Two
‘You’ve booked a last-minute break? For us?’
Ted looked, and sounded, even more incredulous than Erin had when I eventually told him what I’d done. We were in my kitchen that evening and he almost spilt his bottle of beer, but he managed to upright it in time, before a drop plopped onto my tiled floor.
I’d made pizza. Well, I’d taken it out of the fridge, and its packaging, and stuck it in the oven for the required twelve minutes, while Ted had opened a beer for himself, and poured me another large glass of red wine from the bottle I’d opened earlier. It was my third of the evening, because I’d needed a glass or two before he arrived, for courage.
I was going to wait until after we’d eaten to tell him, but whilst dating Ted, experience had taught me that it was better not to put things off. His phone might ring and he might dash off to do something work-related, and then I wouldn’t get a chance because he’d say we’d have to discuss it another time. But if I told him something straight away, he might still dash off, but he’d come back later to finish our conversation, or at least, call me to do so. That’s what I’d learnt over the last year and a bit.
So, after we had asked one another if we’d had a good day, and I’d told him I’d met up with Erin before she went on her shift, and he’d told me he’d spent most of his day in client meetings and how busy his had been, I had broached the subject.
‘A last-minute romantic break,’ I clarified, and he gave me an even stranger look. ‘You said we should go away,’ I reminded him. ‘And you said February was a good time after the January rush.’
I worked with my mum, running a bridal shop in the Bentall Shopping Centre in Kingston upon Thames, along with an online extension of that business, so I could take time off whenever I wanted, within reason. Ted had told me at the new year that as he was owed so much holiday, having rarely taken any time off, he could also have a few days off, or a week, at short notice. But perhaps he had meant more notice than just one day.
He took a long swig from his bottle, and I gulped more wine, and then he looked at me, his brows knit tightly together.
‘I did say that. That’s true. But that was before I knew you were terrified of flying. I was thinking of somewhere hot when I said that.’
I had only told Ted on New Year’s Eve that, despite being the grand old age of twenty-eight, I had never been on a plane. Just the thought of it made my stomach churn, my heart thump, and my head spin. He had been astonished and had asked why I hadn’t told him about my fear before, as though I’d kept some deep dark secret from him and that I was a mass murderer or something equally awful. But the subject had simply never come up. We hadn’t discussed holidays, or places we’d been – or hadn’t been, until that night.
I suppose, on some level, I might have intentionally kept it from him. People always looked at me like I was a bit mad or something, when I mentioned my phobia, so over the years, I never brought it up unless someone actually asked. And Ted hadn’t asked. It was only when he’d suggested on New Year’s Eve that we should go away together to somewhere like Tenerife, or the Caribbean, that I said we’d have to go by ship.
And just like everyone else had in the past, Ted had looked at me as if I were some sort of Alien being.
Since that night, things had slightly changed between us. Erin told me I was imagining it at first, but I knew I wasn’t. Which was one of the reasons I’d booked the romantic break for Ted and me. I wanted things to go back to the way they were on New Year’s Eve. Before I’d told him I would never get on a plane.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But this’ll be fun. We’ll sleep late, take leisurely lunches, long walks in the bracing, sea air–’
‘Long walks?’ he interjected, his brows raised as I was trying to think of other things we could do. ‘It’s done nothing but rain for the last few weeks. Not really holiday weather, is it? February in the UK isn’t quite so appealing.’
‘That depends.’ I hoped my smile was seductive. ‘A cosy cottage with a roaring log fire, just you and me, and the rain pounding against the windows.’ I leant forward and walked my fingertips up the front of his pristine white shirt, making sure each finger landed on a button. ‘That sounds very appealing to me.’
Ted’s body reacted to my touch and he plonked his beer bottle on the counter and reached out for me. A sudden crash of thunder made us both jump.
And then an image popped into my mind’s eye as rain lashed against my kitchen window. But it wasn’t of me and Ted.
It was of me and Sam, on a hot and humid July night, kissing on the beach in Fairlight Bay, waves gently lapping at our bare feet, our toes half buried in the wet sand, as thunder rumbled around us. And then, with one almighty crash, the clouds burst, sending torrents of rain down on us. I could almost hear my shriek of surprise, and Sam’s deep, melodic laugh as he took my hand and we ran for cover, taking shelter in the beach hut his family owned.
We had only met that day and yet I felt as if I’d known him all my life. Making love with him that night not only seemed the most natural thing in the world to do, it felt like my life depended on it. As if I couldn’t breathe without him kissing me, as if my heart might stop if it didn’t beat in rhythm with his, as if my body would crumble without his arms around me.
‘Are you sure?’ Sam had moaned softly, aware that this was the first time for me, after we had torn off each other’s clothes.
‘Yes,’ I had gasped, desperate for his touch. ‘Oh yes.’
I had never been more certain of anything in my life.
‘Lucy?’
Ted’s voice brought me back to the reality of my kitchen but I couldn’t stop the strangled sigh from escaping at the loss of that memory.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I was … watching the rain.’
He gave me a doubtful look, having stepped away from me after the boom of thunder, instead of pulling me in for a kiss. The storm must’ve distracted him too.
‘Hmm. Yes. Well. That sort of proves my point, doesn’t it? Walks in the rain seem more likely than anything. And that doesn’t sound like fun to me.’
‘Well I’m sorry,’ I snapped, partly cross with myself for being so stupid as to make a booking without checking with him first, and partly cross at him for not seeming to be keen to spend time away with me in a cosy, country cottage. ‘I thought us spending seven days together would be fun. And romantic. And, oh silly me, I assumed you’d jump at the chance of having seven nights of sex without needing to get up early for work every morning.’
I glowered at Ted but he met my angry stare with silence, and then the alarm I’d set for the oven timer, beeped.
‘I suppose we should eat,’ Ted eventually said.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, turning off the alarm. ‘We should eat.’