The Summer Without You (34 page)

Ro chuckled, still delighted by yesterday’s win. She’d tried calling Matt to share the news with him, to no avail, and she’d celebrated instead with Hump and Bobbi at the Surf
Lodge, where they’d drunk margaritas and danced in the sand as a DJ out from LA played the decks.

‘Did I tell you I served up eleven aces throughout the tournament?’

‘Many,
many
times,’ Hump drawled, steering them towards another cluster of rocks as Ro held on to the bucket.

‘Ha!’ she giggled. ‘I got so lucky. If you played me tomorrow, I’d have to do drop serves.’

‘Yeah? So what brought on your A game, then?’

‘Oh . . .’ Ro blew out through her cheeks, wondering whether to mention her concerns to Hump. She looked back to shore, debating. Almost every fifty yards, she could make out smoke
twisting in the air from other fires, tanned bodies hunched over, digging the pits and hunting for rocks to cook on.

‘Ro?’

‘I always play well when I’m angry.’

‘Yeah? Go figure. What the hell do you have to be angry about?’

‘You mean apart from my boyfriend doing a disappearing act on me for six months?’ she deadpanned, pleased that at least she could take the mickey out of her situation a little
now.

She felt his hand squeeze her shoulder. ‘Yeah, apart from that.’

‘And you mean apart from Erin and her friend bitching about me?’

‘Really? What did they say?’

‘They called me a lap dancer and a slut.’

‘No shittin’ way!’ Hump howled in outrage, as they drifted alongside the rocks. ‘I should be so lucky!’

Ro laughed out loud at the joke, loving his loyalty – he was like the lion in
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
, all bluster and puff and wobbly legs – as she began pulling off the
rockweed and putting it in the bucket.

‘So apart from that . . .’ Hump prompted.

She sat up and sighed, wondering where to start, wondering whether she even should. The day’s revelations had completely coloured her view of her housemate and she wasn’t sure she
could hide her disapproval. ‘It was something they said about Greg.’

‘
Greg?
’

‘I don’t know for sure. I walked in on the end of their conversation. They didn’t know I was there.’

‘Were you creeping around in the shadows again, 008?’ She could hear his grin over her shoulder as he deliberately rocked the kayak so that Ro gasped and had to hold on. ‘I
knew you were a spy!’

‘I was hiding from that odious little man, you nutter!’ she laughed as the water splashed around them, wetting their legs.

Hump guffawed behind her. He and Bobbi had not stopped teasing her about putting her hand up to ‘co-host’ with Wes, which was a well-known euphemism to the local crowd for sleeping
with the man and auditioning to become the next Mrs Turner.

‘So go on, then, what made you so mad about Greg?’ he asked finally, after they’d stopped messing around.

‘Well . . . they were talking about whether Erin should say “yes”.’

There was a short pause as Hump tried to understand. ‘You mean “yes” yes? As in, marry-me “yes”?’

‘I think so.’

‘So then she’s gonna marry Todd Blaize at long last. The only thing that’s surprising about
that
is that it’s taken him this long to ask. But I don’t get
what that’s got to do with Greg.’

She took a deep breath. ‘When I was standing on the terrace with Wes, I could see absolutely everyone, right? And I saw Erin and Greg holding hands. Her boyfriend had gone off to get
drinks and . . . well, the way they were looking at each other, Hump, they’re so having an affair.’

Hump didn’t reply.

‘Hump?’ she asked, twisting round in her seat to get a better look at him. ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’

He wasn’t smiling. ‘Are you sure? I mean, you couldn’t have . . . misread the situation?’

‘Hump, I nearly grabbed the mic and told them to get a room.’

‘Oh Jeez,’ Hump groaned, pulling his hands slowly down his face. ‘Not again.’

‘
Again?
’

Hump slid down his seat a little, his legs bent into mini mountains as he looked up at the clouds. ‘Greg’s nuts about the girl. Always has been. I mean, properly lost the plot,
can’t think straight about her.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I
knew
it was trouble, him seeing them this summer. Jeez, poor guy.’

‘Poor guy?
Poor guy?
Hump, she’s his mate’s girlfriend!’ Ro cried in outrage. ‘What he’s doing – it’s just wrong!’

Hump sighed wearily. ‘Yes and no. There aren’t many ethics in this tale. It’s complicated – Todd stole Erin off Greg in the first place.’

‘
What?
’

‘They were a couple at Penn. It was serious. Greg was going to propose to her the night she broke up with him. Had the ring in his pocket and everything.’

