Chapter Eleven Fancy New Friends
~ Casey ~
‘Eurrgh — rggghh. Ack.’
Casey drew a shuddery breath when the heaving finally subsided. She put down the toilet lid and rested her head on it. The coolness of the porcelain was soothing, but what she really needed was a long sleep or a hot shower.
After the lift doors had closed behind her, she had stared at herself in that gilded mirror for some time. A strange dizziness had settled in her head, and her stomach had started lurching. Casey had remained transfixed on the spot until she belatedly recognised the symptoms for what they were. With only seconds to spare, she had managed to locate and enter her room, where she had been marooned in the bathroom ever since. And, at last, the nausea passed.
Casey continued to focus on her breathing to steady her nerves. That was what had brought on this attack of the hurls. Nerves. It wasn’t food poisoning or a bug, she was sure of it. All morning her stomach had been roiling uneasily, but when she had left Alex behind, matters had reached fever pitch. It was her nerves.
I can’t do this, she thought, not for the first time. I can’t. I can’t.
She sat up and leaned her back against the tiled wall, facing away from the toilet now that her stomach was well and truly empty.
I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. But oh, oh, I must. I promised Alex. It was my idea.
‘It was my idea,’ she said out loud. The sound of her voice was reassuring, and she continued talking. ‘It seemed like a good idea when we were safely back in London. But now that we’re actually here—’ She sighed deeply.
‘We must be mad. Maybe I should ring Alex and call the whole thing off. He didn’t want to do it either. But then again, we’re here now. We’ve come all this way, and we agreed on a plan. We have to find out.’
Casey shook her head. She would never admit this to Alex, but the curse idea was beginning to appeal to her. It would explain everything and take the responsibility for their plight away from them.
Reluctantly, she detached herself from the cool sanctuary of the bathroom and padded into the bedroom — the very blue bedroom, as suggested by its name — to find her phone. She curled up in the armchair by the window overlooking the sea and launched the internet search engine. Until now, she had only taken Liza and Sasha’s word for it. She had only read a little of the article they had showed her. She hadn’t dared to investigate further, but perhaps if she did, she would find some answers.
Her searches for ‘seven years bad sex curse’ didn’t yield any information beyond what she had already been told. There was no indication of how to undo such a curse in any of the articles Casey read.
After a while, she decided to change tactics. A more general search on ‘undoing curses’ yielded a barrage of information ranging from simply refusing to believe in the curse to instructions for performing ‘candle magick’ and other, more complex ‘reverse hexes’. All of it sounded bizarre and surreal to Casey, and she was astounded at the amount of people who took this stuff seriously.
She closed her phone and looked out the window, digesting the new information she had gathered.
‘So, if the most powerful counter-curse is to simply refuse to believe in curses, we’re already there. We’ve never believed in it, not really.’
Or have we?
‘With that, either the disbelief strategy is not an effective counter-curse, or we’re quite simply not cursed to begin with. Which is what we’ve said all along.’
The mind boggles.
Casey sighed. ‘This is going nowhere.’ She stared out the window some more. The sea shimmered and glinted silver against a pale horizon in the late afternoon sunlight. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their mournful cries carrying softly on a light breeze. On the beach, families were busy flying kites, playing games, and splashing by the water’s edge. A few adventurous souls were even having a swim. The scene was tranquil and suffused with happiness, at least from a distance, and Casey wished she could simply ‘magick’ herself into one of those lives.
Of course, she couldn’t do that. But even the simple act of observation calmed her troubled mind, and eventually she was able to focus once more on the task at hand.
With sudden urgency, she abandoned her position by the window and started the shower running. If she was going out tonight, she would need to wash away every trace of her sickness . . . plus every trace of Alex on her skin.
* * *
An hour later, Casey was walking along the promenade towards the pier. She had glammed up, but not excessively so. She would try, but she wasn’t desperate. It would either work — or it wouldn’t. For one second, she wondered how Alex would be getting on, but she quashed that thought before it could take root. Now was not the time to think of her other half.
