Meet Me at Beachcomber Bay

by Jill Mansell

  Ronan leant over and kissed her. ‘Terry’ll be glad too. And it’s a cash sale, so we can get it wrapped up in no time. Are you paying attention?’ He addressed Izzy as she gazed unblinkingly up at him. ‘This is going to be your new home, so you have to approve too. Oh, you do? That’s brilliant, great to hear.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to your flat?’ said Josephine.

  ‘Not sure yet. I was going to sell it, but Kate thinks I should probably rent it out for now, see how things go. I already know a client who might be interested, so I’ll give him a call.’

  In her pocket, Josephine heard the ting that announced the arrival of a new text message on her phone. She looked at the question on the screen: Does Kate like the cottage? and deftly typed back: She loves it. All systems go.

  Then she looked from Ronan to Kate, feeling a leap of excitement in her chest, and said in a voice that was deceptively casual, ‘Actually, I know someone else who’d be very interested too.’

  Sam arrived back in St Carys on Saturday afternoon. Before leaving with Verity on the afternoon of her birthday, Annabelle had been adamant that she should be the one who spoke to Clemency about the situation. ‘I don’t want her hearing about it from anyone else,’ she’d explained. ‘I have to tell her myself. It’s important. Promise me you won’t say anything until we’re back from Venice. I’ll do it then, OK?’

  And Sam had promised, whilst wondering how she expected him to explain away the fact that he hadn’t gone to Venice after all. Until, fortuitously, an urgent meeting with a Swiss client had needed to be arranged, and he’d solved the problem by flying to Zurich for a few days instead.

  Easier all round.

  An hour after his return, he heard a taxi pull up outside the apartment. From the balcony he watched as Annabelle climbed out, followed by Verity. Annabelle’s case was lifted out of the boot and the two women embraced like good friends until the driver had his back to them, when the look between them changed to one of love and lust, and Verity kissed Annabelle – briefly – on the mouth.

  Moments later, Verity slid back into the cab and they gazed at each other with naked longing as the vehicle pulled away.

  When he opened the front door, Sam said, ‘Welcome back. Did you have a good time?’

  ‘The best. The very best.’ Annabelle was glowing, happy but still clearly apprehensive. ‘Thank you so much. I’m sorry, these last few days must have been awful for you. How have you been, Sam? Bearing up?’

  He nodded. ‘Oh yes. I’ll be fine.’

  Her eyes darted past him to check that no one else was in the flat. ‘You haven’t told anyone, have you? Especially not Clem.’

  ‘I haven’t told a soul.’

  ‘She sent me a text asking how the Cipriani was. At least I didn’t have to lie about that. I sent her photos so she could see how fantastic it was. Oh God, sorry again.’ She shook her head guiltily. ‘Now I’m just rubbing salt into the wound. Look, I’m only back to pick up some more clothes and things. I’ve booked a room at the Mariscombe, just for tonight, then once everything’s sorted out here, me and Verity are heading back to London. When we have an address, could you pack up the rest of my stuff and arrange to have it sent up?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘And you promise you won’t wreck everything in a fit of jealousy? I won’t open the packing boxes and find all my clothes hacked to bits? Oh, it’s OK, I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.’ Annabelle clapped a hand to her chest, almost teary with gratitude. ‘You’re a good person and in return I did this to you. I broke your heart and I still feel just terrible about it, but you’re being amazing because you’re you. Sam, all I want is for you to be happy again. And it’ll happen, I promise. One day it will!’

  Sam made a split-second decision. Really, though, wasn’t it just the most perfect opportunity of all time? If this wasn’t the moment to do it, he didn’t know when would be.

