by Karen Clarke
I wasn’t even that keen on diamonds and wished he’d chosen something more personal, but Gran had loved it. He’s a keeper, she’d said, rummaging out photos of her wedding day, when she’d worn a white lace midi-dress and floppy hat, clutching a bunch of white roses in one hand, Grandad holding the other, the church behind them blanketed white with snow. It had been one of the coldest winters on record. Happiest day of my life, love.
‘I think Scott proposed out of guilt, and, if I’m being totally honest, I said yes because I knew how much Gran wanted to see me married before she died.’ It was the first time I’d admitted it out loud. ‘I think, in my heart, I stopped loving him the first time he cheated on me.’
I gulped down the rest of my wine to stop myself talking. I hated that I’d let things get so far, even booking the tickets to Norway – where Gran had hoped to go with Grandad before he died – choosing a hotel that boasted the best view of the Northern Lights. With hindsight, I knew guilt had been the driving force behind Scott letting me have my way. He’d have much preferred a honeymoon in Guatemala. Not that I was about to tell Ryan that. I’d said enough already. He was staring into his empty glass, as if seeing my sorry tale play out at the bottom.
‘No wonder you burnt his stuff,’ he said.
I thumped my head back against the cushions. ‘It was a couple of shirts and a wallet, and a book he didn’t even like!’
He laughed in surprise. ‘Ah yes, you said. That makes it so much better.’ I gave him a dead-eyed look ‘Seriously,’ he added. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did when I’d only just met you. I didn’t know the full story.’ He reached out his hand and rested it in the space between us. ‘You should have burnt everything.’
My mouth twitched towards a smile. ‘The best revenge was leaving him,’ I said. ‘He came off looking like the bad guy, once word got around, and he didn’t like that one bit. The great Scott Mackenzie.’
Ryan jolted upright. ‘Scott Mackenzie?’
I bolted upright too. ‘You’ve met him?’
‘Tall and…’ he swept a hand over his head ‘…blond hair, looks a bit like that Swedish actor from True Blood?’
‘Alexander Skarsgård?’ Scott would have loved that. ‘That’s him,’ I said, shocked. ‘How…?’
‘My agent invited me to a book launch in London.’ Ryan angled his body towards me. ‘One of her clients, an artist, had a book out, one of those coffee table type things, and he – Mackenzie – was with her, introducing himself as the guy who discovered her.’ He paused. ‘I thought they were a couple actually. I think everyone did.’
‘Hannah Jepson.’ The sting of saying her name had long since faded. ‘Scott owns a gallery, he displayed her work, her dad’s a friend of his dad, blah, blah, blah.’ I waved away the condolences I sensed were coming. ‘I had an inkling they were more than friends, even before he went to that launch – without me.’
‘I thought he was a bit of a prick, to be honest.’
I smiled. ‘Turns out, he was.’
‘I’m sorry for thinking… you know.’
‘That he’d had a lucky escape?’
He grimaced. ‘I’m an idiot.’
‘And just for the record,’ I added, ‘I’m not unstable even though I was dressed as a koala and screamed the place down the first time you met me.’
‘When did I say that?’
‘Remember, I overheard you talking to Charlie.’
‘God, I’m sorry again about that.’ He rubbed his forehead as if to erase the memory. ‘You were right to have a go at me.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said with a grin. ‘I think we’ve put it to bed now.’
The word ‘bed’ seemed to shimmer between us for a second.
Ryan cleared his throat. ‘So, are you any closer to figuring out what you’re going to do?’
‘About?’
‘The letters from your great-grandmother and your travel blog.’
‘Ah, right. Well, I’m going to give the letters back to Gérard and forget I saw them, and the blog…’ I thought of my scribbled notes the day before that had morphed into possible names for a different kind of business. ‘Let’s just say, I’m working on it,’ I said. ‘And that, whatever happens, running a café won’t figure in my future.’
‘Talking of which…’ Ryan glanced at his watch, which looked like an old one with a worn leather strap. ‘Do you think there’s any chance of Dolly coming in tomorrow?’