Setting one foot in front of the other, she debated where to go. The obvious place would be a bar or a club, but Casey wasn’t in the mood for loud music, stale air, and sweaty bodies. Besides, what if she bumped into Alex? In all their planning, they had never considered dividing the city into two halves — a his half and a hers half — so that they could exclude the possibility of ending up in the same place. Where would Alex most likely go?
‘A club for sure,’ Casey said to herself. ‘Ergo, I’m going to stay away from clubs. And pubs. And anyway . . .’
Her stomach gave an audible rumble. Evidently it had recovered from its earlier unhappy acrobatics. Casey laughed at herself. ‘Yes, I probably ought to eat something.’
The thought of food lodged in her mind and couldn’t be displaced. As she kept moving further and further away from the main town centre, she let her eyes explore the frontages of the more exclusive hotels and restaurants on this stretch of promenade.
And then she saw the perfect place. Its blue neon sign winked at her like a beacon promising food as well as a safe haven. Peter’s Place, it was called. She remembered seeing it featured in a magazine a little while back. Tonight, she would dine exquisitely, but she wouldn’t pull. She would probably stick out like a sore thumb, but she didn’t care. In Peter’s Place, she would be safe. After all, Peter’s Place was an extremely trendy gay bar.
Her feet were miles ahead of her decision-making process, and she was eagerly stepping up to the host’s desk before her brain had quite caught up with her.
‘Table for one, please,’ she said with a smile.
The ma?tre d’ looked at her inquisitively but didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Certainly. For drinks or to dine?’
‘To dine, please. I’m starving. Oh, and I’d love a table by the French windows, if you have one.’
The ma?tre d’ tilted his head. ‘You could sit on the terrace, if you like?’ He indicated the open space in front of the restaurant.
Casey shook her head. ‘I’d . . . I’d rather be inside, if that’s possible. But kind of nearly outside.’ She felt herself blush, although she couldn’t fathom why she should be embarrassed.
‘Inside, but kind of nearly outside,’ the ma?tre d’ repeated calmly. ‘I see. No problem. Follow me.’
He picked up a menu and a wine list from his stand and led Casey to a table for two by one of the wide-open French doors giving onto the terrace.
‘How’s this?’
‘Perfect. Thank you.’ Casey thought her face would split in half with her smile of relief.
‘Lovely. Your waiter will be with you shortly.’ The ma?tre d’ set down the menu and whipped away the second table setting in one smooth movement before Casey could say, ‘don’t bother.’
‘Here you are, ma’am. I trust this meets your requirements, and I hope you enjoy your evening with us.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
The ma?tre d’ retreated, and Casey let out a deep breath. The restaurant was stunning. The walls were painted a stark white but textured with wide, blackened beams. Fairy lights were trailing down each beam, softening the heavy appearance and suffusing the restaurant with a magical glow. The tables were laid with crisp, white linen and expensive crockery and cutlery. Along one side of the restaurant, the bar was a riot of colourful spirit bottles balanced on glass shelves reflected in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, making the area seem twice as large than it actually was. The overall effect was one of understated glitz, extremely tastefully done. Casey loved it.
As for people — the place was filled with impossibly beautiful, groomed, and fit-looking men, and that was only the staff! The clientele was arriving in small groups of twos and fours who were quite possibly even more delicious than the staff. Bolstered by the knowledge that they were all off limits to her, Casey allowed herself to people-watch unashamedly. It was like feasting on the most extraordinary buffet without any fear of the consequences.
As the thought of feasting entered her head, Casey had to force herself to let go of the eye candy so that she could peruse the menu long enough to choose some food. After a small moment of deliberation, she settled on the muscles — mussels! Pull yourself together, Casey! — followed by medium-rare fillet steak with potato dauphinoise and tiny spears of asparagus, and Peter’s special spotted dick to finish. The latter promised to be a white chocolate mousse studded with succulent raspberries and blueberries.
