Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 6

6

I head down to the pool and am confronted by the most attractive man I have ever – and I truly mean ever – seen: tall, lithe, skin the colour of a Mediterranean childhood … and, unfortunately, a man-bun. I recognise that no man can have it all, though, and nor should he. This fella has more than enough, even with the terrible hair. Whoa!

‘Hello,’ he says, holding out a hand, a smile wide and true across his face. His accent betrays his roots. He must be local. ‘My name is Adonis. I think you are Flo?’

Adonis. The Greek god of a man is called ADONIS? Hope is going to love this. He is currently taking the saying ‘If the shoe fits’ to a whole new level. Maybe I’m ovulating. That’s what they say, isn’t it? That in the middle of your cycle you fancy people more, and are more fanciable yourself? The way Adonis ( Adonis! I still need a minute to get over that name) is still shaking my hand and grinning at me makes me think that I am indeed a tiny bit fanciable. He’s … appraising me. Openly. And I know I’m not supposed to enjoy being leered at, but it’s so straightforward of him that I admire the gumption. My smile widens under his attention. It’s like the second we shook hands he flicked a switch in me, from ‘off’ to ‘definitely on’. Every fibre of my being has come alive.

‘My friend Clio will be helping you today,’ Adonis says, gesturing to a woman I hadn’t clocked before: she’s older, with a grey plait and ruddy cheeks, and strong-looking hands. Exactly as I imagine a great masseuse looks, to be fair. ‘But I hope we can meet again later.’ He flashes another smile, and it feels so strange to be so freely awarded attention – and, what’s more, to be reacting to it. It’s nice. It makes me feel … well, sexy, to be honest. My cheeks flush, but I don’t feel embarrassed by the desire in his gaze, not with my ‘on’ switch. I don’t think that has ever happened to me before in my life, this level of being-hit-upon. I don’t question it. Adonis has zeroed in on me like a heat-seeking missile and, just like that, I’m open to it. This is so weird!

‘Sure,’ I say, giving him a winning smile of my own. ‘Have fun …’

Adonis laughs. ‘Yes,’ he says, although what I said didn’t even make proper sense and really wasn’t funny. I don’t think that matters when you’re flirting. It’s fun to be saying words at each other. When did I last flirt ? I mean, probably last Christmas, but let’s not go there. I’m not going to over-think this. ‘But not too much, huh?’

Now it’s my turn to laugh at something not-quite-sensical, in the name of flirting. Adonis gestures to Alex to follow him, and I see Mum and Laurie looking at me with faces that might as well say: ‘Ew, gross!’

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Nothing,’ Mum says quickly – too quickly – as Laurie says, ‘Where did that laugh come from? I’ve never heard you laugh like that in all my life.’ He mimics the noise that I made and, to be fair, it’s not far off the loud sound that emanated from my body as I ‘flirted’. But so what? We can’t all be smugly married. I suddenly wonder what Laurie was like to date – I’m sure he’s done his fair share of OTT giggles in his time. Kate and I have never talked about how he romanced her – not really. Maybe it’s time. That way I can add some ammunition to my sibling-ribbing tank. He must have done something right, to end up marrying such a baller. But I’d like to know all the things he didn’t get right, please, because before Kate, my big brother was a shambles romantically. I’d like to remind him of that, but I know it sounds too defensive – and anyway Clio is beckoning me through to the back living room. I’m the first one on the massage table.

And what a massage it is. Minutes later, all thoughts of anything drift quickly away as Clio kneads and pokes and rubs me from her fold-out bed. She’s closed the blinds, so it is dark and shaded, and has some plinky-plonky music that sees me relax immediately. After two minutes I’m not even aware of the noise of the plumbers in the kitchen. That is how good she is. I was right about the strength of her hands. She finds knots in me that feel like they’ve been there since birth. I hover in the delicious space between waking and sleep, my body and mind peaceful and calm. I inhale and exhale, face-down on the table. As Clio rubs warm oil up my left leg, starting at the calf and working her way upwards in long, rhythmic strokes, I feel the tension melt away.

Hmmm … I wonder if Alex’s massage is this good – the one with Adonis.

Adonis. I’ll bet he gives great massages. I did notice that he has big hands. I bet they’d feel like this: firm pressure, a steady rhythm. If Adonis did this, he’d follow the line of my leg, up, and up, and up, my legs parting until he found his way between them.

Gosh.

