The Summer Without You (20 page)

Ro choked on a blueberry and Bobbi obliged by smacking her hard between the shoulder blades. Slightly too hard.

Greg stood up to make the introductions. ‘Ro, Bobbi, I’d like you to meet Erin and Todd. Guys, my housemates.’

Ro, who was still coughing, could only nod and smile wanly, raising a feeble hand in a wave. She felt strangely blessed, though, to be struggling to breathe, as it meant she didn’t have to
rise from the table wearing just Matt’s T-shirt, which hung almost to her knees and – because she had worn it for a week and a half – came with its own atmosphere. Bobbi, on the
other hand, dressed in her pretty lawn cotton camisole set, managed to convey a sense of equality with the two glamorous breakfast interlopers by merely nodding and popping a blueberry in her bored
mouth.

‘Hey, have we met?’ the brunette asked Bobbi, a smile on her lips, confusion in her eyes.

‘Us?’ Bobbi’s withering tone closed down any scope for discussion about it. She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Oh,’ the brunette said after a moment, her eyes widening with a sarcastic ‘wow’ as they met Greg’s.

‘So, you’ve got a nice day for it,’ Ro said, after a tight pause.

Todd grinned. ‘Yeah. You play?’

‘Used to. Not as much as I’d like. Time.’ She rolled her eyes.

‘Talking of which,’ Todd said, pointing his racquet at Greg, ‘I just booked us in for a round at the Maidstone at two this afternoon.’

Greg looked pleased. ‘On a Saturday? How d’you work that?’

Todd tapped the side of his nose with a finger and winked. ‘So, you ready? The others are in the car.’

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Greg hesitated, seeing Ro’s plate was only half finished.

‘No, no,’ she pooh-poohed, desperate for them to leave. ‘You must go. You’ve set us up beautifully for breakfast. Thank you so much.’

‘The pleasure was all mine,’ Greg said, grabbing a large sports bag from beside the fridge.

Bobbi watched them go, merely shrugging her eyebrows as a goodbye gesture. She waited for the front door to fall on the latch, then leaned so far forward on the table that her hair dipped in the
maple syrup. ‘Oh my God, they are so fake. That guy is such a phoney,’ she hissed.

‘They seemed very nice to me,’ Ro said, pushing away her pancake, which was now cold, and reaching for the toast instead. She wasn’t entirely sure which guy Bobbi was referring
to – Greg or Todd? But there was no doubt something was going on between the housemates. They’d barely looked at each other since that first night.

Ro’s eyes flitted over to her as she buttered the toast. ‘Listen, is anything the matter between you and Greg?’

‘What? No. Why would you say that?’

Ro shrugged. ‘You just seem a little . . . jumpy around each other, that’s all. It’s a shame because you seemed to get on like a house on fire last Saturday night.’ There
was a silence and Ro looked up. ‘What?’

‘Did your hair just move?’

‘What?’ Ro laughed.

‘I’m serious. I swear . . . I swear it just moved of its own accord. Have you checked it recently for hibernating animals?’

Ro couldn’t help but grin. They were back to the serum conversation again. Diversion as distraction? Oh well, she knew intimacy couldn’t be forced. ‘Personally, I
like
the dormice. They create little hotspots on my head.’

‘Ew, gross!’ Bobbi cried, almost gagging, making Ro laugh harder as she handed her a plate and fork, and pushed over the pancakes.

Bobbi took one with a conspiratorial look and began eating with almost rabid hunger – safe in the knowledge that Greg wasn’t there to see.

Ro was sitting on the bed, trying to get a flimsy green travel comb through her hair, when her mobile rang. She lunged for it, ever hopeful, her face falling as she saw the
caller ID.

‘Oh, hi, Florence,’ she said, trying to mask her disappointment. ‘How are you?’

She hoped Florence wasn’t ringing for an update on the campaign. She had nothing to show her but 500 images of sand dunes taken in different lights and with different birds on them. No
images, no ideas. If she didn’t hit on something soon, she was going to have to pay back the advance and seriously consider buying a flight home with what money she had left.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you so early on a Saturday, but I’ve just had a call, and, well, I wondered whether you might be able to help.’

Ro’s hands dropped to her sides as she heard the fluster in the older woman’s usually calm voice. ‘Of course. Anything. What’s up?’

