Chapter 13
13
We must have fallen asleep, because I wake up as the sun starts to peek through the blinds, opening my eyes to see Jamie looking at me.
‘Sorry to stare,’ he says sleepily. ‘I was just trying to decide how to get up without waking you.’
‘I’m awake,’ I yawn. ‘I fell asleep in your bed, sorry.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. I’m glad you slept. How are you feeling this morning?’
I stretch, inadvertently pushing myself into his chiselled body. ‘Okay,’ I yawn again, making a mental note of the firmness of him.
‘I meant about what happened with Adonis?’ he clarifies.
‘Oh,’ I reply. I run through last night’s events in my head, searching my brain and body for evidence of how it’s left me. ‘Honestly?’ I settle on. ‘It was fucking awful, but you came at exactly the right time, and at least now I know what a pig he is, you know? I’m okay. At least I let myself loose a little bit, even if it was with totally the wrong person. I’m proud of myself for that. I know there’s a bit of weird rationalising going on, but … yeah. I’m grateful it wasn’t any worse.’
‘You have trouble letting loose?’ Jamie asks.
And there’s no reason why anybody would be coming upstairs to our bedroom, especially not as early as this, but I suddenly wonder what it would look like if they did – if Mum ‘caught’ us in bed together, or Laurie.
‘You know I do,’ I say, with another stretch, and then I climb out of his bed. ‘That’s why Holiday Flo was invented. Anyway, thanks for the help, again,’ I tell him. ‘And for the flight to the moon.’
Jamie smiles. ‘You’re welcome any time,’ he replies, and we look at each other for so long after he says that, it’s like we’ve slipped into screensaver mode. ‘You’re cute when you’ve just woken up,’ he observes. ‘All puffy-eyed and red-cheeked.’
I stick my tongue out at him and go to the bathroom.
‘Morning,’ Jamie says, as he joins us all at the breakfast table.
‘Oi, oi,’ Laurie responds, reaching out a fist to bump Jamie’s. ‘I thought you’d slept elsewhere last night! Were you here all night?’
Jamie’s eyes flicker towards me and I look down at the table. I assumed I didn’t have to brief him on not letting my family know what happened last night, but I suddenly get a stab of angst that I should have made him swear he wouldn’t.
‘I wasn’t back too late,’ Jamie says. ‘Had two drinks and then left everybody to it.’
‘Oh,’ says Laurie, sounding disappointed. ‘I thought you and Jasmine were …’
He makes a circle with the forefinger and thumb of one hand, and then sticks the forefinger of his other hand into it.
Dad coughs. ‘Let the boy be, Laurence.’
‘What?’ Laurie squeaks. ‘Why is Florence allowed to hook up with Adonis, but we’re not allowed to talk about Jamie and Jasmine?’
‘Whoever is railing who is none of your business, young man – and certainly not at the breakfast table. Let people have their mystery, would you? Focus on your own … rails.’
We all burst out laughing. Dad has totally misused that term on purpose, to give us something else to talk about.
‘I’m envious they even have their rails asked about,’ Alex offers, buttering some toast. ‘Nobody asks me about my mystery.’
‘That would involve you actually having some,’ Kate says.
And Alex looks at her in surprise and shrieks, ‘Kate! You bitch! I’ll take you off my Christmas-card list.’
‘You don’t send Christmas cards,’ she shoots back.
‘Well, no,’ agrees Alex. ‘I don’t. Anyone I’d want to give a folded-over piece of paper to – a folded-over piece of paper they’ll throw away in two weeks – I see every day at work anyway.’
I put on my ‘doing an impression of Alex’ voice. ‘What’s the point of hacking down trees to say “Merry Christmas” to each other when we can all do it in person? Not to mention the price of stamps now. I could teach a family to fish, with the cost of a first-class book of stamps these days.’
Dad chuckles. ‘You really are old before your time sometimes, Al,’ he comments. ‘You’re far too young to be so grumpy.’
‘Which is where getting railed would help,’ points out Laurie. ‘People with a healthy sex life aren’t as grumpy. It’s biologically impossible.’
‘Hence why I am such a relaxed and sanguine man,’ Dad smiles.
And we all collectively gasp, ‘Stop!’
‘I rest my case,’ says Dad. ‘Railing is off the agenda. Shall we talk about what we’re all reading instead?’
Before I can launch into a TED talk on the storytelling merits of Mum’s airport thriller, Mum trills from the kitchen, ‘I’m baaaack!’
‘Oh, wicked,’ Alex says, getting up. ‘She’s done the food-roulette shop,’ he explains to us. ‘Today’s the day!’
I pour more coffee and brace myself. Food roulette is something we do on every family holiday. It’s a stupid tradition, but one of us has to go to the nearest grocery store or market and buy a handful of particularly interesting (and sometimes deliberately gross) local foods. We tend to put it all in the middle of the table and take turns trying to guess what each item is, discovering some terrible things, some so-so things and some outrageously good things in the process. Whatever we like, we buy multiples of, to take home and keep in the cupboard for the rest of the year for when we’re all together, as a tasty reminder of where we’ve been and what we got up to.
