The Summer Without You (24 page)

‘I’m so glad you think that.’ Melodie smiled, satisfied, over at Ro. ‘Your usual?’

‘Yes, please,’ Ro nodded, rooting in her purse to give Melodie her coffee money.

‘I’ll be back in five.’

Her shadow left the floor and Hump stared across the room at Ro. ‘That’s why she came in? For a coffee run?’

‘Well, obviously for the great pleasure of making you eat your words too.’ Ro shrugged, turning back to the video screen and clicking out of the Connors’ baby videos. She
really wasn’t in the mood for it today, and besides, she had another deadline to fulfil first. She retrieved Saturday’s wedding footage and booted it up. With her chin resting on cupped
hands, she moved on from watching the first day of Ella’s life to the first day of the rest of Paul and Lauren’s lives. The irony wasn’t lost on her that her own life was firmly
stuck on pause.

‘Matt, you have to come home. This isn’t working.’ She hiccupped loudly, the phone clamped to her ear, and slid a little further down the pillow.

‘And what’s the point of that?
You’re
not at home.’

‘Be here, then – you know what I mean.’

‘What, and crash the party?’

‘It’s not a party here. It’s just boring old life.’

‘That’s not what Facebook’s telling me. Your housemate keeps tagging you in photos – a cocktail party at a winery
and
a wedding last weekend. It doesn’t
sound very boring to me.’

‘Ugh!’ she cried in exasperation. ‘It’s not like that. Everyone’s lovely. I’m perfectly content. I’m not crying myself to sleep at night. It’s
just—’

‘You’re crying right now.’

She gave a dejected sniff. ‘That’s because I’m talking to you.’

‘Thanks!’

‘No! You know what I mean. Stop twisting things. I’m crying with you because I hear your voice and I miss you so much. Don’t you miss me? Don’t you want to be with
me?’

‘Of course I do.’ Pause. ‘Look, we said from the beginning this wasn’t going to be easy.’

‘Matt, I am literally counting down the days till my life goes back to being
my
life again. I’m like a prisoner marking time on the wall. And besides, I never said anything of
the sort. You were the one with all your theories about how amazing this was going to make us. I don’t feel very amazing, do you? I haven’t had sex in over two months, for God’s
sake. And I’m living with the biggest shagger on the East Coast. Hump by name, Hump by nature,’ she mumbled.

‘He hasn’t tried anything on with you, has he?’

Ro felt gratified to hear the worry in his voice. ‘Of course not. I’m the little sister he never had.’

‘Good. I wouldn’t want to have to fly out there and beat him to a pulp.’

‘Yeah, right.’ She stopped. ‘Why? Would you?’ There was an idea.

‘Only if I genuinely believed you were in danger of being seduced,’ he laughed, reading her mind even from nearly 9,000 miles away. ‘You’re not still wearing my clothes,
are you?’

‘. . . No, of course not.’

‘Ro! You are an abysmal liar. They must look bloody awful on you.’

‘You’ve clearly been talking to Bobbi,’ she said sulkily. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she somehow found a way to make contact with you in a Cambodian
temple
just
to discuss my dress sense and hair.’

‘How is the hair?’

‘Disobedient.’ She raised a hand to it to rake it back and her fingers got stuck. ‘Tch.’

‘Do you know what? It’s the bane of your life. Just cut it off.’

‘What? Just like that? Ha! I don’t think so. Setting off round the world with two days’ notice is one thing. Cutting a woman’s hair is a whole other ball park.’

‘I’ve shaved mine off.’

There was a long, crackly pause. ‘When you say shaved, you mean . . .’

‘Bald, yeah.’

‘You’re bald!’ she screeched. ‘Matt, are you bloody nuts?’

‘It’s so much cooler – the humidity’s a killer out here. I think it looks OK, actually. I never knew I had a good-shaped head. And it feels nice. I like running my hands
over it.’

‘Stop it, stop it! I’m imagining your head as some sort of chicken’s egg. Oh my God, it looks bloody awful, I bet.
That’s
why you haven’t Skyped. You
don’t want me to see you.’

‘No. The reception is too patchy – there’s not enough bandwidth, that’s all . . . Seriously, Ro, you should try it. Put yourself out there.’

‘Me? Bald? Frying pan to fire, no?’

‘Not bald. Just have a radical cut. What’s the worst that can happen? If you don’t like it, let it grow out again. By the time I see you in September, it’ll be almost
back to how you’ve got it now. I’ll grow mine back out for you.’

