by L.H. Cosway
Here’s hoping he’s got more of a mild antisocial personality disorder rather than being a full-on sociopath.
“Let’s shake on it,” he says.
I take his hand as firmly as I can and shake it once. If this goes badly wrong, then at least I’ll have a crazy story to tell the grandkids someday.
If Robert and I don’t end up murdering one another before the summer is out, that is.
Six
We manage to maintain our truce for the rest of the week. He comes into Baccino’s on Wednesday for lunch, and although I get stuck serving him again, he doesn’t try to embarrass me or do anything weird.
Sasha is surprised that I don’t mind him staying with us. She asks me lots of questions like “have you gotten a brain transplant?” and “is Robert blackmailing you?” before she finally accepts that I’m telling the truth and that nothing untoward is going on.
I don’t blame her for being confused by our sudden decision to get along. But I continue to remind myself that we’re grown-ups now. This living together thing doesn’t have to end in tears like it would have when we were teenagers.
The day out to Brighton comes quickly, and Sasha lets slip on Friday evening that Kara and Gary are going. Robert tightens his jaw at this piece of news, but he doesn’t comment on it.
He ends up driving Sasha and me on the day, with everyone else being driven by Alistair. The journey takes about two hours, so I make sure to pack some snacks.
On Saturday morning I put my swimsuit on under a cream cotton dress, to save myself getting changed on the beach in front of everyone. My suit is a plain black one, with a flattering ’50s vintage cut and a built-in bra. Packing a towel and a few other necessities in my bag, I head downstairs, where Sasha’s filling up a cooler box with drinks.
I go outside and throw my bag in the boot before hopping in the back. Robert’s already in the front seat with all the windows open, blasting “Uprising” by Muse through some pretty impressive speakers. His eyes fix on me as he taps the beat out on the dashboard; this, combined with the song, causes goose pimples to rise on my skin.
“Looking fine, little red,” he says to me, turning the music down for a second before switching it right back up.
Enjoying the remark but not wanting him to be aware that I am, I roll my eyes and stare out the open window. This is the first compliment he’s paid me since Tuesday, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t missed them.
When Sasha finally emerges, putting the last few items in the boot and sliding into the passenger seat beside Robert, we set off. With the back all to myself, I slip off my sandals and put my feet up. I catch Robert watching me in the overhead mirror, but he doesn’t make any comments. As expected, he doesn’t look away until the moment reaches a sufficient level of tension.
It takes a while before we get onto the motorway. A few minutes later there’s a horn honking noisily behind us. I turn around to see Alistair and Sandra sitting in the two front seats of a black people carrier. They speed up so they’re on the other side of Robert’s car, and I can now see that Victor, Jacob, Kara, Gary, and a blonde girl I don’t know are in the back seats.
A minute later Sasha’s phone starts ringing. It’s clearly Alistair, since I can see he has his own phone held up to his ear, his other hand resting on the steering wheel. My mum would go crazy if she were here to witness him driving while on the phone. She’s always catching people doing it when she’s on duty back home.
“Hey, Al, you stalker,” Sasha answers on loudspeaker, laughing.
He laughs back and quips, “Have you not heard of group stalking? It’s the new big thing.” His voice streams clearly through Sasha’s top-of-the-range iPhone.
I notice Kara is in one of the window seats, staring daggers at Robert. He seems to be ignoring her as he taps a few buttons on the iPod dock that’s set into the dashboard. Sasha’s still chatting with Alistair when the familiar intro to “She Fucking Hates Me” by Puddle of Mudd starts playing. Looking at Kara, I see her eyes widen when she realises what song it is. When it gets to the chorus, Robert turns the volume right up and begins singing at the top of his lungs. He actually doesn’t have too bad of a voice. He sticks his hand out the window, giving her the finger, and increases his speed, zooming past Alistair’s car and a scowling Kara.
He’s laughing when Sasha hangs up the phone and shoves him in the shoulder.
“That was rude,” she says, reprimanding him.
