The Longest Holiday

by Paige Toon

I’m too caught up in the present to care, and as the evening wears on, my body feels more and more strung out and on edge. I want to go to bed with him. I need to go to bed with him. I can’t bear to wait for much longer. I turn and look up at him, trying to convey my emotions with my eyes. He gives me a brisk nod and removes his arm from around my neck.

  ‘Night.’

  ‘Already?’ Carmen asks with surprise. Leo is usually the last one to hit the sack.

  ‘Me, too,’ I say, both of us now on our feet. I can’t look her in the eye as I follow Leo inside, and a minute later, when his lips are devouring every inch of my body, she’s far, far, far from my mind.

  In the early hours of the morning, nature demands that I take a trip to the toilet. I disentangle myself from Leo’s firm grip and pull on his T-shirt before heading downstairs. I brush my teeth and splash water on my face before stepping back out onto the landing, and then I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Carmen, in a white, thigh-length nightie, standing at the top of the stairs like a ghostly apparition.

  ‘You scared the life out of me!’ I gasp, putting my hand to my chest.

  In response she grabs my arm and marches me into my bedroom.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I demand to know as she shuts the door behind her.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she throws back at me. ‘You’re married!’

  I don’t really know what to say to that.

  ‘You can’t screw around with him like this!’ she hisses, not raising her voice enough to wake the house.

  ‘Are you talking about Leo?’ I double-check, because it’s possible she’s referring to my husband.

  ‘Of course I’m talking about Leonardo!’ It strikes me out of the blue that she’s not actually angry. She seems . . . anxious?

  ‘Look,’ I try to reason with her. ‘I really like him.’ These words feel so odd coming out of my mouth – especially to her. ‘I don’t intend to hurt him.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ she asks me coldly. ‘How can you not hurt him?’

  ‘Why are you so worried?’ I ask through narrowed eyes.

  ‘You might think that just because we argue, we don’t like each other, but you’re wrong. He’s like a brother to me. When Alejandro died, Leo took care of Javier and me. I won’t sit back and watch you hurt him.’

  ‘But I don’t want to hurt him!’ I exclaim.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asks incredulously. ‘You can’t stay here. Your visa will run out and you’ll have to go back. And you’re married!’

  ‘I’ll get a divorce,’ I reply petulantly.

  ‘What, and marry Leo?’ She starts to laugh with disbelief. ‘He will never marry you. He will never marry anyone. You’re crazy,’ she adds, rubbing pinch upon pinch of salt into my wounds. Not that I want to marry him, for pity’s sake. ‘Leo doesn’t believe in marriage. He doesn’t even believe in love.’

  I stare at her. Then I speak. ‘If there’s no chance of him falling in love with me, then you really have nothing to worry about, do you?’

  Her mouth falls open with surprise, but I don’t wait for her response. I walk out of the room and go back upstairs.

  Leo is awake when I enter his room and shut the door.

  ‘Hi,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘Hi,’ he replies, without one.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, sliding back under the covers and resting my chin on his chest so I can stare up at him. He has a shadow of stubble on his heavenly jaw and his dark eyes are looking up at the ceiling.

  ‘I was going to ask you the same question.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, before correcting myself. ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Carmen didn’t freak you out?’

  ‘Not really.’

  He heard us, then. I reach up and touch his cheek, willing him to look at me. He does. I lean in closer and kiss him, but I can sense him holding back.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, feeling nerves begin to swell in my stomach.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replies after a pause, kissing me. He tugs at his T-shirt that I’m still wearing, flashing me a cheeky smile.

  ‘You want me to take it off?’ I ask meaningfully.

  He slides it up my body and over my head in response.

