18. Chapter 18
Slipping across the hotel lobby, Lucy made for the bathrooms. Inside, she dove into a stall, locked it and slid down the inside of the door.
Her hand went to her mouth as she thought of Jack’s lips pressed against hers, his fingers tracing the curves of her body. The warmth of his touch seeping through her flimsy dress, and her hands pulling him closer.
Burying her face in her hands, she tried to block out the images.
She would never see a cleaning cupboard––or a cleaner, or a duster, or a waiter, for that matter––and not remember being caught with Jack outside that cupboard. What must he think of her?
She ran her fingers over her lips, still swollen from that kiss. Her neck flushed pink as she remembered his hands on her hips, urging her into him, the feeling of his hardness pushing against her.
The door to the bathrooms barged open, and a gaggle of women entered, bubbling over with excitement and prosecco.
A stall door banged shut, and then someone was peeing loudly.
‘Aahhhhh, just in time…’ came a voice from a couple of stalls away.
There was a clattering as makeup tumbled out of bags onto the counters.
‘How’s my lippy? Should I go for this pink, instead?’ asked a voice.
Lucy stayed quiet in her stall, her hands on her cheeks, trying to cool them down.
‘Have you seen that hotty with the dark hair, the tall guy with the light grey jacket?’ one asked.
‘Oh, I know, he’s very cute,’ came a whispered reply. ‘Is he a friend of Ollie’s?’
There was a rattle of make-up rolling about on the counter.
‘Shit, my lipstick.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ came a shout from the stall.
‘You know,’ said the first voice, ‘that guy who held the door open for you, and you said he had an amazing smile. Wearing a light grey jacket. I think I heard someone call him Jake?’ Lucy’s ears pricked up, and she froze in place. Were they talking about Jack? He was wearing a grey jacket, sure, but so were half the men at the wedding.
The toilet flushed, and the woman from the stall joined her friends. Water was running and Lucy strained to hear.
‘Ooh yes, he was very nice.’
They all cackled.
‘Might have to see if I can help him slip out of that jacket and make himself more comfortable…on my bed!’
They all giggled.
Lucy wished she could see who was talking, but she’d been in the cubical for a suspiciously long time now, so she didn’t dare go out.
‘Isn’t he with that fair-haired woman?’
Lucy froze in place, holding her breath.
‘Not sure. If he is, he doesn’t seem that excited about it.’
The woman laughed at her own joke, and the others joined in.
Lucy smarted. She wished they’d seen how excited Jack was outside the cleaning cupboard. Her face flushed even harder at the thought, and she shook her head to dislodge the image. It didn’t matter if this woman liked Jack, she told herself; he was a free agent, technically.
‘Check my lippy,’ the second woman said, smacking her lips together.
‘Lemme see… yes, perfect,’ said the other. ‘Let’s go! Woo hoo!’
Heels clicked on tiles, and music flooded in as the door opened. Their laughter and voices melted into the noise, and they were gone.
The toilets fell silent. Lucy was still sitting on the floor behind the stall door, staring at the toilet bowl. She stayed still until she was sure she was alone. Cracking the door open, she clambered to her feet and smoothed down her dress.
So other women liked Jack—it wasn’t a surprise. Women often checked him out. It wasn’t even the first time someone had approached her to ask about him, to find out if he was single. She just hadn’t paid attention to it before.
She glanced in the mirror. Her face was glowing, her eyes bright and luminous. She felt wired, like she’d drunk a pot of extra strong coffee and had nowhere to get rid of the energy. Her eyes lingered on her lips, still red from the kiss. Combing her hands through her hair, she teased out tangles with her fingers.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door.
It was getting late, and guests were trickling away in the direction of the bedrooms. Lucy peered around nervously, but there was no sign of Heather or her mother. Clustered around a table, a group of Ollie and Sophie’s friends from university hooted and cheered as a waitress unloaded a tray full of drinks, but there was no sign of the happy couple.