‘It’s my great friend Nan Beckett. Her daughter’s getting married today, but she’s just had a call from a hospital in Boston. Their photographer was involved in an auto
accident on his way down here early this morning. He’s got a broken leg and is scheduled for surgery later today. I know it’s a terrible imposition, but I didn’t know who else
to—’

‘Of course I’ll do it,’ Ro interrupted, immediately walking over to her wardrobe and pulling out her trusty black work suit. She sniffed it and decided it could cope with one
more outing, so long as she walked through a cloud of Febreze before she left. ‘They can’t possibly go ahead without a photographer.
Where
is it, and when?’

‘Oh, you are a diamond! The service is at St Luke’s Episcopal, just next to the windmill. The reception’s at the Maidstone afterwards. Wait till I tell them –
they’ll be so thrilled.’

‘Do they want some prep shots of the bride too? Shall I go to the house beforehand?’ she asked, clamping the phone between her shoulder and ear as she stepped into her trousers.

Downstairs, she heard the front door slam – could no one ever shut a door quietly in this house? – and hoped it was Hump back from his chivalrous errand.

‘Oh, would you? They’re at West Meadows, Further Lane. The service is at twelve thirty, so they’re beginning to get ready now, but they’re in a terrible panic. Poor
Lauren, it’s the last thing she should be worrying about on her wedding day.’

‘Well, tell her to wait for me. I’m on my way now.’

‘Perfect. I’ll see you there myself shortly.’

Ro hastily half buttoned up her white shirt and grabbed her jacket from the bed as she flung open the bedroom door and found Hump trudging wearily up the stairs. He was pale beneath his tan, and
from the looks of things, hadn’t slept last night.

‘Hump! Thank God it’s you. I need to ask a massive favour,’ she said, wriggling into the jacket and just about popping the buttons off her shirt.

Hump recoiled, particularly at the stress she placed on ‘massive’. ‘I was just going back to bed.’

‘No! Not yet.
Please
can you drop me at a house on Further Lane – via the studio?’ She stuffed her foot into one of her Converse trainers and began tying the laces.
‘I can’t get over there with all my kit on the bike. Please. Pretty please.’ She placed her hands in a prayer position and bent her knees for extra supplication. She figured she
could tell him the rest when they got there.

A telltale ringing started up on the chest of drawers behind her.

What? No!

Hump eyed his bed from the stairs and sighed. He turned on the spot and started traipsing downstairs again. ‘Fine. But let’s go now. I’m so tired I’m seeing
double.’

‘OK,’ Ro said slowly, her eyes and attention diverted to the laptop on the chest of drawers that had ‘Matt calling’ emblazoned in green letters across the screen. No!
‘I’ll just—’

She rammed her foot into the other trainer and hobbled across the room, tripping on the laces and falling heavily onto the wooden floor.

‘Jeez!
Why
are you so noisy? What are you doing up there?’ Hump shouted upstairs. ‘Come on, Ro. Now!’

She heard the scrape of his keys being lifted off the hall table and looked up at the screen. A gurgle of distress came from her throat – she had an absent boyfriend, panicking bride and
exhausted sexed-out housemate all needing her
now
.

Why now? Why couldn’t he have called even three minutes earlier? She got up and lunged for the laptop. If she could just say ‘hi’ . . . She caught sight of herself in the
mirror as she passed and stopped dead – the green comb was still stuck in her hair. ‘Bloody hell!’ she spluttered, trying to tug it out.

‘Big Foot!’ Hump shouted, as it came free, along with several hundred of her hairs. She rubbed her head, swearing under her breath. ‘I mean it! I need to sleep!’

‘Urgh, I’m coming! I’m coming!’ she shouted, looking at the screen, out of reach and out of time. She ran back across the room and closed the door behind her. With a
slam.

Eight hours later, she found Hump slumped on the balustrade outside the bar.

‘I owe you big time,’ she said, patting his shoulder gratefully.

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Here. Drink this.’

Hump stared back at her with the look of the half-dead as he massaged a foot. ‘Thanks, but I never drink when I’m working. There’s a direct correlation between a blurry head
and blurry pictures,’ he said piously, echoing the words she spoke when she first met him.

‘Drink it. That’s an order from your boss.’

He took the bottle of beer and downed it in one, earning himself a foamy moustache and smacking his lips in appreciation. ‘Any more orders you’d like me to follow?’ he asked,
hopeful there were more where that had come from.

‘Sadly not. There’s still the dancing to get through,’ she said, patting his arm. ‘We’ve got an hour off, though.’

