The Last Resort (33 page)

Mia got a job eventually too—as a tour guide type person at the Tate, thanks to her art history degree. Mum said she should aim a bit higher, but Mia told her she never wanted another job where anything crucial depended on her. “If I ever tell you I’m going in early to get some extra work done, just throw me in front of a bus.”

She saw Jack there once, or at least she said she thought it was him: she’d only ever seen a photo of him. “He looked jaundiced,” is all she would say. I surprised myself by not wanting to know anything more.

Six months after we got back from Cape Town, it was late spring and time to break out the shorts for long afternoons in pub gardens and at back-garden barbecues—in theory, at least. As ever, the English summer was more of a state of mind that a concrete meteorological phenomenon.

Jack seemed to have faded so far into the past that I barely remembered him; all he was to me was a vague annoyance, soon to be removed by the decree absolu (which would follow in a few short months). I was nearly divorced, and nobody seemed to care. Anyway, I hadn’t met anyone that interested me enough for it to be made a topic of conversation.

And before you ask, yes. I had been thinking of Tam. All the time. But I hadn’t rung him; it just seemed too presumptuous. Sharon had asked about him when she visited, but I’d changed the subject.

Some days, I felt like he was everywhere. I’d catch a glimpse of him on a bus as it passed me on my way to work. I’d think I’d seen him in the shops, but when I came closer I’d realise the hair was too light or too dark, the shoulders not wide enough, the limbs too short or too thick. And I’d barely be able to contain my disappointment: all I wanted to do was ring him, but it just felt wrong. I couldn’t get our last encounter out of my mind—how unsure he’d seemed about us seeing each other again.

Some nights I would lie awake thinking about him, fantasising about moving to Scotland and marrying him in a modest yet beautiful ceremony. Very cheesy stuff, but oh, how it warmed the cockles of my romantic little heart. I wondered what it would be like to meet Rose—the woman he spoke so fondly of. Would she be as unbearable as Fenella? I couldn’t imagine that.
Anyone who could produce a son like that had to be a saint
, I’d thought to myself miserably.
He’s probably a mummy’s boy.

It was all a ruse, of course; I didn’t really think he would be. Really I just wished he was less attractive in general.

I tried to go out with other boys. Mia set me up with some arty types that she met at the Tate, but nothing stuck. Even my crash course in art history hadn’t piqued enough interest in me to encourage hour-long conversations about post-modernism. I found myself sighing through those dates, watching the clock, dreaming of Tam with his trousers off.

One Saturday that May, the sun came out unexpectedly and Mia and I decided to take ourselves off to the pub to sit in the garden, eat chips with mayonnaise, and bolt down a pint of shandy before Mia’s shift started that afternoon. Mum had gone to visit her sister in Leicester, and we had nothing to do but watch telly and eat our way through all the food she’d left us in the fridge. So off to the pub it was.

I’d just had my hair done that Thursday, and like every month at that time, I harboured a silly hope that I might bump into Tam while I was looking gorgeous. But what on earth would he be doing at the Mermaid in Ickenham on a Saturday afternoon?

We must have looked a ravishing pair, my sister and I, with me still retaining a hint of golden skin from our time in Cape Town. (OK, full disclosure: I also got free tanning sessions at work when nobody had booked the sunbed.) I must have been at least as easy on the eye as Mia, who still managed to emit radiant beams of irresistible sexiness even though she was white as a reflective beacon.

While we sipped our pints and enjoyed the weak spring sunshine, Mia said suddenly, “Isn’t that—?”

I don’t know how, but I immediately knew she meant Tam.

I looked around slowly; even though his back was to me, I could tell it was him leaning against the bar.

“Go on,” Mia urged, “don’t just sit there.”

“What do you mean?” I’d carefully rationed the amount of verbal obsessing I did over Tam. I hadn’t even told Mia that I fancied him (although I suspected, in my heart of hearts, that it was more than that).

“Don’t play stupid, stupid,” she hissed. “You’ve been talking me and Mum to death about him.”

I had? “Oh.”

“Go on!” she commanded, stern this time. “Take your bag with you. And don’t come back here if he wants to sit down. I’m off to work in a minute anyway.”

“O-OK,” I stammered.

“Have you a condom on you?”

“
What
?”

“Oh, don’t go all coy. Here, have one of mine.” She scrabbled in her bag and handed me a little foil envelope, which I took guiltily.

“Mia,” I began, tentative, “don’t you think it would be awful of me to fancy Tam? After I was married to his brother?”

“Do you mean his estranged half-brother? Who’s a lying bastard who never took his vows seriously for a single moment, and took advantage of your sweet innocent nature, et cetera? Please, spare me the moralising, Ava—and will you
fuck off
and go to the bar? He could leave at any moment. And take your drink with you.”

She was right. I lurched out of my seat, pint in hand, and made towards the door before I could think too much about it. There he was! Two metres away. One metre away. Close enough to smell his cologne—oh, how my heart hammered in my chest when that fragrance enveloped me! And then I said his name, and when he turned around and our eyes met, it was like being struck by lightning.

Only in a good way.

“Hello,” I said, uncertain. He was staring at me uncomprehendingly. Did he not recognise me?

“Ava,” he said eventually. He looked absolutely horrified.
Oh well,
I thought,
it could be worse. At least he remembers my name.

I felt a rush of regret for coming over—clearly I was making him uncomfortable. I was suddenly exquisitely aware of how tight my t-shirt was, how short my little denim cut-offs were, how underdressed I was in my flip-flops. I would have looked about fifteen, were it not for the pint I was carrying.

“You look beautiful,” he said. Then I realised he wasn’t horrified at all—that was a look of shock on his face. Happy shock. “How are you?”