‘Goodness,’ she exclaimed to the waiter — Jim — who took her order. ‘Your menu is certainly stuffed with extraordinary—’
Innuendo!
‘—choices.’
‘It is that.’ Jim smiled like he had read her subtext. ‘Peter, the owner, has a wicked sense of humour. You’ll see when the food arrives.’ He winked.
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Casey smiled. She settled back to wait.
For a few minutes, she looked out to sea and allowed herself to absorb the atmosphere. But as the restaurant began to fill more and more, she became a little self-conscious. People-watching turned out to be a bit challenging when you were conspicuous by your very difference, and she kept making accidental eye contact with men whom she had intended to observe discreetly. Her face was starting to ache from her permanent sorry-I-didn’t-mean-to-stare smile, and she gave up. She pulled out her tablet and called up a book.
No sooner had she finished a couple of pages than her starter arrived. She suppressed a laugh. Jim hadn’t been kidding when he said the restaurant owner had a wicked sense of humour. Dirty might have been a more appropriate description. The mussels themselves came in the obligatory black pot brimming with marinière sauce — nothing out of the ordinary there. However, the bread that accompanied it was another matter. An artistic baker had moulded a bread stick with an acorn-shaped protrusion at the top and two round dough balls at the bottom. Owing to this substantial base, the highly suggestive arrangement was, in fact, upstanding by its own accord.
Casey gazed it at for several seconds, debating whether it would be rude to take a photo and whether, in fact, she would even dare to tear a piece off. Or at which end she would start if she did.
‘I’d start from the top,’ a male voice broke into her thoughts.
‘Of course you would, you dirty soul. Me, I like to grasp things by the balls,’ a second male voice teased the first.
Casey looked up. A couple of very handsome and extraordinarily well-dressed men towered above her and regarded her with amused eyes. There was a subtle flamboyance about them that was intriguing. Little details like the flowery cufflinks and the red patent leather shoes hinted at an extravagant mindset and a certain joie de vivre. Casey had to stop herself from staring.
Before she knew it, a little devil spurred her on. If it was double meanings and dirty puns they were after, she could spar with the best of them.
Very deliberately, she picked up her dough stick and dipped the tip deeply and repetitively into the marinière sauce. When she was satisfied that the bread had absorbed enough of the fragrant white wine creaminess, she lifted it up again, watching with feigned fascination while a few white drops oozed their way back into the bowl. Slowly and provocatively, she put the bread stick between her teeth, bit, and chewed. She let out a little moan of pleasure and swallowed.
‘That’s so good,’ she announced. ‘Giving head to a breadstick is a delicious new experience for me.’
The couple burst out laughing. ‘Oh, she’s good,’ one of them giggled. ‘Priceless.’
‘Darling, you’ve got style,’ the other one agreed. ‘What brings you here on your own, my little flower?’
Casey smiled in what she hoped was an enigmatic fashion. ‘I fancied the food.’
‘She fancied the food,’ handsome man number one repeated, a twinkle in his green eyes. He was short and stocky but Casey was sure she could see muscles ripping under his silk shirt. ‘Well, fancy that!’
‘Peter’s food is out of this world, of course,’ handsome man number two declared with an affected flourish of the hand. He was much taller than his partner and in one swift move extended his hand-flourish to wrap an affectionate arm around the other man’s shoulder, tugging playfully at a jewel-studded ear as he did.
Seeing that the two colourful men didn’t give any indication of wishing to remove themselves from her vicinity in the near future, Casey started to tuck into her mussels.
Handsome man number two furrowed his brow and ran a hand over his short-cropped brown hair. His brown eyes shone with mischief. ‘It pains me to see a beautiful woman eating all on her own. What do you think, Rodge?’
‘Oh definitely, James.’ Rodge nodded vigorously.
‘May we sit?’ James enquired. ‘Would you mind?’
Casey shrugged slightly. ‘Yeah, sure. Why not? Some company would be nice.’