  It’s only later that the reality of what I’ve done begins to sink in. Leo has gone to work at the dive centre – Tegan has returned to New Zealand so he’s helping out until they find a replacement – which leaves me alone in the house, with only my thoughts to keep me company. And, for the most part, they’re not good company. At first they are: I keep touching my fingers to my lips, remembering Leo’s kisses and my hours in his bedroom. I have to force myself to spend time setting up my computer, and I think it’s this return to real life that finally makes my head spin. I install myself temporarily at the dining-room table and Becky liaises with me by email, bringing me up to date with the upcoming charity ball she’s pretty much organised single-handedly. As the day wears on, my feelings of guilt about the extra work she’s had to put in develop into a deep and unpleasant sense of foreboding. I’ve been having sex with another man while I’m still married to Matthew, and I’m feeling quite sick about it.

  I think of Matthew now, properly, for perhaps the first time since I left him. I don’t want to think of him pleasantly – it’s easier to remember the parts where he hurt me and then I feel justified – and yet I can’t help but recall our relationship when it was good. Before he messed it all up.

  I sit at the dining-room table and stare out of the window at the silver-grey palms in the garden opposite. They look like plastic. There are trees here I’ve never seen before in my life. It’s beginning to feel surreal.

  The first time I met Matthew it was over a pub lunch on Farringdon Road in London, near his newspaper office. It was early December and he was interviewing me about the charity I’d set up in Will’s name a few months previously. Will died in the summer, but I was already starting to come to terms with his death. It was a shock to see Matthew for the first time. He was so tall, so good-looking – blond with seriously blue eyes. Will had blue eyes, but Matthew’s were piercing. Sitting across from him at our table for two was quite unnerving. I hadn’t intended to drink, but suddenly I found myself asking for a glass of white wine. He drank Coke, I remember that. And I remember wondering if he had a girlfriend, but not having the guts to ask. He was funny and incredibly intelligent. I turned the interview around on him on several occasions, asking him about himself. He told me he’d studied English at Cambridge. I told him I grew up in a village just south of there and asked him where he used to go out drinking. We discussed our favourite haunts in the city and I wondered why I’d never met him before, and then he gently berated me for trying to digress from his questions. I told him I wasn’t used to being interviewed, that usually it was all about my ex-boyfriend. I recall the look on his face, the way his smile fell. He had been a little flirtatious up until that point, but suddenly he became serious.

  ‘A friend of mine went to school with Will. It was a shock to all of us when he died.’

  I nod dejectedly.

  ‘You were there, weren’t you?’

  A small part of me thought he was asking me for the sake of his interview, and that I would see this in print and feel used, but I felt compelled to tell him how, yes, I was there at the scene when Will’s car flipped and hurtled across the track. I was there in the air ambulance with him as he lay unconscious on a stretcher between his parents and me. I held his hand as my body froze with fear. I loved him more then than I had in the whole year previously. I loved him more then than I ever had, come to think about it. Because I was terrified of losing him. It was serious; I could tell how serious it was. When he was pronounced dead I think I went into shock. He had ended our relationship before that weekend – we were no longer together, no longer destined to marry – but no one knew. I had to carry on this charade of the lover he left behind. I wanted to tell the truth, and I did actually tell his pa
rents, but his mother silenced me.

  ‘He loved you,’ was all she could say before emotion stole her words away. She didn’t want to hear about it. I didn’t know what to do other than go along with it.

  I considered telling Matthew this, but I held back. He’s a journalist. And he’s good at his job.

  Yes, he was good at his job. When the interview came out, there was nothing in there that I felt uncomfortable about. He mentioned Will, of course he did, but in a way that would only bring right and good attention to the charity. I tried to put Matthew out of my mind after that, but I couldn’t. So I sent him an email to say thank you. He replied within a few minutes – I still remember the thrill I felt, seeing his name pop up in my inbox. I thought about asking him out for a drink – a proper drink – but I chickened out. I still didn’t have the answer to the girlfriend question, and I couldn’t actually believe that anyone as gorgeous as Matthew could be without a girl in his life. So I invited him to our charity Christmas drinks instead.

