The Sunshine And Biscotti Club (22 page)

‘The thing is, Jake, I want to be with someone who is certain with all their heart that I am enough. And for the moment,’ Libby paused, swallowed, then said, ‘I want that person to be me.’

There was a silence at the end of the line. Then she heard Jake clear his throat before saying, ‘But what will I do?’

Libby looked out at the rain-soaked view, at the water rolling round the ripe red cherries and the sparrows sipping from the puddle in the centre of the pink metal table. ‘You’ll be free.’

‘I suppose at a push I could go back to the army,’ he said.

‘Jake, listen to me,’ Libby said, taking a step outside, the damp grass springy under her feet. ‘You’ll be free. You can do whatever you like. That’s what you wanted.’

‘I’ve got friends in London. Friends in a lot of places actually,’ Jake said. ‘Maybe I should take a leaf out of Jimmy’s book and cycle round the world.’

Libby watched the rain dripping from the cactus spikes of the prickly pear. Smelt the sharp citrus of the glistening fat lemons. She didn’t want to hear it. It was his story now, not hers. Maybe one day they might be friends but she didn’t want to be his friend right now. She wanted him to go back to London, to live in the flat, and for their lawyers to work out all the rest.

One day there might even be time for forgiveness.

For now, she had a lake to swim in, fresh lemons to pick, a blog to rebrand, and a hotel to renovate.

‘So, back to the city you say?’ Peter sat back in his chair, the remains of the rain dripping down the corners of the awning into big puddles on the patio. ‘Interesting.’

‘It’s an idea,’ Eve said.

‘Or an elaborate ploy to get rid of the chickens?’ Peter replied.

‘The chickens can come too if they have to.’

‘Or we could just eat them.’

‘No.’ Eve leant forward and smacked him on the thigh. ‘We can’t eat them, they’re pets. They’ve had a hard life.’

‘No, we probably shouldn’t. I think they’d be quite tough as well. We’ll just have to hope that the whole battery-hen trauma finishes them off.’

‘I can’t believe we’re having this chat. This is meant to be a seminal romantic moment and we’re talking about eating our pet chickens.’

Peter nodded. ‘I know, it’s barbaric. Do you want me to do something to make it more romantic? Go down on one knee or something?’

‘No, it’s all wet.’

‘I can if you like, I don’t mind. I’ve been doing yoga, I’ve become very supple,’ he said, moving as if to drop down to the floor.

Eve frowned. ‘When have you been doing yoga?’

‘At work. They have a teacher who comes in once a week to de-stress the kids and there’s a staff lesson afterwards.’

Giulia came out to clear away the empties and asked if they wanted more drinks.

‘We’re going to be drunk at this rate,’ Eve said, ordering another gin and tonic.

‘It’s raining on holiday. What else is there to do?’

‘I didn’t know that you did yoga.’

‘No.’ Peter shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell you, I don’t know why. Too busy?’

‘You should tell me stuff like that,’ Eve said, looking seriously at him.

‘I know. But I’m a man. We don’t do small talk.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t use that as an excuse for everything now, you know?’

Peter laughed.

Giulia came out with their refills.

‘I want to hear your trivia,’ Eve said when she’d gone.

Peter looked at her for a second, sitting back in his chair. ‘OK.’

Suddenly a bit shy, Eve took a sip of her drink and looked across at the ferocious sky. When she turned back to Peter she said, ‘Go on then.’

‘What? Do some yoga?’

‘No, get down on one knee.’

Peter glanced around him. ‘There might be people watching.’

‘Who?’ said Eve, sweeping her arm to take in the empty tables and the drenched terrace. ‘You suggested it.’

‘OK, OK, I’m going down,’ he said, putting his beer back on the table and sliding himself onto the rain-soaked floor.

Next minute he had her hand in his and, gazing adoringly up at her, said, ‘Will you marry me, Eve?’

Eve sniggered. ‘I already have.’

‘I know,’ Peter said before pushing himself up so he could cup her face in his hands. ‘And it makes me the luckiest man alive,’ he said looking down at her, blue eyes sparkling, before leaning in to kiss her with lips that tasted of beer and rain with the sound of her heart thumping in her chest almost as loud as the cicadas.

‘I read your script by the way,’ she said when he had sat back down, her hand held tight in his like he was never letting go.

‘And?’ He looked like Noah again, vulnerably nervous.

‘You’re funnier than I gave you credit for.’

She saw the corner of his mouth tilt. ‘You think I’m funny?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, you should have just said that from the start. All of this was completely unnecessary …’ He waved a hand as if the last hour or so was nothing. ‘You really think I’m funny?’

She nodded.