‘I love food roulette,’ Laurie says, rubbing his hands together.
‘Remember those chocolate-dipped crisps in Mexico?’ Kate recalls.
‘And basically any of the chocolate in Portugal,’ I remind her.
‘Oh my god,’ Dad says. ‘But the salt-water crisps we had? In Cornwall? Urgh.’ He shudders. ‘I wanted to scrub my tongue after those. Foul, horrible things.’
‘I quite liked those,’ Mum says, delivering two tote bags stuffed with treats to the table.
Alex comes out behind her with extra napkins and a replenished water jug. We know, from experience, that both can be necessary.
‘Right,’ Mum says, unpacking. ‘I don’t want anyone smack-talking me! I get so nervous trying to please you lot, when at the end of the day I’m actually one of the better selectors of local foods. Laurie, yes, I’m looking at you, when I say some of you are downright terrible.’
‘Mum!’ Laurie says, shocked. ‘How rude!’
They bicker, and I make them insist they can’t start without me – I’m just nipping to the loo. Kate gives me a thumbs-up. At least she’s heard me.
I pad barefoot through the kitchen and round the corner to the downstairs toilet. As I do so, I bump into Jamie.
‘Oh,’ I say, surprised. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you were in here.’
I step one way, as Jamie steps in the same direction, too. We laugh.
‘Sorry,’ he replies. He steps the other way, right as I do.
This time I stand still, so that Jamie can move around me. But he doesn’t. One of us shifts – I’m not sure who – and the gap between us closes. Our bodies lightly touch. I think of last night, of being held by him as I slept. I can’t look up. If I do, what will I say? I feel like somebody has hit the pause button on reality. The metaphorical ground between us isn’t solid. It’s shaky and uncertain, and I hate shaky and uncertain.
Jamie’s chin is lowered so that his mouth is close to my ear as he exhales, tickling my neck with his breath.
Time suspends. It is just Jamie and me. Almost touching.
Almost picking up where we left off, at Christmas.
Am I an idiot for letting myself feel excited for that? Is this what I wanted when I climbed into his bed last night?
I dare to lift my hand and put it to his chest. I can feel his heart beating, too, a steady thud that is almost as quick as mine. His chest is solid, carved from rock. Jamie grabs my waist, his fingers thick and firm on the curve above my hips. And the shock of it, or maybe even the delight of it, finally forces my chin up to look at him, a million questions in my eyes. But I don’t get any answers. He’s got as many questions in his own eyes – those deep-grey pools of unknowableness. We stand and stare, in a way that is far more open than it was this morning, or maybe ever has been. A genie is leaking out from the bottle, and in two more seconds we won’t be able to get him back in.
Jamie shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, but doesn’t let go of me. If anything, his grip tightens, like he’s worried I might wriggle free. But I won’t. I am glued to the spot. He closes his eyes then, taking a huge inhale, and it’s like he’s resolving himself, steeling himself, for what happens next.
‘See you out there,’ he says, like it pains him to walk away.
I can’t look at him when I go back outside to the others. I had to splash my face with water in the loo, rub my heart and breathe deeply. I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought Jamie Kramer was going to land his lips on mine, right there outside the loo of our Greek holiday house. And I feel all kinds of things about it not happening. Mostly: disappointed. But also, relieved?
I’ve spent so long telling myself I hate him. But I don’t. I never have. I’m scared he’ll hurt me, like he did at Christmas. But I wanted the kiss more than I worried about what would come after it. It’s good he didn’t kiss me, though. Right? Yeah. Right.
I sit down gingerly, amongst everyone trying okra in tomato sauce, because they have indeed started without me, despite my asking them not to. Obviously, in this state, I don’t mind. They’re all too busy to notice my altered headspace, too wrapped up in acting like they’re giving tasting notes on a high-end TV show about celebrity chefs to pay me any mind.
‘I’m getting hints of ass-crack and a texture of rubber,’ Alex is saying, his face screwed up.
I think I smile at him. I’m not sure.
‘Okay!’ Mum announces. ‘These are … oh, I think they’re called carob rusks? I assume they’re sweet.’
She rips open a packet of small biscuits and everyone grabs one. I sneak a look at Jamie, who is busy being handsome behind his sunglasses and pretending to be very interested in reading the back of the packet.
I grab my phone and surreptitiously text Hope.
Me
I ALMOST KISSED JAMIE
WELL, HE ALMOST KISSED ME ACTUALLY!!
ARE YOU IN PRAGUE YET?
I NEED TO TALK TO SOMEBODY ABOUT THIS!
Hope
Yes, in Prague! No wi-fi on train for messaging, sorry!
YOU ALMOST KISSED?
ARE YOU DATING TWO MEN NOW?
Me
Long story short. Adonis is a dick … so that’s done
Jamie looked after me when I was a bit shaken up
I think I knew this was coming …
Something has been building. I can’t decide if it’s good or bad, or if I should make a move or accept that he didn’t or WHAT
Hope
Take a breath, babe!
Take several!
