Hannah herself was exhausted, yet felt wide awake. She’d made up a bed for herself on the floor with a sleeping bag and a spare pillow. As she tried to get comfy, Molly’s revelations whirled round and round in her head as she tried to find a solution. As well as that, she was beginning to feel butterflies over her impending operation. She shut her eyes but her brain was whizzing at a million miles an hour, leaping from one subject to the next. She decided she’d go to the kitchen and make herself some hot milk to help her sleep.
Frank was standing at the sink drinking a glass of water, wearing nothing but a pair of white boxer shorts. His back was a mass of scratches.
‘What have you done to your back?’ Hannah was horrified.
‘I got thrown off my surfboard,’ Frank replied quickly. ‘Should have had my wetsuit on.’
Hannah looked at the marks doubtfully. They looked like nail marks to her.
‘You should put some antiseptic on. You don’t want them going nasty.’
She went over to the first-aid box and pulled out a tube of Savlon.
‘Come here. Turn round.’
Frank turned his back to her obediently as she squeezed out some of the soothing cream and rubbed it gently into his skin. It was like running her hands over a sculpture, the muscles chiselled out by a master craftsman. She could feel each sinew, each tendon, each knot under her fingers. Each scratch was like a blemish on a marble statue. It was sacrilege. This must be Caragh’s handiwork, thought Hannah. How could she inflict such damage upon him? How could she want to rip apart his smooth golden skin? If he was hers, thought Hannah, she would want to kiss and caress every glorious inch of him.
Frank gave a little groan of appreciation.
‘That feels great. Don’t stop.’
‘Why do you let her do it?’
Immediately she felt Frank’s muscles tense underneath her fingertips.
‘Who? What?’
‘Caragh. Why do you let her hurt you?’
Frank moved away from her suddenly.
‘I told you. I fell off my surfboard. Thanks for the cream. I’ll… see you tomorrow.’
He strode out of the room. Hannah watched after him longingly, admiring his broad shoulders, his slender waist. He deserved to be worshipped, not mauled.
Victoria stood at the water’s edge, her trousers rolled up to her knees, her shoes in her hand. She wondered about walking in. Walking and walking and walking until the waves closed over her head. Someone had once told her drowning wasn’t all that painful; that once you had made up your mind to succumb…
She kicked at the water petulantly. Who was she trying to kid, making some kind of melodramatic gesture? For a start, she was too much of a coward. Secondly, she didn’t like the thought of a bloated corpse. And thirdly, she thought self-pityingly, who would the gesture be for? Who would care?
Actually, she couldn’t afford the luxury of the last objection, because obviously Mimi would care. Very much. Which was why her mawkish wallowing was totally pointless. And there was a fourth snag, which was that her three-hundred pound Nicole Farhi linen trousers wouldn’t take kindly to sea water, and if she failed in her bid to drown herself she would have ruined one of the key items in her wardrobe, and she couldn’t afford to abuse her garments any longer. Once a red-wine stain or a tiny tear would have meant relegation to the bin or the charity shop. Now she was having to manage her wardrobe.
She reflected that in the few weeks she had been in Mariscombe she had changed. She admitted to herself that subconsciously she had arrived with all intentions of wooing George back. The moment she set eyes on him she knew it was within her powers. But as the days evolved, she realized that it would be wrong, that to manipulate things to her own ends might have meant her getting her own way, but it would have been no guarantee of happiness. Not her own, not George’s – and certainly not Lisa’s.
Victoria had gone from being dismissive of Lisa, regarding her as a minor inconvenience to be disposed of, to admiring her very much. And she didn’t mind admitting that she was envious of Lisa’s sunny nature, her ability to get people to do things for her by being nice – Lisa would never be manipulative like Victoria, or throw a complete tantrum if things didn’t go her way. She could, she decided, do worse than take a leaf out of Lisa’s book in future.
