Chapter 33
Breakfast is a simpler and more subdued affair.
Despite the strict start time of nine, only four of us, including The American, have managed to make it.
I didn’t exactly care whether I was going to be punctual or not, in fact I am pretty sure I would have a free pass this morning to sulk, but the truth was that I had woken up at three in the morning to my neighbour crashing around and been unable to go back to sleep.
Therefore, to at least have somewhere to go and something to do was a more savoury option than stewing in my room on my own for the rest of the morning.
The American is uncharacteristically quiet, averting her eyes from mine whenever she can. Crispy has not materialised and neither has Florian, although I don’t begrudge him that.
I pick at pastries whilst the other guests filter in, in dribs and drabs, clutching their heads and turning a little green at the sight of the sausages on the side.
‘Remind us of what’s on the agenda today?’ Rupert asks The American. He is one of the only people who looks like he normally functions at this time of the morning.
‘Well, there’s some free time in the morning and then the opportunity for some art after lunch followed by lawn games and then dinner at seven,’ she replies.
I can’t help but roll my eyes at the quaintness of it all, how it feels both like a retreat and a place for extreme exposure therapy at once.
‘What time are we contractually obliged to meet?’ I ask, my voice carrying over the table. I sound pissed off. I am pissed off.
‘Uh, does one o’clock work?’ The American has switched her fascist party-planning techniques to something much more libertarian. I know it’s entirely for my benefit, to try to demonstrate that I have some control of the situation.
‘See you then.’ I don’t look at her as I gather my things, down the last of my coffee and clamber up the stairs to see Florian emerging from the room next to mine.
My noisy three o’clock neighbour. The only other guest here apparently capable of doing stairs.
‘Are you fucking serious!’ I shout to the ceiling, enjoying how it carries along the ornate woodwork and down the stairs, hopefully to the ears of The American who will know that I have indeed discovered her attempts at organising a meet-cute.
I also take a lot of pride in the fact that my exclamation causes a slightly hungover Florian to squirm from the noise.
I let myself into my room before I can say anything else. I need to rehearse it anyway.
I think of all the things I can do with my morning and decide to rescue my swimsuit from the wardrobe and wrestle it on. I take my book for good measure, hoping that it might serve to quieten the thrumming internal monologue that is proving to be a rather exhausting companion.
In the daylight, the pool with its sheltered little courtyard feels much less dramatic.
The deckchairs that Crispy and I had lay on before his betrayal had been pushed back together, fresh towels at their feet.
The only sign from last night are my shoes, which have been neatly placed on a small side table.
However, in comparison to the rest of this place it is empty, and unlike my bedroom, there is air and a breeze and something to do.
I dip my toes in first; there is the faint promise of heat but as I let the water wash over me it still takes my breath away.
I swim a few laps, at first trying to keep my head above the water until I can feel the wetness tracing its way up the back of my neck and decide to dunk my head under the water.
I stay under for a few moments, let the cold drown out the voice in my head, the constant hum of emotions that I hadn’t realised I had been carrying.
I stay there until my lungs start to feel as if they might burst open and when I emerge, gasping, Florian is sitting on the edge in a pair of salmon-pink swimming trunks, dipping his calves into the water.
‘Thought you might not be coming back up for a moment there,’ he coughs.
‘Considered it.’ I take a few deep breaths until the world around me begins to turn crisp and cold again. ‘I assumed you were going to breakfast.’
‘Couldn’t face it,’ he shrugs. ‘I thought this might clear my head; didn’t anticipate you’d be doing the same thing.’
‘Well, my foggy head was caused by my neighbour waking me up at three o’clock with some drunken crashing about.’
Florian manages a dry chuckle, a warmth returning to him. He looks up to the house, to our shared little terrace. ‘You have to congratulate them on their ingenuity.’
‘Do we?’ I scoff.
‘If it wasn’t so misjudged.’
‘I suppose.’
He bites the bullet and lowers himself into the water, his whole torso tensing, and I can make out the faint line of an ab. ‘Your flight was today.’ He shivers, bringing his shoulders under the water line and then bobbing around a few metres from me.
‘I changed it.’
‘So that’s what it took to keep you here – a party.’ He says the last bit with a flourish, his hands splashing around manically.
‘Don’t say it like that. I didn’t exactly have anything to go back for after all that.’
His head snaps up to me, a clarity descending. ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I shake my head.
He looks unconvinced but also still bruised enough that he doesn’t want to give me the pleasure of knowing I have spiked his concern. ‘Okay.’
‘Am I allowed to ask why she wanted you to meet Rupert?’ I counter, feeling like I have earned at least one question this morning.
‘He’s an art collector, has connections in various galleries. He likes my work, wants to work with me.’
‘Great.’ I try a supportive little smile.
‘And I’ve apologised for causing a scene last night. I was just caught off guard. I said we would be civil.’
I nod and start to propel myself to the steps. ‘I can do civil.’
‘Don’t go on my account.’ Florian looks slightly apologetically at me. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time.’
‘It’s fine. I’m done anyway,’ I shrug and launch myself out of the water, reaching immediately for a towel. Yes, he may have seen half of my naked body in the café but that feels like a million years ago now.
I settle my damp body on a lounger on the lawn that overlooks a handful of guests playing a lazy game of Pétanque.
I take the book out of my little bag and try to find the specific dog-eared page but after reading the first few lines, I have no idea what’s happening and instead start from the beginning, hoping that at least then I have something longer to distract me.
My plan is short-lived as I hear heavy, raspy breaths and the sound of feet shuffling towards me.
‘Are you talking to me yet?’ The American heaves herself down into the chair next to me, a large sunhat and glasses concealing most of her face.
‘Depends on what you have to say.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘That’s a good start.’ I bring my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and linking my fingers together, watching as Alphonse stands behind the line and deftly launches the silver ball in the air where it swiftly lands a few inches from the jack.
There are some cheers, Rupert shakes his hand vigorously before pulling him into a sort of half-hug.
‘Did you and Florian talk any more?’ The American persists. I meet her eyes, genuinely curious and well-meaning.
‘What, in our adjacent rooms?’ I peek at her over my sunglasses. She looks a little bashfully at the floor, realising she has been well and truly caught out.
‘You’re the only ones here with your original hips, the room situation was sort of out of my hands.’
‘Well, I caught him in the pool. We said we would be civil to each other.’
‘Civil,’ she tries the word on her tongue, ‘how…’
‘Sad?’ I smirk. ‘Yeah, well at the minute I guess I’m lucky to at least have civil.’
‘Did he say anything about the other night?’
‘No. It wasn’t a conversation I think either of us realised was going to end well.’
‘Still,’ she shrugs, ‘it’s a conversation you need to have.’
‘Well why don’t you orchestrate a game of sardines and lock us up in a cupboard together, sure we’d have the conversation soon enough.’
‘Tempting.’ She looks as if she is genuinely weighing up whether it would be worth it.
‘Look, I appreciate how invested you are in my love life, honestly no one has tried harder, but at the end of the day some things just can’t be worked through.
This is one of them, and it’s sad and it hurts but I can’t say I didn’t give it a good go and whilst I don’t believe that everything in this life happens for a reason, I do believe that if despite your best efforts things still aren’t working out, then you probably should admit defeat. ’
The American’s eyes move to the group below who have now set up another game. She lets out a deep and sad sigh.
‘I like him, Ava. I just think it’s very sad.’