by Paige Toon
‘You have the bigger room,’ he insists again, regarding the bed.
‘No, I want this one,’ I tell him firmly.
He flashes me a cheeky grin and my heart does that thing again. ‘Do you remember?’ he asks me softly.
I blush furiously. ‘I am not even talking about this!’ I exclaim, laughing with embarrassment as I turn and go out of the room. ‘Put your bags in the other room,’ I snap jokily, pointing back at the door.
‘Later,’ he replies with amusement as he follows me back downstairs.
There are so many butterflies inside me now that I feel like I could take off.
He goes to the table and picks up my coat, which I left there when I came in. He holds it open for me while I shrug it on.
‘Where’s yours?’ I ask, trying to inject normality into my voice as his hands rest on my arms for a moment too long.
‘In the car.’
‘Come on, then.’ I usher him out, locking the door behind me. He pauses at the gate and glances back at the bench, before giving me a playful look. I roll my eyes and purse my lips. He’s obviously remembering the hours we spent there, kissing like there was no tomorrow. He opens the gate for me and waits for me to pass through.
‘Where shall we go?’ I ask casually.
‘You know where,’ he scolds gently.
We walk down the path towards Dancing Ledge.
‘Can I hold your hand?’ he asks suddenly.
‘Um . . .’
He reaches across for it, anyway, and I hesitantly let him take it.
This isn’t real. It’s not real. I’m in another lifetime. No one is here except for Joe and me. And, with that, I let myself go.
We pass the field that we lay in under a full moon. I stop in my tracks and stare at it. I jump with surprise as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder. ‘Do you remember?’
I glance back at him. ‘Joe, I haven’t forgotten a thing.’
He stares at my lips and a bolt of electricity shoots through me. I haven’t forgotten this feeling, either.
‘Let’s keep walking,’ I say. He meets my eyes for a brief moment and then steps away from me. Feeling flustered, I set off down the lane, folding my arms across my chest so he can’t hold my hand again.
‘What happened to you after we left Dorset?’ I ask, giving him a sidelong glance.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘I went to London, like I said I would. I slept rough for a bit, then I got a job working in a bar. One night there was a bar fight and I tried to break it up. I got hurt.’
‘Were you okay?’
He grins at my concern. ‘Yes, but a workmate of mine told me about these kick-boxing classes he was taking, and I thought it was probably about time I learned to defend myself, so I went along with him one day.’ He glances at me. ‘Did you see Strike?’
I nod. ‘Not until after I was married.’ Not properly, anyway.
He looks away. ‘Well, then, you know about that chapter of my life.’
I know that he learned how to fight and that the director saw something in him and decided to make him a star.
‘Did you film that documentary before or after you came to Cambridge to find me?’ I ask.
‘Oh, after. Much later. After Cambridge I was a bit fucked again.’
‘Oh.’
‘Mmm.’
I don’t understand. My words come out in a flood. ‘Why did you give up so easily? When you came back for me and thought I was with someone else, why didn’t you try to find me, to speak to me, to, I don’t know, win me back?’
‘Alice . . .’ His face is full of regret. ‘I wasn’t in a good place. When I found out you’d already moved on . . . I’d actually told myself that’s what I should expect before I came looking for you. Why would you wait for this?’ He indicates himself with his hands. ‘But it still came as a total shock when I found out you’d met someone else. The thought of seeing you with another guy nearly killed me . . . I had to get away from there as quickly as possible. I . . . I . . . wasn’t in a good place.’ He uses that phrase again. ‘I tried to forget about you after that, but there were times when the thought of you consumed me.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I say sadly. ‘It was the same for me.’
‘There were other times I tried to track you down. Every so often I’d look you up on Facebook, search through all the Alice Simmons I could find.’
‘I’m not on Facebook. Lizzy was always trying to get me to join. I’ll never hear the end of it when she discovers you did that.’
Lukas despises social networking sites. He considers them vulgar.
But certain things still need clarifying. ‘Why did you leave Dorset so suddenly?’ I ask. ‘I went upstairs to pack and when I came downstairs you were gone.’
He sighs. ‘Your dad told me I needed to sort myself out before I contacted you again.’
‘What?’
‘He was right,’ he says hurriedly. ‘Don’t blame him. I didn’t want to screw up your life at university. And what happened that night . . . with Ryan . . .’ He shudders. ‘It still gives me nightmares.’
‘Me too.’
‘Does it?’ He looks distraught. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say firmly.
‘I should have told you the truth about him. I’m so sorry I lied to you.’
‘I understood. I forgave you the second you told me.’
His face darkens as he stares ahead and picks up his pace. I have to hurry to keep up with him – but he seems oblivious. ‘Sometimes I think about seeing him again,’ he says in a low voice.
I pause before asking: ‘What would you do?’
‘I think I’d fucking kick his head in.’
I jolt at his language and he realises he might be freaking me out.
He looks apologetic. ‘Sorry.’
I don’t speak.
We reach the gorse walkway and scramble down the steep incline to the grassy hill. The sea is rough and grey. We stand there for a moment and stare at the view. It’s the middle of winter and the place is deserted apart from a couple of lone dog walkers on the cliffs in the distance.