‘Oh wow,’ Dad says, interrupting my thoughts. I lock my phone and put it away. He’s dug deep into a bag of crisps. ‘Oregano flavour, I think. These are outstanding! Flo, try one.’
I take a crisp and chomp on it. As we navigate some oatmeal cookies and cherry-filled chocolate-and-wafer rolls, I calm down a bit. I’m going to expect nothing with Jamie, because that’s safest. There’s not long left of the holiday anyway. How much trouble can Jamie and I possibly get in? This is fine. It’s all going to be fine.
It’s a happy coincidence that we’re nominated to make dinner together. It puts us in close proximity in the tiny kitchen, and I find myself excited to spend time with Jamie, one on one.
‘You gonna sous-chef?’ he asks, looping an apron over my neck and reaching behind to tie it for me. His breath tickles my ear when he leans in, making every hair on my body stand to attention. I look at him, sideways on. He’s so close, and then poof , the apron is knotted and he’s stepped back, leaving only his cedary scent around me. I’ve replayed that moment we could have kissed over and over again in my head. I do it again now. I tingle with excitement.
‘I’ll do whatever is required of me,’ I tell him. ‘I am at your culinary mercy.’
‘Duly noted,’ he replies, one half of his mouth cocking up into a smirk. I smile, too.
A pot of boiling water threatens to overflow then, and Jamie catches it just in time.
‘Damn,’ he says, moving it off the burner as he tries to figure out why the ring won’t turn down. ‘I really thought I could impress you with how good a cook I am. Urgh. Why isn’t this working?’
I peer past him and point to the dials.
‘Try that one,’ I say, and he laughs.
‘Right,’ he nods. ‘So what you’re telling me is that the knob with the little picture saying it’s for the left actually controls the left and not the right?’
‘Wild, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a good job you’re here.’
‘I’ll say.’
Jamie winks at me then. A grown man, looking right at me, winking . It’s so cheeky and unexpected that I burst out with a surprised ‘Huh!’ and splutter, ‘We’re winking now, are we? We’re bringing that back into style?’
He shrugs, ‘Let’s make it vogue ,’ he says, using my dad’s word.
I wink back at him, making Jamie chew his bottom lip in amusement.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘We should definitely make that vogue.’
As we chop and slice and boil and fry, Jamie keeps telling me good . And thank you . And well done . I return the words of affirmation by saying of course, chef , and you’re welcome, chef , and anything else, chef? When he comes up behind me to stir the sauce for his prawns, he puts a hand over mine gently. ‘You’re being very helpful,’ he murmurs.
‘Just doing my job, chef ,’ I reply.
He lingers this time, his chin over my shoulder on one side, his hand grazing my hip on the other. This , I think, not really understanding what ‘this’ means.
This.
I struggle to open a jar of capers and stand too close to him as I ask for help. He pops the lid off the jar and I hold eye-contact as I say, ‘My hero.’ The way he looks at me – dear Lord, I will remember that look for as long as I live. Jamie inhales sharply and flares his nostrils as he lets out a long, slow breath.
‘Flo,’ he says, like it’s a warning, like he can’t be held responsible for what he does next. His pupils are like saucers, big as planets. His tongue nips at his lip, and I realise then that every other single time he’s done that, it has never – not once – not been on purpose. It has been for my benefit every single time. Goddammit.
‘Sorry, guys,’ Alex’s voice suddenly booms. Jamie and I leap apart like we’ve been caught with our hands in the cookie jar, but luckily Alex is rubbing his temples and hasn’t noticed. ‘I’m gonna sack off dinner and call it a night,’ he tells us. ‘My head. Too much sun, I reckon.’
I nod, as Jamie turns his back to the stove and stirs a pot.
‘Yeah, mate,’ Jamie says. ‘No worries at all. I won’t be far behind you, I don’t think. I’m pretty pooped, too.’
‘Cheers,’ Alex says, shuffling along the room to get to the far door. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘Yeah, you too,’ Jamie says, and I watch Alex leave.
Jamie goes back to the table, but I linger when my phone beeps. Obviously it’s Hope. Anyone else who might text me is here. She’s sent a couple of photos from her day exploring Prague, including a selfie from outside a bar, where she’s holding up a beer as big as her head. This was one pound fifty! she’s written. Now tell me about Jamie whilst I drink it!
I tell her I can’t – that he’s here.
‘I could take you sailing,’ Jamie announces when I’ve put my phone down.
‘Sailing?’ I say, confused.
‘It would be good to … hang out,’ he says. ‘If you want.’
I nod. ‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘Yeah.’
‘We could … chat,’ he offers.
‘Chat,’ I repeat, with a smirk. It doesn’t sound like he’s suggesting chat .
‘Chat,’ he reiterates. ‘Jesus! Just say yes or no, Flo!’
‘I already said yes,’ I shoot back, as Kate yells from the veranda, ‘If you don’t hurry up we’re going to lose another one to an early bedtime. I’m starving!’
‘Coming,’ I say, grabbing the rice with a tea towel for protection.
‘Done and done, then,’ Jamie replies. ‘It’s a date.’