Maybe he’d lower his weight on top of me from behind and I’d arch into him as he pushed back the fabric of my underwear. He’d find his way between my thighs and touch me, lightly at first and then with increasing intensity. He’d rub and rub, unrelenting, purposeful, all focused and determined. Never in a rush, never with any expectations. Just for me – for my pleasure. And he’d ask me, breathlessly, ‘Is that good?’

‘Hmmm,’ I’d say, struggling to form the words to reply. He’d know it was good. That’s part of the turn-on.

‘Miss? Is that good?’

Miss?

I fling open my eyes. The clock that Clio set out as we started says almost a whole hour has gone by.

‘We finished, Miss. Thank you.’ She gives me a slight bow and gestures to my bikini top and kaftan over the back of a chair. Holy crap – I must have properly fallen asleep. And had a sex dream about the other masseur! Not that that is terrible , per se. Like I said to Kate, I’ve been as celibate as a nun for quite a while now, because the notion of dating as I was trying to recover and hold my life together was a step too far. I’m oddly proud of myself, truth be told, for indulging in a little fantasy. Something deep inside me is awakening after a very long time asleep. I feel like attention must be paid to it. It must be the holiday magic.

Outside the sun sits high in the sky, a king on its throne. The breeze is mild, the heat high. I am walking on a cloud, dazed after the best hour I’ve had in a long time.

‘That was incredible ,’ I tell Kate as Clio and I re-emerge, blinking, into the light outdoors. She’s going to take a break and then do Mum, and after lunch it will be Kate’s turn. Adonis is doing all the blokes, apparently. I find myself looking out for him, after my runaway thoughts got me all worked up.

‘You look like a different person!’ Kate squeals, scanning me. ‘That’s amazing. You’re … radiant . God, I can’t wait for mine now. Laurie tries to rub my feet for me after a long day sometimes, but it’s more of a tickle, if I’m honest. I want pummelling .’

Pummelling. Why does everybody’s language seem so filthy right now?

‘How do,’ Alex says, wandering over and looking as jelly-like as I feel. ‘Kate, mate. Thank you for that. I feel reborn. The hands on that man …’ He gestures to Adonis, who gives me his apparently trademark smile as I follow Alex’s finger-point.

‘I can imagine,’ I say, and I sound like a horny housewife. I don’t know what possesses me to say this to my brother, but it just slips out.

‘Oh, please,’ Alex scoffs. ‘You wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’

I am affronted. ‘What do you mean? Are you so grossed out that your little sister could do sexy time that you have to pretend she’s not even a woman at all?’

Alex pulls an amused face. ‘The fact that you call it “sexy time” proves my point,’ he retorts.

‘And what point is that?’

He wags a finger in my face. ‘That you, Florence Elizabeth Greenberg, are definitely not getting any.’

‘If I get Adonis’s phone number, I will be,’ I shoot back.

‘Dare you,’ Alex hoots. ‘In fact I double dare you.’

Whoops. I’ve dug myself a bit of a hole. I’ve never actually hit on a man before, not really. Couldn’t even believe I was flirting with Adonis. I have certainly never asked for a stranger’s number … Should I simply walk up to him and ask? Or give him mine, on a piece of folded-up paper? Or unlock my phone and hand it to him, asking him to put in his digits?

Put in his digits. What the hell is wrong with me?

Alex busts out laughing.

‘What?’ I say defensively, suddenly worried that Alex can somehow hear my thoughts.

‘Your face,’ Alex says, shaking his head. ‘Don’t panic. You’re not going to have to ask for his number, because Adonis actually gave me this to pass along.’

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card with a message on the back. I take it. Text me , it says, and his phone number is on the front.

I look up just as Adonis is heading over.

‘I thought your family could perhaps come to a barbecue, tomorrow night?’ he says, nodding towards his phone number in my hand. He’s not shy at all . In fact his attitude is very much of the ‘why wouldn’t you want my number’ variety. But he’s such a happy man that it’s a bit like the sun has decided to shine on me, and he’s damned right: why wouldn’t I want his number? ‘Bring everybody,’ he adds. ‘It will be a big party.’

I nod. Bringing everyone is way less nerve-racking than going on a one-on-one date or whatever. Don’t people call it a ‘group hang’? Hmmm. I wonder if it’s still called that if your mum and dad are there. God. Bringing my mum and dad on a date? It’s like I’m thirteen. Laurie is going to rinse me for this.

