or me doing the same, is very silly, don’t you think? Like I say, this isn’t a fantasy. This is the real world. And in the real world, nothing is ever that black and white.’

  Can we get a vicar in here right now, so I can marry this man right on top of the glass panel I’ve just squeegeed with my boobs?

  ‘Oh, Ray, please hug me!’ I tell him, shifting close into him.

  ‘Of course,’ he agrees with a huge smile, and envelops me in his arms.

  The guilt that’s permeated my entire body has dropped away like a suit of heavy armour.

  While I still regret the whole incident with Joel, I do feel like it’s not something I need to feel quite so bad about. Ray is perfectly correct – I did love Joel Sinclair once, and if it took me a second to push him away, I’d say that’s pretty good going, considering all of the shared history we have.

  And I can’t even be angry at Joel for instigating the kiss in the first place, because if what Ray says is true for me, then it must be true for Joel as well. He loved me as much as I loved him. Can I really criticise him for having a moment of weakness in a place where we were very much in love the last time we were here?

  A sudden, but wholly necessary, shift in my outlook occurs at that moment, while Ray has his arms wrapped tight around me.

  I realise that it’s okay to still have feelings for Joel – because we were married and because, for a brief time, we were happy.

  I know how angry and betrayed I felt about what happened with Goblin Central and the aftermath – I still feel it now in every fibre of my being. But the only reason I felt so incredibly hurt was because I loved Joel. And maybe the reason why I’ve acted so strangely on this holiday is because those feelings are still there – buried deep – and that has made me feel both guilty and frustrated with myself for that being the case.

  I think the kiss was probably the catalyst for bringing all of it to a nasty head, and Ray’s way of looking at things has been the lance that’s popped the boil.

  ‘That’s why he did it,’ I say in a quiet voice.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘That’s why Joel kissed me. Not because he wants me back or anything . . . but because he still has those lingering feelings for me. That’s why we’ve been at each other’s throats on this holiday.’

  ‘Probably. If you didn’t still care about each other a little, it wouldn’t have bothered you to be around each other so much.’

  I then give Ray a kiss that goes on long enough for me to feel like I’m human again.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asks with a chuckle.

  ‘For being so insightful,’ I reply, honestly.

  He smiles. ‘No one’s ever called me insightful before.’

  ‘But you are.’

  ‘Well, maybe. I think it’s more that I’ve spent a lot of time on my own in a boat. You get a lot of time to think when you’re on your own in a boat.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ I reply, laughing back at him.

  ‘Do you . . . do you want to go talk to him?’

  ‘Joel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I understand everything you’ve said, and I feel a lot better about what happened, but none of it means I want to be friends with him. He still contributed to me getting fired from a job I loved.’

  Ray nods. ‘Fair enough. I don’t blame you for feeling like that at all.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We’ll make sure that for the last couple of days of this trip, we steer clear of both Joel and Cara.’

  ‘Yes.’ I hold up a finger. ‘But if we do bump into them, I will try my very hardest not to be as angry or upset. Because there’s no need for me to feel that strongly about it all anymore.’

  ‘Quite right.’

  ‘Now. Do you think we can get up off this floor? My bum has gone very numb.’

  Ray laughs and climbs to his feet, offering me a hand up.

  . . . the second hand up he’s given me this morning, when you get right do
wn to it. I think I can face my pent-up anger towards Joel Sinclair a lot better now.

  There’s something else that’s pent up in me too. Something that got ruined on its way to not being pent up any more by two kids in rubber rings.

  ‘Ray? Can we go back to bed for a little bit?’

  ‘Oh, are you feeling tired?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, Ray. Not really.’

  It is a much calmer and more content Amy Caddick that sits back on the couch looking down at the crystal-clear waters again, while Ray takes another shower.

  Her mind still loops back to the kiss on the beach last night, but it does it now in a far more abstract and disconnected way.