Robert continues singing, now turning from the road for a second to croon into Sasha’s face. My lips turn up at the ends as I try not to laugh.
“Ugh, stop fucking singing, Rob, it’s terrible.”
It’s not terrible at all, but I’m not about to go disagreeing with her.
He keeps on singing into her face until she finally gives in and laughs. “You’re an idiot.”
He’s on the second chorus now, and he slams his head back against his seat, shouting the lyrics out alongside the Eddie Vedder–wannabe lead singer.
“Sing with me, sis. Come on, you know you want to,” he encourages her, mid-lyric.
Sasha shrugs then and starts singing, a grudging smile on her face.
Robert meets my gaze through the mirror. “And you, Lana. I need all the support I can get if I’m going to be spending the day with that bitch and her lapdog.”
My heart stops at his request. I never sing in front of people. It’s just not something I do. In an effort to change the subject, I say, “I can’t believe you have this song in your collection. That’s shameful, Rob.” I ignore his comment about Kara being a bitch and Gary being a lapdog.
“What? It’s a classic.” He winks at me.
I give him a tiny smile and hum along instead of singing properly. He nods approvingly, and we sail down the road, arms sticking out the windows, feeling the wind rush through our fingers, beach-bound.
Funnily enough, Alistair and the rest of them end up arriving in Brighton a couple of minutes earlier than us. He calls Sasha to let her know that they’ve already parked and made their way down to the beach. Seeing the black people carrier, Robert parks in a nearby spot, and we go to get our things from the boot.
As I’m pulling out my bag, Robert takes it from me and swings it onto his own back.
“I’ll carry this for you,” he tells me with a wink, all chivalrous.
“Um, okay.”
“Oh! How thoughtful of you, Rob. In that case, you can carry my stuff as well,” says Sasha, cheekily shoving the cooler box into his hand alongside her backpack. She links her arm through mine and steers me toward the beach, clicking her fingers at Robert and calling, “Chop chop, bro. We don’t want to miss out on all the good spots.”
Slamming shut the boot, he sets the alarm and follows us. He looks vaguely disgruntled, but he doesn’t appear to be having any difficulty carrying all the bags.
Even though it’s only half past ten, the beach is already packed with people, I guess because the weather is good. I pull out my phone to snap a few shots of the colourfully painted changing sheds all lined up around the outskirts of the beach, while Sasha spots the others and goes to join them.
A few seconds later somebody’s breath is on the back of my neck. “What are you up to?” Robert asks, placing one hand gently on my hip.
“Just taking a few pictures of the sheds,” I answer, stating the obvious. Shakily, I click a couple more shots and then slip my phone back into the pocket at the front of my dress. “Do you want some help with those bags?”
“No, I’m good,” he replies, and starts walking again.
“Freunde! Wilkommen!” Alistair calls to us, waving from where he’s standing on the sand wearing a brightly coloured pair of Bermuda shorts. He’s got a really hairy chest, but I try not to stare at it.
“That has got to be the shittiest German accent I’ve ever heard,” Robert calls back, holding his hands up to his mouth.
The minute we get to the group, Kara, wearing a tiny peach bikini, jumps u
p from her towel on the sand and marches toward Robert.
“You took the DVD player from the living room. I want it back,” she yells, pointing a finger at him. At the sound of her shrill demand, a couple of the sun worshippers nearby crane their necks to see what’s going on.
Robert takes his time setting down the bags he’s carrying and lets out a long sigh. “Fuck off with this shit, Kara. I’m not in the mood. I bought it, so it’s mine.”
“Don’t speak to her like that, mate,” Gary warns him from where he’s sitting in one of those foldable deck chairs. He’s only wearing a pair of tight blue swimming trunks, and his muscles look huge, not to mention something, uh, else down below. I’m surprised the folding chair will actually hold him.
“Keep a leash on her and I’d be only too happy to comply,” Robert bites back sharply, eyeing Gary as he walks by Kara. “Oh, yeah, and pull that rolled-up pair of socks out of your pants, would you, Gazza mate? You’re fooling nobody.”
