by Jenny Oliver
‘Can anyone see Eve and Jimmy?’ Libby asked.
‘No,’ Dex shouted, up at the front. ‘They might be on the beach.’
But when they got to the beach it was deserted. Just the cool navy water lapping against the grey moonlit pebbles.
Dex dipped his toe in. ‘Ooh, it’s cold.’
Libby took a seat on one of the rocks.
Jessica stood back on the boardwalk and watched as Miles and Dex stripped down to their underwear. Miles turned and placed his folded pile of clothes at Libby’s feet saying, ‘Guard these with your life.’ For the first time Jessica noticed a hint of an American twang to his voice.
Libby laughed. ‘Aye aye, sir.’
As she looked from the pile of neatly folded Ralph Lauren chinos and white linen shirt to Miles running into the water, Jessica experienced a strange sense of mounting freedom. It was as if she had been clutching something tight in her hand for years without realising and was finally beginning to let her fingers unfurl.
She realised that he had been looking, always, for someone like Flo, someone who would give him the confidence to go for his dreams—show him new dreams—rather than someone like her who wanted to squirrel them away in a dark room and exist in their own little world away from the real one.
She looked at Dex powering through the water, front crawl; she thought about their big glass Agency of the Year Award.
It had taken Dex no more than fifteen minutes to find her in New York. She’d walked in a straight line from the Soho bar, sniffing back snot and tears and wishing that she wasn’t wearing new boots because to make it all worse she now had big blisters on her heels.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ he’d said, putting his hands on her shoulders.
‘Go away, Dex.’
‘Yeah right, like I’m going to go away and leave you walking the streets of New York on your own.’
She’d carried on walking. It was cold. Her coat was too flimsy. She’d wiped her face with her sleeve. Dex had fallen into step next to her and handed her a tissue.
‘Well, you certainly told Flo, didn’t you?’ he said after a few minutes’ silence.
‘Shut up, it was awful. I was horrible. I’m such an idiot.’
‘Nah, don’t worry about it.’
She’d stopped walking and given him a look.
He shrugged. ‘OK, worry about it a bit, but, come on, it’s Flo. She can take it.’
Jessica started up again, the blisters on her feet burning. ‘I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve never said anything like that to anyone. I feel shit. I don’t know what to do. I can’t go to the wedding.’
‘Sure you can.’
She shook her head. ‘No way.’
Then, when they reached an intersection and had to wait for the lights to change, she had suddenly covered her face with her hands and stepped back into the shadow of a doorway and cried.
It had taken Dex quite by shock; he was halfway across the road before he realised she wasn’t with him and he jogged back and wrapped his arms around her in a hug that smelt of Hugo Boss and warm wool.
She closed her eyes and sobbed into her hands pressed against his jumper.
‘Oh god, Dex, why am I such an idiot? I got all dressed up. I’m such an idiot.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I think you look beautiful.’
‘You do?’ She looked up at him all twinkling, vibrant blue eyes and floppy blond hair, and said, ‘Do you think we’re going to have sex?’
Dex guffawed, holding her even tighter. ‘No,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘As much as I would love to have sex with you Jessica, a) I can’t have sex with someone that I know is in love with one of my best mates, and b) you’re my friend and sex will get in the way and I don’t really have enough female friends to waste the ones I have got.’
Jessica covered her face again with her hands and sighed. ‘And because you’re in love with someone else?’
Dex went silent for a second then frowned. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I’m very observant,’ she said. ‘I see you looking at her.’
Dex sighed. ‘Well, it’ll never be, so …’
‘It might be.’
He scoffed. ‘It’s never going to be. She’s taken.’
It had suddenly occurred to Jessica that Dex was living through the exact same anguish that she was, except he was less inclined to make a scene in a New York pub. ‘Is that why you don’t really date any more?’
‘I date.’
‘Sleeping with people isn’t dating.’
‘See, Jessica, that’s where you’ve been going wrong all these years,’ he said with a laugh, trying to lighten the tone and change the subject.