‘I’m supposed to feel better talking to you. Instead I feel worse.’

‘I’m sorry, baby.’

Baby. She fell quiet. ‘. . . Are we going to have a baby one day?’

‘
Wha
— Of course we will,’ Matt replied, sounding taken aback. He laughed – nervously. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘Nowhere.’ Where had it come from? ‘I was just . . . wondering if it’s in the Plan. I guess I feel like everybody gets to just
do
their lives, whereas ours has to
be mapped and plotted and planned beforehand.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with taking active control of our own lives, Ro. Look around you – most people are just drifting. They wouldn’t know a life plan if it hit them in
the face. There’s nothing wrong with articulating your goals and ambitions, and organizing your life to make them happen.’

She counted to five. ‘No. I s’pose not.’

‘You could sound a little more enthused.’

‘I’m just sleepy. It’s only six thirty here.’

‘Sorry I woke you. I really wanted to hear your voice.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Of course. Look, I know it sucks at the moment, but I guess this is the low we have to go through to get the high when we’re back together. I’m missing you like
mad.’

She smiled, delighted and appeased, cheered up that he was miserable too. ‘How many days left?’

‘Ninety.’

Ro gasped. ‘Oh my God, I’m so excited.’

There was a pause. ‘How excited?’

Ro grinned, hearing the shift in his voice. ‘Well . . .’

‘You’re
where
?’ Bobbi demanded.

‘Downstairs. In the lobby.’ Ro smiled, leaning against the wall. She had been in a good mood for the three days since Matt’s call, reinvigorated to the extent that she’d
finished editing the wedding film a day before she’d anticipated and had decided to give herself a day off. She had started by going early morning kayaking with Hump before he’d dropped
her at the Jitney stop.

Bobbi didn’t bother to reply. The line disconnected, and several minutes later, she was stalking towards her in four-inch heels and a magenta Roland Mouret dress, a look of utter disbelief
across her face. ‘What’s happened? Just tell me.’ She looked genuinely worried.

Ro laughed, amused by her housemate’s melodramatics. Her life really was lived at a higher level. ‘I just wondered if you fancied lunch.’

‘Lunch?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You came all the way in from East Hampton for lunch?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Aren’t you meant to be in the studio? What if you get a customer?’

‘Hump’s there all day today. He’s going to look after anybody who stops by, but on the strength of how things have been, I’m not too worried.’

‘Ha!’ Bobbi rolled her eyes. ‘Just wait till next week. You’ll look back on this as a honeymoon period. The schools will be out, everyone will be there full-time, and
you’ll be mobbed.’

Ro shrugged again. The scale of Ted Connor’s commission alone was going to keep her busy for weeks. ‘So . . . are you free for lunch?’

Bobbi took a step back, scrutinizing Ro’s outfit: a pair of boyfriend jeans, her green suede hi-tops and Matt’s favourite khaki T-shirt, which she’d pulled from the top of his
bag before he’d left for Heathrow. Her eyes narrowed and that scary look of deep, dark intensity clouded her face. ‘Not for lunch, no.’

‘Oh.’ Ro shifted her weight, surprised by how disappointed she felt. She should have known better than to try being spontaneous. Like skinny leather trousers or straightened hair, it
just didn’t suit her. ‘Well, that’s OK. I thought you probably would have something booked in. I just thought I’d pop by on the off chance—’

‘No, no. I’m quite free. But if you’re in Manhattan for the day, there’s no way we’re wasting time eating. Wait here. I’ll get my bag.’

‘What are we doing if not going for lunch?’

‘What you should have done the second you landed in JFK,’ Bobbi called behind her, marching back to the lifts.

Got on the next plane home? Ro wondered.

‘We’re going shopping. You can consider yourself officially kidnapped. You’re not going free till I say you’re done,’ Bobbi called in a raised voice, making
everyone turn and stare, her finger pointed accusingly at Ro.

Ro nodded, mute with apprehension. A full-on kidnapping? She watched the lift doors close and wondered whether to make a break for it while she still could. But there was no point – she
wouldn’t put it past Bobbi to give her a makeover in her sleep. Instead, she sank into one of the high-shine black bucket seats reserved for guests and quietly awaited her fate. The Bobbi in
her head was always so much gentler than the reality.

‘It’s looking good. I like it, I like it. You like it?’ Bobbi asked, popping more sushi into her mouth as the manicurist efficiently buffed her nails into
short squares.