‘Can we go to the ledge?’ he asks me abruptly.
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s run,’ he says with a grin, taking off down the steep hill. I laugh and follow him, the momentum propelling my legs at such a fast pace that I don’t know how I’ll stop at the bottom. Somehow I do. I’m in stitches – literally – and I’m laughing hard too. I bend over and clutch my stomach until I can recover.
‘You’re not even out of breath!’ I gasp up at him.
He laughs at my mock annoyance. He’s too fit for his own good. This isn’t fair.
‘Do you want me to carry you?’ he asks with amusement.
‘You’d better bloody not,’ I rebuke.
He comes towards me with a raised eyebrow. I hold up my hand. ‘I’m warning you!’
He grins and grabs me. I scream as he throws me over his shoulder and starts to run towards the rocky steps that lead to Dancing Ledge.
‘PUT ME DOWN!’ I yell.
He laughingly does and I hit him on his chest. Flippin’ heck it’s hard.
‘Ouch,’ I joke, rubbing my hand. I lead the way to the steps.
‘Don’t slip,’ he says. I think he’s teasing me, but I realise he’s not when he puts his hands protectively on my shoulders.
‘Let me go first,’ he says at the bottom of the steps, moving in front of me. He easily climbs down the rock face and waits for me at the bottom. ‘Be careful,’ he warns with concern. I navigate the rocks with far less grace and speed. He holds his arms out to me and steadies my fall as I jump down from the last foothold.
He takes my hand again as we walk along the ledge. The swimming pool is still there, carved out of the rock and full of water, reflecting the murky sky. I look ahead to the cave. I know that’s where we’re going and my stomach is a jittery mess. We walk into the da
rk space.
I take a deep breath and stare at the ground where we made love for the very first time. He’s silent as he remembers too.
‘I still love you,’ he says suddenly, looking at me with anguish in his eyes.
‘Joe . . .’ I caution sadly.
He glances at my wedding ring and then turns and faces the cave entrance before sitting on the ground.
I cautiously sit down next to him.
Neither of us speaks for a very long time. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks outside fills the small space. Eventually I huddle in closer to him and rest my cheek on his biceps. He puts his arm around me and draws me closer. This is unbearable.
‘Do you still love me?’ he asks after a while.
I hesitate before answering. ‘Yes.’
I can feel him tense up. It’s almost as though he’s too afraid to speak.
‘But I love Lukas too.’ I have to tell him this. I have to be honest.
‘Do you love him more?’ His voice wavers as he glances down at me.
I look up into his eyes. Then I shake my head, ever so slightly.
‘Alice . . .’ He touches his hand to my face.
No. No, no, no, don’t kiss me. I don’t want to cheat on my husband.
But then his lips are on mine and the feeling is so blissful that I’m rendered powerless. I can’t help but kiss him back.
This isn’t real. It’s not real. I’m in another lifetime . . .
Our kiss deepens and we fall back onto the hard cold stone. I want him so much. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. More than I even wanted him all those years ago.
‘I love you,’ he murmurs into my mouth.
Lukas.
‘Stop.’
Lukas.
‘Stop it!’ I push him away. ‘I can’t do this,’ I say agitatedly, beginning to stand up. ‘I’m married! I should go. I should go to my parents, or to Germany.’
‘No! Please don’t. Please don’t,’ he begs, looking up at me. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t touch you again.’
If I’m being honest that’s the last thing I want to hear, but I nod slowly and focus on his chin. ‘We should get back. It will be dark soon,’ I say in a daze.
Once more he bounds to his feet and in a surreal way I’m reminded that he’s Joseph Strike, martial arts expert and A-list actor. We walk back to the cottage, mostly in silence.
Near the house Joe stops suddenly and looks at the ground. I realise with a start that this is where we found Dyson. I go over to him and take his hand. We walk on.
‘Did you ever think about getting another dog?’ I ask quietly as we approach the gate.
He shakes his head quickly and lets go of my hand. ‘It wouldn’t be fair. I travel too much.’ He opens the gate for me and holds it back for me to pass.
‘Couldn’t someone look after him while you’re away?’
‘That’s not very “me”, Alice.’ He looks at me and smiles.
I take the keys out of my pocket and open the door. We go inside and take off our coats.
‘Do you want a fire?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, that’d be great.’
‘Cool.’ He heads off to the living room.
‘What do you want for dinner?’ I call after him.
He pokes his head back through to the kitchen. ‘Shit! I didn’t think about bringing food.’
‘Don’t worry, I did.’
‘Ever the planner,’ he says with a smile. ‘Anything would be great. You know what I like,’ he adds.
‘Are you sure you’re not on some dodgy macrobiotic diet?’ I ask wryly.
He grins at me. ‘New Year’s resolution?’
‘What did you do for Christmas?’ I ask curiously.
‘Nothing. Spent it in my hotel. Just another day to me.’
I frown at him. He shrugs and returns to the living room. That’s so sad. He has no one to spend Christmas with. I guess that’s always been the way for him – ever since he was a teenager. He has no family. Pity engulfs me. I pause and then walk through to him. He’s piling logs in the hearth. I sit on the sofa and watch him.
