The Summer Without You

by Karen Swan

  ‘I’ll be back in five.’

  Her shadow left the floor and Hump stared across the room at Ro. ‘That’s why she came in? For a coffee run?’

  ‘Well, obviously for the great pleasure of making you eat your words too.’ Ro shrugged, turning back to the video screen and clicking out of the Connors’ baby videos. She really wasn’t in the mood for it today, and besides, she had another deadline to fulfil first. She retrieved Saturday’s wedding footage and booted it up. With her chin resting on cupped hands, she moved on from watching the first day of Ella’s life to the first day of the rest of Paul and Lauren’s lives. The irony wasn’t lost on her that her own life was firmly stuck on pause.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Matt, you have to come home. This isn’t working.’ She hiccupped loudly, the phone clamped to her ear, and slid a little further down the pillow.

  ‘And what’s the point of that? You’re not at home.’

  ‘Be here, then – you know what I mean.’

  ‘What, and crash the party?’

  ‘It’s not a party here. It’s just boring old life.’

  ‘That’s not what Facebook’s telling me. Your housemate keeps tagging you in photos – a cocktail party at a winery and a wedding last weekend. It doesn’t sound very boring to me.’

  ‘Ugh!’ she cried in exasperation. ‘It’s not like that. Everyone’s lovely. I’m perfectly content. I’m not crying myself to sleep at night. It’s just—’

  ‘You’re crying right now.’

  She gave a dejected sniff. ‘That’s because I’m talking to you.’

  ‘Thanks!’

  ‘No! You know what I mean. Stop twisting things. I’m crying with you because I hear your voice and I miss you so much. Don’t you miss me? Don’t you want to be with me?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Pause. ‘Look, we said from the beginning this wasn’t going to be easy.’

  ‘Matt, I am literally counting down the days till my life goes back to being my life again. I’m like a prisoner marking time on the wall. And besides, I never said anything of the sort. You were the one with all your theories about how amazing this was going to make us. I don’t feel very amazing, do you? I haven’t had sex in over two months, for God’s sake. And I’m living with the biggest shagger on the East Coast. Hump by name, Hump by nature,’ she mumbled.

  ‘He hasn’t tried anything on with you, has he?’

  Ro felt gratified to hear the worry in his voice. ‘Of course not. I’m the little sister he never had.’

  ‘Good. I wouldn’t want to have to fly out there and beat him to a pulp.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ She stopped. ‘Why? Would you?’ There was an idea.

  ‘Only if I genuinely believed you were in danger of being seduced,’ he laughed, reading her mind even from nearly 9,000 miles away. ‘You’re not still wearing my clothes, are you?’

  ‘. . . No, of course not.’

  ‘Ro! You are an abysmal liar. They must look bloody awful on you.’

  ‘You’ve clearly been talking to Bobbi,’ she said sulkily. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she somehow found a way to make contact with you in a Cambodian temple just to discuss my dress sense and hair.’

  ‘How is the hair?’

  ‘Disobedient.’ She raised a hand to it to rake it back and her fingers got stuck. ‘Tch.’

  ‘Do you know what? It’s the bane of your life. Just cut it off.’

  ‘What? Just like that? Ha! I don’t think so. Setting off round the world with two days’ notice is one thing. Cutting a woman’s hair is a whole other ball park.’

  ‘I’ve shaved mine off.’

  There was a long, crackly pause. ‘When you say shaved, you mean . . .’

  ‘Bald, yeah.’

  ‘You’re bald!’ she screeched. ‘Matt, are you bloody nuts?’

  ‘It’s so much cooler – the humidity’s a killer out here. I think it looks OK, actually. I never knew I had a good-shaped head. And it feels nice. I like running my hands over it.’

  ‘Stop it, stop it! I’m imagining your head as some sort of chicken’s egg. Oh my God, it looks bloody awful, I bet. That’s why you haven’t Skyped. You don’t want me to see you.’

  ‘No. The reception is too patchy – there’s not enough bandwidth, that’s all . . . Seriously, Ro, you should try it. Put yourself out there.’

  ‘Me? Bald? Frying pan to fire, no?’