Peter’s mouth stretched into the widest smile. ‘She thinks I’m funny,’ he said to Giulia, who had come out to wipe the rain off the tables; she gave him a look like she couldn’t care less. ‘She thinks I’m funny,’ he said again to himself, and Eve watched him as he watched her and he said, ‘I love you more than anyone else in the world.’ Then added, ‘Except maybe the kids, but they’re half me so that stands to reason.’

When Miles knocked on Libby’s door that night—all dark, brooding eyes and self-assured certainty—she thought just how easy it would be to push the door open and let him stalk inside.

But, unlike other nights, she stood instead with the door ajar and said, ‘Miles, this isn’t right. It’s been very lovely, but it’s not right.’

He raised a dark brow, surprised.

‘We’re just using each other,’ she said. ‘You don’t fancy me.’

‘I fancy you,’ he said.

‘Not like this you don’t,’ she said, and he frowned. ‘We’re never going to be together and I don’t want to ruin us as friends.’

Miles listened, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Libby looked down at the floor, at her bare feet on the newly polished boards. ‘The thing is, while it’s been really fun, it’s messing with what’s starting to become clear to me, about my life and stuff,’ she said, pushing
her hair back from her face. ‘That sounds bad, but it’s not bad. It’s been like this lovely bubble. But I think now it has to end. Now it’s all a bit more real.’

Miles nodded. ‘It would end tomorrow though, wouldn’t it?’ he said. ‘I go back to the States and that’ll be it done.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But I feel like if it doesn’t happen tonight then there’s more chance of us just being friends. All of us. That’s what I want it to end on.’

Miles bit down on his bottom lip, stared at her for a second, and then nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘That’s a good point.’

Part of her was desperate to ask him in. Just to smell him. He smelt so good. She remembered the teeth clashing and the taste of his lips. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Seriously?’ He made a face. ‘Of course I’m not mad. Just, maybe a bit frustrated,’ he added with a laugh.

She smiled.

He reached up and touched her hair. ‘Lib, this was one of the best things that could have happened to me this holiday.’

‘Really?’ she said, surprised. ‘I’ve felt really guilty about Flo.’

‘No, don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve known I’ve had to move on for a while. In a funny kind of way I think she’d have approved.’

Libby snorted a laugh. ‘I’m not so sure.’

He smiled. ‘Maybe not. But no, I think she would. No, it’s good. And good to end it as well. Very grown up, Libby. Well done.’

‘Thanks.’

He nodded, then leant down and kissed her softly on the cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder. And as his lips were just touching her cheek she inhaled. For one last smell of him. So she could remember.

‘Goodnight, Miles,’ she said, stepping back.

‘Night, Libby.’ Their eyes met and his mouth split into a grin. ‘If you find you need anything, I’m just there up the hall.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said with a smile, and closed the door.

Eve woke up when a note was pushed under the door of her bedroom.

She crept out of bed, careful not to wake Peter, and picked up the slip of A4.

It was from Jimmy to say he was leaving early to catch his plane. He asked her to thank Libby for her hospitality and then wished Eve well, saying how nice it had been to see her.

She read it and reached for the door handle, knowing there was time still to catch up with him. But then she pulled her hand away and stood for a second before turning to look at Peter, fast asleep, the dawn sunrise casting a soft haze of light in the room, the lemon scent drifting through the open windows, and she folded up the note, dropped it in the rubbish bin, and slipped back into bed.

She slept soundly for another hour until Libby knocked on her door and called, ‘OK, we need to get going.’

They all assembled in the lobby, dressed for the last time in their boilersuits. Peter was more than happy that there weren’t any spares.

‘So, there’s loads to do still and one day left to do it,’ said Libby, her smile clearly strained as she looked down at her list. ‘Jimmy’s gone so we need someone to take over the garden. Peter? Do you know anything about gardening?’

Peter shook his head. ‘I have tended to kill most plants I’ve ever owned.’

‘Right.’ Libby frowned. ‘OK, forget the garden for the moment. We need the furniture we’re not using taken out and the bits from the garage brought in. There are two rooms still to be painted, and …’ She looked at the list. ‘Oh god, there’s the floors. There’s three floors still to polish. The light fittings need changing. Shit. OK. No it’s fine. It’s fine. Then there’s the terrace. Dex, that’s pretty much done, isn’t it?’

Dex made a face. ‘Some of the tables could do with a sand and a paint.’

Libby brought her hands up to her temples. Eve could see the panic in her eyes. ‘Oh, I forgot about them,’ Libby said. ‘Oh Jesus. OK, well, let’s just get done what we can done.’

