Chapter 10 #2
I came in for food, running towards the café on an automatic pilot, but I find myself saying, ‘I can’t. RNLI drill at four. Afternoon appointments first.’
‘Boring.’ She’s already turning towards the kitchen. ‘Fine. Go be responsible. But I’m sure we are due a proper lunch at some point. A long one. Multiple courses. No veterinary emergencies.’
‘I’ll check my hamster schedule.’
‘You do that.’
I leave, following in the wake of Freddy the holidaymaker and linguine proposer. The heat hits me and I walk back to the surgery with the memory of her breath against my ear and the flour on her cheek that I didn’t touch.
Tom Darcy is moving on. That’s the plan.
So, I go back to work. I see a dog with an ear infection and a cat that’s eaten a sock and a rabbit with overgrown teeth, and I am competent and calm and professional, and the entire time I am thinking about crab linguine and a terrace in Amber Cove.
The RNLI drill runs long. It’s too hot for drysuits, too hot for hauling ropes, too hot for Bill’s endless commentary on engine maintenance. By the time we’re done I’m soaked through and my shoulders ache and the sun is still hammering down like it has something to prove.
‘Drink,’ Brynn says, shoving a water bottle into my hands. ‘You’re bright red.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Sit down before you fall down.’
I sit on the harbour wall because arguing with Brynn is a waste of energy I don’t have. The stone holds the day’s heat beneath me. The water is glassy and still, not a breath of wind, the boats barely moving.
Jude drops down beside me. He’s in better shape. I find this deeply irritating.
‘So,’ he says.
‘So.’
‘Brynn told me about the tourist.’
‘What tourist?’
‘The one at the café. The one flirting with Nina.’
‘How the hell…’ I begin to ask, but then stop. This is Sea Salt Bay. If some tourist was flirting with Nina the entire place would know by the time the cream for the scones had run out. ‘It’s not my business.’
‘No,’ Jude agrees. ‘It’s not.’ He takes a long drink of water, casual, unhurried. ‘Except you’ve been in love with her for years and you’ve never told her, and now some bloke with good bone structure walks in and you’ve got a face on you that’s leaning towards murderous.’
I shrug. Casual. Collected. Moving on. ‘Nope.’
My answer sits there. The heat presses down.
‘Can I say something?’ Jude says.
‘Can I stop you?’
‘No.’ He turns to look at me directly. ‘You’re using the friendship as a hiding place. You’re telling yourself what you have is enough because reaching for more is terrifying. And I get it. But at some point – tell her. Or don’t. But stop standing in the middle.’
‘And if I tell her and she still doesn’t feel the same way, will never feel the same way, or it’s too soon after Peter and she hates me for trying to ruin his memory?’
‘Are you still going on about the one time you kissed in sixth form?’ I hate the fact he knows this, that we all know everything about each other, all the fucking time. It’s exhausting. Inescapable.
‘Nope.’
He eyes me shrewdly, the sun blasting down and turning his hair gold.
‘Mate, if you don’t tell her, then you’ll never know.
And knowing is better than this.’ He gestures – at me, at the harbour, at everything.
‘This permanent waiting. At least if she says no, you can actually move on instead of just talking about it.’
‘Cara’s been texting me,’ I say, and I don’t know why.
Jude blinks. ‘Cara? The one from Scotland? Uni Cara? The one you dated?’
‘She’s coming down next month. We, uh, we…’ I pause, skipping through my still-jagged memory of the wedding weekend. ‘We…’
‘Fucked?’
That’s Jude. Always to the point. Although his sand-coloured eyebrows are up near the hairline of his tanned face, so I’m guessing this point was slightly unexpected.
‘I was not expecting that,’ he muses, shaking his head.
‘Yeah, well, tequila, sambuca, champagne, and I guess…’
‘Guess what?’
‘Guess it felt nice, familiar even, even though it’s been years since uni. Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe I need to stop waiting and just—’
‘Tom.’ Jude’s voice erases all jokes. ‘Don’t use Cara as an exit strategy. That’s not fair to anyone and it won’t work anyway. Not while Nina’s across the harbour.’