She sighed. Resolutions were all very well, but she was frightened. Frightened of a future where she had only herself to depend on, frightened of rebuilding a relationship with her parents – that was going to be weird. But in a funny way she was looking forward to it. She had been amazed when her mother had acquiesced almost immediately. Why, after all these years, were she and Mimi suddenly welcome? Perhaps it was because her mother and father were getting older and realizing their mortality, realizing they had a chance to rectify mistakes before it was too late?
Too late. Victoria gazed at the moon dancing on the water and hoped that she hadn’t left it too late, to rebuild a life for herself and Mimi that wasn’t based on self-gratification and cheap thrills. She wanted, desperately, a life that meant something. Watching George and Lisa tonight had taught her a huge lesson. They had built something together, they had had a dream and made it reality because of the strength of their convictions and their belief in each other. Which was why they had everything and she had… nothing. Her entire life up until now had been superficial, meaningless and destructive.
She turned and looked back at Bruno’s house. She’d been clutching at straws earlier that evening, hoping for one wild moment that he might be the answer, that he might give her the chance to stay in Mariscombe. But she realized now that she had to make her own way. Victoria was keenly aware that it wasn’t just a question of pin-pointing where she had gone wrong up until now – she had a long and painful journey ahead of her.
She breathed the salty night air in deeply, summoning up her strength, trying to fill herself with hope rather than fear, anticipation rather than dread. It was going to be all right, she promised herself. She had her parents, she had Mimi, she still had her skills and talents – tonight’s success had reassured her of that. She would survive.
There was only one tiny thing niggling at her, a minute worry in the back of her mind, but she batted it away. It would probably come to nothing and if it did – well, she had dealt with it before and she could deal with it again.
Frank slipped quietly back into his bedroom, hoping against hope that Caragh had somehow exhausted herself and fallen asleep. But no. She was lying there on his bed, in black rubber hot pants, and the look in her eyes did not spell respite. Frank sighed inwardly. What the hell did he have to do to satisfy this woman?
He thought back to that moment in the kitchen while Hannah gently massaged him. He realized that was what he missed. A sense of being cared for. No matter how much Caragh needed him, she didn’t care for him, he was certain of it. Suddenly, he found he craved a simple, loving kiss; a gesture that indicated some sort of mutual trust.
But as Caragh rolled on to her side and produced a tiny vial of amyl nitrate, he decided he might as well give up all hope. He had to admit to himself that he was hooked. Despite himself, he was fascinated by every perversion that Caragh thought up. His heart skipped a beat as she took off the lid. What now? he wondered. What now?
As Bruno went to close the veranda door before going to bed, he saw Victoria standing on the beach in the moonlight, looking out at the ocean. She looked so still and small and alone; he could sense her dejection even from a distance. For a moment he felt a trickle of fear. Had he misjudged the effect his rejection had had on her? He knew bloody well what a magical pull the sea had when you were feeling down and alone. Almost as strong as the lift it could give you when the sun was bright and your spirits were high. People often underestimated the power it had on your mood. They didn’t always appreciate that it could evoke melancholy as well as euphoria.
He put his hand on the door handle, about to rush down the steps and reassure her, when she turned and walked
back along the beach. Her shoulders were back, her head was high and she was swinging her shoes in her hand – she seemed carefree and confident. Relieved, Bruno turned the key in the lock.
Minutes later, as he slid between the sheets, he felt glad that he was alone. He knew for sure that he and Victoria could have shared a night of wild passion, that they were both equally in need of a no-strings fuck. But his gut had told him that it wouldn’t have been no-strings, that something wasn’t quite right. Was it something in her or in him that had set off a warning signal?
As he drifted off to sleep, he told himself not to kid himself. He knew precisely why he’d brought Victoria back. She was a displacement, a knee-jerk reaction, an antidote to the rather ungentlemanly envy he had felt when George had proposed to Lisa, and she had accepted…
*
George and Lisa lay on the cushions in the little summer-house that perched at the end of the garden overlooking the cliff. A bottle of champagne and two glasses sat on the floor beside them.