  I was manic that night, running around like a woman possessed, trying to make sure everything ran smoothly and that everyone had a good time. When I saw him walk through the door, I stopped right in my tracks. He saw me, too, and smiled brightly, looking pleased to see me. I still remember him standing right at the front, appearing sweetly captivated as I stood on a platform and gave a speech about the money we had raised to fund new schools in Africa. I encouraged people to buy raffle tickets and make pledges, and I swear he clapped the loudest and most enthusiastically afterwards.

  It was hard to stay away from him that night, but I had to work. I did manage to ask that all-important question, though.

  ‘No girlfriend tonight?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled at me. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’

  ‘Really?’ I sounded surprised.

  ‘I did have one, but we split up a few months ago.’

  I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. He wore a suit that night and looked gorgeous. He was much taller than Will had been, which helped me to separate them, even though the blond-hair, blue-eyed similarity did freak me out a bit. I was wearing four-inch heels and a slinky black dress, and I remember musing that an outsider might think we looked like a nice couple.

  We stayed in touch after that, keeping it friendly at first, touching base in the New Year by email. Through his contacts at work he scored tickets to a film premiere and invited me. Nothing happened that night – but our flirtation stepped up a notch. It was another month before we shared our first kiss. He’d invited me out for some drinks with his colleagues after work – it was a Friday, and quite last minute, but he knew I was in the area for a meeting. I said yes and went along. The pub was packed, and I couldn’t see him at first, but when I did, my heart flipped. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black jumper, and I had to push my way through the other drinkers to get to him. He saw me when I was only a few metres away, and I knew then that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. That evening was like a perfect kind of torture. It seemed destined to end with a kiss, but getting to that point . . . The tactile touches, the teasing smiles . . . We were at the pub until closing time. The others were going to a bar in central London. Matthew asked me what I wanted to do, and I remember him standing close to me, looking down at me with a glint in his eye.

  ‘I’m not sure I fancy a club,’ I said, staring back up at him.

  ‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’ he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Where do you suggest?’

  ‘Back to mine?’

  Neither of us spoke as we took the elevator up to his place, in a recently refurbished apartment block in King’s Cross.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked me as we went inside, and I wondered where the requisite coffee question was. Then I realised that I was indeed hungry.

  ‘I am a bit,’ I admitted, and he smiled at me, the ice broken as he set about making us cheese toasties. I worried that maybe I’d misread the signs, that maybe he did see me as a friend, or, God forbid, was looking for a story. But I instantly dismissed the last bit. I could trust him. I knew I could.

  With a large sigh I’m brought back to the present. So much for being able to trust him.

  Becky sent me the artwork for our Christmas cards earlier. I choose five out of ten designs to make the final cut for our merchandising catalogue and email Becky my decision, then push my chair out from the table and go outside. The air is even more humid than usual and I wonder if the weather is going to break soon. Is it time for another storm? I go and sit on the sofa, needing a break from work. Because of the time difference Becky will have gone home now, so she won’t email me again before the morning. I promised her I’d put her in touch with some contacts she’s been missing so she can invite them to the ball. I could call them myself, but I think she wants to put together the guest list. I can always do a follow-up email if necessary.

  This grass really could do with a cut, I think to myself as I survey the garden. There are weeds everywhere, along with bits of rubbish floating around. I head inside and grab a plastic bag, then walk around, stuffing rubbish into it and pulling up weeds as I see them. There’s a small shed in the back yard and I go and have a look inside – it’s not locked. There is a lawnmower there, and I wheel it outside, but it doesn’t start. I realise the petrol tank is empty, and I spot a petrol can on the floor. I pick it up and find that it’s full. Can I work out how to do this? It turns out that I can. Half an hour later, the grass has been mowed. It still looks pretty awful – it’s no longer green, but that should change with a bit of rain. It looks a damn sight better than it did earlier, in any case.

