Then. Now. Always.

by Isabelle Broom

  ‘You have the hand-held camera, right?’ Tom says, his expression conveying far more than his words. He’s doing me a favour, I know he is, but that isn’t enough to douse the hot coals of resentment smouldering inside me.

  ‘I think Tom is right,’ Theo agrees. ‘I don’t really need you here today, Hannah. I have all your notes and Claudette knows the script.’

  I hate them. I hate all of them.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, giving up with a sigh. ‘Come on, Nancy.’

  ‘Oh, Nancy can stay,’ Theo adds, and I swear I feel a knife go right through my heart. Looking up, I see that Tom is just as surprised as me.

  ‘We’ll bring her down to the beach later and meet you,’ puts in Claudette, who I’m convinced is enjoying all the drama. ‘There is live music at Carlos’s bar tonight – we can make a night of it.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say again, apparently unable to locate any other words from inside my angry hive of a brain.

  Snatching up my stuff without looking at a single one of them, I glance once more at the beautiful bougainvillea and head off across the cobbles, using every fibre of self-control I have left not to stomp. It takes me another five minutes to reach the bus stop just below the Plaza Nueva, and by that time I’ve put a call through to Rachel.

  ‘I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!’ I moan, before my friend has even finished saying hello.

  ‘Erm, hello Hannah, so nice to hear from you. I’m fine, thanks – nice of you to ask.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, kicking at the kerb. ‘But I hate her.’

  ‘I got that part.’ Rachel is smiling at the other end of the line, I can tell, but by the time I fill her in on the latest instalment of the ‘Nancy ruins Hannah’s life’ story, her mood has changed.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Han – that does sound a bit unfair.’

  ‘A bit?’

  ‘Okay, it’s a lot unfair. Theo is clearly an idiot.’

  ‘Oh, but he’s such a gorgeous idiot,’ I sigh, quickly updating her on what happened yesterday between the two of us in San José, before Nancy arrived on the scene.

  ‘Wow,’ she says, exhaling with the sort of pride you only ever get from your very closest friends. ‘It sounds to me as if Theo has got the mega-hots for you.’

  ‘I wish he did,’ I grumble, paying the bus driver and choosing a seat right at the back. ‘But of course he doesn’t.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Rachel presses. Bless her, trying to be supportive. I wish she had flown out here to join me instead of Nancy.

  ‘Because he’s far too good for me,’ I begin, ignoring her protestations. ‘And because he thinks I’m an idiot that looks like Tom in a wig.’

  ‘What?’ Rachel is understandably confused.

  ‘He said that we looked like brother and sister.’

  ‘That is not the same thing as saying that you look like Tom in a wig,’ she states, and I find myself giggling despite my despair.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ I wail, watching a group of Spanish teenagers board the bus carrying beach towels and a football.

  ‘About Theo or Nancy?’

  ‘Both!’ I exclaim.

  There’s a pause as Rachel thinks through her answers, and I picture her pretty green eyes slanted in concentration.

  ‘Theo just lost his temper because he’s hot and stressed and because Claudette winds him up,’ she replies, wise as always. ‘He will have forgotten all about it by this evening, so my advice is to just do as he says today and get some amazing interviews, then never mention it again.’

  I do like that idea, but I don’t know if she’s right about him forgetting. Still, me showing him just how well I can work under my own steam will definitely help me get back into his good books.

  ‘And Nancy?’ I ask, a scowl appearing on my face as soon as I utter her name.

  ‘I know you don’t want to hear this,’ Rachel begins, and I groan loudly. ‘But she hasn’t done anything all that bad yet. I know it’s annoying that she’s hanging around and getting you into trouble, but that was more Theo’s fault than hers. You have to be the good cop with Nancy, or she’ll just play up more.’

  ‘How did you get to be so smart?’ I ask, affectionately begrudging.

  ‘I’ve met Nancy, don’t forget,’ she points out. ‘Men can’t see through the little-girl-lost act in the same way that we can. They’re just not made that way. All they see are her boobs.’

  I laugh out loud at that, but then in the next breath I’m overcome with a new panic.