When Libby smiled her big fake smile at the group Eve had to look away. Which meant she was the first to see Bruno appear on the terrace. She watched him pause and turn to look at something, frown, and then
make a gesture as if he was chivvying small children. Eve watched, intrigued.

‘Ms Libby?’ Bruno said, opening the terrace doors, summoning Libby’s attention.

Libby turned. ‘Oh, hi, Bruno.’

‘Hello,’ he said, as if pleasantries were by the by. ‘I have brought you some help,’ he said, then stood back and ushered in all his young hipster bar staff.

Libby’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t have to do that, Bruno,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry, it is good for them. They need to learn how to work,’ he said, winking at the rest of them as his staff trouped in, unimpressed. ‘We are at your service.’

Eve bit down on a smile as she watched them trying to maintain their cool as they all pressed up single file against the wall. Then she turned to see Libby quite overcome.

‘Well erm,’ Libby was consulting her list, confused and emotional. ‘I wonder, maybe, erm … perhaps some of you could do the garden?’ she asked.

Bruno threw his hands wide. ‘I love the garden. I am very good with the garden.’

‘Excellent.’ Libby beamed.

Eve glanced at Jessica who rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile.

Libby was just making more notes on her list, dividing up the work, when the front door opened and Giulia walked in carrying a massive heap of curtains.

‘I bring these,’ she said. ‘My mother is working on the yellow ones and my aunt she is making the white ones.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know your family were—’ Libby started, guiltily.

Giulia cut her off. ‘My mother is eighty-two. She is very happy to have something to do. I am very happy for her to have something to do because it means that she doesn’t spend her time telling me what to do. For these curtains, we all win,’ Giulia said in her usual deadpan tone, and dumped the pile of new curtains on the floor in the lobby. Then she took a scarf out of her pocket, tied it round her hair, and said, ‘Now I am ready for the painting. And,’ she said, taking a step back and a quick look out of the front door, ‘Dino is just arriving and he has brought friends and then my sister will come this afternoon with her husband and their son. So we have the full house.’ She walked towards the group, rubbing her hands together.

Eve watched Libby. She was hesitating. Eve could see that she didn’t quite know what to do or say. All her emotions—surprise, gratitude, uncertainty—were playing on her face. So when Giulia said, ‘Well, where are we starting?’ it was Eve who stepped forward, took the list from Libby’s hand, and replied, ‘We’ll have one team bringing in from the garage, and one taking out from the bedrooms. If you prefer to paint stand over here.’ She pointed to the bottom step of the staircase.
‘Come on,’ she said, ushering some of the reluctant hipsters forward. ‘And we’ll have sand and polishers stand here. Giulia, you’re in charge of curtains and curtain hanging—take all the help you need. And Libby, I think you’re going to have to oversee in general. Check that you’re happy with which paintings go where and what lighting. Yes?’

Libby nodded, less shell-shocked, more touched, and slowly a smile began to spread over her previously anxiety riddled face. A real smile. A wide, double-chinned, toothy, excited, childish smile. One that made Eve lift up her phone and take a photo.

They worked tirelessly until well beyond sunset, like ants, lifting, lugging, hammering, and painting. And, when it was done, the Limoncello once again stood proud, ready and waiting to show itself off to guests. Ancient oil paintings hung next to fairy lights twinkling around white billowing curtains. Brass lampstands with fringed shades stood on upturned tea chests either side of freshly painted bedsteads. Old Indian kilim rugs were laid on newly polished herringbone parquet and in the lobby the strips of halogen lights had been replaced by the original wooden chandeliers, sanded back to the bare wood and rewired by jack-of-all-trades Dino.

It was old meets new. The same but different. For Libby, as she wandered the corridor in the middle of the night, poking her head proudly into the unoccupied rooms, and staring out at the moonlit garden, it felt like she finally understood why she’d been left this place: because she had the capacity to carry on its promise of great food and slightly erratic hospitality that was
nothing if not interesting. It was her job to pick up the baton left by her aunt. To fill the Limoncello with these people that made her open her eyes wider and live her life better and laugh louder and remember that she was good enough on her own. And if she wasn’t, they would be there to help her.

When she woke up the next morning she could barely believe that it was the last one. It made her sick to think about it. It was like the day they all moved out of the flats. A compulsory purchase order slapped on by the council meant they were forced to take their next steps. Libby and Jake got a flat together, Miles went with Flo to the States, Dex, Eve, and Jessica talked noncommittally about getting a place but Eve was already staying most nights at Peter’s and ducked out of the trio to move in with him. Then Jessica got a job in North London and Dex categorically refused to move north of the river so they all went their separate ways. Their boxes all in different rented vans and boots of cars, they’d stood together on the pavement staring up at their soon to be demolished block, no one saying anything, the sun shining hard, reflecting off the windows and the dirty white paint.