  ‘Not bald. Just have a radical cut. What’s the worst that can happen? If you don’t like it, let it grow out again. By the time I see you in September, it’ll be almost back to how you’ve got it now. I’ll grow mine back out for you.’

  ‘I’m supposed to feel better talking to you. Instead I feel worse.’

  ‘I’m sorry, baby.’

  Baby. She fell quiet. ‘. . . Are we going to have a baby one day?’

  ‘Wha— Of course we will,’ Matt replied, sounding taken aback. He laughed – nervously. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘Nowhere.’ Where had it come from? ‘I was just . . . wondering if it’s in the Plan. I guess I feel like everybody gets to just do their lives, whereas ours has to be mapped and plotted and planned beforehand.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with taking active control of our own lives, Ro. Look around you – most people are just drifting. They wouldn’t know a life plan if it hit them in the face. There’s nothing wrong with articulating your goals and ambitions, and organizing your life to make them happen.’

  She counted to five. ‘No. I s’pose not.’

  ‘You could sound a little more enthused.’

  ‘I’m just sleepy. It’s only six thirty here.’

  ‘Sorry I woke you. I really wanted to hear your voice.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Of course. Look, I know it sucks at the moment, but I guess this is the low we have to go through to get the high when we’re back together. I’m missing you like mad.’

  She smiled, delighted and appeased, cheered up that he was miserable too. ‘How many days left?’

  ‘Ninety.’

  Ro gasped. ‘Oh my God, I’m so excited.’

  There was a pause. ‘How excited?’

  Ro grinned, hearing the shift in his voice. ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You’re where?’ Bobbi demanded.

  ‘Downstairs. In the lobby.’ Ro smiled, leaning against the wall. She had been in a good mood for the three days since Matt’s call, reinvigorated to the extent that she’d finished editing the wedding film a day before she’d anticipated and had decided to give herself a day off. She had started by going early morning kayaking with Hump before he’d dropped her at the Jitney stop.

  Bobbi didn’t bother to reply. The line disconnected, and several minutes later, she was stalking towards her in four-inch heels and a magenta Roland Mouret dress, a look of utter disbelief across her face. ‘What’s happened? Just tell me.’ She looked genuinely worried.

  Ro laughed, amused by her housemate’s melodramatics. Her life really was lived at a higher level. ‘I just wondered if you fancied lunch.’

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You came all the way in from East Hampton for lunch?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be in the studio? What if you get a customer?’

  ‘Hump’s there all day today. He’s going to look after anybody who stops by, but on the strength of how things have been, I’m not too worried.’

  ‘Ha!’ Bobbi rolled her eyes. ‘Just wait till next week. You’ll look back on this as a honeymoon period. The schools will be out, everyone will be there full-time, and you’ll be mobbed.’

  Ro shrugged again. The scale of Ted Connor’s commission alone was going to keep her busy for weeks. ‘So . . . are you free for lunch?’

  Bobbi took a step back, scrutinizing Ro’s outfit: a pair of boyfriend jeans, her green suede hi-tops and Matt’s favourite khaki T-shirt, which she’d pulled from the top of his bag before he’d l
eft for Heathrow. Her eyes narrowed and that scary look of deep, dark intensity clouded her face. ‘Not for lunch, no.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ro shifted her weight, surprised by how disappointed she felt. She should have known better than to try being spontaneous. Like skinny leather trousers or straightened hair, it just didn’t suit her. ‘Well, that’s OK. I thought you probably would have something booked in. I just thought I’d pop by on the off chance—’

  ‘No, no. I’m quite free. But if you’re in Manhattan for the day, there’s no way we’re wasting time eating. Wait here. I’ll get my bag.’

  ‘What are we doing if not going for lunch?’

  ‘What you should have done the second you landed in JFK,’ Bobbi called behind her, marching back to the lifts.

  Got on the next plane home? Ro wondered.

  ‘We’re going shopping. You can consider yourself officially kidnapped. You’re not going free till I say you’re done,’ Bobbi called in a raised voice, making everyone turn and stare, her finger pointed accusingly at Ro.

  Ro nodded, mute with apprehension. A full-on kidnapping? She watched the lift doors close and wondered whether to make a break for it while she still could. But there was no point – she wouldn’t put it past Bobbi to give her a makeover in her sleep. Instead, she sank into one of the high-shine black bucket seats reserved for guests and quietly awaited her fate. The Bobbi in her head was always so much gentler than the reality.