  Tiredness hits me. It’s late afternoon and Leo and the others will be home soon. I feel strange about seeing him again – sort of detached. I decide to go upstairs and have a rest, but as I climb into bed and stare out of the window, my thoughts return to Matthew.

  ‘You make a good toastie.’ I put my plate down on the kitchen island unit, a feature of his modern and stylish flat.

  ‘It’s the one thing I can do,’ he replied, standing on the other side.

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ I told him. ‘I bet you’re good at everything.’

  He laughed and shook his head, then stared at me. I wished the island unit would disappear – it took up too much space in front of us. He moved around the side of it and into the kitchen, where I was. ‘You want a coffee now?’

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘What?’ he asked, confused.

  ‘I’m good for coffee, thanks,’ I replied with a smirk. We stood there and stared at each other for a long moment, him looking a little perplexed. And then I think he just suddenly got it, because he stepped towards me and took my hand. I remember breathing in sharply, my smile leaving my face. But I didn’t step away. Maybe he was expecting me to – he didn’t seem that sure of himself. So he inched closer and I tilted my head up towards him. He paused only a second before meeting me halfway, touching his lips to mine. I melted under his touch. He kissed me slowly, gently, and it was so strange because he was the first person I had kissed since Will’s death. His lips felt so different to Will’s – much softer, his tongue more tentative. But when our kiss deepened, my whole body began to tingle. After that I couldn’t get enough of him . . .

  I breathe in shakily, a lump forming in my throat as tears fill my eyes. I think back to the February before last, when we had been a couple for almost a year . . . We’d been out to dinner before going back to my flat in Marylebone.

  ‘I’ve never known anyone like you . . .’ He shook his head at me, a strange sort of reverence in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. ‘I love you so much, Laura. I love you so much.’ He pulled me to him, pressing his lips to mine, but before I could take the kiss further, he pushed me away, holding me at arm’s length. ‘I love you.’ He said it almost like a warning, like it was hurting him to say it.

  ‘I love you, too,’ I replied, slightly baffled by the look in his eyes
.

  ‘I want to marry you,’ he whispered.

  I couldn’t say anything.

  ‘I know it’s too soon. I know we haven’t known each other long. But I love you. So much. And I want to marry you.’ His eyes welled up. His beautiful eyes. I stared at him with shock.

  ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ I said slowly, not quite believing this was a proposal. I had been with Will for years with no sign of us tying the knot. Matthew and I had been a couple for only eleven months.

  ‘Yes.’ His reply was another whisper, and I realised he was terrified of what I might say. But he needn’t have been. I’d never felt more in love, more passionate about anyone, not even Will.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered back.

  ‘Yes?’ His eyes lit up. ‘You’ll marry me?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded, smiling.

  He engulfed me in such a tight hug that all the air was sucked out of my chest, but I still managed to laugh.

  I brush away an escaped tear and squeeze my eyes shut. I loved Matthew so much. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. He made me so happy. How did it all go wrong? Will it ever be right again?

  I open my eyes with a start, and for a brief moment I’m not sure where I am. Then I see Leo sitting on the edge of my bed, his hand on my arm.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, smiling a small smile.

  ‘Hi.’

  I stare back at him and feel once more oddly detached, almost like I don’t know him at all. His hand moves up to my face, brushing my hair back and resting on my neck, and it’s this intimate gesture that softens my heart. He leans down to kiss me, and then my confused mind is overruled as heat flows through my body and I kiss him back.

  ‘I missed you,’ he says, to my surprise.

  ‘Did you?’

  He kisses me again in response. I try to push the covers back so he can join me, but he stops me.

  ‘No,’ he says, his dark eyes flashing as he glances around the room. ‘Not here.’ He shakes his head abruptly and stands up, offering his hand down to me. I understand. He doesn’t want to have sex with me in his mother’s bedroom. I climb out of bed and my old friends the butterflies help carry me upstairs.