‘Sounds good,’ I say. ‘I’ll text you and you can send me the details?’

Adonis’s smile is wide, but somehow gets even wider.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I think if you come, you will have a very good time. We can dance together.’

I find myself chewing down on my bottom lip with a smile, nodding. He throws up his hands like a Spanish se?orita doing flamenco. There’s not a self-conscious bone in his body, I think. I laugh. I don’t know what else to say. This is very unexpected and very, very cool.

‘I would like to point out that I all but predicted this,’ Kate stage-whispers, watching me keep doing my weird grinning thing at Adonis’s back as he invites Dad for his massage. He’s got a fantastic arse on him. I am feeling unexpectedly amenable to the notion of a holiday fling.

‘You?’ I ask, but I shouldn’t be surprised that Kate is trying to take the credit – that’s Kate, and I love her for how she is.

‘I said, on our first day, in that bikini you’re bound to get attention,’ she says, gesturing to my swimwear. ‘I don’t know why you have such a struggle accepting that you’re fire personified, sister. Truly. If I wasn’t married to your brother you’d even turn my head.’

‘Shut uppp,’ I insist, finally looking away from Adonis as he disappears with a cute wave. As I wave back, I see Jamie skulking at the side of the veranda, his brow furrowed disapprovingly in my direction. Well, let him disapprove. My love life – or my sex life, to be more accurate, since I understand those are the rules of a holiday fling – is of no concern to my actual brothers, so it certainly doesn’t concern Jamie, either. I scowl at him in return, because screw him.

‘Jamie! We doing this thing or what?’ Laurie hollers at him as he appears from inside the house. ‘I’m feeling bloated as hell – I need this workout if we’re going to keep eating like we’ve been released from prison.’

‘Famous last words,’ Jamie says to him and they head off together, Jamie looking angrily back over his shoulder.

I find my phone in my beach bag to punch in Adonis’s number so that I don’t lose it. I send him a text that says, Hey – this is my number! Love Flo x. Then I fire off a missive to Hope: Guess who just got a hot Greek’s number! You’d be so proud!!

This is a good thing. It will be fun, a BBQ and a party, and it will take my mind off other things, like the overwhelming responsibility of being a human in this world; and also Jamie and his stupid face. I know I thought he and I could undertake some exposure therapy and become friends, but the way he just looked at me made my blood run cold. How am I supposed to get to know somebody who doesn’t want to spend time with me anyway? He wants to stay out of my way – that’s what he said. A fool’s errand, giving him any further thought. I shall focus on this plot twist, this Greek god.

My phone beeps with a message. It’s Adonis. It’s a kiss-face emoji. It makes me smile – again. I ‘like’ it and throw my phone back in my bag, relaxing into a sunbed with Mum’s airport thriller and a flourish.

I am teased mercilessly about Adonis for the rest of the day, with Alex and Laurie and even Mum, at one point, doing impressions of me biting my lip and smiling and waving.

‘Oooooh!’ says Laurie in a high-pitched voice that I guess is supposed to sound like me. ‘A boy! My name’s Flo and I fancy a boy!’

Mum especially seems pleased. She’s not protective of my heart, not like a lot of mums. She’s always encouraged me to have your fun whilst you can, darling. I learned so much from my mistakes that I might even make some more! She’s one of a kind. Most mums have to rein in their kids. I wonder what’s it like to feel you need to physically kick your youngest out of the nest and into the world.

Adonis comes over to say goodbye to the whole family after he does Laurie’s massage, leaving early because Jamie says he doesn’t want one – something about a dodgy shoulder muscle that he needs to see a doctor about. He’s disappeared off inside somewhere instead.

‘Bye, lover boy!’ Laurie shouts after Adonis as he drives off, though luckily he doesn’t seem to hear it over the sound of the driveway gravel crunching under the wheels. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he adds breathlessly, full-on taking the piss.

‘Why is he your lover boy?’ Dad asks, already tucking into a sundowner even though the sun is nowhere near going down.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ Laurie asks her. ‘Flo got his number. She’s gonna get railed .’

‘Laurie!’ cries Kate, disgusted. What is it with my brothers? They either can’t understand that I am a woman who actually has sexual urges, or else they do and they go way over the top commenting on it.

‘What’s “railed”?’ asks Dad, innocently.