  ‘It’s looking good. I like it, I like it. You like it?’ Bobbi asked, popping more sushi into her mouth as the manicurist efficiently buffed her nails into short squares.

  Ro wanted to nod but didn’t dare. The hairstylist was wielding long, extremely sharp scissors next to her jaw, an alarming prospect not because of prospective injury but the fact that Ro’s jawline was a full six inches above the point where her hair normally fell to. She gave a double blink in the affirmative instead.

  She was grateful to be sitting down at last. By her feet were several laminated shopping bags containing two pairs of skinny jeans (with a lot of Lycra in them), one yoga ensemble (pale olive leggings with matching vest and neon-orange trim), several T-shirts, a striped sailor top (she had never dared try stripes over her curves before, worried she’d look like jelly wrapped in a barcode), a pair of suede wedges (the only thing Bobbi had compromised on, agreeing with Ro’s assessment that she walked in heels like she had rickets) and a ruby-coloured sequin dress with a plunging V-neck and back split. Ro was privately convinced the only place she could wear a dress like that was on stage in Bangkok, but she had obediently handed over her credit card to the sales assistant anyway.

  The manicurist working on Ro’s left hand began painting her nails a soft coral colour that Bobbi had chosen.

  ‘So, I’ll be honest with you, I thought you were gonna be a whole lot harder work than that,’ Bobbi said, drinking her coconut water. ‘But you were surprisingly obedient.’

  Ro resisted the urge to shrug – fearful of jogging the scissors any higher than they already were. ‘I guess I’m just feeling more positive about things now that Matt and I are just past the halfway mark. We’re on the countdown and I finally feel ready to have some fun. It’s like the end is almost in sight.’

  ‘The end? But summer’s only just beginning. We haven’t even had Fourth of July yet.’ She winked and patted Ro’s hand. ‘Just you wait till you see how that goes down. You won’t ever wanna go home.’

  Bobbi threw herself back in her chair – to the alarm of her manicurist, who found herself painting a plastic tray in lieu of her hand – and watched as the hairdresser lopped another six inches off Ro’s hair. ‘I didn’t think you’d buy into this bit at all.’

  ‘This is nothing.’ Ro arched an eyebrow and swivelled her eyes to the side to see Bobbi. ‘Matt’s shaved his head – did I tell you that?’

  Bobbi pulled a face.

  ‘Yeah, exactly,’ Ro laughed. ‘That’s what I said. I keep trying to imagine what he looks like but – oh, surprise, surprise – suddenly, he can’t Skype me, he has to call me.’ She thought back to the phone call and how well it had ended. A small smile lit up her eyes. ‘Anyway, he says I have to put myself out there. So that’s what I’m doing. Having a trim.’

  ‘This ain’t no trim,’ Bobbi guffawed, smacking Ro’s thigh.

  Ro bit her lip. ‘No. Maybe not.’ She watched as another loose curl fell to the floor, then studied her new reflection, noticing for the first time she’d actually got a bit of a tan. Were those freckles on her nose? ‘Anyway, how come you’ve been able to just skip out of work to do this with me? We’ve been out for three hours now. Don’t you have to get back?’

  The hairstylist took Ro’s head in his hands and angled her to look at the far wall – but not before Ro saw Bobbi’s face fall. ‘Things always quieten down this time of year. It’s fine. Half the office is on the four p.m. Jitney anyway. There’s nothing going on that needs me back there urgently.’

  ‘Oh, cool,’ Ro murmured, but she wasn’t convinced. She just about knew Bobbi well enough now to read nuance in her housemate’s full-throttle approach and she heard the distinct undertones of pride bristling.

  The sound of the hairdryer drowned out any further conversation and they sat in silence, Bobbi distractedly watching her nails being painted as the stylist began tousling Ro’s hair with his fingers. Ro tried to read her horoscopes but didn’t understand what ‘Mercury Retrograde’ actually meant. After a while, the hairstylist pushed the hairdryer between his knees and started snipping at stray hairs around the nape of her neck.

