Come Again

by Emlyn Rees

  I want to tell her that she can’t presume what my feelings are. I want to tell her to back off, that it’s none of her business. That I don’t need her to tell me that I’m lonely. But the truth is that I am lonely and I can feel my throat constricting. Amy cups her hand over mine.

  ‘So what happened with Matt?’ she asks.

  I tell her about the pub. ‘It was just a shag,’ I sigh. ‘Quite a good shag, actually. But I wasn’t really thinking about the consequences. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  ‘And then you went to Paris and met Laurent . . .’ she adds for me and nods in understanding. ‘Shitty, eh?’

  I nod. ‘Shitty. And now Matt’s gone all stalker on me. I can’t believe he’s here, Amy; I really can’t. I had such a shock back there.’

  ‘I think you made your feelings quite clear.’

  ‘I can’t believe he planned Jack’s stag do here. He’s done this deliberately. He’s set all this up . . . because of me.’

  Amy strokes my back as if to soothe away my panic. ‘Listen. You don’t know that for sure. Do you?’

  ‘It’s pretty obvious.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Matt seemed just as gobsmacked as you and I know him and Jack, he wouldn’t lie. And if Jack knew about it, he would have said something. You know what rent-a-gob’s like. He’s rubbish at keeping secrets. I really think it’s just a coincidence.’

  ‘It’s not,’ I wail.

  ‘It could be?’ She eyeballs me. ‘Couldn’t it?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Couldn’t it?’ she repeats. ‘Couldn’t it just be possible that Matt had the same idea as you for this weekend? I mean, I didn’t tell Jack that we were coming here and you didn’t tell Matt, did you?’

  I sigh and roll this around my head for a while. I don’t see how Matt could have found out.

  ‘OK, OK,’ I finally surrender when Amy doesn’t let up. ‘It could be a possibility.’

  ‘And if it is?’

  ‘Well if it is, I’ve just been horrible to Matt for no reason.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  We stay in silent contemplation for a while. I feel all jangled. I’m not sure if she’s on my side or not.

  ‘What shall I do, then?’ I ask.

  Amy wiggles her lips in thought. ‘There’s only one thing you can do. Be honest. Tell him you’re not interested and that you’re not looking for a relationship with him. Matt’s a big boy. He can cope.’

  I bury my head in my hands. The last thing I want to do is see Matt, let alone talk to him.

  ‘Thank God he doesn’t know about Laurent. That would really make things complicated.’

  ‘Don’t wimp out,’ says Amy sternly. ‘It’s the only thing that will salvage the situation. Otherwise this weekend will be appalling.’

  ‘It already is,’ I say. ‘The whole point was for us to have a girlie weekend and now that lot’s shown up, it’s all ruined.’

  ‘It’s not all ruined. Stop being such a killjoy.’

  ‘Oh, like you’re not going to want to be with Jack all night and Sam isn’t going to eat Stringer alive?’

  Amy rolls her eyes at me. ‘You can’t project what’s going to happen.’

  ‘I’ve got a fair idea,’ I sulk.

  Amy holds up her hands. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Look. If you talk to Matt and sort things out, I promise we’ll go out on our own tonight. Without the boys. Once you’ve talked to Matt, you won’t have to see him for the rest of the weekend. Deal?’

  And it is a deal, because she’s right. And I don’t have to say yes, because she knows me too well.

  Matt

  Saturday, 15.35

  ‘It sounds nice,’ is all I can manage in response to Stringer’s account of his picnic with Suzie. It’s all very Enid Blyton and lashings of ginger beer and I should be more enthusiastic – really, I should. At least he and Susie are doing the adult thing and just getting on with the fact that we’re all here. I should be happy for them. I should be relieved. But I’m not. I’m bloody miserable. I’ve been sitting here, wracking my brains over what I’m going to say to H when I see her next, about how I’m going to make things right between us. And short of repeating what I’ve already told her, I’ve come up with a blank. Worse than that, though, is the paralysis. Until she’s located, and we come face to face, there’s nothing I can do but wait.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Stringer asks, continuing to pack his swimming gear, so that he can follow the others down to the swimming pool.