‘Oh my God, poor Greg!’ Ro’s hands flew to her mouth.

‘He went completely off the rails – boozing, sleeping around, failed his senior exams and had to retake the entire year again. Trust me, you wouldn’t recognize him as the man
he is today! He managed to turn it round, but at the time, everyone was surprised he didn’t drop out altogether. He just couldn’t accept that he’d lost her.’

‘I can’t believe it. How can Greg even bear to be in the same room as Todd?
Or
her?’

Hump shook his head. ‘Maybe he decided to play a long game. Todd’s the heir to some agricultural-plant company in Minnesota; Greg’s just a regular guy who’s good at
everything he turns his hand to. My brother always said it was so obvious Todd was jealous of Greg – he was the guy everyone loved, top of the class. He’s got the golden touch, but he
didn’t have enough of the golden stuff – not back then, anyway.’

‘Is that why Greg works so hard? To try to win back Erin?’ Ro asked, seeing how his parallels with Fitzgerald’s Gatsby went further, much further, than just sharp suits and
smooth manners. She remembered his distracted behaviour that night too, when Erin and Todd were at a gala – ‘a couples thing’, he’d said – and he couldn’t stop
checking his phone.

‘I reckon so. He’s up for MD this year, and if he gets it, he’ll be made.’ He was quiet for a second. ‘It’s probably no coincidence that it’s only
now
that Todd’s proposed to her, just when she’s within Greg’s reach again. He’s a sick bastard like that. It’s just the kind of power-trip bullshit he’d
pull.’ He peered over her shoulder. ‘You good?’

‘Yup, it’s pretty full now,’ she said, steadying the bucket as he pushed them away from the rocks again and steered the kayak towards shore.

‘So what should we do?’ she asked as small splashes of water off his oar speckled her shoulders.

‘There’s nothing to do. It’s their mess.’

‘But don’t you think we should tell him what I heard? I mean, if she’s getting engaged to Todd and stringing Greg along . . .’

Hump sighed. ‘Does he know you know about him and Erin?’

‘I don’t think so. And Erin doesn’t know I overheard her conversation with her friend either.’

‘Jeez, what a fricking mess . . . Hold on to the bucket – I’m jumping out,’ he told her, and she felt the kayak rock as he plunged into the water like it was a bath.
Slowly, he walked them into shore, steadying the boat against the breaking surf, Ro holding on to the bucket of rockweed.

He took the bucket with one hand and held out another to pull her out of the kayak, his eyes falling to her forearms exposed in the T-shirt. ‘The seawater will have done the skin good, but
you need to get a long-sleeved top on now,’ he said, no trace of jollity in his voice. He took his care of her way beyond duty.

‘Hump, it’s boiling!’ she protested, indicating to the clear blue sky above them. But Hump just shot her one of his stern doctor looks and she conceded. ‘Oh, fine,
fine.’ She didn’t want to be relegated to the sofa again.

They stood together in the shallows, both of them ponderous as Bobbi shielded her eyes and watched them suspiciously from the beach. Whatever happened,
she
couldn’t know about it
most of all.

‘So, Greg . . .’ Ro prompted.

Hump shook his head slowly, a worried expression on his usually happy-go-lucky face. ‘It wouldn’t do any good. He’d just think we were meddling. Everyone’s tried to warn
him off her in the past; he’s better off without her, but he doesn’t see it. And at the end of the day, he’s a big boy. When he got involved with her again, he would have known it
would get ugly, and someone would end up hurt. It’s obviously a risk he’s prepared to take. We’re better off out of it.’

‘But—’

‘No buts, Ro. My brother tried telling him once and it all but destroyed their friendship, so we’re not going there. Greg’s his own man. We’re just his
housemates.’

Ro frowned, just as Bobbi stomped over. ‘Are you guys coming over or not? I’m just about fried from stoking that fire,’ she said with a look of annoyance.

‘You should try sitting in a damp kayak for an hour. That’d cool you down,’ Hump grinned, abruptly changing the subject and beginning to walk up the beach with the heavy
bucket. ‘Has the wood charcoaled yet?’

‘Only about twenty minutes ago,’ Bobbi stormed. ‘I’ve been sitting on my own watching you two messing about on the water while everyone else on the beach is
partying.’

Hump threw his arm consolingly around Bobbi’s shoulders, indulging her tantrum as he winked at Ro. Both of them knew her well enough now to understand that what she was trying to say was
that she was lonely.

