The Longest Holiday

by Paige Toon

  He takes a deep breath. I pick some fluff off the bedspread and try to ignore my feelings of guilt.

  ‘Does he make you feel better?’ he asks me, still sounding deeply affected by my not-quite-revelation.

  I think about this question and reply honestly: ‘Yes.’ My voice sounds small.

  ‘Revenge is sweet, huh?’ he asks bitterly.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I try to tell him.

  I picture him in the living room in our apartment in Battersea. He’s pacing the floor, scratching his forehead. He does this when he’s stressed. I close my eyes, pain pulsing inside my chest.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re doing,’ he says, his voice breaking again. ‘But please don’t . . . Please don’t do this. Please come home,’ he says with anguish.

  ‘I can’t,’ I whisper. ‘Not yet.’ I take a deep breath as he starts to cry. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I tell him, the lump in my throat increasing in size. ‘I’ve got to go.’ Stifling a sob, I hang up on him.

  I press my hand to my throat, but it alleviates nothing, so I start to cry properly, full body-wracking sobs. After a long time, I wipe my tears away and clean my face. I look out of the window. Jorge is on the sofa, but Leo is absent. I go upstairs to his bedroom, but find it empty. I scan the rest of the house before going back outside.

  ‘Where’s Leo?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s gone out,’ Jorge reveals with an apologetic smile.

  ‘Where did he go?’ A feeling of dread settles over me.

  ‘Oh, you know Leo. Just out.’ He sounds uneasy.

  Actually, I think to myself bitterly, I don’t know Leo. I don’t know him very well at all.

  ‘I wouldn’t wait up for him,’ Carmen adds, but she’s not looking as bitchy as I’d expect after this comment. In fact, she’s not looking bitchy at all.

  I sleep in my own bed that night. Or rather, I lie there, hardly sleeping. I’m aware when Leo comes home. I hear his heavy drunken footsteps pause outside my door, but he doesn’t push the door open, doesn’t come in, so I decide it’s best to leave well enough alone and speak to him in the morning.

  I wake to the sound of Jorge shouting up the stairs towards Leo’s room, ‘I’m going!’

  No reply.

  ‘I’ll take Javier.’ I hear him stomp down the corridor and downstairs again. I take it Leo is not going to work this morning.

  I feel ill to my very core. I lie there in bed, staring at the ceiling. What am I doing? I’ve been here over a month now and I still have no idea. If anything, I’m more confused than ever.

  Matthew wants me to see the baby. To see Evan. Why? He wants me to be a part of his son’s life. Is he absolutely insane?

  I angrily brush away the onslaught of fresh tears and climb out of bed. I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not, but I really need to see Leo.

  I climb the stairs tentatively, unsure of what state I’ll find him in when I push open the door. He’s out cold on the bed.

  The room smells of alcohol and cigar smoke, so I open his window, then turn and survey the room. It really is a tip. Tidying up has been the last thing on my mind this past week or so, but now I set about folding up his clothes, making a pile of dirty ones and putting away the others. I don’t even notice that he’s awake and watching me until I sit down on his now-empty chair.

  ‘Oh!’ I say with a start. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

  He says nothing.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask him.

  He nods slightly. I take a deep breath and stare at him. He stares back, unspeaking.

  ‘Do you have a headache? Do you want me to get you some tablets?’

  ‘Come here.’ His voice sounds gruff. He beckons me over, so I go. I kneel on his mattress and he pushes his hand through the hair at the nape of my neck, running his thumb along my jaw. I lean into his touch.

  ‘Are you going?’ His voice is barely audible.

  I look perplexed. ‘Going where?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘I heard you crying,’ he says, dropping his hand.

  ‘Why didn’t you come in?’ I feel sad that he didn’t, if he was right outside.

  He shakes his head. ‘I . . . couldn’t.’

  ‘Do you want me to go home?’ I feel anxious about his reply. But he doesn’t respond. Instead he pulls me down to him, but he doesn’t kiss me. He holds my forehead against his, and it’s such a tender gesture, it surprises me. I pull away and look deep into his eyes and my heart flips.