‘I’m just sorry I didn’t have a ring.’ George was anxious, realizing his faux pas.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Lisa reassured him. ‘It’s only a bit of old metal. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘That’s not what most women think. Most women look upon the engagement ring as an exact measure of how much they are loved.’ George knew this from experience.
‘Well, maybe I’m not most women.’ Lisa lay back on the cushions. She looked amazing, her hair wild and unruly, her eyes sparkling.
She’d decided not to say anything just yet. It seemed rather unkind, to tell him straightaway that she had merely stage-managed her acceptance, that she had no intention of marrying him. There would be plenty of time for them to discuss their future together more seriously, once they had come down from the high of the evening. The euphoria of its success was making her blood fizz in her veins. She stretched her arms over her head, her full lips curled upwards in a wicked, teasing smile of invitation. George needed no further encouragement. He leaned over and undid the clasp at the back of her neck, gently sliding the silk fabric down to reveal her breasts. He clasped one in each hand and caressed them with his lips, wondering for the millionth time how such softness could feel so firm. His tongue flickered over a nipple and she sighed as he feasted on her.
He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, pushing aside the flimsy lace of her knickers, probing with his thumb. She was as soft as he was hard. As quickly as he could he kicked off his trousers, chucking them carelessly to one side. By now they were kissing. She took his cock in her hand, using it to massage the tip of her clitoris as he knelt between her legs. He had to bite on his lip to stop himself from coming at the sight of her arousal. Just when he thought he could bear it no more, she pushed him down on to the cushions and slid herself on to him, thrusting him deep inside her, then slowly pulling herself up his entire length, teasing herself as well as him.
‘Oh my God,’ she gasped. ‘Make it last forever, George. Make it last forever.’
George looked up at her, her head thrown back, her breasts silhouetted against the sky, her curls tumbling over her shoulders, and wished fervently that he could. The two of them fell back together on the cushions, limbs entwined, kissing passionately as the cool night air caressed their limbs.
Neither of them noticed Victoria emerge from the top of the cliff path, slip silently past the summerhouse and in through the French windows.
18
The next morning, Molly awoke with a start, bathed in sweat, her heart hammering. Alfie was snuggled up in the crook of her arm, dead to the world. It was his proximity that had made her so hot; the two of them were stuck together. Gently she edged away from him, anxious not to wake him just yet.
She looked around the room, confused for a moment, then the memory of last night came back to her as she saw Hannah curled up on the floor in a sleeping bag. She sat on the edge of the bed. She could just about make out the hands of Hannah’s watch on her wrist – it was quarter past five. Outside it was dawn, the already blue sky signalling yet another beautiful day. But Molly didn’t have time to admire the weather. She had decisions to make, and fast.
Why the hell had she broken down like that last night and told Hannah everything? It had been a huge, huge mistake, Molly decided now. The momentary relief of sharing the truth, of finally confessing, wasn’t worth the panic she was now feeling. The secret she had kept for so long was out. And she couldn’t get it back in. You couldn’t untell a secret.
Not that Molly didn’t trust Hannah. She would never have confided in her if she hadn’t. But she’d let her guard down now. Confiding in Hannah meant she was vulnerable. And Hannah had been so adamant that she should tell Bruno that Molly was no longer sure of herself. If she stayed any longer, she feared that she would succumb to Hannah’s persuasions, that she might be tempted to confess all to the Thornes and throw herself on their mercy. And then she would no longer be in control.
No, she decided as she pulled on her jeans as quietly as she could. Life would be much easier if it was just her and Alfie. She wasn’t going to be compromised, no matter how tempting it was. Hannah had painted a very inviting picture of life in the bosom of the Thorne family, and Molly couldn’t pretend that there hadn’t been several moments when she’d nearly capitulated.