  I still wish it had never happened, but I don’t feel like it was the world-ending occurrence I did a mere hour or so ago. All thanks to Ray Holland, and his hitherto undiscovered ability to parse human emotions in a frighteningly reasonable manner. I knew I loved him for being the man I thought he was – strong, sensible, dependable and straightforward – but this revelation that there are much deeper currents to Ray Holland’s personality reinforces my love for him even more.

  I really do have to get out on a boat more on my own. It would clearly be very good for my mental health.

  The thing I’m wondering most about now is whether Joel has had a similar conversation with Cara to the one Ray and I have just had.

  Did he confess what he did to her?

  Did they arrive at a happier, more content place because he managed to get it all out in the open, the same way I eventually did?

  I’m going to say probably not, because, let’s face it – the only reason I was pushed into honesty was because I flashed my boobs to a pair of aquatic minors.

  Unless Joel did something similar, I doubt he managed the same level of honesty. He’s not that brave.

  Mind you, this is Joel Sinclair we’re talking about. If there’s an opportunity for him to accidentally expose himself to a complete stranger, he’ll run headlong into it like it’s a flat-screen TV.

  Gah.

  None of that is my problem, though. I can’t fix Joel’s problems for him. I can only fix my own. If his relationship with Cara has been affected by what we did last night, then there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  You could go talk to him. Tell him what Ray told you. Tell him it’s okay to still have feelings for you. It might help him out as much as it’s done for you.

  Both hands tighten on my knees.

  No.

  I won’t be doing that.

  Because there’s still Goblin Central. There’s still my job. There’s still the look on Roland Rowntree’s face. There’s still moving out of the house I loved. There’s still months and months of stress, hurt and betrayal.

  No.

  Joel can handle his own affairs. I don’t feel the need to get involved.

  The most I can do for him is to better understand the feelings I still have for him as my ex-partner and ex-husband. That will make things much easier for us both to deal with, if we’re ever thrust together again like we have been on this holiday.

  I very much hope that doesn’t happen, though.

  I think Joel and Amy have been thrust together more than enough for one lifetime – and more than enough for one holiday, thank you very much.

  ‘Want to go for a late breakfast?’ Ray says, coming around to sit next to me after he’s popped a shirt on. This one has fruit on it. Coconuts and bananas.

  I very much want to spend the rest of my life with a man who can wear a green Hawaiian shirt with coconuts and bananas on it without looking like a complete maniac.

  ‘Yes, that’d be lovely,’ I reply and, for the first time, the prospect of it doesn’t come with a small tightness in my chest because we might bump into Joel and Cara. I will mark this as definite progress.

  I feel like I’m finally starting to come to terms with my past – and that’s all thanks to the coconut-and-banana-wearing present. Despite exposing myself to children, I’m quite glad everything went the way it did this morning. It’s been a painful but necessary step for me – both mentally and physically.

  I’m extremely glad to have had my perspective shifted to a far more level-headed one, but really could have done without having to have my boobs shifted up around my earlobes to bloody get there . . .

  Joel

  SUNDAY – ZEMBLANITY

  You know when you’re really looking forward to something big and exciting, but when it actually rolls around, you could probably just do without it?

  We’ve all been there . . .

  Maybe it’s a big day out, or an important birthday.

  Possibly it might be going on a faraway holiday you’ve saved up for, or a day trip to somewhere a bit closer that you’ve never been to before.

  It could be a night out with lots of friends that you were just so happy to be included in when the Facebook invite came in, but now the day is actually here, the thought of getting dressed up, going into town and getting blasted is something that fills you with an obscure dread.

  You were super glad to be invited and included, but when you get right down to it, a nice evening in front of Netflix, with that packet of untouched wine gums you’ve had in the cupboard all week, sounds like an infinitely superior way to spend your evening.

  Well, that’s the way I feel right now, only instead of wanting to avoid a night on the tiles, I want to avoid a night under the ocean – or at least the time just before night falls, anyway.