‘Great!’ Rodge pulled up another chair while James sat down on the free chair opposite Casey.
‘I’m James.’
‘I’m Rodge. Short for Roger.’
‘Ah.’ Casey grinned. ‘I’m Casey.’
Momentarily she wondered whether Rodge might be the same Roger that had beguiled her former boyfriend Marcus all those years ago, but she told herself she was being silly. What were the odds? But nonetheless, her mouth asked the question.
‘You didn’t used to have a boyfriend called Marcus, per chance?’
Rodge looked startled. ‘Marcus? No, certainly not. I’m strictly a James man,’ he replied after a moment’s hesitation.
Oh good. Meeting Marcus’s Roger here after all that time would have been too twisted for words. Casey smiled widely with relief.
‘Casey,’ James repeated thoughtfully. He frowned and peered at her more closely. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’
Casey swallowed. Deny, deny, deny. ‘I don’t think so,’ she laughed, her voice sounding fake even to herself. Luckily, right at that moment, Jim reappeared from out of nowhere with two table settings and a bottle of Prosecco. ‘I hope these two rogues aren’t bothering you?’ he asked of Casey in a joking tone of voice while he carefully placed plates and glasses on the table.
‘Not at all,’ Casey assured him, grateful for the diversion. Somehow, she had managed to finish off her mussels among all the hilarity that the arrival of Rodge and James had caused, and Jim whisked her empty dishes away when he left.
‘So.’ Rodge leaned back and sipped at his Prosecco. ‘What brings a lovely girl like yourself to Peter’s Place all on her own?’
‘Gosh.’ Casey chuckled. ‘Don’t hesitate to ask the big questions.’
‘Oh, it’s a big question?’ James trilled, evidently thrilled. ‘Go on, do tell.’
‘Really? You want to know?’ Casey raised her eyebrows. Crazy though it seemed, she was in the mood to confide in two random strangers that she would be guaranteed never to see again, ever. The first glass of wine had loosened her tongue. Or else she was taking leave of her senses.
‘We do, we do,’ Rodge and James chorused.
‘I don’t know.’ A final, very small shred of sanity held Casey back. ‘I . . . you could be anyone. I don’t want to see my misery splashed all over the papers tomorrow.’
‘Oh, misery!’ James gushed. ‘This is getting better and better. Do tell!’
‘You can trust us,’ Rodge said earnestly. ‘Dib, dib, dib, dob, dob, dob, and all that.’
‘Personally, I wouldn’t trust this man as far as you can throw him which, given his physical stature, probably isn’t very far, but it isn’t in our nature to blab. We know how much it hurts.’ Suddenly serious, James held Casey’s gaze, and there was no guile in his brown eyes.
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Casey knitted her fingers together while she searched for the right words. Emily would have a fit if she knew what she, Casey, was about to do, but Emily could go stuff herself. In fact, so could the rest of the world. She needed to unload onto somebody. And irrational though it was, she liked the look of James and Rodge. Her gut said, do it.
‘Right. Well, if you must know . . . I was supposed to go out angling for a one-night stand, but I couldn’t face it, so I came here instead to eat and to be safe from men on the prowl.’
James and Rodge stared at her with open mouths. Casey suppressed a giggle. She would have bet a bottle of their fancy Prosecco that they weren’t often rendered speechless, but she had managed it.
‘Wow,’ James cried after a while. ‘That’s a lot to take in.’
‘What do you mean, you were supposed to angle for a one-night stand? Who asked you to do that?’ Rodge wanted to know. ‘And why?’
Casey twisted her napkin around her fingers. ‘That’s a really long story.’
‘We’re all ears,’ James suggested. ‘We’re good listeners.’
So Casey allowed herself to tell the whole story, starting right at the beginning. Halfway through the story, her main course arrived, and she ate in small bites between chunks of narrative. Rodge and James had each ordered a Peter’s Burger — organic beef patties topped with caviar and chives inside two hunks of sourdough bread — and they ate daintily whilst listening to Casey’s woes.