‘It is why you don’t date, isn’t it? God, I totally hadn’t put two and two together,’ she said, quite triumphant. ‘See, I’m not just a pretty face,’ she added with the first laugh since the incident.
Dex raised a brow. ‘Right now, honey bunch, I’m afraid you’re not even that.’
She gasped and thwacked him on the arm but had then found a mirror in her bag and cringed at the sight of herself, all mascara streaked and blotchy faced.
‘Come on, there’s a diner up here I love. I’ll take you for …’ He glanced at his watch. ‘An early breakfast.’
Dex had then taken off his coat and draped it over her shoulders and together they walked two blocks to the Waverly Diner, Dex pretending he wasn’t freezing in just his shirt. They’d nabbed the last available booth and had eaten grilled cheese sandwiches with pickles and slaw on the side and drunk black coffees in thick white mugs while outside people strutted through the night.
‘Why did you come after me?’ she asked.
He paused mid-chew, swallowed, and said, ‘Pity.’ Then he laughed when she covered her face with her hands and added, ‘Admiration.’
She snorted into her coffee. ‘I’m a disaster. I’ve just blown my friendship with Miles, insulted his bride …’ She paused, ran her hand through her hair, pulling it out of its stupid up-do, then said, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do, Dex. I hate my job, I earn no money. I thought I’d be someone, you know? I worked so hard to get to this point and it just feels like I’m nowhere.’
‘Are you kidding? You …’ Dex put his cup down on the table and stared at her. ‘You’re brilliant at what you do. You create things. Amazing things. Me—it’s me that’s nowhere.’
‘You’re not nowhere,’ she scoffed. ‘You’re rich.’
He raised his brows as if that was verging on agreement with what he’d said.
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant you can do anything you want. You can talk the talk, you’re in.’
‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s all hot air.’ A waiter came over to refill their coffees and when he’d gone Dex had added, ‘You have actual talent.’
Jessica wrapped her hands around her coffee and slumped back against the booth. ‘Yeah, but talent’s no good if you can’t sell yourself.’
‘You’re very saleable, Jessica.’
She glanced up. ‘You think? You think I’m saleable?’
‘I could sell you.’
Just then a New Yorker in the booth behind them popped his head over the partition and said, ‘So why don’t you start a business already? Jesus. I’m trying to enjoy my eggs over here.’
Jessica giggled into her coffee.
Dex cocked his head and said, ‘Not a bad shout, mate.’
The New Yorker sat back down with a stream of grumbled muttering.
‘How about it, Jessica? You can be in the office creating it, I’ll go out and sell it.’
She narrowed her eyes, unsure if he was being serious or not.
Dex had sat forward and held up the napkin for her to see the name of the restaurant printed in black on white. ‘Want to start the Waverly Design Agency?’
Now as she watched Dex and Miles splashing around in the pitch black water it occurred to her that the r
ight one had come after her in New York. That she had lost one thing but gained something that before this holiday she wouldn’t have realised was better. Through Dex she had found a place in the world where she fit.
She heard the crunch of pebbles underfoot as Bruno came to stand by her side, hands in his pockets. She could feel him watching her and glanced his way. The contours of his face were lit by the moon. His eyes always slightly laughing. His smile knowing. With his wide, broad chest and his knackered old sailing t-shirt he looked dauntless, immune, wicked, encompassing.
He met her eyes. ‘You want to come and see my boat?’
She could smell the lemons in the air. See the moon reflected in lines of white on the lapping water. Hear the stillness of the pine forest. Jessica nodded.
One corner of Bruno’s mouth tipped up in a smile. He touched her back gently to point her in the direction of the boathouse jetty. ‘You are OK here on your own, Libby?’ he asked.
Libby, clearly startled by the turn of events, whipped her head round and said, ‘Yes, absolutely yes, I’ll be fine. Yes. Of course.’
Jessica was hiding a smile as she glanced from Libby to the gleaming moon-white wood of the boardwalk up ahead.