He stands up and walks towards the lifeboat station. Kit’s winding ropes, not looking over, with the posture of a man who has definitely been listening to every word.
I sit on the wall. The stone is warm beneath me. The harbour stretches out, flat and bright, and across the water the café windows are lit against the evening and I can just see the shape of Nina moving behind the counter, and Jude is right, and I hate that he’s right.
Complicated is easier than brave.
The Ship is packed by the time I get there.
The whole village has turned out for Kit and Isla’s engagement celebration – every table full, people spilling onto the terrace, noise level somewhere between cheerful and deafening.
Someone’s put up fairy lights. Someone else has made a banner – CONGRATULATIONS in lopsided but very enthusiastic letters.
I find a spot at the bar and order a pint.
The heat has followed us inside, even with all the windows open.
Tilly’s fanning herself with a menu. Bill’s complaining about the lack of air conditioning.
Dot’s offering unprompted opinions about ring choices, wedding venues, and the optimal number of bridesmaids.
‘Tom!’ Kit appears at my elbow, flushed and grinning, a drink in each hand. ‘You made it.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it. Congratulations.’
‘Thanks.’ The grin is ridiculous – the smile of a man who can’t quite believe his own life. ‘Still feels surreal. I keep waiting for someone to tell me it’s a joke.’
‘It’s not a joke. You’re marrying Isla. Who is—’ I glance across the pub to where Isla’s sitting, surrounded by well-wishers, her bump prominent, her face bright. ‘Comprehensively out of your league.’
‘Oh, I know. I’m very aware.’ He takes a drink. ‘Maisie’s already planning the seating chart. She’s firm about who sits where. Apparently I’m not allowed near the cake.’
‘That seems wise.’
‘Rude, but wise.’ His expression shifts – still happy, but something steadier underneath. ‘Hey. Thanks for coming. I know this stuff isn’t… I know it’s not always easy. Being here for this.’
He means the celebration. He might also mean something else. Kit’s not subtle, but he’s kind, and he sees more than he lets on.
‘I’m happy for you,’ I say, and I mean it completely. ‘Both of you. Truly.’
‘I know you are.’ He squeezes my shoulder – brief, firm, the gesture of a man who understands that some things can’t be said in a pub. Then someone calls his name and he’s pulled back into the crowd, back to Isla, back to the uncomplicated joy of a life that’s working.
I watch him go.
He crosses to Isla and his hand finds the small of her back – automatic, unthinking, his fingers spreading against the fabric of her dress like they know the exact place – and she leans into him without looking up, her body adjusting to his the way water adjusts to a new shape.
No thought. No performance. Just the quiet certainty of two people who’ve stopped pretending they don’t fit.
I look at my drink.
I look at my drink for a long time.
And then Nina is there.
Not across the room this time. Right here, at the bar, sliding onto the stool next to mine, a glass of wine in one hand and a plate of chicken goujons with Peri-Peri sauce in the other.
‘You’re brooding,’ she says. ‘You’ve got your brooding face on. The one that makes you look like a character from a Victorian novel.’
‘I don’t brood.’
‘You absolutely brood. You brood professionally. It’s practically a vocation.’ She sets the plate between us, still warm. ‘I brought you food because you look like you haven’t eaten since the drill, and Brynn said you nearly passed out from the heat, and I can’t have my—’
She stops. Picks up a strip of chicken and takes a bite.
‘Your what?’ I ask.
‘My quiz partner. I can’t have my quiz partner passing out at public events. It’s bad for our brand.’
She laughs, but there’s a pause. A gap where a different word was going to go. I heard it. Or I’m going mad. I think it’s the latter.
‘Thank you for the chicken.’
‘You’re welcome. Eat. You’re useless when you’re hungry.’
I eat. She sits beside me, close enough that her knee touches mine and I sit next to her and eat my chicken.