The Summer Without You (27 page)

‘Oh! Strategic retreat, right? I’ve heard of that!’ Ro said excitedly, remembering Bobbi’s comments their first afternoon together on the beach.

‘Exactly,’ Melodie nodded. ‘The problem is—’

‘The problem is, they wouldn’t know consistency if it hit them on the ass,’ Brook interrupted. ‘Policy states they’re outlawing rebuilding in certain areas and yet
after every storm, there they are handing out emergency permits for owners to repair their properties. It’s too expensive. At some point, we’re going to be hit by a super-storm
that’ll leave us with a clean-up cost that even Lloyds of London can’t cover.’

‘But what are you saying – that these people aren’t entitled to protect their homes? That the State doesn’t have an obligation to help them? They’re taxpayers;
these are their homes, their businesses,’ Greg argued, eyes shining. ‘Are they just to be left to the elements without either support or recompense? When the LWRP was drafted, there
were only half as many hurricanes as there have been since 1995, and the problem’s only going to get worse.’

‘How do
you
know that?’ Bobbi demanded, a sneer in her voice.

Greg looked at her coolly, the first time he had looked at her all dinner, Ro thought, though she may have missed a glance as she fiddled with the claws. ‘I’m an environmental
attorney, Bobbi. It’s my job to know.’

‘I agree with you, Greg,’ Brook nodded, pulling Greg’s gaze back to him. ‘I advise on the National Flood Insurance Program and we’re all in accord that new thinking
is needed; new policy is needed. It’s already coming from the top. As you’re probably aware, a bill has just passed from the House of Representatives to the Senate with $50.7 billion in
Hurricane Sandy aid and long-term hazard reduction. I know Senator McClusky is absolutely focused on making damn sure some of that money comes our way, but we’re on the frontline here, and
Montauk more than anyone.’

‘They were worst affected by Sandy,’ Melodie said kindly, for Ro’s benefit again. ‘Their beaches and dunes were all but destroyed, only to be hit by another north-easter
a week later.’

‘Oh no,’ Ro mumbled.

‘It’s an emergency over there, that’s for sure,’ Hump said, pulling apart a bread roll and scattering crumbs all over the table. ‘The surf’s great, but . .
.’ he shrugged.

‘So you’re saying shelling out for repairs is too expensive – but what’s the alternative?’ Greg persisted. He lived for the cut and thrust of debate, it seemed.

‘Well, that’s where there may be progress. I’m on the Coastal Erosion Committee.’ This time Brook looked directly at Ro. ‘It’s an advisory council that was
set up by East Hampton Town Board in December, after Sandy. I’m on it, some town officials, local business owners, environmental advocates, engineers, you name it . . . We report our
recommendations directly to the board.’

‘By which you mean to Florence Wiseman,’ Melodie said quietly.

Brook looked across at his wife. ‘As the town councillor, darling, yes.’

‘Well, you’re already on a hiding to nothing, then. She’s a lovely lady but hardly the steadiest boat in the harbour.’

Ro frowned. What did that mean? But Greg wasn’t interested in personalities or reputations. He wanted theories, ideas. ‘So what’s your consensus, Brook?’

Brook turned back to him, holding one hand up, index finger outstretched, to indicate for more wine to be poured. ‘Well, our interim proposal is that measures currently considered
“hard structures” – such as sandbags – are redefined as “seasonal structures”. That would mean they could be put in before the winter storms hit and removed in
the spring.’ He reached for his refilled glass.

‘And your long-term objective?’

‘We’re pushing for a programme of soft measures.’ Brook cleared his throat and took a sip of wine. ‘Beach nourishment, in other words.’

‘Rebuilding the beaches? But that’s just throwing money away,’ Bobbi scoffed, launching herself into the debate. ‘You’re dredging or importing sand – whatever
– at these colossal costs only for it to be dragged out to sea during the next storm.’

‘No, no. Not at all,’ Brook countered. ‘Beach nourishment isn’t just a matter of relocating sand to beaches. When storm season hits, a nourished beach can absorb a
storm’s energy.’

‘But how?’ Bobbi frowned. ‘I don’t get it. The sand just gets pulled out to sea again.’

Brook put down his glass, a pleased smile on his face as he patted her hand. Ro saw Greg’s eyes watch the gesture. ‘You see, Bobbi, a nourished beach is all about the angle and the
volume of the sand.’ He tried to show it for her with his hands. ‘As a storm hits land, yes, the waves will carry the sediment offshore, but where it shoals further out, the waves
break, weakening their force
before
they hit the shoreline, protecting dunes and the properties behind them from wave attack and limiting how far ashore the storm surge will travel. Do you
see?’