Everybody tries to hide their chuckling at Robert’s joke.
Gary goes red in the face, but more with anger than embarrassment. Robert picks up our stuff again before setting it down in an empty patch of sand.
“Ugh, you’re not even worth it,” says Kara, rushing to give Gary a passionate snog, perching herself on his lap for a moment and rubbing a hand down his rippled chest. Once she’s finished reassuring her boyfriend of his manhood, she sashays back to lie down beside Sandra and the blonde girl I don’t know, who are both sunbathing in bikinis equally as tiny as Kara’s.
Sasha gives Robert a subtle roll of her eyes, shaking her head at Kara, as if to say ignore her, she’s just looking for attention, and it settles the rigidity in his shoulders somewhat.
They might argue a lot, but when it comes down to it, Sasha and Robert will always have each other’s back. It’s a twin thing.
I slip off my sandals and kneel down in the sand to unzip my bag, retrieving a large, striped towel and laying it out flat. Sasha does the same before pulling off the T-shirt she’s wearing to reveal a tank top underneath. She keeps this and her cut-off denim shorts on, rubbing sun lotion into her arms. Realising that she isn’t planning on wearing a swimsuit, I become a little self-conscious as I hesitantly pull my dress off over my head.
My eyes bug out when I hear a low whistle and then some chuckling. When I turn around I see that it was either Victor or Jacob who whistled, because the both of them appear utterly amused.
The girls are grinning too, but subtly. Their facial expressions are difficult to make out behind the massive sunglasses they’re all wearing.
I absentmindedly ponder how tiny bikinis and massive sunglasses seem to be all the rage these days.
I don’t really understand their amusement, but it probably has something to do with how modest my swimsuit is, despite showing quite a bit of cleavage at the front.
When I glance to the side I find Robert’s hot eyes on me, and I cough to give myself a chance to gather my wits. I think I hear him swearing “fuck” under his breath, but I can’t be certain.
There are some more quiet mutterings from the two brothers before Sasha shouts over to them, “You can both shut your mouths before I shut them for you.”
The two instantly pale at her threat and quieten down.
Red colours my cheeks, because it’s obvious I was the topic of their conversation.
“What were they saying?” I whisper to Sasha.
Squeezing the lotion onto her legs now, she answers, “Stupid shit, nothing to worry about.”
Okay, now I know it was something bad. “Come on, just tell me,” I urge her, a tiny shake in my voice. There’s this awful, self-destructive part of my psyche that makes me want to know things, even when I’m one hundred percent certain it’s going to hurt my feelings.
I can still feel Robert staring at me. He’s so caught up in looking at my chest that I don’t think he heard what Victor and Jacob said, either. That fact alone is almost enough to make me forget the current issue – almost.
“Lana, chicken, they’re a pair of arseholes when they want to be. Don’t pay any attention to them,” she tells me, her eyes soft.
I look to the brothers now, not understanding their meanness. They were nothing but mannerly and polite the last two times I met them. Victor catches me studying him and at least has the decency to look a small bit shamefaced. Sometimes people say mean things because they’re insecure, I try to remind myself. Sasha’s right; I shouldn’t care.
Giving up, I sigh and answer quietly, “Okay, then.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Robert asks me suddenly, at long last broken from his distraction of staring at my body. “You’ve gone all pale.”
Sasha glares at him, shaking her head as an indication for him not to push the matter. Unfortunately, Robert doesn’t take her silent warning.
“What? What did I miss?” he asks loudly.
“Nothing,” says Sasha as I turn to him, facing away from everyone else.
“Victor and Jacob said something rude about me, but Sasha won’t tell me what it was.” I keep my voice as low as possible so that nobody can hear but him.
Robert’s brown eyes study me for a long moment before he cocks his head to the guys and shouts, “Oi, fuckheads, if you’ve got something to say to Lana, you pass it by me first. Are we clear?”