I almost dropped my wine glass. ‘Are we going to have to do all that again?’
He seemed to find this funny. ‘Your face,’ he said. ‘It’s actually not that bad, as long as Stefan and Celeste are here to help.’
‘I thought you had a book to write.’ I put down my glass and reached for my phone on the table. ‘I need to find out what’s happening.’
‘Don’t call Dolly, she might be asleep.’
‘I’ll send Charlie a message.’
He replied quickly, almost as if he’d been waiting to hear from me.
Doubt any of us will be well enough to make it in.
The tone was unusually gloomy.
I feel as if I’ve swallowed glass and have a temperature of 1004.
You’re technically dead.
Sorry, meant 104. Fat fingers.
Have you had the doctor out?
No need, same thing everyone’s had. Need to rest, etc.
‘What?’ said Ryan, leaning over to look at my screen. I showed him Charlie’s message. ‘Sounds nasty.’
Are you coming back?
I typed.
No, staying here 2nite, try to sleep it off. Things OK there?
I thought about giving him a rundown, but Ryan was right – it hadn’t been that bad – or at least, it could have been worse.
Don’t worry Chuck, we’ve got this X
Cheers Nina X
I sighed. ‘I still think it’s strange how we haven’t heard a word about this terrible virus until today and now all three of them have it.’
‘Isn’t that how viruses work?’ Ryan was so close, I could see a tiny freckle on his temple, and the way his eyelashes curled ever-so-slightly at the tips. ‘One person gets it, everyone in the family follows.’
‘We were with them all the other night, and we’re fine.’
I watched as Ryan did an experimental swallow, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down. ‘My throat feels OK.’
I swallowed some more wine. ‘Mine too,’ I said.
‘Maybe we’re immune.’
‘I hope so.’
Ryan put down his glass and leant back, legs sprawled, hands folded across his chest. ‘You really think they’ve been trying to throw us together?’
I seemed to be tilting towards him. ‘Don’t you?’
He thought for a moment, eyes half-closed. ‘There have been a series of happy accidents as my Aunt Heidi would call it, but they could have been just that.’
‘I’m not sure I believe in happy accidents,’ I said, but I liked the sound of Aunt Heidi. ‘And you know that matchmaking is Dolly’s thing?’
‘I… yes, I do know that.’ He lowered his gaze and, for a second, seemed lost in thought, then his eyes flicked back to my face, filled with firelight and layered with… something. My head started to spin. ‘You know, if that is the case, about Dolly matchmaking, it would be a shame if her efforts were wasted.’
As I scanned his face, warmth sped through me, firing up my nerve endings, and I was suddenly aware of being almost naked beneath my pyjamas. ‘What are you suggesting, Mr Sadler?’ I’d meant to sound cartoonishly seductive and accompany the words with a dramatic eyelash flutter, but forgot the flutter and ended up sounding seductive. Also, why was I so close to him that I could almost stroke his face?
‘I’m saying, we’re both single, you’re the most attractive koala I’ve ever seen—’
‘Finding koalas attractive is really weird,’ I said, trying to block out the word attractive, even though my heart rate tripled in respo
nse.
He laughed softly, and I realised his hand was round the back of my head, his fingers playing with my hair, and I felt as if my insides were starting to melt. ‘You’re funny too,’ he said.
‘Flattery is the lowest form of creativity.’ Why did I still sound seductive? ‘You should know that, being a roman.’ I giggled at my weak attempt at a joke and wondered whether it was the wine or Ryan that had gone to my head.
‘Not if it’s true.’
I suddenly couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. It was just so… kissable. I leant closer so our faces were millimetres apart and I could see myself in his eyes, then closed the gap between us and pressed my lips to his.
He made a sound, like a sigh or a groan as he pulled me closer, his hand still wrapped in my hair, the other circling my waist, and then I was astride his lap, running my hands through his hair – there was a lot of hair action going on – and I could feel the firmness of his body as I pressed against him, every cell in mine alive with desire. We drew apart, breathing hard, and I dropped my head to his shoulder, not letting myself think, just feel.