His tone of voice was worryingly close to patronizing and Ro shot a nervous look at her volatile housemate, looking for danger signs. But Bobbi, to Ro’s astonishment, was nodding back at
him, her mouth parted a little in studied interest. For Brook’s benefit, though, or Greg’s? She was putting on a fine show and seemed oblivious to the fact that both Melodie and Greg
were staring daggers at her.

‘Are you really in insurance? You sound like a geography professor to me,’ Hump grinned, looking more like he wanted to start a food fight with the bread rolls than debate
environmental policy.

Brook threw his head back and laughed. ‘I only know all about it because of the savings it generates for my industry. Did you know that after Hurricane Isabel in 2003, an estimated one
hundred and five million dollars in damage was prevented because it struck a nourished beach? The project was designed to stop a nine-foot storm surge – and it did! Over a hundred million
dollars
saved
. Isn’t that incredible?’ He looked around the table in genuine amazement. ‘Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a permanent solution – nothing ever
will be – but I do passionately believe it is a long-term vision that can protect our backshore assets and coastal communities for decades to come, and really help restore confidence in the
real-estate values and property sectors there.’

‘And insurance industry,’ Greg added drily, well able to see that Brook’s interests weren’t purely philanthropic.

‘Exactly!’ Brook agreed. ‘Everyone agrees coastal ecology and economy are closely intertwined.’

‘Well,
I’m
not holding my breath,’ Melodie said, grasping her wine glass lightly. ‘It’ll all get tied up in the usual red tape. Look at the fiasco over the
Montauk lighthouse. The rock face has been severely eroding right in front of everyone’s noses for years, and even though they’ve had the plans and money in place to build an abutment
that will shore up the cliffs, some archaic law has prevented the State from transferring the funding to the lighthouse’s owner. The tip of that coast has come in from three hundred feet,
when the lighthouse was built, to only fifty feet today. And all because it never occurred to anyone to actually transfer ownership to the town. I mean, it’s laughable,’ Melodie
exclaimed with a high, brittle laugh, shaking her head.

‘I think what my wife’s trying to say is that a life in politics is not for her,’ Brook joked.

‘I just don’t have the patience for all that wrangling and procrastination. Either do it or don’t, but don’t spend ten years talking about it.’

‘Local politics are never that straightforward, darling.’

‘But that’s precisely why Florence’s campaign is so exciting,’ Ro offered, keen to be able to contribute to the conversation. ‘She’s not just content to let
things get caught up in bureaucratic tangles. She’s out there doing something about it right now.’

‘I agree her campaign is part of the solution – just not all of it,’ Brook said, managing to agree and yet disagree with her at the same time, something she noticed he’d
managed with Greg and Bobbi too. He was indeed a skilled politician: slippery and hard to hook. ‘Sandy eroded some dunes that were thirty feet high to just two feet. The dunes can only do so
much. Beach nourishment is the answer.’

Oh. Ro fell quiet again, feeling out of her depth, and she concentrated on her food, deciding to wait for the conversation to change topics. No one discussed local politics with anything like
the same passion back home – although why would they when the most pressing thing on their agenda was introducing kerbside recycling and e-bills for utilities?

She wondered what Matt would think to see her sitting with these people who had all been unknown to her not so long ago, discussing important issues in such lavish surroundings. She tried to
imagine him sitting here too – contributing with
Blackadder
quotes and factoids he picked up from reading the miscellanea book in the loo. She tried to imagine him drinking with Hump,
debating with Greg, agreeing with Bobbi, but it was like trying to picture him with a shaved head. She just couldn’t see it.

Ro opened her eyes, startled to find they’d even shut, her heart pounding as her fingers found the soft pucker on her own mouth, reflected back to her on the screen.

She sat in silence, calming herself down. W-why . . . why had she . . . ? She shook her head and pushed herself off the stool angrily. She was overtired, that was it. It was gone eleven and
she’d worked far too late, that was what it was. It was only Monday and she’d already worked fourteen hours this week.

Hump had said he was out tonight, which was all the more reason for her to stake her claim on the sofa. She switched off the screens with fierce stabs, grabbed her bag and went home. She needed
a beer.

It was 11.35 a.m. and Ro was sitting in the child pose, breathing like a professional, like she’d been doing it all her life, when the door opened and someone entered.
The lesson was more than halfway through – what was the point of coming now? she wondered irritably – but she kept her eyes closed, desperately and determinedly trying to find Matt in
her subconscious. She had to find him today. She’d slept badly, agitated and upset by her body’s own betrayal last night, trying to understand why she had imagined kissing Ted back as
he moved in to the camera while she sat alone in the studio in the dark. Were kisses like yawns – contagious, maybe? For God’s sake,
him
, of all people!