Summer Loving (14 page)

She laughs and glugs down a whole glass of Champagne in one.

‘You might only be in your early forties when Franklin is dead, but I’m already forty-two.’

Funny. She was forty-four this morning. What was that I was saying about remembering your lies?

‘By the time Tybalt dies, I might be in my bloody mid-sixties! I want to be able to enjoy the money he’ll leave me. I sometimes have fantasies about him dying. I’m sitting down in some luxury hotel somewhere and the phone rings and it’s the police. They tell me that they’re awfully sorry, but Tybalt has perished in a horrific golfing accident. Not really very likely, though, is it. Oh yes. One of the policemen is very young, handsome and muscular. He can see I need consoling, so he takes me in the bathroom and rogers me senseless over the sink, while I hold onto the taps.’

I have to laugh. Fatal golfing accidents must be very few and far between and I’m not sure that police policy allows for that sort of consolation.

Estelle fills her glass with more Champagne. Her eyes look unfocused. I think she’s probably been drinking for most of the day. Unlike me, of course! I’m as pure as the driven snow.

‘Of course, it’ll be alright for you,’ she says, ‘You’ll still be attractive when you’re in your forties. You’ll have big boobs. You’ll have plenty of money. You’ll have plenty of young men after you and if you can’t get young men the usual way, you can pay for them. That’s what I would do. It’s what I’d do now, if I could get away with it. Tybalt’s bloody useless in bed. He thinks he’s god’s gift to women but he really has no idea at all about what a woman wants. Big, rich, powerful men. They’re all the same. Bloody useless in the sack.’

The only area where all of Estelle’s speculations fall down, of course, is that there is no guarantee whatsoever that either Tybalt or Franklin have any intention of leaving their fortunes to people like us when they die. I would be extremely surprised to discover that I was in Franklin’s will, if he has one, which I assume he must. It’s about as likely as Tybalt dying in a horrific golfing accident and Estelle’s subsequent tap-gripping bathroom rogering by a representative of the local constabulary.

She leans forwards and places a hand over mine again. ‘Oh god, Sassy. I love sex. The kinkier the better. I miss it so much.’

Her head suddenly drops forward and she almost squashes the petit fours. ‘Oh my! I think it’s time for me to have an early night!’

She’s slurring her speech, but it doesn’t sound like normal drunkenness. I’d thought earlier that she might have been on pills of some sort, maybe uppers. Perhaps they don’t go well with alcohol.

She stands up, staggers over to where I’m sitting and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, sweet. See you in the breakfast room tomorrow? Eight thirty? Yes? Good.’

She finishes the last of her Champagne and floats off to her room. One of the waiters, who she bumps in to, smiles at me and raises his eyebrows.

A few minutes later, I’m sitting alone with a coffee. I feel a little sick. Hardly surprising. Since lunch, I’ve had two whiskies, a half bottle of Champagne, a small bottle of white wine, two coffees, most of the North Atlantic Ocean, more white wine, octopus, more Champagne and some sick-making petit fours. I decide to take a walk on the beach to clear my head.

I take my high-heeled sandals off and let them dangle from my fingers. It’s already getting dark, and I can just make out a couple of the hotel’s security guards wandering around. One of them is looking up at the stars, which are just becoming visible in the dark blue sky. The sand is warm beneath my feet and there’s a cool breeze coming off the sea. The waves aren’t as big as they were this afternoon and I can hear their hissing as they break on the sand.

It’s so lovely here, so why am I feeling so miserable? Apart from everything else, it was that dinner with Estelle. She’s been at this much longer than I have and she’s a pilled-up, insecure, porn-watching, lonely dipso, who’s only interested in where the next gift is coming from and what surgery she’ll have to undergo to get it.

Her days are mostly spent alone, pounding the treadmill, doing endless sit-ups, frying herself on the sunbeds, getting endless hair and beauty treatments and contemplating her next boob job. I feel like she’s in this hellish, luxury dungeon and she’s trying to drag me down with her so that she has some company.