  ‘What if that’s why Theo wanted her to stay – because of her boobs?’

  ‘Then he’s a pig and disgusting,’ Rachel says crisply. ‘And you’d be better off without him.’

  Her use of the word ‘pig’ has just reminded me of Paul, and I climb off the bus with the guilty realisation that I haven’t even asked how her life is going. I am a terrible friend.

  ‘How’s living with a boy, then?’ I say now, bending to scoop up a bright green cricket from the pavement and put it safely into the grass.

  ‘Oh, you know, smellier than it used to be,’ she laughs. ‘But no, it’s fine. In fact, it’s lovely. He’s even cooked me dinner a few times.’

  ‘And it’s edible?’ I reply, struggling with the mental image of Paul dressed in a pinny, serving fajitas.

  Rachel giggles again. ‘Not really,’ she admits. ‘But at least he’s trying.’

  ‘I’ll have to come over and sample some when I’m back,’ I promise, even though we both know I won’t.

  ‘You know, one day all this will seem so funny,’ Rachel says. ‘Life has a way of doing that, I always find. Of showing you just how okay you really are.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ I tell her, meaning it. ‘Because at the moment, it feels like there’s hardly anything left for me to laugh about.’

  15

  For someone who only started interviewing people face-to-face a few days ago, I think I’m pretty good at it. In my role as researcher, I’m often trusted to chat to sources over the phone, or send out questions via email, but this trip is the first time I’ve been permitted to hold the camera and think on the spot.

  With every vox-pop interview I collect, I can feel my confidence growing, and after a few hours I realise just how silly I was to be angry with Theo. Okay, so he sent me away from the shoot, but he also had no qualms in letting me work by myself, without any of the constant direction that Claudette seems to require from him. If anything, I should be flattered, not pissed off.

  And this bit is so much fun, too. If I’d stayed up in the village with the others, I’d have been standing around like a spare limb, but instead I’ve spent the entire afternoon chatting to local people and admiring the rugged coastline down at the beach. There is something about this place that stops it feeling like just another holiday resort. Rather than catering for British holidaymakers by opening ghastly English-themed pubs and serving baked beans on toast, the people of Mojácar have stuck steadfastly to their own personal tastes, and the result is quirky, alternative and refreshingly unique. When Tom and I were in our second year of university, we and a group of our mates booked a week-long trip to Magaluf, and I couldn’t believe how touristy it was. Not surprising, really, when you consider that Mojácar was my first taste of Spain – in that regard, I was spoilt. I had got on the plane back then expecting a similar vibe to the one I had grown accustomed to, but the reality had been anything but. And that was also the holiday where I’d developed a random, week-long crush on Tom.

  There was no real reason for it that I could understand, other than the heat and the copious amounts of alcohol we were pouring into ourselves on an almost daily basis, and I never acted on it or told anyone how I felt – not even Rachel. My friendship with Tom was simply too dear to me to risk messing it up, and so I held my tongue – quite literally – and waited for the feelings to pass. And they did. As soon as we were back on UK tarmac, he went back to just being my lanky mate, and that’s the way it’s been ever si
nce.

  Dusk is falling by the time I catch up with the others at the beach bar where Carlos works, and I feel much better than I did this morning. In fact, it feels as if the silly disagreement with Theo was days ago, and now I’m more than ready to forget it ever happened. I’m also more than ready for a cold beer, so I’m thrilled to find one sitting waiting on the table, courtesy of Tom.

  The beach bar is split-level, with a lower seating area leading out on to the sand and an orderly arrangement of sun loungers set in rows between us and the sea. Inside everything seems to be made of wood, from the polished bar top to the furniture. Green, blue and yellow sheets are strung across the beams above our heads like a canopy, keeping off the dipping sunlight and providing the perfect trampoline for a number of tiny birds. I can see the shapes of their delicate little bodies casting shadows across the material.

  ‘Good day?’ Nancy asks, the first person to speak as I take my seat.

  ‘Great, thanks,’ I chirp, taking a huge slug of beer. ‘You guys get everything done that you needed to?’