‘You can’t do it?’ Rodge summed up when she had finished. ‘At all? Like, ever?’
Casey shook her head.
‘How absolutely horrid.’ Rodge went pale with compassion. ‘You poor, poor thing.’
‘And so you thought seducing a stranger might break the cycle?’ James reiterated. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
‘No, I’m not sure that’s wise,’ Casey replied easily. ‘That’s why I came here.’
‘But what about Alex? What if he’s going through with you-know-what?’ Rodge appeared so discomfited by the notion that he couldn’t even get himself to say it.
Casey sighed. ‘We’ll have to live with the consequences, I assume.’
‘What about lotions, potions, toys, that kind of thing?’ James reflected out loud.
‘I told you . . . we’ve tried it all, and then some.’
‘And after all of that, you still love him?’
‘Of course I do!’ Casey couldn’t keep a touch of indignation out her voice. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’
‘Hm.’ Rodge was perplexed.
‘You need professional help,’ James declared out of the blue. ‘I don’t normally tout for business on a Saturday night, but your case touches me deeply. Here.’ He proffered a card. ‘I’m based in London. Get in touch.’
Casey took the card and read it. She felt dazed and unreal. She had always thought of herself as open-minded, unflappable, and sexually liberated, and yet she was embarrassed.
‘You’re a sex therapist?’
‘That’s right. I do couples. Straight ones. Trust me, I can help you both.’ He offered a disarming smile.
‘I . . . I don’t know what to say.’ To her great annoyance, Casey found herself stammering. ‘What . . . what does sex therapy entail, exactly?’
James pursed his lips. ‘That’ll depend on what’s required.’
Rodge nudged him in the side. ‘You daft old professor, you. Will you ever learn what people really think when they hear the words “sex therapy”?’ He gave Casey a complicit smile and explained. ‘What she’s asking is will they have to do it in front of you?’
‘What? No! Of course not. Well, not unless they really want to.’ James laughed. ‘No, it’s not like that. We talk. I suggest things. I figure out what’s blocking you. I recommend . . . actions. Positions.’
‘Like a living, breathing Kama Sutra?’ Casey suggested lightly. ‘Because we’ve already tried that, too.’
‘Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. Come and see me. Bring Alex. We’ll get you sorted out.’
Casey shook her head. ‘As much as you seem a nice guy, James, I don’t think Alex would go for it.’
‘Ah!’ James pounced immediately. ‘And why not? This may be part of the problem.’
Casey was taken aback by this reason. ‘How so?’
‘If your man is emotionally blocked and unwilling to open up, that could explain your temporary inability to get close.’
‘No, no.’ Casey shook her head again. ‘Alex isn’t emotionally blocked, nor is he unwilling to open up. He’d simply baulk at sharing intimate details with a stranger.’
‘Hm.’ James waggled his head from side to side. ‘I see.’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘Still, keep my card. You never know when you’ll change your mind. And I’m intrigued. I’d love to see you again.’
‘More Prosecco?’ Rodge muscled back into the conversation. ‘Casey looks like she could do with some.’ He started pouring before Casey even had a chance to respond.
‘Thanks,’ she said weakly, her mind racing all the while. Sex therapy? Really? Would that be an option? With a gay counsellor, no less?
‘Hey, hey,’ Rodge interrupted her thoughts. ‘Earth to Casey! We’re clinking glasses here. You’d better make eye contact, because I ain’t risking seven years bad sex. That would be a catastrophe!’ His tone was light and teasing, and Casey could tell that he didn’t take his own words seriously.
‘Cheers,’ she toasted, looking Rodge squarely in the eye. ‘May you never be afflicted by poor relations.’
‘The girl’s a hoot,’ Rodge guffawed. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers!’ James accepted the conversational redirection and joined in with the toasting.