  You see, today marks the grand finale of our holiday here on Wimbufushi, and consists of a snorkelling trip to one of the outer reefs, conducted as the sun is going down.

  This sounds super romantic and lovely when you’re looking at the resort website a month before it happens – how could it not? The chance to swim among the reefs, enjoying the fish and the other aquatic life, as the sun sets gloriously around you, is a prospect that sounds mighty wonderful. Add the fact that there’s a champagne supper thrown into the equation and you should be looking forward to an evening out that is unparalleled.

  . . . but I’d rather just lie here and watch Stranger Things, while chewing on a rounded-off oblong of black gelatine, if I’m honest.

  I’m exhausted, you see.

  This luxury, all-inclusive holiday in the Maldives has really taken it out of me.

  I feel like I’ve done a seventy-hour week. Seventy hours of panic, stress, tension and upset over the presence of a single human being and her oh-so-perfect boyfriend.

  And I just know they’re going to be on the snorkelling trip this evening as well.

  I don’t know this for definite, of course. I haven’t seen the actual manifest of guests who will be attending – but I think we’ve reached the point now in proceedings where all of us can be one hundred per cent sure that they will be doing it, haven’t we?

  Oh, yes.

  The chances of the two of them not being on the snorkelling trip are about the same as the chances of me going back to work next week to find that I now miraculously have the unending respect of all of my colleagues.

  In fact, I’d be willing to bet an entire month’s wages – of the job I can no longer stand, but have no choice but to continue with because I have mortgage and maintenance payments – that when we get to the boat this evening, Amy and Ray will be right there alongside us, as they have been through this entire fucking holiday.

  I am not a religious man, and I do not necessarily believe in things like fate or karma or serendipity – but I have become absolutely convinced that there is indeed some sort of malevolent entity looking down on me right now, guiding my movements and throwing me into these situations for their own sick amusement, and the amusement of their followers.

  I discovered on Google this morning, during some idle surfing, that there is a word that means the opposite of serendipity.

  Zemblanity.

  Perfect, isn’t it?

  A word that describes a deeply unpleasant circumstance, which has c
ome about thanks to some ineffable, otherworldly design.

  I’m sure you’ll agree that it absolutely encompasses the last week of my life to a bloody tee.

  I have had zemblanity forced into every orifice of my being over the last seven days. I am so incredibly stuffed full of zemblanity that if you decided to punch me in the stomach (because why the hell not at this stage, eh?) I would no doubt throw up zemblanity all over you.

  And it is because I am pretty much drowning in zemblanity that it makes me so sure that if Cara and I do go on the snorkelling trip together tonight, we will be doing it right alongside Amy and Ray.

  I have not tried to put my feelings about zemblanity and its effects on snorkelling excursions to Cara. I feel that way probably lies madness.

  This is because my girlfriend is very much looking forward to it.

  The lure of evening Netflix and wine gums is not something she embraces, as she is in her twenties – and I’m sure the prospect of a nice wine gum in her mouth is completely abhorrent to her.

  Young people do not enjoy wine gums. They are only the provision of those who are approaching, or have passed, the age of forty.

  I’d imagine Cara would treat wine gums in much the same way as I would consider Werther’s Originals – things to be only sucked by old people. They mark the slide into entropic dotage, and should be avoided at all costs.

  God knows what kind of sweet people who like Werther’s Originals are afraid of popping in their mouth. Whatever it is, I’m assuming it will come laced with embalming fluid, just to get a bit ahead of the game.

  Anyway . . . the point here is that Cara is excited about the snorkelling, and if I tell her of my concerns, I will bring on the pout. I do not want to bring on the pout again. I have done that far too much this week.

  The last thing I want to do is mention Amy to her again, in any capacity. There has been a fragile but happy peace between us these last twenty-four hours, and I do not want that ruined by talk of zemblanity and the likelihood that her snorkelling adventure will be marred by its influence.

  Therefore, I find myself in the situation of knowing that I am careening towards another unpleasant encounter, but unable to do a damn thing to stop it.