‘OK, let’s go,’ said Bruno, touching her briefly once more on the upper arm and after that just strolling easily by her side.
LIBBY
Libby couldn’t sleep. She lay awake thinking about everything she needed to do in the hotel and then remembered the bills she’d stuffed in some random cubbyhole by the bar. She got up and walked tentatively down the corridor in the silent darkness. Passing the other rooms, she wondered who was sleeping in their own bed and who wasn’t. She hadn’t seen Eve come home, or Jimmy.
Downstairs she turned on a side light and went to retrieve the envelopes, chucking them on the desk in the office before turning off the light and heading back to the stairs.
When a figure blocked her path at the bottom step she almost screamed.
‘It’s me, it’s me, Libby. It’s OK.’
As she caught her breath she saw Miles’s face start to appear as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
‘What are you doing down here?’ she whisper-hissed. ‘You almost killed me.’
Miles was half-laughing. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. I had a work call and the reception’s crap in my room.’
‘Jesus.’ Libby had her hand on her chest. ‘I’m only just recovering.’
Miles leant back against the wall, smiling as he waited for her to get back to normal.
‘I’m OK now,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry.’
She nodded. There was a pause where everything seemed to heighten, the sound of her breathing, the hum of a fan. Libby was suddenly really aware that she was just in her vest and lacy satin shorts and Miles was wearing only chequered pyjama bottoms.
‘OK, shall we go back to bed,’ she said, then cringed when she heard what she’d said.
‘After you.’ He gestured for her to lead the way.
‘Thanks,’ she said, awkwardly moving to get ahead of him and then conscious of the smallness of her shorts as he strolled behind her.
‘You OK?’ he asked midway up the stairs. ‘Why are you up?’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just general worries,’ she said, trying to make it sound light and breezy.
She turned to look back at him over her shoulder when he didn’t reply.
Miles was closer than she’d expected.
Libby swallowed.
They reached the landing.
‘How are you doing without Jake?’ Miles asked.
‘OK,’ she said.
‘He was crazy, you know?’ Miles said. ‘For doing what he did.’
She tried to shrug it off.
The only light in the corridor was a sliver of moonlight through the edge of the blinds. Otherwise it was black. They were two shadows in darker shadow. She could hear him breathing, could feel the heat of him.
She felt his hand touch her shoulder before she had a chance to say goodnight and walk away down the corridor. This was wrong.
‘We can’t do this,’ Libby said. ‘What about Flo?’
Miles shook his head. ‘Just …’ He paused. ‘Just go with it.’
She shook her head at the same time as wondering when the last time she’d been kissed was. The type of kiss that left her reeling, breathless, wide-eyed. She knew Miles would kiss well.
She couldn’t remember the last time Jake had kissed her. Kissed her in a way that wasn’t just goodnight. That made her feel wanted. Sexy. Enough.
She was still thinking, still procrastinating, still hesitating, when Miles leant forward and kissed her. Kissed her in exactly the way she knew he would kiss her. In a frenzy of clashing teeth, hot lips, and hands in hair.
And suddenly it felt like everything, including their marriages, was from another life and they were in a bubble far, far away. The darkness made it all less real.
He pushed open her bedroom door and backed her in, his arm firm around her waist, his mouth never leaving hers, and then kicked the door shut behind them.
*
Libby hadn’t slept so well in months. Years even. She yawned and rolled over and opened her eyes to see Miles, draped in a sheet, snoring softly.
‘Oh shit,’ she said, slapping her hand over her mouth.
Before she had a chance to do any more there was a loud banging on her bedroom door.
‘Ms Price! Ms Price!’ Giulia’s voice was calling along with the knocking.
Libby, suddenly wide awake, jogged over to the door and, wrapping her robe tight around her, opened it just enough to peer her head out into the corridor. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to smooth down her hair as she spoke.
‘The hotel inspector is here.’