One of her favourite memories was of laughing as she found herself tearing up and Dex putting his arm around her when Jake had scoffed that it was only a flat. It only occurred to her now that Dex must have loved her then. She had always remembered that hug, could still feel the warmth and the kindness of it.

Libby got up and opened the curtains, looking out at the sun-soaked garden and her outhouse. Like standing on that pavement outside the flats, she wanted her friends to stay beside her forever, but there were real Sunshine and Biscotti customers waiting—more than she knew how to handle after a flood of bookings post her chocolate cake blog—and she knew they were a safety net she had to let go.

So, as it was their last morning, Libby decided to end it as they began. Making biscotti.

The sun was shining. The sky was a huge blanket of blue, marked only by far off aeroplane tracks; insects danced in the heat and birds swooped to sip from the lake.

Everyone had taken their normal places in the outhouse except Bruno, who had moved across to Jimmy’s old table so Peter could have his without it being symbolically awkward.

Eve had been glowing ever since Peter had arrived—from the freckles on her face, to the curl of her smile, to the shine on her hair—and proudly showed them all her liquorice, chinotto, and prickly pear combo, delighting in their eye-popping reactions.

Since Dex had confessed his feelings to Libby he’d acted like nothing had happened. He’d been exactly as he always was—exactly as he promised he’d be, laughing and joking as he decorated yesterday and now making the usual hash of his biscotti baking. Libby on
the other hand found herself acting a little shy around him, more formal. All confused when she looked at him. When she went over to his bench as he was laying out his mixture she said lamely, ‘Very good. Very uniform.’

Dex raised a brow and said, ‘I will cherish that compliment forever.’ Then he laughed as the lapse in concentration made him mess up the next one.

Libby smiled too slowly, hyperaware of how she was acting around him, and so backed away to carry on her stroll around the room. Bruno was making a snazzy trio of chocolate biscotti. Peter, slightly bemused at the fact he was making anything at all, had settled on a simple, plain biscotti, while Eve furiously grated liquorice and chinotto into her mix.

When Libby reached Miles and his tray of perfect lemon biscuits, she leaned on the bench and said, ‘Those are beautiful biscotti.’

And Miles laughed. ‘I had a very good teacher,’ he said with a wink before getting diligently on with his bake.

Libby went and stood alone at the front of the room, watching them all.

Bruno looked around at everyone hard at work and said, ‘So this is a yearly thing, yes? This reunion?’

Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘It would be a shame to only do it once when you have all come so far,’ he said, and, after a pause, added, ‘with the baking.’

Miles turned at his bench. ‘Very perceptive, Bruno.’

Bruno laughed. ‘I am very in touch with my emotions. Unlike you boys.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Jessica. ‘And girls.’

Jessica rolled her eyes. Dex snorted.

‘I’ll come back next year,’ said Eve. ‘I’d love to.’

‘You would?’ Libby said, surprised.

‘Definitely.’ Eve nodded.

‘Well, you’re more than welcome,’ she said. ‘Any time.’

‘No, I don’t want any time. I want our time,’ said Dex. ‘First week pre-season. That should be reserved for us.’

Libby laughed. ‘I’ll put it in the diary,’ she said, wishing, but not quite believing, that it would happen.

*

When it came to waving them off in their taxis Libby found it so emotional she had to get straight back to work to distract herself. She headed for her office, determined to get more of a handle on the accounts, but found Giulia sitting in her seat.

‘Oh.’ Libby paused in the doorway.

‘I just install a new system. My cousin owns a hotel in Florence. He tells me all about it. It is the best,’ Giulia said, tapping away at the computer keys.

‘Right.’ Libby nodded. ‘That sounds good.’

‘Yes,’ said Giulia. ‘Here, I show you how to use it.’ She patted the stool next to her and Libby duly went over and sat down.

‘So, this is all the new bookings. Look, you are nearly full,’ Giulia said, pointing to the little red squares all over the screen. ‘There are some people asking for the winter. Are you doing your club in the winter?’

Libby shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I thought I’d see.’

‘Well, you need to decide. Pronto.’ She opened another page on the screen. ‘And look here, you already have bookings into next summer.’

Giulia’s hand stilled on the mouse.

Libby leant forward and narrowed her eyes at the screen. Four rooms booked out for the first week pre-season. All the surnames of her friends. Libby felt her mouth tilt into a half-smile. She put her hand to her chest.

When she looked at Giulia she expected her to roll her eyes at the tear Libby couldn’t swipe away fast enough; she didn’t expect the small, slightly hesitant pat on the back and the nod that might at a push be deemed as praise, in the right light.