  ‘No, Stringer,’ I tell him, ‘I’m not. I’ve spent the last week dividing my time between organizing this weekend and thinking about H. And now the weekend’s turned to shit and H thinks I am a shit. Happiness and me can’t exactly be described as great bedfellows right now.’

  ‘The guys will get over it,’ he comforts, sitting down next to me on the sofa and staring out of the living-room window. ‘The water slides will cool them down. And they can’t go on blaming you for ever about the girls being here. It’s not your fault. Jack knows that and he’ll make sure they do, as well.’

  ‘And what about H?’ I ask. ‘It’s going to take more than a quick swim to chill her out. Try a tonne of ice.’

  ‘Yes,’ he admits, ‘I think you could be right there.’ He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Listen, Matt. You know I was trying to tell you something at the Aqua Spa earlier on . . .’

  ‘Yeah,’ I apologize, ‘sorry about that. Too much shouting going on . . . So what was it?’

  Stringer shifts again. This time I look at him. He can’t hold my gaze. Instead, his eyes drop. ‘I don’t know how to tell you. I don’t know if it’s my place to . . .’ he begins, then falters.

  ‘What?’ I ask him. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what’s already gone down today. ‘Come on,’ I coax, trying to sound chipper. ‘Out with it.’

  ‘It’s H,’ he says, looking up. ‘I overheard her and Amy talking in the steam room. They didn’t know I was there. They were talking about a bloke. H,’ he specifies, ‘was talking about a bloke.’

  I don’t like the way this is starting to sound, but still I ask, ‘And?’

  He stares at me.

  I ask again, ‘And?’

  ‘And it wasn’t you, Matt,’ he tells me. ‘The bloke. The bloke they were talking about wasn’t you.’

  There’s a fine line between depression and pain. It’s a tightrope and you can fall either way, depending on the way the wind blows. I’m walking it now. And I’m starting to teeter. ‘Tell me,’ I tell him. Because I have to know, even though I already know the answer isn’t one I’m going to want to hear.

  ‘He’s a Frenchman. Laurent, or something like that. She spent all last week with him in Paris. She’s into him. Really into him. I’m sorry, mate. After what you said about her in Chick-O-Lix this morning. About wanting this. I’m really bloody sorry.’

  I slip. There’s no point in even attempting to grab the tightrope as I fall. There’s no point, because I’m welcoming the darkness that’s waiting for me below. Because it’s nothing more than I deserve for being so stupid as to leave myself open to this kind of pain in the first place.

  I bite down on my tongue, feeling like I’ve been stabbed. So here it is: the flip side of the one-night stand. I suppose it had to happen one day. Because – and this is the advice I gave Jack when he was temporarily rejected by Amy last year – it happens to us all from time to time. But, shit, it sure has picked its moment. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. My throat contracts. I picture H in my mind and all I want to do is reach out and take her hand. But it’s useless. She’s turned her back on me. It’s like she’s rubbed the word ‘hope’ out of existence and all that’s left is despair. I clear my throat, and rub at my eyes. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to be the one left sitting here waiting for her to come back. Because I now know that if I did, I’d be waiting here for ever.

  ‘Do me a favour, Stringer . . .’
My voice comes out in a monotone.

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘Don’t tell the others about this. Especially not Jack. I don’t want his weekend getting ruined any more than it already is.’

  He looks at me with sorrow in his eyes. ‘OK.’

  ‘Strange, isn’t it,’ I say, reaching for the bottle of vodka on the table and taking a swig.

  ‘What?’ Stringer asks.

  ‘How sometimes when the worst thing in the world happens, you don’t freak out, you just switch off.’

  H

  Saturday, 15.50

  ‘They’ve all gone down the pool,’ says Amy, reading Susie’s note in the chalet. I open the window to let some air in.

  ‘You go,’ I say. ‘I’ll sort things out here with Matt. Now get your gear and go. Enjoy yourself. You’ve wasted enough time on me.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK? I can stay and wait if you want.’

  ‘Yes,’ I sigh. ‘I need to do this on my own.’