  ‘What?’ said Annabelle. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? Oh no, Sam no, please don’t beg me to take you back …’

  ‘So you see, it was just one of those things that hits you out of the blue. Fate sat us next to each other on that plane. I wasn’t looking for it or wanting it to happen, but it did. And nothing could ever possibly come of it.’ Sam shook his head at the still-vivid memory in his mind. ‘I knew that from the word go. I was married. Lisa no longer knew who I was, but she was still my wife. This girl was a complete stranger I knew I’d never see again. And all we did during that plane journey was talk. About other things … life … whatever. But there was this connection between us. Such an incredible connection … seriously, I couldn’t even begin to describe it. I’d felt it when I first met Lisa, and now it was happening again. Except it couldn’t, because I wasn’t free. But she didn’t know that, this girl on the plane, because I couldn’t bear to tell her. Once we’d landed and were heading our separate ways, she gave me her business card.’ He paused, reliving the moment, the expression in Clem’s grey eyes indelibly imprinted on his brain. ‘I threw it in a bin without looking at it. And when she caught up with me later in the taxi queue, I told her I was married. Then I walked away.’

  Annabelle’s own eyes were wide. ‘Oh Sam. Oh Sam, that’s the saddest thing I ever heard. It’s like something out of a film. And this happened how long ago?’

  ‘Almost three and a half years.’

  ‘When did Lisa die?’

  ‘Three weeks later.’

  ‘And you weren’t able to contact the other girl?’

  ‘No. Not that I wanted to, of course. Not back then.’

  ‘Of course not. Oh, but how unbearable. That was it, game over, you had no way of ever finding her. And you never saw her again.’ There were tears of sympathy shimmering in Annabelle’s eyes.

  ‘I didn’t see her again,’ said Sam. ‘Until earlier this year.’

  Annabelle’s mouth opened and she sat up a little straighter. ‘Really? You mean she found you? But … how?’

  ‘She didn’t find me.’ Sam felt a muscle begin to twitch in his jaw. ‘It was just a complete coincidence. Like going on holiday and bumping into someone you went to school with fifteen years ago.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me about any of this.’ She didn’t sound angry, merely mystified.

  ‘I know I didn’t,’ said Sam. ‘It seemed easier not to. And nothing happened between us. Again.’ He needed to emphasise that. ‘I was seeing you, wasn’t I?’

  ‘So how was it, meeting up with this other girl again? Were the feelings still there?’

  ‘Kind of.’ He paused. ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘And how did she feel about you? The same?’

  Sam hesitated, then nodded and reiterated, ‘But nothing happened. Because neither of us would do that to you.’

  ‘Oh my God, I know who it is! I’ve just realised!’ Clapping her hand over her mouth, Annabelle let out a squeal of triumph. ‘It’s Sylvie, isn’t it? Sylvie Margason!’

  Who? A split second later, the mental image came to him. Tall, blonde Sylvie had been at school with Annabelle and now worked as the events manager at Mariscombe House; he’d briefly met her on a couple of occasions and she hadn’t attempted to disguise her interest in him.

  She was an attractive girl.

  But sadly, the wrong girl.

  ‘It’s not Sylvie.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Encouraged by the fact that she looked disappointed, Sam took a deep breath and said, ‘It’s Clem.’

  Talk about a Trojan horse.

  On her way home from work, Clemency had answered a call from Belle, who announced cheerfully, ‘Hi, we’re back! Are you at home if I pop over in twenty minutes? Might have a little surprise for you!’

  Having happily agreed, Clem had reached the flat and jumped into the shower. Now, wrapped in her white cotton dressing gown, she was tugging a brush through her tangled wet hair.

  The moment she answered the door and saw the expression on Belle’s face, sh
e knew the little surprise wasn’t going to be one of those brightly painted Venetian masks you never quite knew what to do with, or a chunky necklace made of Murano glass.

  ‘All this time,’ said Belle. ‘All this time you’ve been lying to me. And why am I even surprised? It’s pretty much par for the course.’

  Erghhh …

  ‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ That was the trouble with a really narrow hallway: you were forced to back away up the stairs and ended up looking defensive. Because of course she knew what her sister was talking about; it couldn’t conceivably be anything else.

  Although how Belle had got to hear about it, God only knew.

  ‘You and Sam, three and a half years ago, cosying up together on a plane. Surely you haven’t forgotten.’

  Clemency shook her head. ‘There was no cosying. We sat next to each other. That’s all.’

  ‘Oh, but I think it meant quite a lot more than that. Sam’s told me all about it.’

  OK, was Sam completely mad? Had he been drunk? Whatever had possessed him to do such a thing?