But now, in the cold light of dawn, after a night’s sleep, she had made up her mind. She’d go and find Skyla. She knew there would be a warm welcome for them, and although the alternative scene wasn’t really Molly’s bag, she had always admired their sense of sharing, their acceptance of personal circumstances, the fact they didn’t judge… She smiled to herself. She could do dreadlocks and rainbow clothes if she had to. And Alfie would love it, though she thought he might struggle with rice cakes.
She checked her bag for Zen’s wad of cash, only allowing herself a moment to wonder if he and Siobhan had been raided, if they’d woken up and realized she’d done a runner, if they knew the money was missing. She’d turned her phone off the night before, in case anyone had tried to contact her. She didn’t really need it now, she mused. She wasn’t going to let Alfie leave her side.
She scooped the little boy up in her arms. He was still fast asleep, for it had been quite late before he’d settled again, and he liked his twelve hours – thank goodness. She picked up the plastic carrier bag containing their things and sneaked out of the room. She was desperate for a pee, but she didn’t see how she could go without putting Alfie down and disturbing someone, so she decided to hold on until she’d reached neutral territory, where no one would question what on earth she was doing with a toddler in her arms.
She left the digs just in time, as she heard the first alarm trill at half past five. It must be for the breakfast staff, she decided. Eager guests could be known to be waiting at their tables at seven. She hurried along the sandy path that led through the trees around the outskirts of the grounds, coming out at the back of the town. She reckoned she might be able to hitch a lift to the coach station. It would be at least another hour before the bus started, but there were often people about at this early hour – crazy surfers who’d been to catch an early wave before work. Or people who’d been tempted to tag another day on to their holiday and were setting off home early.
Molly stood on the kerb and stuck out her thumb. The fresh air had woken Alfie up and he was looking round, rather dazed. At least with a baby in her arms people might take pity, and wouldn’t assume she was some drug-crazed lunatic about to hold them up with a knife. She kept her eyes steadfastly on the road out of Mariscombe, knowing that if she looked back and caught a glimpse of the sea she might change her mind. Mariscombe had always been her dream home, the place she would have loved to bring Alfie up, but it wasn’t meant to be and therefore she mustn’t look back.
Hannah came to at about half past seven. She struggled to wake, trying to filter through the various bits of information that were forming in her head. The first thing she remembered
was that today was the day of her operation. Which meant that this was officially the last day she would ever have a big nose. The thought made her smile to herself as she stretched sleepily.
Then she sat up with a start. Molly! Where was she? How on earth could she have forgotten last night’s bombshell, the bombshell that had kept her awake into the wee small hours worrying? That was why she was in a sleeping bag on the floor.
But her bed was empty. Molly and Alfie had gone.
Hannah scrambled to her feet and pulled open the curtains so she could see round the room. Their stuff had gone. There was no note. Which meant, Hannah realized with a sinking heart, that Molly wasn’t going to listen to her advice. She’d done a runner.
What time had they left, she wondered? She’d still been awake at half past three, and they were both sleeping soundly then. It had now gone half seven. Which meant she had to get her skates on. She had to be at the hospital for half nine and it would take over an hour for her to get there. She needed a shower – no breakfast, of course, because she would be having an anaesthetic later. Lucky she’d packed everything the night before. Even her clothes were ready.
But what about Molly? Where was she going? Had she decided to go back home, perhaps? Hannah thought not. She’d been pretty definite that yesterday had been the final straw. So where were she and Alfie…?
Hannah didn’t have time to worry about it now. She grabbed her towel and her sponge bag, cross with herself for not having set her alarm the night before. If she was late she might miss her consultation and then they might cancel the op… she couldn’t bear the thought. This was the day she’d been waiting for nearly all of her adult life, since the day her nose had chosen to keep growing and overshadow the rest of her features, since the day she’d become a freak, a laughing stock, the girl no man wanted to go near.
She leaped into the shower, turning it on to full blast, hoping that the early morning staff had left enough hot water. Even though she’d have a bathroom adjoining her hospital room, she wanted to be pristine when she arrived. She tipped up her shower gel, squeezed a generous blob into her hand and starting scrubbing.
Love on the Rocks Page 35