‘Dad, don’t,’ I say, standing up to dive into the pool. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

I cut through the water and make it all the way to the other side without coming up for air. That shouldn’t impress me as much as it does, but Alex has noticed what I’ve done and so stands up himself, declaring bullishly, ‘Anyone could do that.’

And that’s how we both change the subject and pass the next hour: a bunch of fully grown adults having a competition to see who can hold their breath the longest. The mood is relaxed and convivial, and it’s not long before everyone joins Dad in having a drink, with bags of nuts and crisps getting cracked open, too.

‘Shall we stay here tonight?’ Mum asks. ‘I don’t even want to bother getting changed. I could just eat like this, to be honest. What do we think?’

‘Seconded,’ says Dad. ‘I can make pasta? We’ve got everything in for it. Nice and easy then, isn’t it?’

‘Perfect,’ says Mum, and Dad leans in for a kiss and the rest of us all watch, half wishing they weren’t making out, and half thinking, Oh, that’s nice . They’re so in love, even after all this time. When there’s space for that in my life, I’ll welcome it. Must be lovely.

The Bluetooth speaker from the other night gets brought out, and although it was great getting dolled up and heading out yesterday, it’s just as nice to stay by the pool, laughing and chatting and being ridiculous, everybody chipping in, getting ready for an informal dinner outside: grabbing plates and napkins, fixing drinks for one another, too.

‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask Jamie directly, when I head to the fridge for some more white wine. My date with Adonis has emboldened me. Talking to him directly isn’t as much ‘exposure therapy’ as it is ‘I actually don’t care any more’. ‘There’s beer left,’ I add. ‘Or I’m doing the same wine as we had for aperitivos last night?’

The way he looks at me as he answers is so weird. It’s like he can’t believe I have spoken directly to him.

‘No thank you,’ he replies.

And I should leave it at that, but I say it before I can rein myself in. I just … urgh! I’m trying, here! One minute he’s cornering me in the bedroom, and the next he looks at me like I’ve asked to take a dump on his head. ‘Suit yourself,’ I tut, waving a hand.

He makes a nose – a bit like pfffft.

I decide not to turn back round.

‘SHOTGUN NOT DOING THE DISHES!’ yells Laurie, as Alex puts his last forkful of food in his mouth, which, because he’s the last to finish eating, marks the end of the meal. The sun has gone down, we’ve drunk and eaten and laughed and ribbed each other to bits, and now we’re doing what we always do: deciding who has to do the pots. Laurie puts two fists in the air triumphantly because he’s got out of it first, and then pulls them back down beside him with a whoosh of victory.

‘Shotgun no dishes!’ follows Alex quickly, and then my mother. ‘Shotgun not washing up!’ she trills, already laughing that she’s beaten me to it. I look between them all, wide-eyed, and issue my verdict.

‘Children,’ I sigh, shaking my head, mad that it’s fallen to me.

‘The rules are the rules, Flo,’ Alex shrugs, finally swallowing what is in his mouth. ‘Kate and Dad cooked, and the rules of shotgun stand.’

‘Nobody likes a sore loser,’ Laurie grins. Something tells me that if I did kick up a fuss he’d like it all the more – he’d be able to prove how childish I am that way.

‘I’m happy to take care of the dishes,’ Jamie says, standing up and piling the plates high on his arm like a waiter. ‘Mike, Kate, that was delicious. Thank you.’

He heads off towards the kitchen, the muscles in his back twitching with the weight of the plates.

‘Florence,’ Mum says. ‘Come on. Don’t let the poor boy do it all alone. You’ve got better manners than that.’

‘Checkmate,’ I reply, one eyebrow raised. I don’t really want to go in there with Jamie, but surely it will only take five minutes if there are two of us. ‘Fine.’

I get up slowly, deliberately ignoring Laurie and Alex, who are desperate to show me their glory faces. I can feel it. I focus on getting the odds and sods from the table as their eyes beg for my attention: side plates and errant knives, and the pot that had the pasta in it.

In the kitchen a needlessly topless Jamie has filled the sink with more bubbles than any person could deem necessary, and he’s elbow-deep in the dirty work of getting things clean. I put down the used dishes and cutlery to the left of him and grab a tea towel to stand to his right, where I can dry what he leaves on the rack, to make room for the next item he washes.