They stopped at the dug-out pit inside which the driftwood had disintegrated into smouldering cinders, revealing the super-heated rocks beneath. Hump and Bobbi started laying the seaweed over
them, before carefully arranging the lobsters, clams, mussels and corn cobs on top, and covering that too with seaweed.

Ro watched on, transfixed. Hump ran down to the shore and soaked a tablecloth in the ocean before running back again and draping it over the steaming seaweedy hump in the middle of the pit and
gently kicking sand over the edges to keep it in place.

He planted his hands on his hips and looked up at her, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘And that’s how we clam-bake.’

‘And to think that the Brits consider any food that doesn’t come out of a Marks & Spencer packet competitive picnicking,’ Ro said with a smile. ‘So what
now?’

‘We wait . . . and we drink.’ He handed her a beer and sank down onto the driftwood log Bobbi had cleverly appropriated earlier as a bench.

‘How long will it take to cook?’ she asked, taking a swig and sitting down in the sand, hugging her knees.

‘About two hours.’ He shrugged with a Gallic ‘
comme ci, comme ça
’ air, his eyes on some windsurfers further out on the water.

Bobbi pulled her beach dress over her head and settled down on her Hermès towel in her bikini, determined to catch the last heat of the day.

‘Aaah, now this is how we do it,’ she sighed. ‘I love Independence Day.’

Ro rooted in her bag for a long-sleeved cover-up. ‘I thought it was going to be like Thanksgiving. I thought everyone spent it with their families,’ she said, slipping a kaftan over
her swimming costume before lying down beside her, relaxing as she felt the sun on her skin and the wind in her hair.

‘That’s right,’ Bobbi murmured sleepily.

A few seconds passed.

And Ro smiled.

‘Now your turn,’ Bobbi said, slurring slightly.

‘OK, well . . .’ Ro took a deep breath. ‘When I was eleven, I stole a car.’

‘Shut the front door!’ Hump exclaimed, falling off the log bench. ‘
You
did?’

‘Yeah!’ Ro giggled.

‘I never saw that one comin’,’ Bobbi muttered, shaking her head. ‘Nope.’

‘What was it?’ Hump’s eyes were alight with fascination across the campfire. He had used the remains of their woodpile to get the flames going again after their shellfish
feast, providing them with light, as well as heat, on the beach.

Ro grew a little taller, revelling in the infamy. ‘A red Mini Cooper with white stripes.’

‘Shut up!’ Hump yelled. ‘You never can tell!’ he said to Bobbi, who was still shaking her head.

‘It was a one-to-fourteen-scale Tonka model from my local toy shop,’ Ro admitted, laughing madly at their expressions as they realized they’d been had. ‘Gotcha!’
she shrieked.

‘You . . . ! You . . . !’ Hump laughed, out of words and almost out of beer. He passed the girls the last two bottles. They were all out – the entire box of beers depleted and
the empty bottles clunking around on their sides in the sand.

‘I’ll go get some more from the bar,’ he said, rising.

‘No!
I’ll
go,’ Ro insisted, handing him her untouched beer. ‘You’ve done everything today, Hump.’ She saw Bobbi’s mouth open in indignation and
hurriedly corrected herself. ‘Both of you have. It’s the least I can do.’

‘You sure?’

‘Well, you’re sure they’ll let me in the clubhouse?’

‘Yeah, I signed us all in for the day. But don’t go up to the clubhouse itself. Use the beach bar.’

‘You think of everything!’ Ro sighed, slurring a little, clapping her hands on her thighs.

‘I am the clam-bake pro!’ he replied, thumping his chest, Tarzan-style.

‘Toodle-pip, peeps,’ she said merrily, walking in erratic zigzags on the sand as Hump and Bobbi collapsed in fits of laughter behind her.

‘Toodle-pip!’ they echoed, sounding like Monty Python characters.

Moving felt good, the soft crush of sand cool beneath her bare feet as she made her way past the neighbouring parties that were strung along the miles-long beach like Chinese lanterns, fiery
speckles of ash whirling into the night sky. Everyone’s food had long since been demolished, and music drifted on the breeze, conversation drowning out the thump of the surf, people beginning
to wander between encampments now, the night but young.

Ro smiled as she passed by, wondering to herself how it had come to pass that her life had been hijacked by this version – a glossier update with glamorous settings and new friends. The
last time she’d asked these questions on this beach, she’d doubted the wisdom of her actions in coming here, but now, tonight, even in spite of the past week’s horrors, she
didn’t want to be anywhere in the world but here.