Ro wanted to nod but didn’t dare. The hairstylist was wielding long, extremely sharp scissors next to her jaw, an alarming prospect not because of prospective injury but the fact that
Ro’s jawline was a full six inches above the point where her hair normally fell to. She gave a double blink in the affirmative instead.

She was grateful to be sitting down at last. By her feet were several laminated shopping bags containing two pairs of skinny jeans (with a
lot
of Lycra in them), one yoga ensemble (pale
olive leggings with matching vest and neon-orange trim), several T-shirts, a striped sailor top (she had never dared try stripes over her curves before, worried she’d look like jelly wrapped
in a barcode), a pair of suede wedges (the only thing Bobbi had compromised on, agreeing with Ro’s assessment that she walked in heels like she had rickets) and a ruby-coloured sequin dress
with a plunging V-neck and back split. Ro was privately convinced the only place she could wear a dress like that was on stage in Bangkok, but she had obediently handed over her credit card to the
sales assistant anyway.

The manicurist working on Ro’s left hand began painting her nails a soft coral colour that Bobbi had chosen.

‘So, I’ll be honest with you, I thought you were gonna be a whole lot harder work than that,’ Bobbi said, drinking her coconut water. ‘But you were surprisingly
obedient.’

Ro resisted the urge to shrug – fearful of jogging the scissors any higher than they already were. ‘I guess I’m just feeling more positive about things now that Matt and I are
just past the halfway mark. We’re on the countdown and I finally feel ready to have some fun. It’s like the end is almost in sight.’

‘The end? But summer’s only just beginning. We haven’t even had Fourth of July yet.’ She winked and patted Ro’s hand. ‘Just you wait till you see how that
goes down. You won’t ever wanna go home.’

Bobbi threw herself back in her chair – to the alarm of her manicurist, who found herself painting a plastic tray in lieu of her hand – and watched as the hairdresser lopped another
six inches off Ro’s hair. ‘I didn’t think you’d buy into this bit at all.’

‘This is nothing.’ Ro arched an eyebrow and swivelled her eyes to the side to see Bobbi. ‘Matt’s shaved his head – did I tell you that?’

Bobbi pulled a face.

‘Yeah, exactly,’ Ro laughed. ‘That’s what I said. I keep trying to imagine what he looks like but – oh, surprise, surprise – suddenly, he can’t Skype
me, he has to call me.’ She thought back to the phone call and how well it had ended. A small smile lit up her eyes. ‘Anyway, he says I have to put myself out there. So that’s
what I’m doing. Having a trim.’

‘This ain’t no trim,’ Bobbi guffawed, smacking Ro’s thigh.

Ro bit her lip. ‘No. Maybe not.’ She watched as another loose curl fell to the floor, then studied her new reflection, noticing for the first time she’d actually got a bit of a
tan. Were those freckles on her nose? ‘Anyway, how come you’ve been able to just skip out of work to do this with me? We’ve been out for three hours now. Don’t you have to
get back?’

The hairstylist took Ro’s head in his hands and angled her to look at the far wall – but not before Ro saw Bobbi’s face fall. ‘Things always quieten down this time of
year. It’s fine. Half the office is on the four p.m. Jitney anyway. There’s nothing going on that needs me back there urgently.’

‘Oh, cool,’ Ro murmured, but she wasn’t convinced. She just about knew Bobbi well enough now to read nuance in her housemate’s full-throttle approach and she heard the
distinct undertones of pride bristling.

The sound of the hairdryer drowned out any further conversation and they sat in silence, Bobbi distractedly watching her nails being painted as the stylist began tousling Ro’s hair with
his fingers. Ro tried to read her horoscopes but didn’t understand what ‘Mercury Retrograde’ actually meant. After a while, the hairstylist pushed the hairdryer between his knees
and started snipping at stray hairs around the nape of her neck.

‘So then if things are quiet at work, why don’t you come out this weekend?’ Ro asked, picking up their conversation where they’d left it.

Bobbi looked up at her from below her lashes. ‘I don’t think Hump would be too pleased. I’ve already gate-crashed one of my “off” weekends.’

‘I don’t see why not. You gave him tickets to that party as a trade-off, and he did strike it lucky that night, I seem to recall. I doubt he’s going to insist on keeping to the
letter of the law on your contract. He’s far too chilled. And what’s the point of your room just sitting there empty?’ She leaned towards Bobbi slightly. ‘The house
isn’t the same without you.’