There was also no sign of Jack.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved not to have to face him again so soon when she was feeling so unsettled or disappointed not to see him. From the direction of the bar came a familiar cackle, and Lucy assumed the group of three women doing tequila shots were the same people she had overheard in the toilets. Before anyone could spot her, she turned, slipped out of the room, across the lobby and out into the gardens. Gulps of fresh air would eat up the adrenaline and, hopefully, calm her addled mind.
From her morning walk, she knew she could make her way around the outside of the hotel and come back in through the French doors. Trembling, though the night air was still warm, she padded across the soft grass, shoes in her hand once more, her feet leaving prints in the dew.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel this way. She looked up at the moon high overhead and at the gardens, silvery bright in the moonlight. A fox trotted along the tree line, ignoring her.
So they’d kissed and felt each other up—so what? These things happened at weddings. No need to overthink it, she told herself. Chalk it up as just one of those things. They’d both been drinking, and the argument with Heather and Jack stepping in to look after her had confused things, that was all.
Rounding the corner, she arrived at the French doors that led back into the hotel and to their room. She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. A couple fumbled their way down the corridor, giggling and holding on to one another, then disappeared into a room. The bright lights inside made Lucy all but invisible outside the door. Reaching out her hand, she pulled open the doors and headed down the corridor toward their room, head held high. She had nothing to feel embarrassed about, she told herself.
She eased herself into the bedroom. The lights were on, and noises were coming from the bathroom. The door opened, and Jack strode out, toothbrush in mouth, humming while he brushed. He was barefoot and bare-chested. His trousers were unbuttoned and hung loosely around his hips. Lucy tore her eyes away and stared at a picture on the wall of Victorian ladies promenading in a park.
His eyes lit up when he saw her.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he mumbled through his toothbrush. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. I stuck my head into the party, but it looked like it was winding down, so I came back here. Where did you get to?’
Lucy thought of the conversation she had overheard in the loos. For a second, she opened her mouth to joke about being forced to listen to women cooing over Jack. It wouldn’t be the first time she had shared such a story with him. But for some reason, the words wouldn’t come out. He was a free agent and could chat up any woman he chose to—but she didn’t want to be his wing woman.
Jack was watching her quizzically.
‘Nowhere,’ she said and shrugged. ‘Just took the long way round to come back here.’
Her glance landed on a pillow and sheet on the chaise longue. Jack followed her gaze.
‘You take the bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the chaise. I tried to blow up that mattress but,’ he nudged the folded-up blow-up mattress with his foot, ‘I think it has more holes than the Titanic.’
‘Jack, you don’t have to do that. That chaise is too small for you. I’ll sleep on—’
‘No,’ Jack said. He was standing in front of her. ‘I had the bed last night, your turn for a decent night’s sleep.’
‘But I got you into this,’ Lucy said ruefully. ‘You shouldn’t suffer for helping me out.’
‘You asked me. I said yes. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to do.’ He grinned. ‘Now,’ he prodded her in the arm, ‘would you get ready for bed, woman?’
Lucy laughed, feeling the tension between them ebb, and grabbed her nightclothes and toiletries.
A few minutes later, she stood in the bathroom staring at herself in the mirror. She plucked at the hem of the cartoon-covered shortie pyjamas that had seemed so cute when she had bought them, but now felt childish on the body of a thirty-three-year-old woman. They didn’t look like the pyjamas of a wanton woman who got hot and heavy in hotel corridors. She flushed at the thought. She wished she owned just one satin slip nightie, or silky nightshirt. Something grown-up that she wouldn’t mind someone else—a man—seeing her in. Cartoon-patterned pyjamas weren’t sexy. The vibe they gave off was more, read me a bedtime story and pass me my warm milk.
‘Cute PJs,’ Jack said as she scurried over to the bed.
Lucy grimaced and hurled herself and the cartoons beneath the covers. Jack had concertinaed himself onto the chaise. His head rested on an arm slung behind his head, and she could see the tops of his boxers peeping out from beneath the sheet. Hurriedly averting her gaze, she dove for the light switch beside the bed and plunged them into darkness.
