‘What are you doing here?’ Cate asks.
‘I’m walking down the street,’ he replies defiantly. ‘I think I’m allowed to do that, don’t you?’
The despair in Cate’s eyes is pronounced as she begins talking. ‘You do realise that what you did with that picture is illegal, don’t you, Robby?’
He grins, which strikes me as the least appropriate response possible under the circumstances. ‘I told you, Cate. I didn’t put that picture anywhere. My phone was stolen.’
‘You told me you’d deleted those photos,’ Cate tells him.
‘I did, but my iCloud backed them up. I didn’t ask it to. The whole thing’s a pain in the ass – it clogs up space on my computer.’
I wonder for a moment if I should say anything, but I have a feeling it’d just make matters worse. So I hang back while Cate steps forward. Her demeanour changes. ‘Please, Robby,’ she begs. ‘Please take the photo down. I’m really sorry if I hurt you, but I know you’re not this kind of person, not deep down. This is killing me. All I want is to be able to get on with my life.’
He looks entirely unmoved. ‘I can understand that, Cate.’
‘Robby, if this is my punishment, then believe me, it’s worked. But enough’s enough. Please accept I’m sorry. Please let’s just be friends and stop all this. Come on.’
He holds her eye for a moment and it’s impossible to work out what he’s going to say. Then he reaches up and brushes her hair from her eyes, a gesture that’s too intimate for comfort. She doesn’t move, though I’m certain his touch will be making her sick. ‘I wish I could help you, Cate. But I can’t. I’m sorry.’
Then he leans in and delivers a slow kiss onto her forehead, before turning round with a wave and disappearing up the hill.
Chapter 28
Edwin arrives to pick me up at 7.44 p.m. on Tuesday night, thirty seconds before he said he would. He has literally never been late for anything in his life.
I’m consumed by nerves before he arrives and have spent the evening tidying not just my eyebrows, bikini line and general appearance, but also the house – just in case he’s so impressed with one of my right turns that he wants to whisk me back here and ravish me until dawn. I’d hate that to happen if I hadn’t fully Dettoxed all my surfaces and had my posh, saved-for-best Molton Brown soap dispenser in the bathroom loo (the one that’s been wheeled out on every special occasion since Christmas 2008 and is still three-quarters full).
He arrives at the door with his Volkswagen Polo parked outside, and it’s fair to say that I’m mildly surprised by his appearance when I open the door. If I was laying it on thick, I’d go so far as to say ‘alarmed’. I know Edwin isn’t exactly a dedicated follower of fashion, but I’ve always considered him to be above all that; to have his own style that transcends it all, like Madonna or Dr Who.
Only tonight, I realise what a fine line he treads between looking uniquely stylish and plain bonkers. A line he’s precariously close to crossing tonight. It’s difficult to know what to focus on first, the billowing white ruffles of his shirt, or the trousers, which are such a vivid red that if he had a matching top I’d be concerned about children lining up to sit on his knee and telling him what they’d like for Christmas.
‘Gosh, Edwin, you’ve dressed up,’ I say, as he opens the passenger door for me.
‘This is my favourite going-out outfit. You’re honoured,’ he says, and as he flashes me a smile I remind myself he could be wearing a bin bag and a set of fairy lights for all I care. This is the man I love and I’m not shallow enough to let a pair of red trousers put me off.
‘So how was the wedding? I haven’t really had a chance to ask you about it yet,’ I say.
‘About as much fun as I was expecting,’ he says. ‘Who wants to have to hang around with an ex once you’ve split up? It’s not something I’d like to repeat, put it that way. And Fiona’s changed.’
‘In what way?’
‘This is going to sound horribly cruel and I don’t mean it to be . . . but she was so clingy. She wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute.’
‘She’s obviously still upset about the break-up,’ I offer.
He nods solemnly.
As we drive into Bowness, I begin to get the feeling that Edwin is slightly nervous about salsa and I can’t deny that I’m a little twitchy too. I just hope he enjoys it, or doesn’t think it’s stupid. And, more importantly, that I don’t make a complete show of myself, which is never out of the question.