  It surely must be a crime to fancy anyone this much. It’s bordering on obsessive. When will that pass? Will it pass? Or will I go back to England still so damn attracted to this man that I won’t be able to stop thinking about him, fantasising about him . . . ever. If I left him now I think it would break me. I sound like a crazy woman. Then, from out of nowhere, Ashlee pops into my mind.

  My brow furrows. ‘What happened between you and Ashlee?’

  He looks taken aback by my question. Well, it sort of did come out of nowhere.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Did you break it off with her?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  He sighs. ‘She’s totally out of control when she’s drunk. Which is often.’

  ‘Is that all?’ I’m confused. It’s not like Leo is teetotal. I change tack. ‘Where did you go last night?’

  ‘Just a bar.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I don’t know, Laura. I thought you needed to be alone. I needed to be alone,’ he adds.

  ‘Did you?’ I try not to sound wounded.

  He pushes himself up onto his elbows.

  ‘You know, Jorge has gone to work without you,’ I tell him.

  ‘Has he?’ He doesn’t look very amused.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’d better get up, then.’

  He sits up and the sheet falls down around his waist, revealing his chest. I place my hand on it and he regards me warily. I give him a cheeky look and push him backwards, leaning down to kiss his navel. He gasps as my kisses trail downwards, then he roughly flips me over so I’m beneath him.

  ‘You really are going to kill me, you know,’ he mutters, before giving me what I want.

  A week and a half later I’m halfway up a ladder with a paintbrush, earning my keep. That’s the way I’m putting it, anyway, even though I have started to pay rent. I have paint in my hair, paint on my T-shirt and probably paint on my nose. Everyone else is at work – and I should be too. It’s Thursday and I’m taking a long lunch. Becky is so organised with this charity ball next weekend that I can’t help her with much. In a way it’s a relief not to be so involved. This ball marks the anniversary of Will’s death. It’s been three years since he died and we’ve held an annual ball around the time of the British Grand Prix ever since. The first one was the hardest, but it was also the most important for the charity. It put us on the map. I struggled through every second of it. Matthew didn’t go with me. It wouldn’t have been right. How could I possibly have met someone else so soon after the so-called love of my life was taken from me?

  I had to face the press, which I hated. That first year – especially those first few months – they hounded me. By the time Matthew and I were married, though, they had moved onto the next big thing. Thank goodness for small mercies. I can only imagine what they’d say if they found out our current situation. ‘Poor Laura! Doesn’t she have all the worst luck?’ Yeah, well, I’m no victim. I’m certainly not the innocent party anymore. Not with what’s happening with Leo.

  I’ll be glad not to go to the ball this year. I wonder if anyone will notice. Hopefully not.

  I sigh. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking, setting up a charity in Will’s name. It’s a remarkable charity, that’s true. We have helped countless children around the world. We’ve funded schools, aided families living in war-torn countries, and even raised mone
y to help support children living in severe poverty in Britain. It’s very rewarding. It’s also hard. The endless reminders about Will don’t help. And seeing the things that I’ve seen . . . It makes me feel terrified at times about bringing children into this world.

  Tessa had no such qualms, I think bitterly, momentarily despising her baby and feeling incredibly uncharitable about him.

  I hear the gate latch click and glance over my shoulder to see who it is.

  Matthew?

  I wobble and nearly fall off the ladder.

  ‘Careful!’ he shouts, running to my aid.

  ‘Matthew! Oh my God!’

  My eyes must be as big as saucers as he takes the brush from me and helps me to navigate the rungs. We stand in front of each other, my head racing. He’s here. He’s here. I was not expecting this.

  ‘Hey,’ he says gently, reaching out to take my hand. I pull back in shock.

  ‘What . . . What are you doing here?’ I stutter.

  Leo! Oh Christ, what is Leo going to say? What’s he going to do? This is a nightmare!

  Matthew looks crushed. ‘I had to see you,’ he says, searching my face and then glancing up at the paint in my hair. ‘You have . . .’ He reaches across to touch my hair and I step away and rub my nose, to make sure the smear has well and truly gone.