We stand there, side-by-side, in a silence that feels loaded, like there is stuff we could both be saying, but aren’t. If I was Jamie, I’d be wanting to offload a bit. Our chat earlier, upstairs – all that ‘I just came to say I’m going to stay away from you’ stuff – derived from me having been so rude. Now he’s had a bit more time to think it over, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jamie asked for explicit clarification on exactly what my problem is; but then again, that would be rich, coming from him. He knows damned well what my problem is. Plus, it’s not like I didn’t try to be normal before, offering him a drink and whatnot. I don’t think either of us can find our footing really. No wonder the air is thick with the unsaid. Pull on one delinquent thread and everything will unravel.

He washes, I dry. He washes, I dry. I can hear the clinking of glass and the hum of laughter from outside. Wash, dry. Wash, dry. It’s meditative enough that I relax, a bit.

‘I really didn’t mean what I said this morning,’ I say finally, once the pots are washed and dried and stacked, ready for putting away. ‘I was pre-coffee and hadn’t slept very well, and I was running my mouth in a grumpy moment, is all. Not that that is an excuse. What I said was inexcusable. And I’m sorry.’

‘Okay,’ Jamie says, pulling the plug on his bowl full of bubbles and running the cold tap so that they deflate and disappear. We’re finished, but we do not move. I throw down the towel and rest both hands on the countertop in front of me. I can see the rise and fall of Jamie’s chest from the corner of my eye. His elbow knocks into mine. I am reminded of standing this close at Christmas, near the jigsaw, when I stupidly thought that maybe … well, I don’t know. What did I think? That he liked me and we’d be something ? Whatever it was, I was wrong. I was so wrong that I didn’t come home for Mum’s birthday in February, nor Dad’s in March. By the time Jamie had headed off to sea, home felt safe again because I knew he wouldn’t be there. But now he’s here. And I’m rubbing up against the edges of a thought I would prefer to be buried and forgotten.

Let’s not speak of this again.

My heart beats so insistently that it might come clean out of my chest.

‘Flo,’ Jamie says. ‘Don’t.’

Don’t? Don’t what?

‘I beg your pardon?’ I ask.

‘You’re so …’ he starts, but doesn’t finish.

So much for feeling relaxed.

‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’ve said sorry for this morning, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that you’re here. But every time I acknowledge you, speak to you – hell, even look at you directly – it’s like laser-beams shoot from your eyes and if you could evaporate me into dust, then you would. What do you want me to freaking well do ?’

He opens his mouth to reply, but then seems to think better of it.

‘No,’ I challenge him. ‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ he says, spreading his palms out in front of him, demonstrating that he comes in peace. Fat chance of that, though – nothing we do is in peace. ‘It’s just that laser-beams wouldn’t turn you to dust. They’d incinerate you, perhaps force you into flames. You’re mixing up your superpowers.’

He says it with such a straight face that he’s lost me.

‘You’re the weirdest fucking dude,’ I say. ‘Pick a side! Are we joking together or hating each other? Have you been diagnosed with a split-personality disorder that you’d like to catch me up on? Jesus, Jamie!’

‘Sorry,’ he says, like he’s touched a nerve. ‘You put me … on edge.’

It’s the most honest thing I think he’s ever said to me. It takes me aback.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘And what do you think you make me?’

‘Angry?’ he supplies.

I can’t help it – I laugh in spite of myself. It comes out high-pitched and gleeful, the way all laughter that stems from astonishment does. Jamie looks at me, pleased with himself. I shake my head and roll my eyes, issuing a big sigh.

‘Fuck me,’ I say. ‘You’re a rollercoaster. Do you know that?’

‘I feel like now isn’t the time to make jokes about taking me for a ride.’

I roll my eyes again. ‘No,’ I reply. ‘But your self-awareness has been noted.’

He nods, slightly. Then he presses on: ‘Rollercoasters aside … are you having a nice holiday?’

I inhale deeply, considering his question. ‘I am,’ I tell him. ‘Sun and sea – it’s a balm for anyone, I think.’

‘Absolutely,’ he says.

‘You?’ I ask.

‘Yeah,’ he nods.

And try as I might to search every last crevice of my brain for something to move the conversation on a bit, I come up with naught. I can see the cogs whirring behind Jamie’s eyes, too. Evidently there is nothing left to say. Nothing outwardly hostile, but also nothing that means anything, either. Maybe the exposure therapy has worked after all.

‘Good job here,’ I announce, stepping away from the sink before things get any more uncomfortable. ‘We made light work of it.’

‘We did,’ Jamie agrees.

And with that, I turn on my heel and go back outside.