My plan is to try and partner up with the better dancers in the group, on the grounds that their natural ability will carry me along. That basically means Esteban and possibly Joe – although the second I think of him, the idea of dancing with him in front of Edwin becomes too uncomfortable to contemplate.
Em is the first person to rush in and greet us as we arrive at the restaurant.
‘Edwin, you remember Emily . . .’ If she is in any way unsettled by the ruffles, she hides it well.
‘How could I forget?’ he replies, and they shake hands.
‘It’s been a while though, hasn’t it, Edwin?’ Emily smiles enthusiastically. ‘I think the last time I saw you was at the school Christmas fair. Have you ever been to a salsa class before?’
Edwin raises his eyebrows. ‘I haven’t. And I must admit I’m a little nervous. I warn you, Lauren,’ he says, turning to me teasingly, ‘I am no natural dancer. There’s every chance I might show you up.’
‘Oh, you might surprise yourself,’ I reply.
Edwin leans in to Emily and says: ‘I think that’s what you call wishful thinking.’ Emily laughs. ‘No, put me on a cricket field and I’ll bowl you over. A dance floor is a different matter. I’ll only knock you over.’
Marion calls the class to attention, before asking if there are any newcomers, then beckoning Edwin over to let him know the drill.
‘He is so lovely,’ Emily says to me, under her breath. ‘I’d forgotten how funny he is. He’s such a sweetheart.’ I swell with pride at this and the trousers suddenly seem like a trifling matter compared to Edwin’s sparkling personality.
‘So how was your day with Joe on Saturday?’ I ask. ‘You two never seem to be apart these days.’
She gets this slightly reluctant look, like she always does when I ask about her blossoming relationship. ‘Great. He’s lovely.’
‘Are you two getting serious?’
She looks around and whispers, ‘Could be. Right, let’s get some drinks and go and initiate your lovely Edwin into this madness.’
Edwin is in Lulu’s beginners’ group and, as I’ve brought him here, I get special dispensation from Marion to join him initially.
There are just three beginners and we’re confined to a corner of the restaurant, which is a little lacking in atmosphere but has the benefit of privacy – a bonus when you’re starting out. It’s obvious that Edwin is keen to do his best. I’ve always admired this quality in him; he could never be accused of failing to give something everything he’s got.
So we begin with the basic steps, just like on the first day we arrived. Lulu talks us through it slowly, demonstrating where Edwin’s feet need to be. And even though it’s not really been that long since I started, it all feels very elementary. I have to remind myself that I found this far from simple on my first lesson.
‘Why don’t we use Lauren and Edwin as our guinea pigs?’ Lulu suggests, leading Edwin by the hand and inviting me to stand opposite. I lift my head and catch his eye as our fingers touch. It’s one of those moments I’ve dreamed of since I first started this class – one that, deep down, I never thought would happen. Yet, I feel surprisingly un-flustered.
Edwin has the hint of a smile on his lips as Lulu instructs him to step back with his right foot, putting the weight on to that side of his body. It’s the simplest move there is; it barely even counts as a dance step – it’s just a step.
Yet when she counts, ‘two three four’ and he’s supposed to put his right foot behind
him, he unfortunately – somehow – uses his left instead and his knee jabs into mine.
We laugh awkwardly. ‘Sorry, Lauren,’ he says. ‘I did warn you.’
So we repeat the exercise.
And the same thing happens.
Then we do it again – and something else, equally wrong, happens.
After the ninth or so time, it occurs to me that Edwin might be either stoned, or playing some elaborate joke on me. But he’s not laughing. In fact, he couldn’t look less amused about the whole thing if he tried. He glares at his feet as if they’re two disobedient children who absolutely refuse to do as they’re told.
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ I say gently. ‘You’ll get it.’
Despite the less than promising start, I’m confident as I say these words. Because to not get it is unprecedented; even Mike managed this bit. Yet, as the evening progresses and Edwin goes through innumerable attempts – and still fails simply to move his right leg back by six inches when instructed – I do start to wonder.