  ‘Matthew, you can’t . . . You can’t . . .’

  ‘I can and I did,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m here. So you’re going to have to talk to me.’

  ‘You can’t stay here,’ I say fervently.

  ‘I’m staying at the hotel next door,’ he tells me, and I notice he’s empty-handed so he must’ve checked in.

  ‘It’s a nice hotel,’ I say, for want of something else.

  ‘It is.’ He holds out his hand again and I realise he’s desperate to touch me, to make contact. But I don’t want that. His hand falls to his side.

  ‘Will you come and have lunch with me?’ he asks hesitantly.

  ‘Um . . .’ I glance up at the house. It’s not going to paint itself.

  ‘Can that wait?’ he asks, giving me an odd look.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I mutter. ‘I’ll go and get changed.’

  He follows me inside and I tense up, pausing in the kitchen. It feels wrong for him to be here. I don’t like it, and I know that Leo would hate it.

  ‘Where is . . . Where is everyone?’ Matthew asks, looking around.

  ‘They’re all at work. Wait here,’ I say, hurrying out of the room and up the stairs.

  Shitshitshitshitshit.

  I quickly get changed into a fresh T-shirt and shorts, and then attempt to wash the paint out of my hair over the basin. I tie it back up again into a messy ponytail and walk out into the corridor, glancing up the stairs towards Leo’s room. I feel so nervous. How is he going to react to this?

  Matthew has waited in the kitchen, as directed. It’s strange seeing him there, standing on the lino. He’s wearing beige-coloured chinos and a white shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He’s tanned, as he usually is – he just has that sort of skin – and his blond hair is pushed off his face, as usual. I notice for the first time how tired his eyes look.

  ‘Did you get much sleep on the plane?’ I usher him outside and lock the door behind me, the smell of fresh paint immediately filling my nostrils. I feel frustrated at having to stop a job midway. Shouldn’t I be more pleased to see my husband? I’m still in shock, I tell myself.

  ‘Planes,’ he replies. ‘I flew in to Key West, via Atlanta.’ I assumed he’d done a road trip from Miami like us, but obviously he just wanted to get here. ‘And no, I didn’t sleep much,’ he adds, his eyes wandering around the garden and over to the sofa. I sat there with Leo’s arm around me only last night. I love his arms. So strong and all-encompassing. I realise that he won’t want to hold me in his arms for the foreseeable future and I’m surprised by how angry that makes me feel towards Matthew.

  ‘You’ll need an early night tonight, then.’ I try to sound casual.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  The restaurant around the corner is pretty decent, so we go there. We’re seated on the terrace near a water feature, under the shade of palm trees and frangipanis in full bloom. The fragrant yellow and white flowers have fallen on the ground at our feet and they scent the air. I pull out a chair and sit down, facing my husband.

  ‘You look well,’ he says, continually watching me. It’s a confident gesture – this constant attempt at eye contact – but he also seems more unsure of himself than I’ve ever seen him. It’s like he doesn’t know me anymore. I know exactly how he feels.

  ‘Thanks,’ I murmur. The waitress comes to give us glasses of water. I stare at the water feature, while Matthew stares at me. The waitress leaves us to it, so I pick up the menu, trying to focus. He does the same.

  ‘What’s good here?’ he asks.

  ‘You’ll like the burgers.’ My reply is automatic, but I notice him smile at the familiarity. He puts his menu down and reaches over, but I instinctively jerk my hand away. He leaves his hand in the centre of the table. Something makes me think of animal handlers who believe their subject can be coaxed to come to them eventually.

  The waitress appears to take our order. I lean back in my chair and look anywhere but at my husband for as long as I can manage. When I finally meet his eyes he’s regarding me with sadness.

  I feel like such a bitch, but I have to ask: ‘How long are you planning on staying?’

  He swallows. ‘Five days.’

  ‘Five days?’ I exclaim. That long?

  ‘I couldn’t get anymore time off work at such short notice,’ he explains, misreading my reaction. ‘I’m hoping it will be long enough.’