  ‘Come down in a bit then.’

  ‘I will,’ I lie. ‘If I find him. He might not even be there.’

  Once Amy has gone, I flip through Sam’s magazine, but I know I’m only putting things off.

  I’m not expecting to find Matt next door, but I give the door a go anyway. I knock half-heartedly and wait, staring up at the clouds, my nerve deserting me. I’m just about to leave when Matt answers the door.

  He looks hungover and cross. He stands in the doorway, his hand on the handle and I look up at him from the step. He’s wearing shorts and the hairs on his tanned legs are blonde.

  There’s a long pause. I clear my throat.

  ‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

  ‘What do you want?’ He shifts his weight on to one leg and looks at me impatiently. He smells like he’s been drinking. His eyes are bloodshot and cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  This isn’t going to be easy.

  ‘I came to apologize. Um . . . I think I was probably a bit out of order,’ I say sheepishly, rubbing my shoe on the step, before looking up at Matt. ‘I mean, you’re right. This is probably a coincidence . . .’ I try to laugh amicably.

  But Matt only looks down at me, his face inscrutable.

  ‘Only, if you’d planned all this because of what happened last weekend . . . I mean, it was great and everything, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong . . .’

  Matt interrupts me and shakes his head, giving me a derisory snort. ‘You really think that I’d arrange this so that . . . what, H? We could be together. To have sex? Is that what you thought?’

  ‘It had crossed my mind,’ I say, feeling riled, but wanting him to see my point of view. ‘Welt it seems that way to me.’

  ‘Listen. About what happened between us . . . we were both drunk you came on to me and I took the opportunity for a no-strings-attached shag. There’s no more to it than that.’

  ‘I came on to you!’ I gasp.

  ‘Let’s just forget it ever happened.’

  I’m so shocked, I can feel my voice choking in my throat. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’

  ‘I want to be alone with the boys and enjoy the stag party that I planned ages ago. We were having a good time. So I’d appreciate it if you’d run along and keep yourselves to yourselves.’ He waves his fingers at me condescendingly before slamming the door in my face.

  ‘Fine!’ I yell, turning on my heels and marching back into the villa. I slam our front door harder in retaliation, then slump back against the inside of it. I feel like I’ve been punched. I shake my head as if to rattle away what’s just happened, but it doesn’t go.

  ‘How dare he?’ I mutter as I march in to the kitchen and angrily light a cigarette. I pace on the grey carpet tiles, feeling furious. Somehow I can feel his presence next door and my skin feels itchy.

  I chainsmoke five cigarettes before I can think straight.

  But eventually, I’ve had it.

  I grab my swimming costume and a towel. I’m not staying here. I’m going to the pool and I’m going to have a great time with the girls. And if Matt Davies dares to come too, I swear I’ll drown him.

  Susie

  Saturday, 17.30

  I rub my back up against the jet of bubbles in the hot pool at the top of the waterslide. Amy flops over the entrance ledge and sits next to me. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathless as she grins at me.

  ‘Susie the floozie in the jacuzzi,’ she whoops. ‘What a laugh. You coming down again?’

  I must admit that since coming in to the pool, we’ve all regressed to childhood. We’ve been running about all afternoon, squealing like demented kids.

  I reach down and massage my feet. ‘In a minute.’

  ‘Well, I’m off!’ she grins, falling off the ledge and nearly drowning and I pull her up. She comes up spluttering and we laugh. ‘I’ll leave you to it, it’s too hot for me,’ she says after squirting water through her teeth. ‘If I were you, I’d have a go on these jets. Jacuzzi orgasms: always the best!’ She gets up to leave and hops backwards into Stringer. He looks embarrassed and smiles at her.

  ‘Oh, looks like there’s no need,’ she says cheekily, screwing up her face and silently mouthing ‘Phworrh’ behind Stringer’s back. She wriggles over the side with a big kiddie whoop and is gone.

  ‘She seems in high spirits,’ Stringer says, sitting down opposite me.

  ‘Everyone does,’ I smile, wondering if he’s heard Amy’s orgasm comment and blushing anyway. ‘Even H, which is a first. She’s cheered up at long last. She’s been awful until now.’

