The Summer Without You (25 page)

‘Yeah?’ Bobbi straightened up, her eagerness almost puppy-like. ‘What’s it like there in the week?’

‘Quiet. Mellow. Hump and I just flop on the sofa with a film, or drink a beer on the porch – except for when he gets lucky, of course. And on the weekends when Greg’s
around—’

‘Let me guess: he’s never around?’

Ro laughed. ‘Yeah. Exactly. Most of the time it’s just me and Hump – we go kayaking, hang out at the Surf Lodge if there’s a band playing . . . He’s even helped me
do seed-bombing some evenings.’

‘Oh, don’t get me started—’

‘I’m not going to!’ Ro replied quickly, holding up her hands.

‘It sounds like you got a good thing going with your yoga classes every morning too.’

‘Yes, although I’ve missed a few recently. Now that I’m working again, it’s harder to take the time off. It’s a shame because I enjoy them . . . well,
need
them, actually.’

‘What? You mean for your glutes?’

Ro smiled; she was becoming inured to Bobbi’s bluntness. ‘The classes are the only thing that make me still feel connected to Matt. Sometimes I think the meditation is almost
medication: it keeps me going, you know? It’s so hard to be this far apart for this long, with hardly any contact.’

‘Right, yeah. I can’t even imagine. So you’re definitely gonna marry him, then? Matt.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Why afraid?’

‘Well, I know you must think I’m really dull and unexciting to have my future so clearly mapped out.’

‘I admit it’s kind of weird for someone like me who can’t even see past lunch, but I figure there must be upsides to it . . .’ She swished her mouth to the side. ‘I
suppose you got your dress picked out and everything?’

‘No, none of that. I’ve never been much into that side of it. It’s not the wedding bit; God knows I’ve covered enough of those to lose
that
romance. I just . .
.’ She sighed. ‘I just can’t wait to be Mrs Matthew Martin. I know it sounds soppy,’ she said, shaking her head and making the stylist huff. ‘I do. I hear myself and
I
want to gag . . .’ She looked across at Bobbi, knowing she must sound insufferable. ‘I honestly can’t believe someone like you is single, though.’

‘Believe it.’ Bobbi shrugged, inspecting the colour of her nails.

‘But there must be someone you’re keen on?’

Greg’s name hung in the air and they both knew it. Bobbi’s eyes fleetingly met hers. ‘I really can’t afford to be distracted by a relationship right now. This is my year
to make partner. I’ve got to put all my energies into that conversion.’

She straightened up suddenly as the hairstylist grabbed a handheld mirror and angled it behind Ro’s head to give her a 360-degree view. ‘Oh, baby, take a look at you.’

Ro chewed on her knuckles as the stylist slowly rotated the mirror, showing her the choppy bob he had not so much cut as carved into her hair. From root to tip it could only be nine inches long,
but the gentle curls that turned to frizz at ten inches onwards looked silky and textured, her neck slim and elegant. She realized she had never once, in her life, noticed her neck before, just as
Matt had said he’d never noticed the shape of his own head. Even her eyes seemed defined by having the hair cut around her face rather than hanging beside it like a bagged pheasant.

‘Look at me,’ Bobbi ordered, and Ro turned, striking a jokily saucy pose – one eye winking, her mouth open – as she correctly anticipated Bobbi’s phone camera
pointed at her. A flattering photo for once!

‘Watch out, East Hampton!’ Bobbi giggled, letting out a small whoop and pinging it straight to Facebook. ‘Summer just got hotter.’

‘What do you think? Too much?’

Bobbi was standing on Ro’s bed, trying to see her shoes in the mirror on top of the chest of drawers. She was wearing a peacock-coloured short silk kaftan with turquoise feathered sandals
that laced up her slim calves, Pocahontas-style, and large gold hoop earrings with tiny beads on them, flashing in her hair.

‘No, I . . . Amazing.’ Ro shrugged, wondering whether she was underdressed – ‘casual’ to her meant jeans that fit and a clean T-shirt, so she was wearing her new
red skinny jeans, new striped Breton top and new wedges. It was this or the sequin dress.

Bobbi jumped off the bed, beaming. ‘Great. Great.’ She rubbed her hands together distractedly. ‘Or maybe . . . Do you think the peach shorts suit?’

Ro shook her head. ‘No. That’s perfect.’ She felt strangely protective to see Bobbi so nervous. ‘Come on. The boys are waiting,’ she said, picking up one of
Matt’s jumpers from the bed and tucking it under her arm.

‘Why the hell is Greg coming, anyway?’

‘Because he’s our housemate and Melodie invited the whole house,’ Ro sighed.

‘But he doesn’t belong with us and we all know it. He’s using Hump’s house as a hotel.’

