Chapter Thirteen
Saskia
The weekend brought with it warmer weather, much to Saskia’s dismay.
London, when she’d briefly lived there, had been hot.
The Underground had been hell on Earth, with hundreds of heat-generating bodies crammed into what were essentially metal tubes, and the office buildings of Chica (while beautifully decorated and well-situated on the banks of the Thames) were poorly ventilated and had little effective air-conditioning.
Later, Saskia’s rented flat up in Sheffield had had a couple of fans available for tenants to use, which had been useful given that she worked from home ninety percent of the time, but she ran hot anyway.
She’d hoped that being by the coast would take the edge off, but that Saturday, clearly not.
And she could see no fans in Sandy Dunes Guest House.
She stuck it out for the whole day, stationing herself in an air-conditioned café in Lygate shopping centre, but that wasn’t feasible long-term.
And the weather gods didn’t seem to be thinking of getting any cooler, looking at the forecast. As she lay quietly roasting on her bed that evening, she knew she had to bite the bullet.
There had to be a fan somewhere. So she donned her clothes once more, and went downstairs in search of Kivi.
Kivi wasn’t in the guest lounge or in the dining room, and peering into the kitchen came up with nothing.
That left two options: either she was out and about, or she was in her annex.
Nothing could be done if it was the former, but the latter was worth a shot.
And so Saskia opened the patio doors, and stepped out into the garden.
Kivi’s annex wasn’t exactly hard to spot, so she started padding her way over there.
But she stopped short when she saw Kivi herself.
The woman was sitting on her front doorstep, a can of drink in one hand and her phone in the other, lost in thought and clearly unaware that Saskia was there.
As Saskia watched, she took a deep drink from the can, swallowed, sighed and shifted position.
There was something about her posture, her energy, that made Saskia stare. Stop staring. Go over.
“Um… Kivi?”
She timed it wrong. Kivi was just raising her can to her lips for another drink, and the shock of Saskia’s voice made her flinch. The liquid missed her mouth and poured down the front of her top, into the valley between her breasts, and she gasped loudly.
“Sorry, sorry!” Saskia closed the distance between them rapidly, and took the can out of her hand. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Kivi said, then coughed. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Saskia said. “Or make you spill your… whatever this is.”
“Beer. Would you like one?”
Sensing that Kivi was only offering out of politeness, Saskia shook her head. “You might need another one, though. Since you’re wearing most of it.”
Now Kivi shook her head. “No point. I was only drinking it for Dutch courage, anyway. Or rather, to give me my big-girl pants.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who lacks either. Courage or big-girl pants.”
“Aren’t they one and the same thing? And I don’t. Not when it comes to the guest house. Wedding planning, on the other hand, that’s a whole other ball game.”
“Wedding planning?”
“Mm. Local couple want me to plan their wedding. Two women. Lovely women, the pair of them, about our age. I think they want to keep it local, and since I’m both Miltree-based and of the Sapphic persuasion myself, I suppose I was the most logical choice.”
Sapphic persuasion, huh? Saskia’s mind flew to her mum and Gilly.
“You have experience, presumably?”
Kivi nodded. “I used to be a wedding planner before I opened this place. That was the business I started aged twenty-one. But I haven’t done it for several years, and I suppose I’ve just lost my mojo with it.
That’s what’s stopping me from saying yes.
I stopped for a reason, and although that reason isn’t to do with weddings per se, it still made me want to avoid the whole business… ”
“But you want to do it.” This wasn’t a question. Saskia could see it, clear as day. “Otherwise you’d have ruled it out immediately upon being asked.”
“I do want to do it,” Kivi said. “And I will do it. I just need to tell them. And I have to tell them tonight, because I said I would. I asked for a little time to think it over, and that ends tonight. Hence the Dutch courage. And the need for big-girl pants.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of person to let a lack of confidence stop you from doing something you want,” Saskia observed. “You strike me as a ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ type of person.”
“I am.” Kivi ran her hands through her hair. “But there’s… more to it than what I’ve said. It’s more complicated.”
“To do with the reason you stopped, presumably,” Saskia said, and Kivi nodded. “Do you mind telling me what that is?”
Kivi sighed through her lips like a horse, then went silent.
“No,” she said eventually. “It’s not appropriate. You’re a guest, and I’m your hostess. I hardly know you. It’s not right, for me to burden you with… what happened.”
Saskia raised her eyebrows. “Well, for the purposes of this conversation, let’s forget that I’m a guest. I’m just your new and interested friend, Saskia. You’re Kivi, erstwhile wedding planner, with something on your mind that you clearly have a degree of desire to share. So… what is it?”
Kivi stared up at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But you’re going to need a drink. Take a seat.” She stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”