The brothers seem confused by Robert’s sudden aggression, but they don’t talk back to him. Instead, they nod and return to their previous conversation. Robert dusts his hands. A feeling of heat sweeps through me. Robert defending me is not something I’m used to. Normally he’d be the person I need to be defended against.
“All taken care of. Now you can enjoy the beach,” he says, running a warm palm down my arm. Despite his heat, I shiver a little. I hope he doesn’t notice.
He’s laid out his towel, but he hasn’t yet taken off his jeans and T-shirt. Given this, I feel decidedly naked. I’m sitting down and he’s kneeling by me, which means I have to look up to meet his eyes. This close I can smell him, and the scent burns into my memory. He smells like clean skin with a hint of aftershave. I have the sudden desire to discover what brand he wears.
I also want to run my hands down the corded muscles of his neck just to see what it feels like. I’ve never felt that kind of an urge before. For a moment we float in a bubble of our own locked gazes, and it’s strangely erotic. When we were younger I was always aware of how attractive he was, but now there’s something extra there, something primal. Every tiny hair on my arm where he’s touching me stands on end. I might be mistaken, but I think he notices this, too.
My throat suddenly goes very dry, and I swallow hard. “Yeah, um, thanks.”
He pulls his hand away and I miss the touch, the connection. Then he draws his T-shirt off over his head, and although I saw him shirtless that first night in the bathroom, his chest is even more glorious out here in all this golden sunlight. When he starts on his belt buckle, I turn away completely.
The next time I look at Robert, he’s wearing a pair of black swimming shorts and little else. God, I feel a blush creep over my cheeks, and I have to try hard not to stare. His body is just so…perfect. For me, anyway. It’s sad to think that he’s the only person I’ve ever really had a crush on. I’ve found other guys attractive, of course, but none of them made my stomach clench with a mixture of butterflies and anxious fear the way Robert does. It’s not exactly a pleasant feeling, but it is an addictive one.
It’s always been him. Even when I hated him, there was love buried deep beneath it. Now that he seems to genuinely want to be my friend, the love is rising to the surface. I need to figure out a way to keep it buried.
“Hey, Sasha, come play some Frisbee with me,” Alistair calls. “None of these lazy wankers want to play.”
Sasha jumps to her feet. “Sure, Al.”
They find a stretch of sand to play in and begin flinging the thing back and forth to one another. Robert pulls an expensive-looking di
gital SLR camera from his bag and starts taking snaps of everyone. I think he might be doing it to piss Kara off, because he has the flash on even though we’re outdoors, and there’s a really loud clicky noise when he takes a shot.
A minute later he falls down beside me and throws his arm around my shoulder.
“Say cheese,” he tells me, a big smile on his face as he holds the camera up and takes a picture of us together.
“Um,” I say, not knowing how to react. I probably have a dumb, confused look on my face in the photo now.
In a passive-aggressive move to drown out the noise of Robert taking pictures, Kara picks up her phone and puts on some really loud dance music before returning to her sunbathing.
“God, I never noticed how shit her taste is,” Robert mutters to me quietly, pulling a bottle of sun cream from his bag and rubbing it into his bare chest. I stare at his fingers before pulling my eyes up to his face.
With a small smile I reply, “Yeah, but you think everybody’s taste is shit other than your own.”
He grins. “Not true.”
“Very true. You trashed my entire collection when you looked through my iPod.”
“I was only trying to get a rise out of you. I don’t think your taste is shit. It’s actually admirably original.”
“Are you being sarcastic now?”
His grin widens. “Nope. Sometimes I like to run a bubble bath and throw on some Tori Amos circa the early ’90s, especially when it’s my time of the month.”
I smirk and shove him in the shoulder. “Piss off.”
“What? I’m serious!”
“Sure.”
He watches me, smiling, while he finishes rubbing the last of the cream into his chest. Then he starts making a big show of acting like he can’t reach around to get to his shoulders.
I ignore him.
A couple of seconds pass before he asks, “Oh, Lana, you wouldn’t mind doing my back for me, would you?”
“I would mind, actually.”
“Come on, I don’t want to burn.”