‘Oh. Night then,’ Jack said, a laugh in his voice.
Lucy giggled.
‘Sorry, should have warned you.’
They fell silent, and the bed springs creaked as Lucy shifted to get comfortable. Lucy thought she had never breathed so loudly in her life. The darkness was intimate, and all her senses seemed heightened. She felt like she could sense exactly where Jack was, even in the ink-black room. As if she stepped off the bed and reached out to take his hand, she’d find it immediately. She lay stiff and still, trying to breathe silently.
‘So that,’ Jack said softly, as they lay in the dark, ‘was an informal, low-key, casual welcome dinner.’
Lucy snorted into a pillow.
Jack continued, ‘I can’t wait to see what a full-on actual wedding party looks like tomorrow. I am assuming the police will be called at least once.’
Lucy chortled.
‘Probably. My money is on poor Margot, whoever she is. She’ll be declared missing, along with that suitcase. Someone will get a drink thrown in their face, two people will file for divorce, and Nanna will have another episode and get whisked off to the hospital in a helicopter.’ She drew a breath. ‘But Ollie and Sophie will get married on time, because my mother will see to that.’
‘It seemed like that argument with Heather was a long time coming,’ Jack said, his voice floating out of the darkness.
Lucy swallowed. The noise sounded amplified in the darkened room.
‘Mmmm,’ was all she could manage. She hesitated, then, ‘It’s a sort of low-level ongoing fight, really. I’ve never felt like I fit in with my family.’
Jack was quiet.
‘I don’t feel like they’ve ever really understood me. Mum and Dad love how sporty and competitive Ollie is, and Heather has basically been destined for some high-flying career since primary school, but me…’ she paused. ‘Me, they didn’t really know what to do with. I’m terrible at sports—’
‘I know,’ Jack interjected. ‘I threw a ball to you once, and you ducked.’
‘I think that’s a good instinctive reaction when someone throws something at you.’
‘To you, Lucy. I threw it to you.’
‘Pfft. Anyway, I wasn’t good at sport. I did okay at school, but that doesn’t mean much when you can’t move for tripping over Ollie’s sports trophies and Heather’s certificates of achievement. And I was quite shy, which is,’ she sighed softly, ‘a cardinal sin in our family. I think maybe it would have been okay if I was just a bit more extroverted. And still now, nothing I do is ever really good enough. Goodness,’ she let out an awkward laugh, ‘poor me, so hard done by. Sorry, I know you had a much tougher time, and there are people out there who—’
‘Don’t do that,’ Jack said gruffly.
Lucy was taken aback for a moment, the rough words jolting her.
‘Don’t diminish how you feel because you think there are others worse off. It’s not a competition where only those who have had the very worst lives are allowed to feel grief or let down. You’re entitled to your feelings.’
As Jack’s words landed, Lucy felt like someone had let pressure out of a tyre. She let out a long breath. She gave herself permission to feel her feelings. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she buried her face in a pillow. Unable to speak, she concentrated on evening out her breathing. After a while, she found her voice again.
‘When you told that story, about us getting together,’ she let out a stubby laugh, ‘about how you saw me at the Christmas Fayre and talking to that man and…how I was managing it all…in the middle of it….’ Lucy’s voice wavered. ‘It sounds daft, but I really loved that. I felt like you...’ She paused, struggling for words that felt honest, emboldened by the darkness. ‘Understood something. About me. More than my family does. Minus the part about the silver sequins, of course.’
A soft chuckle emanated from the darkness, and the chaise creaked as Jack shifted his weight. It was on the tip of her alcohol-fuddled brain to invite him to share the bed. Just as friends, of course. A pillow between them, perhaps. But she pressed her lips together and swallowed down the words.
‘You might not feel your family understands you, Luce. But your friends do.’ He paused. ‘I do.’ The chaise creaked, then the room fell silent.
In a quiet voice, Jack said, ‘I see you.’
Lucy let out a shaky breath and twisted the sheet in her hands. A tear ran down her cheek.
‘Good night, Jack.’