‘And technically speaking, he can. I agree it’s a shame we don’t see more of him, but he’s paid for his room and there’s no contractual obligation for him to hang
out with us.’

‘He’s only going so he can add Brook Whitmore to his contacts. You know who Brook is, right? You Googled him yet?’

Ro gave her an ‘as if’ look that didn’t appear to translate – or compute.

‘It’ll just be something for him to brag about in the office on Monday.’

Ro tutted and gave her a stern look. What was tonight about if not for Bobbi to add Brook to
her
own list of contacts? Hadn’t she already said she wanted to tap up Brook through
Melodie’s yoga classes?

Ro put her hand on Bobbi’s arm as they paused at the door. ‘Look, you don’t need to be best mates with him, just be tolerant. I don’t want anything to be awkward for
Melodie tonight.’

Bobbi sighed dramatically. Relations between Bobbi and Greg had plummeted from cool to downright chilly, and whatever had drawn them together so fiercely that first night was now just as
fiercely repelling them. Something had happened either at the club or back home afterwards, even Hump agreed that, and the atmosphere between them was becoming – as he had feared –
openly hostile. Ro was half convinced that it was Bobbi’s attitude that meant he was spending more and more time with the Southampton crowd every weekend.

‘Fine, fine. I’ll be civil. But for one night only.’ She grabbed Matt’s jumper from Ro’s grip. ‘And gimme that,’ she said, throwing it across the room,
out of sight and out of reach.

They wandered downstairs, where Hump and Greg were leaning against the porch veranda – Greg in his usual preppy chinos and white Oxford, Hump in long check shorts, a linen shirt and yellow
flip-flops. Greg stood to attention as the girls joined them; Hump wolf-whistled.

‘Go, Ro!’ Hump crooned,
not
calling her Big Foot for once, as he walked round her like she was a vintage car, his hands bouncing her bob lightly. Her extreme haircut had
rendered him speechless for a full seven seconds when she’d hopped off the Jitney yesterday, but she had persisted in wearing Matt’s clothes at the studio today, and this was the first
time he, or anyone, was seeing her as Bobbi had truly envisioned. ‘Hey, so you are a girl. I just couldn’t be sure before. You sure you’re going to be OK walking in those
shoes?’

She should have known! There was always a tease with him. ‘Bog off, Hump,’ she grinned.

Ro saw Greg’s eyes slide over to Bobbi. There was a natural opportunity for him to compliment Bobbi too – especially for someone with manners like his – but whether or not he
intended to say anything, he didn’t get the chance.

‘House photo!’ Bobbi ordered, getting her phone out of her bag. ‘You can take it, Greg.’

‘Sure.’

Ro shot her a look – Bobbi’s point was clear – but Bobbi just smiled back with innocent eyes, sending the photo out into the ethernet as soon as the phone was back in her hands
again. Just as Ro needed a camera lens to validate her life, so Bobbi, it seemed, needed social media.

‘And I’m sitting in the front,’ Bobbi said bossily, climbing into the front seat of the yellow Defender before Greg could.

Ro deliberately pulled her hair as she got in, in the back.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry.’ Ro smiled, but messaged, ‘Behave!’ with her eyes.

Hump rolled the car down the drive and they swept through the wide lanes in the early evening sun, shades on and the radio blasting. They passed a large, gold-tinted pond with a family of swans
gliding across it, waving back at the cyclists in bikinis and board shorts who cheered at the sight of the Hamptons’ already-beloved Humper. Ro closed her eyes happily. It was the
all-American dream she’d been sold in films all her life, and here she was doing it, living it. The only thing stopping it from being perfect was Matt not being here to share it with her.

Greg, on her right, kept checking his phone.

‘What are your friends up to tonight?’ Ro asked, leaning in to him slightly.

He looked up bashfully and pocketed his phone. ‘They’re at a gala charity dinner. It’s a couples thing.’

‘Oh . . . Well, it’s great you could come to this. Melodie’s become a really good friend.’ She felt like she was bragging, but she couldn’t hide how proud she was
to have someone like Melodie in her life. ‘Do you know her?’

‘By family reputation only. Barrington Dredging is a big local company. I’m looking forward to meeting her husband too. He’s an influential man and has really put a voice to
all those people worst affected by Sandy. You know there’s a grass-roots campaign to get him to run for senator next year?’ Greg added.

Bobbi whipped round in her seat, an accusing but silent ‘See?’ in her eyes, just as Hump pulled up a short pitch to a pair of reddish solid-wood gates at least two metres high.
Nowhere was far from anywhere in the Hamptons. He leaned over and spoke into the intercom. The gates swung back and they rolled in.