‘Have you been at the satsumas?’ he murmured, breathing the skin on my neck.
‘It’s mandarin shower crème,’ I murmured back, and we kissed again, as if training for the kissing Olympics, and I’d never felt so much like tearing off a man’s clothes and touching his skin.
Ryan held me tighter, hands moving up my back, and there was a split-second when we looked deep into each other’s eyes and I felt a shock of recognition – this was where I was supposed to be – and had an overwhelming urge to take off my pyjamas.
‘Where have you been all my life?’ Ryan spoke in a raspy voice as he flipped me onto my back on the cushions and lowered himself on top of me.
‘That’s so cheesy,’ I breathed, sounding like someone in the throes of passion. Was this the throes of passion? If so, why hadn’t it felt like this with anyone else, including Scott?
As we started kissing again, there was a shift in the air around us, as though the molecules had been disturbed – and not just because of the hormones flying around.
‘Ryan?’
We froze and unlocked lips. ‘Did you just say my name?’
I shook my head, my heart like a juggernaut in my chest. ‘It wasn’t me.’
We sprang apart and bolted upright, and I locked eyes with a woman I instantly recognised from the photo I’d seen a few nights ago on Ryan’s phone.
‘Nicole!’ He got slowly to his feet. ‘What are you doing here?’
Twenty-One
On reflection, I probably shouldn’t have smirked when Ryan said my ‘catchphrase’, but I blamed the wine, and the unexpectedness of being thoroughly kissed for the first time in a long time, in a way that I’d never been kissed before.
Thankfully, he didn’t notice, his shock at seeing his ex-fiancée was so complete, but Nicole did. Her gaze had swung from Ryan’s rumpled appearance to me in my rumpled pyjamas, with my rumpled hair – my face was probably rumpled too – and her smile went tight. ‘Looks like I’ve interrupted… something.’ Her eyes skimmed over the dirty plates and glasses and the almost-empty bottle of wine on the table. ‘I did knock, but nobody heard.’ And now I can see why. The words hung in the air, but remained unspoken.
‘We were having dinner,’ I said redundantly as Ryan continued to stare, clearly unable to believe what he was seeing. There was no way of telling whether he was pleased, angry or somewhere in between, but I wished he’d had time to flatten his hair and button his shirt. Had I unbuttoned it? I supposed I must have and my face flamed when Nicole gave me a knowing smirk of her own.
She was incredibly pretty in the flesh, with thick blonde hair cascading from a centre parting, framing a symmetrical face. Her eyes were a nicer shade of grey than mine, her nose smaller, her full lips coloured an eye-popping shade of red I’d never be able to pull off.
Ryan clearly didn’t have a type because she was my opposite in every way.
He ran a hand over his face, and his gaze briefly touched mine. ‘This is Charlie’s cousin, Nina,’ he said, and she gave me a brief nod before throwing down her leather bag and slipping her hands into the pockets of her swingy, scarlet coat. ‘How… when did you get here?’ He sounded as if it was an effort to get his words in the right order.
‘About half an hour ago, the usual way.’ She gave a toss of her amazing hair, as though the details weren’t important. She was tiny, I realised, and it gave her a vulnerable air. I remembered how she’d kept calling Ryan, and Charlie advising him to ignore her. Could Nicole be unstable? It seemed an impulsive act, to jump on a plane and fly out this close to Christmas, to talk to a man who’d apparently made his feelings crystal clear and walked away months ago.
‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘I spoke to Charlie,’ she said, and I remembered the conversation I’d overhead between him and Dolly. She says she’s changed and I think I believe her.
I wondered whether Charlie had any inkling Nicole was planning to come over. If so, he clearly hadn’t said anything to Ryan, unless he’d forgotten, with his car breaking down and then becoming ill.
Ryan was shaking his head, whether annoyed with Nicole, or the situation, it was hard to tell. ‘How did you get in?’