  ‘She’s been the most jolly I’ve ever seen her,’ he says. He sounds so gentlemanly and posh. He looks out of place in here, as if he’s uncomfortable being half-naked.

  He’s not the only one.

  Stringer smiles and looks down into the water. I can see his shorts have bubbled up with air. There’s a pause. I can feel powerful jets of water pumelling against my thighs.

  ‘So, you all set for tonight?’ he asks, eventually.

  ‘It’s the disco for us. What are you doing?’

  Stringer shrugs. ‘Matt’s in charge. I think we’re staying in. More lads’ stuff,’ he says scarcastically.

  ‘Why don’t you come to the disco with us?’ I ask. ‘It’ll be fun.’

  Stringer laughs. ‘With Matt and H? I don’t think so. I think we’ll all be separated.’

  ‘Shame, isn’t it? We could try and hook up later?’ I suggest.

  ‘We could do, I suppose. Why don’t I try and find you, around eleven, say?’

  ‘You’re on.’

  ‘Susie, come on!’ I can hear Amy yelling and I poke my head over the stone-effect boulders to see her waving at me from the top of the waterslide.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I say, waving back, but just as I get up, I realize that my bikini top is skewiff and half my nipple is hanging out.

  And Stringer has seen!

  I adjust myself hastily without looking at him and try to leap past him, but I slip and land up falling on top of him in the bubbles. And for an electifying moment we’re a mass of slithering limbs.

  ‘Sorry,’ I smile, foolishly trying to fix my hair. ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ I say, but I’m all choked up. It must be the heat.

  Matt

  Saturday, 19.00

  I do realize that alcohol isn’t going to solve the problem, but right now, it’s doing a pretty good job of numbing the pain. It’s over three hours now since H came round to see me and I threw her peace-offering back in her face, and I’ve been drinking consistently pretty much ever since. Despite this, though, there’s a sour taste in my mouth and, as much as I’d like H to be the ’cause of it, she’s not, it’s me. Fortunately, I can’t even remember what I said to her, but I do know it was pretty unpleasant. A case of injured pride. Not that she knows that. I didn’t tell her that I knew about Laurent, that I knew I’d been passed over. I didn’t tell her anything apart from the fact that I wanted nothing to do with h
er.

  I look up and focus on a light switch until the rest of the room steadies. The apartment smells of chlorine. Wet footprints pattern the carpet outside the bathroom, in which Jack’s currently scrubbing himself down. A Tribe Called Quest are rapping away on the sound system. The others are either getting dressed, or grabbing mini-kips in preparation for tonight’s festivities. Ug aside, that is, who’s sitting on the floor like some mad scientist, busy constructing a bong out of a variety of plastic implements he found in a bin round the back of the Global Village. (‘Hunter-gathering, mate,’ he muttered on entering the apartment. ‘It’s what I do best.’)

  ‘Chuck us that bit of hose, will ya?’ Ug asks.

  I pick up a piece of green piping from the floor and hand it to him.

  ‘Cheers,’ he mutters, taking time out for a quick beer guzzle before refocusing his attention on his creation.

  ‘Want some?’ he asks after a few more minutes.

  ‘Why not?’ I say, squatting down next to him.

  And why not, indeed? The less I’m capable of thought tonight, the better. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to be reminded of the stupidity and basic selfishness of my behaviour up to and including this weekend. All I’ve concentrated on is myself and what I wanted and how I was going to get it. And now that I’ve failed, I see it for what it was, an exercise in vanity, a waste of time. I take a toke and hold it deep down in my lungs.

  H

  Saturday, 19.05

  I pull out the cork, wrap my lips round the neck of the bottle and tip my head back.

  Then I do it again.

  Then I grab a glass and fill it to the brim, before barging in to the bathroom.

  It’s full of steam and the floor is filthy. Amy is leaning forward, trying to see her reflection in a porthole she’s rubbed in the mirror. Susie is in the shower and Lorna is rubbing the back of her head with a towel.

  ‘Come on. Get your kit on, everyone. We’re leaving in just under an hour.’