It doesn’t seem to matter if he’s with me, or Lulu or another partner – he just cannot master it without falling to pieces. Throughout this entire uncomfortable episode, I keep telling myself: Oh, but at least we can laugh! Only it turns out we can’t.
The good grace with which I’d always associated Edwin is nowhere to be seen. He gets crosser and crosser – at this situation, at life in general and, as I discover when it’s my turn to be his partner for the fourth time – at Lulu, who he has convinced himself is responsible for the entire fiasco.
‘She’s so bloody bossy,’ he hisses into my ear, when she’s helping one of the other students get into position.
I couldn’t be more ready for the break.
While Edwin retreats to the gents, I grab a Diet Coke and stand to watch the improvers’ class finishing their turns. The music softens and my eyes drift on to Joe, dancing with Marion.
It’s impossible not to notice how handsome he looks tonight, in the simplest of long-sleeved T-shirts and jeans slung low on his muscular hips. He’s got one of those faces that demand to be looked at: not simply attractive, but beautiful, with playful eyes and a Brando-esque definition to the jaw.
I’ve noticed all this before. But tonight it unleashes a throb of pleasure inside me. It’s almost a relief when Edwin returns and I can focus on reassuring him that it probably is just the lighting in here that’s putting him off.
When the lesson resumes, Lulu announces that we’re going to try a basic right turn – to which Edwin responds by diving in front of me and gripping my hand. ‘I don’t like being anyone else’s dance partner,’ he grins. ‘You’re the only one who’ll tolerate me.’
I laugh as he pulls back. But as the evening draws on and Edwin’s assault on my toes continues, I become aware of my attention drifting. And the fact that I keep thinking about Joe on the other side of the room disturbs me more than I can tell you.
I take my last mouthful of margarita as Lulu draws a line under the beginners’ class – and when I realise that Joe and Emily are by our side, I feel my neck grow hotter.
‘Welcome to salsa, I’m Joe,’ he says, extending a hand to Edwin. ‘We didn’t get introduced earlier.’
‘Edwin.’
They shake hands, but Edwin is significantly less buoyant than he was before the class started.
‘Did you enjoy your first lesson?’ Emily asks brightly.
Edwin forces a smile. ‘It’s safe to say I won’t be coming again.’
Logically I know that I can’t be held responsible for Edwin having a shit time of it, but I still feel as though I am.
‘I don’t think Lauren would want me, for a start,’ he adds.
‘Oh, that’s not true,’ I leap in, wondering how or why this man, with whom I’ve been in love for two years, needs me to beg him to come to the next class.
‘It does take a bit of practice,’ Joe reassures him. ‘We were all awful when we first got here. The first time I danced with Lauren, her shins were black and blue.’
‘Yes, you were absolutely dreadful,’ I reply, unable to resist the tease, even though the truth is we at least were able to move together, unlike whatever happened tonight with me and Edwin. Only, when he laughs and our eyes connect, I realise, in this sixth-of-a-second moment, that my stomach is twisting.
I stop laughing and look firmly at Em. ‘Would you two like to join us for a drink?’ The words spill out before I can stop them; I don’t even want Joe and Emily to come with us. All I wanted at the start of the night was to end up in a cosy pub with Edwin whispering sweet nothings into my ear while I smudged my lipstick on his ruffled shirt.
‘Sorry, I can’t,’ Emily replies quickly. ‘I need an early night. Big day of bouldering tomorrow.’
‘Ouch,’ I say.
Everyone looks at Joe, apart from me. I look at the floor, my heart thudding wildly as he considers his options.
‘I’ll pass, I think. I’m going to be on site at the hotel early tomorrow too. But you two have a great evening.’
Chapter 29
After a quick drink in the Royal Oak, Edwin drives me home. And through a combination of incessant babbling and complimenting him repeatedly on his trousers, I somehow manage to cheer him up. As a result of which, the car is filled with unspoken promise – and a big question mark over what is going to happen when we reach my house.
‘Would you mind if I stop off at the garage to fill up?’ Edwin asks. ‘I won’t get home otherwise.’
‘No problem,’ I reply.