  ‘Just about,’ says Tom, clinking his beer against mine with a knowing look.

  ‘It was a very frustrating day,’ Theo cuts in, his tone slicing through my upbeat mood like cheese wire.

  ‘Oh?’ I enquire, looking over to where Claudette is stubbornly ignoring all of us, her feet up on a spare chair and her eyes closed.

  ‘Tomorrow is another day,’ he says with a sigh. ‘That is what I have to remember.’

  Gosh, it’s unlike him to be this despondent. I try to catch Tom’s eye, but of course he’s looking at Nancy. Not surprising, really, given that the floaty top she’s wearing is struggling to keep her boobs in check. Nancy herself is staring down at her phone, which I can see is logged into Facebook. Trust her to choose social media over a setting as glorious as this one.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask Theo quietly, touching his hand with a finger. He glances down and moves it away, picking up his own beer and taking an even larger sip than I did.

  ‘I think I will go now,’ he announces, standing up so abruptly that Tom’s drink is almost a casualty. I watch him weave through people at the bar and then I can’t bear it, I have to follow him.

  ‘Theo!’ I catch up with him just as he’s about to climb up the steps leading to the road.

  He lifts an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I babble. ‘About this morning. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. And I’m sorry about my sister being here. I didn’t invite her – I have no idea why she’s even here and I don’t want you to think badly of me.’

  ‘Hush.’ To my surprise, Theo steps forwards and puts a single finger across my lips. I can feel a trace of his pulse and my body surges with pleasure.

  ‘I should not have sent you away, Hannah, but you are the only one here that I can trust to work by herself.’

  I really am?

  ‘Claudette is so …’ He tugs at his hair. ‘Particular.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I feel like her father sometimes, and it is very tiring.’

  ‘Poor you,’ I tell him, rubbing the top of his arm awkwardly.

  ‘I am sorry not to stay with you and have a drink,’ he says, sounding genuinely regretful. ‘But if I sit here with her, I will end up … you know? And we cannot have that.’

  I nod. ‘Of course.’ And then, as he turns to leave, something makes me say, ‘I could come with you?’

  ‘To the villa?’ Theo asks. He’s looking at me with a new directness now, and it’s as exciting as it is unnerving.

  ‘Only if you want some company,’ I say, inwardly cursing my hopeless reserve. If only I knew the words to use that would make it clear to him how I feel. Instead I sound clumsy and shy and annoyingly coy.

  After what feels like an age, but is probably less than a single minute, Theo shakes his head.

  ‘I think tonight, it’s not such a good idea,’ he says, and before I can respond he has taken a step forwards and kissed me lightly in the soft part of my cheek, just beside my mouth.

  ‘Maybe another time, yes?’

  ‘Okay,’ I hear myself say, although I have no idea how I managed to say anything given the fact that I’m no longer human and am in fact a puddle of drool on the concrete bar floor.

  I watch him go and then drift dreamily back to the table, sinking into my chair with my fingers still touching the spot on my face that Theo kissed. A band has set up on a makeshift wooden stage a few tables away, and a red-faced bass player is tuning his instrument, the deep sound making the hairs stand up on my arms.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming back,’ says Tom, pointing to my now-empty bottle. ‘I’ll go and get another round in.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I croon in a sing-song voice, smiling up at his bemused expression.

  ‘Are you drunk?’ asks Claudette, who is smoking a cigarette and drinking red wine.

  On love, I think, grinning at her across the table.

  Carlos hurries past with a tray of drinks, giving Claudette a wink as she flicks ash on to the floor.

  ‘Not yet,’ I reply, then, motioning to Carlos, ‘How’s your boyfriend?’

  ‘Pfft,’ is her response, and Nancy starts giggling.

  ‘Did I miss something?’ I ask.

  ‘That one will never be my boyfriend,’ sneers Claudette.

  ‘Your buddy, then?’ I reply, making sure she knows what I’m getting at.

  Claudette sighs. ‘He kisses like a wet sponge,’ she declares, stubbing out her cigarette with aggression, and Nancy bursts out laughing.