The wedding breakfast was in full swing and she was grateful for the break. She leaned against him as they looked out at the ocean. The beach was all but empty now, just a few remaining
dog-walkers and joggers catching the last of the light. At the foot of the dunes, a group of university students were digging a trench in the sand and lighting a fire, its grey smoke finger poking
into the perfect uniformity of the violet sky.

‘What are they doing?’ she asked, watching a group of the girls staggering back up the beach, carrying several buckets between them.

‘Clam bake.’

Ro tutted at him, resting her head on his shoulder. She was exhausted too, although rather more used to being on her feet for twelve hours at a stretch than her poor, shattered housemate, who
was too big-hearted to turn down requests for favours. ‘That’s one of those obscure American things that English people hear about but have no idea whatsoever what they actually are
– like sophomores and freshmen and sororities. I mean, we did create the language. We should get jurisdiction on these things, you know.’

Hump chuckled, the vibrations ticklish against her cheek. ‘We can have one tomorrow night if you like – before Bobbi and Greg go back.’

‘Hmm.’ She wasn’t sure that was a great idea. Bobbi seemed intent on spiting Greg at any opportunity – and that was assuming Greg could be surgically separated from the
Southampton crew, anyway.

She shifted position, looking down at the video camera in Hump’s hands. ‘So how much footage did you get?’ she asked, pressing some buttons. ‘Oh, seven and a half hours.
Pretty good. We should definitely be able to put something together from that.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘You have no idea how grateful I am to you for helping me out. I know you’re
exhausted.’

‘Don’t worry – this is gonna cost you. It’s breakfast in bed for me for a week.’

‘Deal.’

A curl of laughter behind them made her turn and she looked into the honeyed glow of the clubhouse bar, where the regular guests were every bit as groomed as the wedding party.

‘It’s nice here,’ she murmured.

‘
Nice?
’ Hump looked down at her, thoroughly bemused.

‘What? What’s wrong with that?’

‘The Maidstone is one of the most exclusive clubs on the East Coast of America. It’s so exclusive you have to be a member just to access the website.’

‘Oh.’ She shrugged, nonplussed. ‘And how
do
you become a member?’

Hump paused for a moment. ‘You know that saying “If you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it”? Well, it’s like that for membership here: if you have to ask
how to join, you’re not in the club.’

‘Right,’ Ro said, slightly lost. ‘So are you a member, then?’

‘My family is. I don’t really bother with it. Not my scene,’ he said, kicking up a foot to show off his signature yellow flip-flops, which had only been permitted here today as
a one-off after Florence had hurriedly explained the pre-wedding crisis to the general manager.

‘Mmm, me neither,’ she said, slumping against him again, worn out.

He held up her hand, noticing for the first time it was empty. ‘Haven’t
you
had a drink?’

‘No. I never drink when I’m working,’ she replied automatically.

‘Screw that,’ Hump said, pushing himself to standing. ‘I don’t think you realize how hyperactive you are with that camera to your face. You’re like a boxer
sparring, all that fancy footwork and dodging and ducking. Gin and tonic coming up.’

She sighed gratefully. Maybe a drink would pep her up. She was still dejected to have missed Matt’s call earlier. Of all the crummy luck . . . ‘That would be great.’

He walked slowly inside and she lifted her camera, scrolling through the images on the display – she’d taken over 800 shots today.

She was at the 250 mark when a creak on the boards made her look up. The camera dropped from her hands and swung round her neck on just the strap.

‘Are you
kidding
? First the hardware store, then my studio –
twice –
last night and now here? You’re following me!’

Long Story stopped walking – seemingly as surprised as she – and turned slightly to show her the golf bag on his shoulder. ‘Actually, I was just coming in for a drink . .
.’ An expression flitted over his face, as though he was going to say something but then thought better of it. ‘But I can leave if you’d prefer.’

Ro narrowed her eyes suspiciously – why was he deferring to her? He hadn’t left the party last night, and he’d only left the studio after she threw him out. Why now? And then
it came to her – it was this place, with its snooty rules. He was probably worried she was going to make a scene; you doubtless got thrown out of clubs like this for things like that. She
looked into the clubhouse. Hump was standing by the bar, chatting to a group of people dressed for cocktails and seemingly oblivious to how incongruous he looked among them in his jeans and surf
T-shirt. At least he was in earshot.