I’d like to be liberal about it and say that I actually like her a bit and feel sorry for her, but that would be a lie. I don’t feel anything for her at all. Very mild distaste, maybe. I don’t like her company and I don’t like being around her.

A third security guard walks by and nods at me. Fancy that. Having a walk on the beach and you’re outnumbered three to one by security guards.

So why don’t I like being around her? I’m an affable sort of girl. I get on with most people. Well, the answer’s as plain as day. I’m already on the road to being like her. Looking at her is like looking into my own future. I’ve already had the breast surgery and the blonde hair, I’ve got the nice clothes and the trinkets, I’m so used to drinking Champagne that I’m bored with it, I pretend to find Franklin’s jokes funny when they’re not…

And like Estelle, I’m already starting to worry about what will happen in the future. I know it makes Franklin feel like Mr Big having me around when I’m still young and pretty, but I’m fully aware that I’m dispensable and that all of this, everything I’ve got, all my nice things, could just be taken from me without any notice, because they’re not really my things at all, they’re his. And I’m his property as much as my emerald earrings or my Piaget watch are.

I keep walking and close my eyes. If I concentrate, and just listen to the waves and feel the sand beneath my feet, I can just about imagine that I’m nineteen again, walking along the beach at Polzeath.

I’m slim and well-proportioned. I’d laugh at the idea of enhancement surgery. My hair is still brown. The wind off the sea is blowing it around my face.

I’m not alone, either. Kirstan is walking next to me, his arm around my waist. Occasionally, he’ll spin me around to face him and kiss me. His kisses are soft, sensual and last for a very long time. They make me feel dizzy, intoxicated and slightly faint. I can feel my heart fluttering.

My eyes are stinging, so I open them to blink the tears away. The light is going, so for a second I’m not sure it’s him. But it is. This isn’t part of my reverie or a waking dream. Subconsciously or otherwise, I’ve walked over to his chalet. He’s standing outside his orange door.

We stand and look at each other for a moment. He smiles.

‘I thought you were sleepwalking.’

‘I have been. For eight years.’

‘Well,’ he says.

‘Well,’ I say, those bloody tears brimming again.

We walk towards each other until we’re about a foot apart. He looks a little sad, like he’s not sure what to say. He takes a deep breath and sighs.

‘I missed you, Sask.’

‘I missed you, too.’

It’s no bloody good. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t burst into tears again, but I can’t help it. He reaches out and gently holds my arm, just above the wrist, giving it a slight squeeze. I can feel the goose pimples starting.

‘Sorry. I feel so stupid.’

‘Forget it.’

And then we’re kissing, and all the pain is gone.

Ten

Afterwards, we lie in bed, staring into each other’s eyes for about half an hour. Neither of us says a thing. I can hear the waves outside, quietly lapping against the shore.

The chalet is much bigger inside than I thought it would be (I keep thinking about the TARDIS), and it’s quiet and cool. It’s a lovely evening and a faint breeze comes through an open window, making the curtains gently twist and turn.

‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what to think or what to do.’

He looks serious for a moment. ‘You’ve got to do the right thing. You’ve got to go back and be with your guy. Forget this ever happened.’

‘What?!’

He grins. ‘Only kidding.’

I punch him hard on the shoulder. ‘Don’t joke about it. This is serious stuff. This is like something out of a novel or a film. This is major, serious, life-changing stuff, Kirstan. This is drama. It’s mythological.’

He laughs and rubs his shoulder.

‘That really hurt. OK. Shall I give you the unadulterated version of what’s going on in
my
head right now? No punches pulled? No editing? Damn the consequences and all the rest of it?’

I nod. I can hear seagulls. They must be up late.

‘I am never –
never
going to let you go again. I don’t care what happens, or who you’re with.’ He grins. ‘I’ll bleedin’ kidnap you if I have to. It’s my last day here tomorrow. I’d planned to go to Italy. I was going to go to Sardinia. After that, I had that thing set up with Janica’s brother in Oz. But as I’m telling you that now, I realise that all these things were part of me running away and I’ve no idea when it was going to stop. Maybe it can stop now. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it. Wherever you want to go, we’ll go there.’