  ‘Oh.’ I search the bar for the man in question. He seems so self-assured to me, so much like a small peacock strutting around in front of the hens.

  ‘That is what I said,’ Claudette drawls, exasperated rather than amused. ‘Now, I must teach him.’

  Nancy is still laughing when Tom comes back with drinks for everyone, so I quickly fill him in on our conversation. Not surprisingly, he’s nowhere near as amused as Nancy.

  ‘If he’s such a disappointment, then why come back here at all?’ he asks Claudette.

  ‘He is good in other ways,’ she informs us. ‘He has nice hands.’

  Tom turns puce.

  ‘Claudette!’ I admonish. ‘TMI!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a prude,’ she scolds. ‘You should try him sometime. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Gross!’ I yelp, picking up my beer. ‘Sloppy seconds is not something I’m into, thanks very much.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Claudette lowers her sunglasses. ‘What a shame.’

  ‘Why a shame?’ I ask, immediately feeling uneasy.

  Just as she’s about to reply, the band starts up and the music is so loud that we all jump – even the ultra-cool Claudette. The atmosphere in the bar switches from laid-back and lazy to buzzing with energy, and a few people even get up and begin to dance.

  ‘This is brilliant!’ yells Tom, tapping his big foot along to the music.

  ‘Come and dance with me!’ Nancy says, leaping to her feet and reaching for his hand. I watch them start to wiggle away together in front of the stage, Tom all arms and legs and Nancy all shimmies and hair flicks.

  ‘She is adorable, your sister,’ Claudette informs me, waving at Nancy as she looks over in our direction.

  ‘Half-sister,’ I correct automatically.

  ‘It’s no wonder Tom has fallen for her,’ she adds casually.

  Usually I would bat away her comments and tell her she’s mistaken, but there’s no denying what the two of us can see happening right in front of us. That is, the look of delight and adoration on Tom’s face as he spins an exuberant Nancy around in a circle, and the way he watches her every move as she dances away from him and then back, picking up his hands and laughing at something he’s said. It doesn’t make me feel angry exactly, more resigned – but I’m not about to admit that to Claudette.

  ‘He’s not her type,’ I say instead, picturing the gym-buffed Adonis I’d seen with Nancy in her Facebook photos. ‘And anyway, she was snoggi
ng Diego last night.’

  ‘Lucky Diego,’ breathes Claudette, and I snap my head around to glare at her.

  ‘What?’ she says, innocence personified, pouting at me over the rim of her wine glass. ‘Your sister is a very attractive girl. I don’t care what sex a person is – if I fancy them, then that is that.’

  ‘But she’s my sister,’ I point out, unable to quite believe what I’m hearing. As if it’s not bad enough that Tom is salivating all over Nancy; now she’s reeled in Claudette, too. In less than forty-eight hours, Nancy is very firmly nestled in the cosy nook of her friendship – a place where I’ve been trying to get for years. It’s not that I want Claudette to fancy me, but it would be nice to at least be considered a possibility.

  ‘Your half-sister,’ Claudette reminds me, and I understand exactly why Theo had to leave the bar earlier.

  ‘I don’t think you’re her type either,’ I retort with a grin, swigging my beer. There’s no way I’m going to let my guard down and make it obvious how fed up I am.

  ‘Maybe not.’ Claudette shrugs, leaning back to run a casual hand up the inside of Carlos’s shorts as he passes her chair. ‘But if I’m not allowed to make a move on her, then Tom can’t either.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I say grimly. ‘I plan on having this exact same conversation with him, too.’

  In the end, I don’t manage to corner Tom for long enough to warn him away from Nancy, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because as soon as Carlos finishes his shift, he brings over one of his Spanish mates and my sister is invited up to dance yet again – and this time her partner is far less gentlemanly than Tom.

  It’s easier to watch her when it’s not my best friend she’s wrapping her arms around, and I even start clapping along to the music as the night wears on. Tom has been steadily drowning his sorrows ever since Ignacio the dancer’s arrival, and he’s now very drunk indeed. So drunk, in fact, that he’s resting his forehead on the table.