Chapter 20 #2
She forced herself to look away and spotted Livi deep in conversation with Brett – one of Ed’s teacher colleagues.
Claire, whose tolerance of team games had expired at the age of eleven when she walked off the school netball court and declared the match ‘pointless’, had excused herself from the shag celebration on the basis that mothers didn’t get days off, especially during school holidays.
Ed hadn’t minded, but Hannah found she missed her in this moment.
Of all her siblings, Claire was the most like their mum.
She was a no-nonsense sort of person whose presence still managed to feel soothing – warm and kind, but unyielding.
Hannah could have done with a dose of that calm strength this evening, given her own was in such short supply.
As this thought faded, she felt Jude’s eyes on her and discovered she was powerless to resist meeting them.
Their gazes locked, held, until she tore hers away again.
This was how it would be, she realised. For the next month, she’d be stuck in a continuous dance with her own desire, ducking the embrace of emotions she was desperate to give in to, but had to deny. The effort was already exhausting.
Ed was beckoning people to the huge picnic table where he and Zak had deposited chicken wings, lamb skewers, veggie kebabs and artisan sausages among the bread, sides and salads supplied by the farm’s kitchen.
‘Everything looks great,’ Hannah said as she reached him, leaning in for a hug. ‘Are you having a good time?’
‘The best,’ he said, with such feeling that it made Hannah’s heart squeeze.
Her twin was happier than she’d seen him in weeks, and she felt sure it was because of the social media lockdown Joe had declared.
Given that roughly half of the party guests were either ‘content creators’, presenters or media personalities, there was an incredible lack of phones on show tonight.
Nobody was livestreaming the assembly of their hot dog or broadcasting a chatty reel, Aperol spritz in hand.
Consequently, everyone seemed relaxed. Well. Almost everyone.
As the night wore on, drinks kept flowing and Hannah probably had a couple more than was wise.
It was a law of stag and hen parties, though, that people always went too far on the first evening.
As she looked around the pergola at half past midnight, she saw that Viola, Zak and Lewis were all distinctly the worse for wear, but had started on a brand-new bottle of crémant anyway. She decided to help them out with it.
Joe and Ed were long gone, having decamped to the hot tub beside their cabin some while ago, and then to bed.
Livi had gone somewhere with Brett, and Hannah suspected that, although they were supposed to be rooming together, she might not see her again until the morning.
Jude had disappeared, too. He and Hannah had spent the evening circling one another, and she’d taken care to keep the circles as wide as possible.
She told herself this didn’t constitute sending mixed messages; the distance she was deliberately putting between them now was the message.
Once the crémant bottle was empty, Hannah decided it was bedtime.
Everyone apart from their little group had already retired, and as she stood up, it finally came to her attention that she was drunker than she’d thought.
Far tipsier than she’d intended to be tonight.
Worse, she had no idea what sort of challenge awaited them tomorrow morning – but it seemed reasonable to assume it might involve physical exertion.
There’d been all sorts of sporting activities on the list Hugo had supplied .
. . Urgh. Even the thought of running around made the fizz in Hannah’s stomach start to surge back up her throat.
After cheek-kisses and goodnights that were probably whispered too loudly, Viola, Zak and Lewis made their way back to their cabins.
Hannah did the same, fumbling for her key, which was somewhere at the bottom of the small bag she carried.
When she reached the hot tub between her shepherd’s hut and Jude’s, she saw it was still bubbling away merrily.
Temptingly. Sod it. There was no one else around, and a quick dip might sober her up a little.
She untied her sarong, placed her bag and key on top of it and climbed in. The water was delicious: cool and comforting. She perched in a corner, leaned her head back and sighed.
Just then – as if on cue – Jude appeared.
It was clear he hadn’t expected to find Hannah there; that he’d had the same urge for a secret, small hours soak as her.
She could also see that he was wrestling with the strangeness of getting into what was essentially a massive bath with the ex-girlfriend who’d kissed him this afternoon, then spent the whole night avoiding him.
He looked vulnerable and sad, like he wanted to run away, and Hannah felt guilt swell in her chest at the sight of him.
‘Ah. Erm—I’ll just—’ he began, babbling in the way he hardly ever had with her.
She used to call these his Four Weddings moments when they afflicted him around others: times when confidence and common sense deserted him, and he was reduced to Hugh Grant-style stammering.
They’d always made her want to swoop in and smooth things over. She often had.
‘It’s fine. Get in,’ she said now. ‘No need to make it weird. Like you said the other week, we should probably be past being coy with one another.’ He blushed, and it hit Hannah that there was currently a loose connection between her brain and her mouth.
The filter that usually separated sharable from non-sharable thoughts wasn’t functioning the way it should.
She had the odd sensation of being simultaneously inside and outside of herself: aware she wasn’t in charge of her speech, but also certain there was nothing she could do to wrest back control.
‘Are you sure?’ Jude asked. ‘I was hoping to talk to you, actually – if that would be OK.’
‘Yeah. Of course,’ Hannah said, even as her other self – the one hovering above the hot tub – silently screamed at her to avoid any sort of un-sober discussion with a shirtless Jude Gibson.
He slipped into the water, settling on the seat opposite hers, and the real reason why this conversation was a Very Bad Idea finally crystallised in her alcohol-impaired mind.
Not only was it likely she’d say something she definitely shouldn’t .
. . it hit her there was a possibility that, tomorrow, she wouldn’t remember saying anything at all.