  ‘All this time,’ Belle sounded as if she were chewing ice chips, ‘you’ve been lying to me, keeping this romantic little secret between you, laughing at me behind my back.’

  ‘We haven’t been laughing,’ Clemency said at once. ‘Trust me, it hasn’t been funny. And we haven’t done anything wrong, either. All this time,’ she echoed Belle’s accusation, ‘we’ve done nothing.’

  Belle’s eyes were like lasers. ‘Of course you haven’t. Because you’re not that sort of girl.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Except you’ve never forgiven me for sleeping with Pierre. All these years, it’s niggled away at you. I bet you’ve always secretly wanted to even things up and get back at me for that.’

  Oh good grief. ‘Because of what you did with Pierre? Do you seriously believe that?’

  ‘You know what? This is so typical of you.’ Belle’s voice rose. ‘You’ve always thought you were better than me … more popular than me … more fun than me! And when I met Sam, I was so happy because he was perfect and he was mine and he wasn’t yours. But now you’ve ruined all that, because this whole time, you and Sam have had this so-called amazing connection, this massive secret you’ve been sharing between you, which means you think he loves you more than he ever loved me.’

  ‘I don’t think that,’ Clemency protested. Hopefully Belle wasn’t about to whip out a portable lie-detector.

  ‘Oh come off it, of course you do. All this time you’ve been feeling smug, because yet again you’ve beaten me … and it’s just not fair.’

  Clemency’s heart was thudding against her ribs; she still couldn’t work out why this was happening. Had Sam already ended the relationship? Aloud, she said, ‘I haven’t beaten you. And nothing’s happened between me and Sam, because I wouldn’t break my promise. Tell me what went wrong in Venice.’

  ‘Nothing went wrong in Venice! It was perfect!’

  ‘Well it doesn’t sound like nothing went wrong. If everything was so perfect, why would Sam have told you about—’

  ‘Because I didn’t go to Venice with Sam,’ Belle shouted, her fists clenched at her sides.

  ‘What?’ Clemency hadn’t been expecting that. Stunned, she said, ‘So where have you been, then?’

  ‘I went to Venice. Sam went to Zurich.’

  ‘You mean you’re not together any more? He finished with you?’ OK, mixed feelings now, because if Sam had dumped Belle on her actual birthday, that was a terrible thing to have done. How could he have been so cruel?

  Belle was studying her intently. ‘He really hasn’t told you, has he? I thought he might, but he hasn’t. Sam didn’t finish with me.’ She shook her head with a mixture of pride and what seemed like defiance … or possibly terror. ‘I finished with Sam.’

  ‘But, but … why?’ Was this a joke? Clemency stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘Because I love someone else.’

  Someone else.

  Talk about surreal. Clemency said, ‘Are you serious?’ Because how could there possibly be someone else? Oh God, unless Belle was talking about Ronan. Please don’t let her mean him! Had she flown off to Venice and somehow managed to convince herself that the horror of unexpected fatherhood would send Ronan into her arms instead?

  Aloud, she blurted out, ‘Ronan’s madly in love with Kate!’

  Belle’s eyebrows went up. ‘So? Who cares about them? I’m madly in love with Verity.’

  Silence, broken only by the sound of Belle’s rapid breathing. She was standing there wide-eyed, looking as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said.

  Clemency, feeling much the same way, stared back at her. ‘Really? You mean … Verity?’

  In case she’d just blurted out the wrong name by mistake.

  But Belle was nodding. ‘I do. I love her. She’s my girlfriend. I was always too scared to say it before, but I’m saying it now. I prefer girls. I’m a lesbian, and don’t you dare laugh at me.’

  Laugh …?

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’ Her voice trembling with emotion, Belle pointed an accusing finger directly at her.

  My sister is gay. And angry. Clemency spread her arms and said in disbelief, ‘Why would I laugh?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t possibly imagine why! Maybe because you’ve spent your whole life laughing at me? Because you’ve always thought you were superior to me? Because every single tiny thing that’s ever gone wrong in my life has been an opportunity for you to make fun of me!’ Now that Belle had got started, her voice was spiralling higher and higher. ‘Like the time I got chewing gum in my hair at the school concert … and the time we were on holiday in Miami and you told me the American abbreviation for condominium was condom … and when I dived into the pool at Jacintha’s party and my bikini top flew off … every single time you laughed at me and made me feel stupid, but this time I’m not going to let it happen!’