They finished off the bottle and their meals — including Casey’s spotted dick, which was every bit as suggestive as her starter — amid much chatter and laughter. Casey turned the tables on James and Rodge and quizzed them about their own lives. She was amazed to find that they were high school sweethearts, and that Rodge was a successful consultant at a London hospital. ‘He deals with the mind,’ Rodge explained, pointing at James. ‘And I fix the bodies. Together, we’re unbeatable.’
‘I bet.’ Casey grinned before turning a little more serious. ‘I think you’re incredibly lucky, the two of you.’
‘We have our moments,’ James concurred. ‘But it’s not all roses and bubbly, not even in this day and age.’
‘No, I’m sure it’s not,’ Casey agreed. ‘But still.’ She smiled, unsure how to put her feelings into words.
‘”But still”,’ Rodge echoed cheerfully. ‘I’ll drink to the most articulate comment of the evening. It says it all: but still!’
‘But still!’ James chimed in, and Casey decided that they were probably sharing a private joke of some description.
When their glasses were once more empty, James stole a look at his watch and blanched. ‘Rodge,’ he squealed. ‘It’s past ten o’clock. We were supposed to be at Vince’s by now!’
‘Really?’ Rodge gave a start. ‘Vince is our best mate,’ he explained to Casey. ‘It’s his stag do tonight. He’ll be getting married next week, and we’re supposed to take him out clubbing.’
‘Oh, right,’ Casey uttered weakly, reeling from the speedy turn of events. ‘Of course, you must go. It’s been lovely meeting you and . . . thank you. For listening, you know.’
The two men rose and flapped about her with kisses and hugs.
‘It’s been darling to meet you, too, sweetie,’ said Rodge. ‘Take care of yourself now.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ enthused James. ‘I wish you well. And you know where to find me.’
‘I do. And thanks.’ Casey smiled her farewell. She watched with fond amusement as Rodge and James fluttered out of the restaurant. Their meeting had been short but intense, yet she felt as though she was letting go of two great friends. Who knows, she mused, maybe we will cross paths again. Anything is possible.
But first of all, it was time for her to make her way back to the hotel. Surprisingly, she had had a nice evening and some fabulous food, but now she felt tired and a little drained. She refused to think about Alex and the progress of his evening. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset that she hadn’t stuck to the plan. So she hadn’t figured out if she could find satisfaction with a stranger, but she had confirmed the most important thing: she loved her man far too much to mess around with someone else. And that had to count for something, didn’t it?
* * *
~ Alex ~
He would have known her silhouette anywhere. In the fading light of the August night, he could just make out Casey ambling along the promenade ahead of him, heading towards their hotel and entirely unaware that he was only a few steps behind her. It was about ten-thirty p.m., and she was alone. His heart soared, then dropped, then soared again. There were two possibilities. Either she had been incredibly quick about her stranger’s dalliance . . . or she, too, hadn’t gone through with it. And based on the carefree swing in her step, he very much suspected that it was the latter.
He followed her sedately, relishing the very sight of her. Her right hand was loosely trailing along the railings separating the promenade from the beach. The breeze was playing with her hair, picking up the occasional strand and blowing it about in curling tendrils like drifts of smoke. He urgently wanted to reach out and touch it.
She was wearing a dress and heels. With a pang, he noted that he hadn’t seen her in a dress since the wedding. She had made an effort, and he was jealous.
Silly man, he admonished himself. You’re in your best pulling clothes too. Get a grip.
Casey slowed up ahead of him, and he matched her speed. She turned toward the sea and leaned on the railing. The pose was classic and alluring, and Alex noticed that Casey was drawing attention from passers-by. Male passers-by. Suddenly driven by the desire to reassert his claim over his woman, he increased his step and stood beside her.
‘Hi,’ she said without turning her head. ‘I thought that was you.’
‘Hi.’ He turned to the sea and matched her pose, ensuring that their arms and shoulders touched. Really, he longed to wrap her in an embrace, but he got the feeling that it was too soon. Casey would have questions — a question — that needed to be addressed before they could get close.
‘How was your evening?’ She was still looking out to sea.
‘Fine. Didn’t quite go as expected, but good. You?’