Happiness flooded my body. “I’m fine. I’m just fine. How are you?” Without even knowing I was doing it, I drew myself up to my full height and leaned towards him. If I got closer, maybe he would put his arm around me. Maybe he would kiss me hello. The thought was intoxicating and I began to feel dizzy.

He was smiling like a fool by then, but he seemed to catch himself at it, and he cleared his throat nervously. I’d never seen him like this before—I could only remember him seeming unruffled, always so certain of what to do next. “I’m—I’m fine too. Who’re you here with?”

His face darkened just a shade. He was wondering if I was out with a man. I glanced over his shoulder at where Mia and I had been sitting—she was gone. Good girl. “No-one,” I said. “Just myself.”

“Do you—want to sit down?”

I thought of the last conversation we’d had, in the bathroom at the Hideaway.
Imagine we had just met in a pub somewhere . . .
“Yeah. Let’s.”

I followed him back out onto the terrace and we found a bench, where we sat next to each other, our backs to the rest of the pub.

It was wonderful to see him. I’d been thinking about him, and I knew I fancied him, but I’d been completely unprepared for the rush of joy that overwhelmed me. The moment we sat down, the tension disappeared.

He hadn’t spoken to Jack since that fateful confrontation in the hotel lobby. “The last I heard, he was trying to get me to write a statement against you because he wanted to contest the divorce. Although it was his solicitor who rang, not him.”

I laughed. “He’s being far more cooperative now.”

We kept talking. He’d found an auditing job in an accounting firm—boring stuff, but he knew how it worked. “After so many years of cooking the books for Jack, it’s easy to work out when other people are doing it,” he smiled wryly. “Anyway, it pays alright so I can send something to Rose every month.”

“How is she?” I asked.

“She was upset that I’d upset Jack. But when I told her what he did to you, she was furious about. The whole thing has made her re-evaluate Alfie—how he treated her when I was born.”

We sipped our pints thoughtfully, Tam having obliged with a second round.

“And you? Things going alright?”

I told him about the hairdresser’s, and all the perks. And about living with Mum and Mia again. And about Sharon and Declan, who he was delighted for. “Those two were made for each another.”

The silence that followed was much less comfortable than previous ones. I think it had something to do with us both thinking how happy Sharon and Declan must be together—how nice it was that things had worked out for them.

After a bit he said, “I’m sorry I never rang you.”

“It’s OK,” I said, although I still wanted to know why.

“I didn’t know when would be an appropriate time. Like—how long I should wait.”

I laughed lightly. “When would be an inappropriate time to have a catch-up?”
Oops. That came out very bitter.

There was a breathless pause. Which I filled by telling him about Mia’s new job, which he seemed to find quite interesting. “She must be good at that,” he observed, “keeping people in line the whole time.”

“She is.”

“Well, since we’re on the subject of siblings’ work lives, Jack’s not doing that well. I think he stretched his credit out quite far, thinking he was going to get that payout.”

“Mmm,” I said noncommittally. I didn’t really want to hear about Jack.

“And Jemima’s left him now,” Tam continued. “Looks like it really was all about money. And his reputation is ruined—word’s got around really quickly. But—”

“Tam,” I interrupted, “I’d rather not hear about it, if that’s OK.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh. Sorry, I just thought you might want to know.” Surprise had turned to embarrassment.

“Don’t say sorry. You weren’t to know. It’s just—he’s not really part of my life anymore.”

A question hummed silently in the air between us—the topic we’d been avoiding, but had never stopped thinking about. Us.

I couldn’t let this moment slip by again—not like it had at the Hideaway all those months before. This was the real thing; Tam, who’d put everything on the line for me—his job, his family, his security. Tam who always told the truth, who acted according to his convictions even when it was difficult, who’d stood up for me when my own husband wouldn’t. Tam, who made me feel like the most important person in the room, no matter what.

“I just want you to know that I don’t think about Jack anymore. I don’t love him. It’s behind me now.”

The silence, the space between my words, was changing. Something was happening. I realised we had turned to face each other, leaning closer together, more and more like lovers, and my stomach somersaulted.

“And I appreciate that you’ve been trying to keep your distance. Very gentlemanly of you.”

Still no change to his expression.

“But you don’t have to do that anymore.” Somehow, I was managing to keep my voice smooth and low, even though I felt like I was leaving my body. “I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t smile, and I could feel a light sweat breaking on my skin. “So?” I asked, worried by his lack of response. “What do you—”

I never got to finish that sentence because, without warning, his lips were on mine, the heat of them searing me. In an instant, the world turned upside down and every nerve ending in my body burst into flames.

I can hardly say ‘we kissed’.
He
kissed
me
. As he took me around the waist with one arm and pulled me towards him, a shock charged through me; where my bare leg touched the rough denim of his jeans, I shivered. He must have felt it too, because when he put one hand into my hair to cup the back of my head, I could feel he was trembling ever so slightly.

Please, God,
I thought,
let this moment carry on forever.
His lips on mine, his fingers strong and firm on the nape of my neck and under my hairline, his forearm across the small of my back, my hands shaking as they rested against his pectoral muscles—and the quake of desire that was building under my hips.

The scent of him hung over us like a veil. That sun-sweet fragrance of hay and seashells.

After a few seconds I recovered myself enough to kiss him back, and that must have done something to him because then he pulled me onto his lap, holding me up against him with one arm still around my waist, his hand supporting me between my shoulder-blades.

Oh, shit,
I thought, as my nipples grazed his chest. That charge of lust—just like the first time he touched me, back at his office nearly a year ago—surged up between my legs. Thankfully we were at the back of the pub: if we’d been anywhere else the landlord would have told us to get a room.