As he steps out into the floodlit forecourt I look at his face in the wing mirror while he removes the petrol cap and starts filling it up. It’s a harsh light, but he’s still handsome. I idly watch him replace the pump as a small tingle of possibility warms through me.
I lean back and consider whether I could seduce Edwin tonight. Whether I should throw caution to the wind, invite him in to sample my Molton Brown handwash and make myself irresistible to him. A knock on the window nearly makes me leap out of my seat.
‘Fancy some crisps?’ he shouts through the window. ‘I’m getting some prawn cocktail ones for myself.’
I shake my head. ‘I’ll pass.’
He smiles and a swoop of affection dances through me, as a sentence bubbles at my lips.
I must not think about Joe. I must not think about Joe.
Then –
Why the hell am I even thinking about not thinking about Joe?
My eyelashes flutter open to see Edwin join the end of a queue inside the shop. Deciding to take the opportunity to top up my lipstick, I unstrap my seat belt and kneel up to lean into the back seat to retrieve my bag, where I threw it when we first got in.
I’m on my hands and knees, my bottom on display through the windscreen, when I hear the click of Edwin’s central locking. This wouldn’t be an issue if it didn’t also occur to me that he’s activated the alarm at the same time.
I don’t even get a chance to work out why he’s locked me in: my mind is too busy fretting about how I’m going to get myself from my hands and knees, doggy-style, without setting off the alarm. I glance out of the window to see a woman in her late thirties pausing to peer in at me. I smile. She looks away and dashes to her car, clearly bewildered as to why a grown woman is undertaking a pilates class while poised over the handbrake of a mid-range Polo.
I am about to start panicking when the lock clicks off. I scramble back in the direction of my seat and am a foot away and positioned like an Egyptian hieroglyphic, when the alarm clicks on again. I freeze.
I dart my eyes in the direction of the garage shop and spot Edwin, fiddling with his car key and entirely oblivious to the fact that he’s pressing it on and off.
A click interrupts my thoughts. I scramble into the passenger seat. Only it happens so fast, the contents of my bag spill out into the footwell.
I decide to sit it out and remain completely immobile until he’s back. Then I glance down and realise that, not only hav
e all my credit cards, loyalty cards, tissues, lip balm and any other number of items hit the deck, but there is also, right on the top, a tube of athlete’s foot cream.
Edwin and I might have grown close over the last two years, but when I am teetering on the possibility of a seduction, shoving my fungal infection cream in his face is a step too far. I move forward – an inch – before the locks click back. I freeze. They click again and I repeat the exercise. This time, I make it a foot – before the click happens again.
Over the next minute I find myself edging forward between clicks, like someone attempting ‘The Robot’ after just coming out of a twenty-year cryogenic freeze.
I am finally poised in the footwell, frantically gathering up my cards and podiatry essentials, when the car door opens and Edwin appears.
‘I took the liberty,’ he grins.
‘Oh?’ I say, realising as I sit up and attempt to look composed that I have beads of sweat gathered on my brow.
‘Wotsits,’ he replies, chucking a pack on my lap. ‘I didn’t think you’d be able to resist.’
In the event, I do resist. Largely because, having successfully negotiated this evening without revealing any unsavoury podiatry disorders to Edwin, one thing is uppermost on my mind. Namely, whether after a two-year absence from any conjugal action whatsoever, it might be about to happen: I might get jiggy with him. Hell, I want to. I’m certainly not going to let any odd, short-lived thoughts about Joe throw things off-course.
I am contemplating a subtle way of asking him in ‘for a coffee’ as he pulls up outside my house. The key with Edwin, I’m absolutely certain, is not being too obvious. And ‘coffee’ could not be more obvious if I was holding up a big neon sign saying, ‘Any chance of some sex, please?’
‘So,’ he says, switching off the ignition, before turning to me with a bright, wide-eyed look. ‘Shall I come in for a coffee?’
The question leaves me momentarily speechless. ‘Of . . . of course.’
He looks alarmed. ‘Sorry Lauren. That was so presumptuous of me.’
‘No, Edwin – it wasn’t,’ I leap in. ‘I just . . . of course, come in!’
Summer Nights at the Moonlight Hotel Page 16