‘The back door was open.’
Bloody hell. I was sure I’d locked it, after the muffin disaster earlier. I could see myself turning the key and testing the door, but it obviously hadn’t worked.
Judging by his concentrated expression, Ryan was seeing it too. He’d watched me do it. ‘Where…?’ He hesitated. ‘Where are the children?’
‘With my mum and dad.’ Nicole gave me a quick look that said plainly that she didn’t want to talk in front of me. ‘They’re fine.’
I got to my feet, which were pale and clumpy next to her shiny black spiky-heeled boots (not suitable for snow) and I wished I wasn’t wearing pyjamas. Compared to Nicole’s delicate beauty, I felt like a giant, over-tired toddler, though – looking closer – even in the subdued glow from the Christmas tree lights and the dying fire, I noticed smudges of tiredness beneath her eyes. ‘I’ll go,’ I said, as if I had a choice. ‘You’ve come a long way and must be tired.’ I looked at Ryan and caught his small, helpless shrug of apology. ‘Your children look lovely, by the way. Ryan has a photo of you all on his phone.’
‘He does?’ She sounded pleased, and I wondered with a clench of horror whether I’d made things worse by suggesting he was far from over them. ‘That’s so cute,’ she said.
Ryan lowered his head and kneaded his eyebrows, as if trying to conjure some words that would change what was happening.
‘Nicole, I—’
‘I just need to talk to you face-to-face.’ She spoke gently but with feeling, and I realised what had been obvious from the moment she appeared, in her scarlet coat and high-heeled boots, with perfect hair: she was here to win him back. Her gaze shifted. ‘This is a really nice room,’ she said as if noticing it for the first time. ‘I really tried with the Christmas tree at home, but Lulu keeps pulling off the baubles.’
Her words brought the ghost of a smile to Ryan’s face, and seeming heartened by the sight of it, Nicole moved closer and touched his arm with her French-manicured fingertips. Even with two children under five to look after, she’d found time to take care of the details. ‘Just give me half an hour,’ she said, with the sort of beguiling smile that must have drawn him to her in the first place, and I realised that, although he knew the details of my break-up with Scott, I knew next to nothing about his relationship with Nicole. ‘You really do need to hear what I have to say,’ she said softly. ‘I promise you won’t be disappointed.’
It was painful to watch the way Ryan was looking at her – as if now she was in front of him, in all her tiny glory, he was wondering how he could ever have given her up.
Taking my cue to leave, I didn’t look at him again as I gathered up our plates and glasses and dumped
them in the kitchen, before pouring myself a glass of water and closing the door firmly behind me as I left the room.
If there was going to be a reconciliation tonight, I didn’t want to hear it.
My bedroom felt cold and uninviting and I roamed around it, moving things about, then gazed out of the window at the star-scattered sky, going over and over the kiss with Ryan, wondering what it had meant, trying to convince myself it hadn’t meant anything – it had been a moment of madness brought on by the wine. Things had got out of hand, that was all. But, that kiss. How could I go back to everyday life after that? It had released something inside me I hadn’t known existed. I didn’t even know what it was, only that I was now filled with an even bigger, restless yearning I didn’t know what to do with.
After replaying our conversation for the tenth time, I finally settled into bed and read Augustine’s letters again, feeling the longing she’d had for William, as though she was reaching out to me through the years. Had she felt like that about Dolly’s grandad, or was it a pale imitation of her real love?
Frustrated, I switched off the light and read some more of The Midnight Hour on my Kindle, losing myself for a while in Grace Benedict’s life, which included a complicated relationship with her alcoholic sister, seeing everything differently now that I knew (and had kissed) the author. I pictured Ryan sitting at a mahogany desk, overlooking the river in front of his house, half an ear open for what might be going on behind the living room door.
At one point, I slipped out of bed on the pretext of going to the bathroom and held my breath, listening for sounds of voices, or even crying, hoping I wouldn’t hear anything that hinted at a passionate reunion.