  Dismayed, Clemency said, ‘I would never laugh—’

  ‘Shut up, don’t lie, it’s what you always do,’ Belle howled. ‘Like two years ago when I went out on that one date with Hugo Mainwaring and he called me a frosty bitch. He told everyone I was frigid and of course you thought it was hilarious. You taunted me about that—’

  ‘How?’ demanded Clemency. ‘How did I taunt you?’

  ‘Oh my God, are you seriously pretending you don’t remember? Every time you saw me, you’d start singing “Let It Go” … or that “Build a Snowman” song … or “Love Is an Open Door”.’

  Seriously, what was she on about? In bewilderment, Clemency said, ‘The songs from Frozen?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Belle spat back. ‘You taunted me non-stop, for weeks.’

  Frozen … frigid … Realisation dawned.

  Oh for goodness’ sake.

  ‘That wasn’t me making fun of you,’ Clemency cried in disbelief. ‘I loved Frozen. I sang those songs all the time, whether you were there or not! It drove Ronan so mad in the office, he threatened to tape my mouth shut. I wasn’t doing it to taunt you – I was singing them because I couldn’t get them out of my head because I loved them so much!’

  ‘Yeah, right, well it’s never going to happen again. Because I’m proud of who I am.’ Belle jabbed a manicured finger at her own chest. ‘I’m me, I’m gay and you’re not going to make me feel inferior to you any more! Oh, and if you’ve been thinking this means you can have Sam, think again. Because I bet you were, weren’t you? Were you expecting me to tell you it’s fine, help yourself, he’s all yours? Well, I’m not going to! Why should I? No way, d’you hear me? You made a promise and I’m holding you to it. You’re not having him.’

  Twenty minutes had passed since Belle had slammed the door on her way out of the flat. Twenty minutes, but it felt more like twenty hours. Lying on the bed, Clemency listened to the sound of her phone buzzing as it squirmed its way, on silent mode, around her glass-topped bedside table.
r />   Picking it up and glancing at the caller ID, Clemency wondered why on earth Belle would think anyone who’d ignored seven calls from their sister might suddenly decide to answer the eighth.

  She switched the phone off, dropped it on to the bed and covered her eyes. Ow, sore. Actually, really sore … they were swollen and puffy and as fragile as a one-ply tissue.

  The doorbell started ringing again and she whispered, ‘Stop it,’ because this was unbearable. When Belle gave up a few minutes later, Clemency let the tears flow once more, despising her own weakness. Out of curiosity, she reached for her phone and switched on the front-facing camera so she could view her own reflection on the screen.

  God, talk about a horrific sight. Her eyelids looked even worse than they felt, the whites of her eyes were spectacularly bloodshot and her face was blotchy and tight.

  So this was what proper crying did to you. No wonder she didn’t go in for it. What a state.

  Oh, but once it started, however were you meant to make it stop? Where did all the tears come from? And how many did she have left? If she kept on going and didn’t stop, would she eventually wither to a husk, expire from dehydration and—

  CRASHHHHH.

  The almighty noise came from the bathroom, and Clemency jackknifed up off the bed as a cacophony of glass jars and plastic bottles tumbled off the windowsill and landed in the sink. Which meant either a seagull had flown in through the open window, or …

  ‘Ow,’ squawked Belle amid a fresh round of clattering, and Clemency heard the bathroom door open. The next moment her sister appeared in the bedroom doorway. ‘OK, can I just tell you something? Nobody needs forty half-used bottles of shampoo and conditioner and shower gel cluttering up their windowsill. It’s just stupid.’

  ‘How did you get into my bathroom?’ Clemency demanded.

  ‘I bounced really hard on a trampoline.’ Belle paused. ‘There’s a window cleaner at the end of the road. I made him lend me his ladder.’

  ‘You don’t like climbing ladders.’

  ‘I know, but sometimes when people refuse to answer their phones or open their front doors, we aren’t left with much choice. You look awful, by the way.’