  ‘Long enough for what?’ I ask. He looks uncomfortable. ‘Matthew, you know I’m not coming back with you, right?’

  ‘Don’t say that now,’ he says quickly.

  ‘It’s true!’ I can’t help raising my voice. ‘I’m not coming back. I’m not ready.’

  I have to avert my gaze because I feel so guilty.

  ‘Where’s Leo today?’ he asks directly.

  ‘He’s helping out at the dive centre a few keys up.’

  ‘He’s a diver?’ He doesn’t look very happy about this.

  ‘Yeah. We met him and Jorge – he was our instructor – when we were doing our PADI course.’

  ‘Oh, right. I forgot you did that.’ He tries to sound normal. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Good.’ I join his act. ‘I’m fully qualified.’

  ‘Well done.’ Now he looks genuinely impressed. I really wanted to learn to dive on our honeymoon, but we didn’t have enough time to get it all organised.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ I ask awkwardly. This is so weird, this small talk.

  He looks down at the table. ‘Just working, and you know . . .’

  ‘Seeing Evan,’ I chip in.

  ‘Not that much,’ he’s keen to tell me.

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ I say carefully. ‘Not for seeing him, anyway.’

  He nods unhappily.

  ‘How’s Tessa?’ I ask, my voice hardening.

  ‘She’s . . . fine,’ he replies cautiously, then hurriedly adds: ‘You know there’s nothing between us, right?’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘There’s not, there’s really not.’

  ‘I believe you.’ I sigh. ‘But it doesn’t actually change things.’

  ‘How can I change things, then?’ he asks me quietly. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I feel a wave of sympathy for him. He looks so helpless. ‘I don’t think there’s anything you can do.’

  ‘But—’

  Our burgers arrive, so whatever he was about to say will have to wait. We eat in silence, but the appetite I’ve regained since moving in with Leo and the others, vanishes into thin air.

  I notice Matthew is also struggling. He puts down his burger and picks at his chips. He used to eat so well. He’s always been slim an
d toned, but now he looks . . . Well, he looks quite skinny, and it doesn’t suit him. His facial features are almost gaunt, I can see that now. I was too distracted before by the dark circles under his eyes to fully take them in.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ I comment with concern.

  He lets out an uneasy laugh. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Matthew, you have to look after yourself.’ I lean towards him with empathy. He doesn’t waste this opportunity, scooping up my hand the moment it’s within reach. I tense up, but one look at his face . . . This time I don’t pull away.

  He holds my hand tightly in both of his and takes a deep breath. I relax slightly as my body seems to recognise his touch.

  ‘I love you,’ he says in a low voice.

  ‘I know.’ I offer him a small smile, but it’s the best I can do.

  After a while, I gently extricate myself and make a sign to the waitress to indicate we want the bill. ‘I should get back to the painting.’

  He looks put out. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I want to get as much as possible done before . . .’ My voice trails off. Before Leo gets home. I want to impress him.

  ‘Can’t you take a break? Come for a swim at the hotel with me?’

  I hesitate. I hate to admit it, but I miss that pool, and it’s hotter than usual today.

  ‘Come on,’ he presses. ‘Come and see my room.’

  I give him a warning look.

  ‘Not like that,’ he scoffs. ‘But it’s really nice. It’s down by the pool and there are hammocks hanging right outside.’

  ‘I know the rooms you mean,’ I say with a smile. ‘Ours was upstairs with a balcony, facing the street.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘It was nice.’

  He looks confused. ‘Why didn’t you stay there?’

  ‘It was too expensive.’ I brush him off. ‘And Jorge, Leo, Carmen and Eric had room.’

  ‘That’s a lot of people,’ he comments.

  ‘Oh, and Javier, too.’

  ‘Javier?’

  ‘Jorge and Leo’s nephew.’

  ‘Jorge and Leo are brothers?’

  ‘No. Carmen is Jorge’s sister, and she was married to Leo’s older brother before he died. They had Javier together, but now she’s with Eric.’