I run a hand across his chest. ‘I’ve never been to Sardinia. I’ve heard it’s meant to be very nice.’

‘Depends who you go with.’

‘I want to go with you.’

‘We could do it, couldn’t we, Sask? We could actually just go there tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night even.’

‘I’ve got a few things to extract myself from first. I told you, if I just disappear I’ll be just as bad as someone who’s, er, bad.’

‘That’s a good simile. I’ll remember that one.’ He runs a hand through my hair and kisses me again. ‘This is right, isn’t it? It’s not just some mad thing that has no future. I haven’t got anything, you know. I don’t own a property or have an impressive investment portfolio.’

I pull away from him suddenly. ‘You didn’t tell me
that
! You mean you have no SERPS?’

‘Sadly, no.’

‘Good.’

I lean over and kiss him on the mouth. It’s on the point in developing into something else, but I pull back just in time. I really don’t think I’m ready for another session like the last one quite yet. I’m still sore.

‘I had a chat with Janica this afternoon. She told me everything you’d told her. About us, I mean.’

He looks embarrassed. ‘She told you everything? Shit. Yeah, well, we had a lot of long chats, you know? I think I told you, she had this long-term thing with this girl that looked like it was for life, then the girl went all funny on her and it collapsed. That’s why she came here, to sort of forget everything. I was just being friendly and said that I was here for much the same reason, so I told her about you. The girl’s name was Sapphire. Great name, eh?’

‘She said you went off the rails for a year. What happened?’

‘Well, that’s a bit too dramatic, really. Sounds like I was living in a cardboard box around the back of a Chinese takeaway in Manchester. I just, um, well, it didn’t hit me at first, you know It was just like you’d gone to see your folks in Bristol for the weekend and you’d soon be back. But then, um, well…’

I stroke his hair. He’s pursing his lips and I can see he’s trying to stop himself from blubbing. God almighty, this whole thing is making emotional wrecks of all of us.

‘Then it finally hit me. You weren’t coming back and I’d probably never see you again. And I felt like an idiot, you know? I thought about what I could have said or done. It didn’t make sense, but I felt like it was my fault that you’d gone. I sort of knew that you loved me and you knew that I loved you, but then I thought, well, that can’t be the case if she’s going off to Scotland. I mean, you couldn’t have gone any further away if you’d tried. I reckoned maybe you thought it was just a gap year fling or something. I don’t know what I thought.’

I hold him so tight he groans with pain. ‘Oh no. You couldn’t have been more wrong. I adored you. I just kept thinking that something would happen at the last minute and I wouldn’t have to go. I…’

You’ve guessed it. I’m sobbing again. When all this is over, I’m going to have to have therapy. There can be no doubt about it.

‘But you didn’t say anything and suddenly I was there. I was so, so miserable. I hated it. I tried to put you out of my mind, but I never could. I don’t even remember why I applied to go there in the first place. I was just nineteen and I was bloody stupid.’

Kirstan pulls me closer to him and runs a hand down the side of my thigh. I start to melt into him and I know what’ll be coming next. He tries to sound casual when he speaks, but the pain in his eyes gives him away.

‘So anyway, I was just pissed and wrecked all the time, basically, and started really fucking up. I mean, you didn’t need a degree in astrophysics to work in the surf shop, but eventually I couldn’t even do that and Corin fired me. That was about two months after you’d gone. So I was just this pissed beach bum on the dole, for want of a better description. Actually, that sounds quite cool, now I think of it. Anyway, I didn’t have anywhere to live and just crashed on people’s floors. Crashed being the operative word. Crashed and smashed.’

‘Baby.’

‘Larry felt sorry for me, I reckon. When he suggested the France thing, I knew that would be the answer. I had to get away from Cornwall and never go back. I couldn’t stand being there anymore. I didn’t care where I went as long as it wasn’t there. Being in Cornwall was killing me. And at the end of all of that, here I am. And here you are.’