He glances up at me. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m sad that you have no one to spend Christmas with. I wish I could have invited you home to my parents’ house.’
He looks amused. ‘I’m sure that would have gone down very well. Here’s that idiot bloke again, except this time he’s screwing up our daughter’s marriage instead of just her university experience.’
I give him a look, but don’t say anything.
‘I’m starving,’ he says meaningfully.
‘I’m going!’ I jump up and head back to the kitchen.
He comes through after a little while. ‘So what are we having?’
‘Now don’t get angry, but I’ve only got ready meals.’
He laughs. ‘Why would I be angry?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ Lukas hates ready meals. Even homemade lasagne from the farm shop. ‘We’re having Indian.’
‘Brilliant!’ he exclaims.
I laugh. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No! I bloody miss Indian. They don’t do it at all well in the States.’
‘I’m not sure this is going to be a very good substitute for the real thing.’
‘We should go out to a restaurant one night!’ he says excitedly before his face falls. ‘Oh, we can’t.’
‘You might get recognised?’
He nods dejectedly. ‘I . . .’
‘What?’
‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t famous.’
‘No, you don’t,’ I chide.
He looks up at me sharply. ‘I do. It’s so fucking complicated . . . I wasn’t expecting it.’
‘But you’re an amazing actor,’ I say gently. ‘You must enjoy it?’
He nods. ‘I do. But . . .’ He sighs. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What? Go on.’
‘Sometimes I wish I had a normal life like you, a normal job, living in a normal little house and . . . Well, I bet your house isn’t little at all.’
‘It’s not that big,’ I tell him. ‘It’s Lukas’s parents who have the . . . Well, they’re, you know, he’s from a pretty good family.’
‘I bet he is.’ He looks thoroughly fed up.
‘When I say “good”, I don’t mean “nice”.’
‘You don’t like them very much?’ He clearly wants everything not to be rosy.
‘I like his brother and sister. But his parents, no, not really.’
‘At least he and I have that in common.’
He comes over and hoiks himself up onto the countertop. He watches me as I prick the cellophane of the rice packet with a fork and swap it over with the now-cooked curries in the microwave. I look over at him. This is so normal, so domesticated. This is what our life could have been like.
My face crumbles. He looks horrified.
‘What is it?’ He jumps down from the counter and puts his hands on my arms, studying my face. I shake my head quickly, willing the tears away, but they don’t comply. ‘Come here.’ He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in. I let out a sob into his chest and he holds me tightly while I cry.
‘Shhhh, shhhh,’ he says into my hair, kissing the top of my head over and over. ‘It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. I love you, Alice. I love you.’
But it’s not going to be okay. There’s nothing okay about this at all.
That night I take my wedding ring off.
I come down in the morning to find him doing press-ups on the living-room carpet. I have no idea how many he’s already done, but I stand on the last step and watch in awe as he does thirty more, the muscles on his back rippling. He bounces to his feet and then nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees me.
‘Shit! You scared me.’
‘Sorry.’ I try to keep a straight face as I wander through to the kitchen and fill the kettle with water. I barely slept, but I don’t feel tired.
He follows me through,
slightly out of breath. I glance at his bare chest. It’s hard not to.
‘I can’t actually believe you’re Joseph Strike,’ I say with a shake of my head as I switch the kettle on. ‘Did it feel weird changing your name?’
‘At first the thought of it did, yes. But when it came down to doing it, it was surprisingly easy to let it go.’ He grins at me and says in a teasing voice: ‘Anyway, Alice Strike sounds better than Alice Strickwold.’
A thrill goes through me. ‘Oi. Enough of that.’ I blush and change the subject. ‘Do you still like Kingmaker?’
‘Yeah, of course.’ He hops up onto the countertop again and inadvertently I glance at his famous six-pack. I try to concentrate.
‘You haven’t thought about putting “You and I . . .” on one of your film soundtracks?’
He looks at me with disbelief. ‘I’m working on it, actually.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ He lightly kicks my leg with his foot. ‘You know me so well.’
Feeling jittery, I turn my attention to the kettle. It’s taking forever to boil.
‘Hey, do you have the number for the people who own this cottage?’ he asks casually.
‘Er, sure. Why?’
‘I’m going to ask them if I can buy it.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?’
‘Well, yes. But can you really just buy a cottage?’
He looks amused.
‘Okay, yes, I know you can afford it,’ I say drily. ‘But there’s more to buying a house than handing over your credit card details.’
‘Can you help me?’ he asks. ‘I mean, I could ask Melanie, but I’d rather keep it between us.’
There’s something quite loveable about that.
‘Of course I can help you,’ I tell him warmly. ‘Do you want me to call the owners and see what they say?’
‘Actually, that would be great,’ he says chirpily, jumping down from the counter. ‘Hold off on my cuppa. I’m going to go and take a shower.’
My eyes follow him out of the room.
I go upstairs and dig out my mobile, feeling awful as I switch it on. I don’t want to have to face reality yet. Maybe no one will have called. I look up the number of the cottage owners and ring them.
‘Is everything okay?’ the landlady asks with concern.
