Chapter Eighteen Dolly #3
Luckily, the label isn’t sewn in particularly well – probably part of the problem to be honest. I could cut the thing off, but then it’d likely leave an even sharper edge.
The skin where it must have been touching is angry and red and raised into little hives.
I make a note to find some insect bite cream as that might soothe it for her, though I definitely should not offer to put that on for her. That’s Patrick’s job now.
Working with the nail scissors is painfully slow, one stitch at a time. I wedge my phone in my top, the torchlight guiding my snips. It takes a little physical contorting, but I manage, very slowly.
God, imagine if they’re filming this debacle.
I notice goosebumps begin to gather along her bare upper arms, as Carys’s calmer nervous system finally registers the cold.
‘Sorry, I’ll try to be quicker,’ I say, as she shivers.
‘It’s just a bit of cold,’ she says tightly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You’ve been out here a while. I don’t want you to catch a chill.’ It’s easier to be honest when she’s facing away from me.
‘You should.’
‘What?’
‘You should want me to get sick.’
‘Why would I want that, Carys?’
‘I said I wanted to beat you, didn’t I?’ She chuckles, but all the fire has gone out of it. ‘Getting sick would get me out of the way. That would be smart gameplay.’
‘Yeah, but then you’d get sympathy votes from the public for being all adorably snotty, wouldn’t you?’ I tease.
She laughs. ‘So you think I’d be adorable?’
‘To thousands of people who don’t know you, sure.’
‘Touché.’
This is getting alarmingly close to banter.
The last thread snips easily, and the tag comes away in my hand.
‘All done,’ I say. ‘Better?’
She pulls her top back up, and her eyes close like she’s slipping into a warm bath. ‘Thank you. I can’t tell you how horrible that felt.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Carys looks at me then and it feels like time slows down, just for a moment. I think she’s about to say something, perhaps acknowledge the almost friendly atmosphere between us. I wonder whether this truce can last.
Instead, she holds out her hand.
Into her open palm, I drop the packet of ear plugs, and the sleep mask, which she slides onto her forehead like a bizarre Alice band that rucks up all her hair.
‘Do you think you’ll manage back in there? We could set you up a sun lounger out here as a bed, like the dedicated boys do in Casa Amor.’
She looks nervously back towards the house. ‘I’ll try inside. It might be okay now I’m… you know. Calmer.’
I nod. ‘Do you want to—’
‘No.’ Her cheeks flush. ‘You were going to ask if I wanted to talk about it, right?’
‘Yes.’
She bites the side of her bottom lip. ‘You keep this secret, I’ll keep yours.’
I resist the urge to point out that I’m now keeping two for her, but I can only imagine what kind of speech she’s given herself about how straight she is now. ‘A trade and a truce. Careful, Carys, someone might suggest we’re friends.’
She drops her eyes to the floor. ‘I don’t think anyone will think that.’
That hurt. I guess whatever connection we had is over. In every form.
‘Whatever you want, Carys.’ I pull the blanket round me and stand up, ready to go back to the bedroom.
And yet I still wait for her, because I’m a sucker for punishment.
‘Sorry. I just…’ Her big sad eyes look up at me and I feel a twinge in my chest. I’d do anything to make her not look so sad. ‘I just think it’s for the best. So neither of us gets confused or hurt.’
Oh. A dagger to the heart might be less painful.
Maybe she’s right. We should just keep away from each other. After all, I think she’s repressed and forcing herself to marry Patrick to prove something to herself, and she probably thinks I’m some conniving hag out to steal all the pure-hearted couples’ money.
She hovers at the precipice of the house. It must be really hard to subject yourself willingly to something that could cause yourself pain.
‘I’m too wide awake, so I’m just going to enjoy the fresh air for a bit longer,’ I lie.
I walk into the living room area and pick up some of the throws and cushions. The implicit I’ll be here if you need me hangs between us. I’m not sure I have the will to say it, or if she is prepared to hear it, but it’s there between us, its meaning shining like a neon sign.
I couldn’t stop putting someone else’s needs before my own if I tried.
With her eyes on me, I feel exposed, like she’s seeing the raw me, the fundamentals. Like I’ve seen her tonight.
There are things I want to say but I swallow it down as she silently watches me for much longer than a casual glance. There’s meaning, if she’d only say it. If I’d only ask.
But neither of us move. She nods, and I hear a ghost of a nos da as she leaves.
I pick two lounge chairs close together, and on each set out the throws and cushions.
Too bad I don’t have anything to do other than look up at the night sky.
But maybe that’s a good thing? Perhaps I’ve spent so long looking after Mum every day or creating content or replying to comments from bed that I’ve not had downtime like this.
A digital detox, isn’t that what rich people are always going on about? This is probably a good thing.
I breathe out the tension and take in the fresh Greek air.
I’ll only stay up a little while, just in case.
Just in case she wants to escape and come back outside.
Just in case she needs me.