They were dancing around the issue at hand when all he wanted to do was shout, I love you.
‘About the same, actually.’ She laughed. That had to be a good sign.
‘Where did you go?’ Alex decided to take conversational charge.
‘Me?’ More laughter. ‘I was hungry, so I went to a restaurant. Peter’s Place, it was called.’
‘Nice?’
‘Oh yes, very nice.’ There was a teasing note in Casey’s voice that he couldn’t quite interpret.
‘Good food, then?’ As if that was of any importance.
‘Very good food. Good company, too.’ Casey turned towards him at last and grinned; it was a wide, excited smile. ‘The place was rammed with handsome men. Gorgeous. Delicious.’
Alex’s heart sank again. Maybe she had been fast.
‘Was it?’ he mumbled.
‘It was. And guess what?’ Casey looked at him intently, and even in the half light of dusk he could tell her eyes were brimming with something. Afterglow? Mirth?
‘What?’ he asked obediently, if reluctantly.
Casey chuckled. ‘They were all gay.’
‘What?’
‘Yup.’ She gave him a hug and nestled her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t do it. I . . . I simply couldn’t. So I went to a gay bar and had a meal.’
Alex thought he would explode with joy. ‘You went to a gay bar?’ he repeated slowly, still computing the implications. ‘Full of gay men?’
‘Absolutely. I spent the evening chatting with a very nice couple. Rodge and James. Definitely gay.’
‘Wow.’ Hooray!
‘How about you?’ Casey searched his eyes.
‘Me. Ah, I’ve a confession to make.’ He swallowed. ‘I couldn’t go through with it either.’
‘You couldn’t?’
‘No. I went to a bar, and I picked up a stunner of a girl — Shelley, her name was — but I couldn’t go through with it. I kept seeing you instead of her, and I realised something.’ He paused.
‘What? What did you realise?’ Casey prompted eagerly when he didn’t continue.
‘Casey.’ Alex drew back so that he could look at his wife properly. ‘Casey, I love you. I love you too much to go for a stranger, even though I’m horny and desperate as hell. So I’m really sorry, but we’re still no wiser.’
Casey reached up and kissed him on the mouth, fiercely and with passion.
‘We are, though,’ she whispered in between breaths. ‘Wiser, I mean. We know for certain that we definitely and unconditionally love each other.’
‘That’s true,’ Alex conceded happily.
‘As for the horny and desperate-as-hell bit . . .’
‘Yeah?’
‘There’s always DIY.’
Alex sighed. ‘True. Very true. But we’ve been there. It’s not quite the same, is it?’
Casey regarded him gravely. ‘No, it’s not quite the same,’ she finally said. ‘But it’s all we’ve got for now, and I really strongly suggest we allow ourselves to . . . to indulge until we can figure something else out.’
Alex shrugged. If that was what she wanted, that was fine by him. ‘Okay. The only thing that worries me is that we seem to be going round and round. You know . . . trial, denial, DIY. Reassuring each other that we love each other and that things will be fine when we have no idea how.’
Casey sighed. ‘I know. It’s like groundhog day. Or a rollercoaster. Up, and down, and up again. But we’ll simply have to ride it for a while longer and make do for the time being.’
Night had fallen completely, and the sea had disappeared from view. Casey shivered, and Alex hugged her close, wrapping his leather jacket around the both of them for warmth.
‘We’ll make do,’ he agreed. ‘For as long as it takes. Without any guilt.’
‘And promise me we’ll talk? We’ll be open from now on? And guilt free, whatever it takes? And maybe seek help?’
‘That’s a lot of promises,’ Alex said. ‘But, yes, I promise all of the above.’
‘Really truly?’
‘Really truly.’
Casey took his hand, and together they crossed the road towards their hotel. Somehow, Alex got the feeling he had crossed more than just the road. He had the impression that Casey had manoeuvred him through his own personal Rubicon moment — the point of no return — only he couldn’t fathom how, or what it meant.