‘What hotel inspector? Oh shit!’ Libby covered her mouth with her hand. The door swung open slightly. She saw Giulia catch a glimpse of Miles who was now sitting up in bed, topless. Libby grabbed hold of the door and pulled it half shut again. ‘Shit,’ she said again. ‘Why is he here?’
‘I think he has come to inspect,’ Giulia said dryly. ‘What you want to do?’
Libby scratched her head. ‘I don’t know, I’m thinking. I can’t give him a tour because the rooms look like shit. Oh shit.’
Giulia raised a brow at the swearing. ‘You could do your club,’ she said.
Libby frowned. Then thought about it. ‘I could do my club, you’re right. OK. Good. You give him coffee and I’ll get everyone up. Right. Yes. We can do this,’ she said, shutting the door as Giulia disappeared down the stairs to get a coffee for the hotel inspector who, stupidly, she’d envisioned arriving mid-season when they could laugh over biscotti in the lovingly manicured garden and marvel over the light in the freshly painted bedrooms.
‘You have to get up,’ she said to Miles, frantically gathering up clothes so she could shower and get dressed in the bathroom, not wanting him to see her naked. ‘You have to creep out though, I don’t want anyone seeing.’
Miles rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The hotel inspector’s here.’
‘What does that mean?’ Miles asked, sleepily pulling on his pyjama bottoms.
‘That we have to look good, and we don’t look good. So we, I, need to wake everyone up and you need to go. Oh my goodness.’ Libby put her hand up against her forehead.
‘Calm down, Libby. I’m sure it’ll be OK. He can’t close you down or anything can he?’
‘No, he’s not that type of inspector but he’s from one of the best websites. Oh god, why didn’t I open the letter.’ She thought about the envelopes chucked casually on her office desk before the kissing frenzy.
‘You need my help?’ Miles asked.
‘Only in ignoring the fact that this …’ said Libby, pointing between the two of them, ‘ever happened.’
Miles snorted a laugh. ‘OK, no problem,’ he said, walking over to he
r, putting his hand behind her neck and kissing the top of her head before strolling casually out of the door. ‘I’ll help get everyone up.’
*
It was one of those mornings when the world itself seemed to have forgotten to wake up. The air was completely still, the sun’s rays suspended like glitter. The leaves of the lemon grove sat waxy and motionless, the water in the distance was a cool sweep of calm blue, even the wasps basked silently in the haze. Overhead the sky was a delicate white wisp, as if someone had got up early and wrapped it in candyfloss.
In contrast, the group slunk outside, puffy eyed and reeking of hangover fumes. Coffee mugs in hand they ambled down the garden path, eyes averted, no one bothering with small talk except Libby who was trying to chirpily chat up the humourless hotel inspector Frank and Dex who was doing his best to help.
‘So you’ve been to the Limoncello before?’ Dex asked, strolling along with his coffee.
‘Yes,’ Frank replied, his disdainful gaze sweeping over the butchered shrubbery. ‘I liked the food. And I liked Silvia. But it was not quite right for us.’
Libby nodded. ‘Well, I hope you like what we’re doing with the place,’ she said with a cheerful little laugh.
He paused at the outhouse and looked up. ‘I don’t like gimmicks.’
‘Oh well, the Sunshine and Biscotti Club is definitely not a gimmick,’ she said. ‘It’s about bringing people together through food. Through the shared experience of baking and cooking, chatting outside in the sunshine, learning together. It’s an experience.’
As she spoke Libby looked around at the group congregating behind their workstations.
Eve’s unbrushed hair fell over her eyes, and her clothes looked like she’d just chucked on whatever had been on the floor when Miles had knocked on her door; Jimmy stood, hands behind his back, barefoot, dressed in black shorts frayed at the knee and an old blue t-shirt, the neck pulled out of shape, chest puffed cockily, eyes not meeting anyone’s; Jessica flitted up and down at the back, unsettled, sunglasses on; Dex was doing his best but he couldn’t erase the tired, hungover look on his face. Only Bruno stood completely at ease, arms crossed casually over his chest, beaming a smile like the cat who’d got the cream.