  ‘So then if things are quiet at work, why don’t you come out this weekend?’ Ro asked, picking up their conversation where they’d left it.

  Bobbi looked up at her from below her lashes. ‘I don’t think Hump would be too pleased. I’ve already gate-crashed one of my “off” weekends.’

  ‘I don’t see why not. You gave him tickets to that party as a trade-off, and he did strike it lucky that night, I seem to recall. I doubt he’s going to insist on keeping to the letter of the law on your contract. He’s far too chilled. And what’s the point of your room just sitting there empty?’ She leaned towards Bobbi slightly. ‘The house isn’t the same without you.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Bobbi straightened up, her eagerness almost puppy-like. ‘What’s it like there in the week?’

  ‘Quiet. Mellow. Hump and I just flop on the sofa with a film, or drink a beer on the porch – except for when he gets lucky, of course. And on the weekends when Greg’s around—’

  ‘Let me guess: he’s never around?’

  Ro laughed. ‘Yeah. Exactly. Most of the time it’s just me and Hump – we go kayaking, hang out at the Surf Lodge if there’s a band playing . . . He’s even helped me do seed-bombing some evenings.’

  ‘Oh, don’t get me started—’

  ‘I’m not going to!’ Ro replied quickly, holding up her hands.

  ‘It sounds like you got a good thing going with your yoga classes every morning too.’

  ‘Yes, although I’ve missed a few recently. Now that I’m working again, it’s harder to take the time off. It’s a shame because I enjoy them . . . well, need them, actually.’

  ‘What? You mean for your glutes?’

  Ro smiled; she was becoming inured to Bobbi’s bluntness. ‘The classes are the only thing that make me still feel connected to Matt. Sometimes I think the meditation is almost medication: it keeps me going, you know? It’s so hard to be this far apart for this long, with hardly any contact.’

  ‘Right, yeah. I can’t even imagine. So you’re definitely gonna marry him, then? Matt.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Why afraid?’

  ‘Well, I know you must think I’m really dull and unexciting to have my future so clearly mapped out.’

  ‘I admit it’s kind of weird for someone like me who can’t even see past lunch, but I figure there must be upsides to it . . .’ She swished her mouth to the side. ‘I suppose you got your dr
ess picked out and everything?’

  ‘No, none of that. I’ve never been much into that side of it. It’s not the wedding bit; God knows I’ve covered enough of those to lose that romance. I just . . .’ She sighed. ‘I just can’t wait to be Mrs Matthew Martin. I know it sounds soppy,’ she said, shaking her head and making the stylist huff. ‘I do. I hear myself and I want to gag . . .’ She looked across at Bobbi, knowing she must sound insufferable. ‘I honestly can’t believe someone like you is single, though.’

  ‘Believe it.’ Bobbi shrugged, inspecting the colour of her nails.

  ‘But there must be someone you’re keen on?’

  Greg’s name hung in the air and they both knew it. Bobbi’s eyes fleetingly met hers. ‘I really can’t afford to be distracted by a relationship right now. This is my year to make partner. I’ve got to put all my energies into that conversion.’

  She straightened up suddenly as the hairstylist grabbed a handheld mirror and angled it behind Ro’s head to give her a 360-degree view. ‘Oh, baby, take a look at you.’

  Ro chewed on her knuckles as the stylist slowly rotated the mirror, showing her the choppy bob he had not so much cut as carved into her hair. From root to tip it could only be nine inches long, but the gentle curls that turned to frizz at ten inches onwards looked silky and textured, her neck slim and elegant. She realized she had never once, in her life, noticed her neck before, just as Matt had said he’d never noticed the shape of his own head. Even her eyes seemed defined by having the hair cut around her face rather than hanging beside it like a bagged pheasant.

  ‘Look at me,’ Bobbi ordered, and Ro turned, striking a jokily saucy pose – one eye winking, her mouth open – as she correctly anticipated Bobbi’s phone camera pointed at her. A flattering photo for once!

  ‘Watch out, East Hampton!’ Bobbi giggled, letting out a small whoop and pinging it straight to Facebook. ‘Summer just got hotter.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  09/01/2010

  18h24

  ‘Listen to this.’ Ted. Whispering. Dark hallway, door jamb. Door is pushed open gently.