The Trouble with Love (5 page)

TEN

Polly slept in on Sunday morning. She felt completely exhausted after the dramas of the day before. If she stayed where she was, she reasoned, then she wouldn't have to face any of it.

After her dad had gone, her mum had given her a strict lecture.

“You can't trust him, love,” she said, laying a hand on Polly's stiff shoulder. “I couldn't bear it if he broke your heart again.”

Polly wondered how many times a heart could break before it stayed broken for ever. She pictured it in her chest, covered in a maze of fracture lines that didn't quite match.

Her mum had been angry with her yesterday, but not angry enough to confiscate her phone. She rolled over and sleepily poked around on her bedside table until she found it. Yawning and squinting in the bright light pouring through her thin curtains, she looked at her phone and saw she had two texts.

 

Suns shining so were going sailing.

Leaving the harbour at 2. Dont be late.

E

 

The text read more like an order than an invitation. It was as if Eve couldn't imagine anyone saying no. Her family owned a luxurious yacht.
Typical
, thought Polly. Given how they had parted on Friday, Polly was surprised she was on the invite list at all.

She checked who Eve had sent the message to. Lila, Ollie, Rhi, Max, a couple of others.

The next text was from Lila.

 

U OK?

U annoyed with me?

U doing Eves boat thing?

L xx

 

Polly felt guilty. Lila hadn't known about Polly's secret plan to meet her dad. It wasn't her fault that she'd alerted Polly's mum to what was really going on. Polly had been ignoring her calls because it was just too stressful, talking to Lila and hiding her feelings for Ollie at the same time. She couldn't let Lila think it was because she was angry with her.

“Hey,” she said when Lila picked up on the second ring.

“Polly!” Lila almost shouted in relief. “What's going on? I'm really sorry, you know, about yesterday. Who were you meeting? Your mum was really mad. Did I get you in trouble? I'm really sorry if—”

“It's fine, I'm not mad with you,” Polly interrupted Lila's frantic stream of apologies.
Normal voice
, she told herself. It was hard, but she did her best. “I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday. It was kind of difficult.”

She told Lila about her dad and the restaurant, careful not to mention the idea of moving out to California. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. Lila listened without interrupting.

“That's bad,” Lila said at last. “Is there anything I can do?”

Polly's eyes pricked with tears. She didn't deserve someone like Lila as a friend.

“You can take my mind off it,” she said, feeling grateful. “Are you doing Eve's boat trip?”

“I don't know,” said Lila uncertainly. “Eve will probably try and push me off the boat in deep water. Why has she invited me, do you think? Everyone knows she hates my guts.”

Polly thought about the conversation she'd had with Eve on Friday night. “Maybe she's finally decided to make peace,” she said.

Lila snorted. “And maybe the sun's started setting in the east! Whose boat is it, anyway?”

“Her dad's, I guess. He keeps it at the old yacht club to the west of the pier.”

“Do you think we should go?” Lila still sounded unconvinced.

Polly got out of bed and pulled back her curtains. The sky was a brilliant cloudless blue, a rare day of pure sunshine, and unusually warm for the time of year. Maybe Eve really was living up to her half of the bargain they'd made about Max.

“The weather's gorgeous,” she said, dropping the curtain again. “And it's an afternoon and evening on a glamorous yacht. I don't think we can refuse.”

“It's a tough choice,” said Lila. Polly could hear her grinning on the other end of the phone. “But I guess we all have to suffer for our fun. If Ollie and I come, you have to promise you'll watch my back, OK? I don't want to get tied in chains and thrown overboard with the anchor. To be honest, you've gone so quiet over the past couple of days I wondered if Eve had assassinated you already.”

Polly tried not to wince at Lila's casual mention of Ollie. “I'm really sorry you got caught up in my family nightmares. But it's not the only thing I've had going on.” She gathered her courage. “I met this boy.”

Lila squealed. “What? Where? When? Did you kiss him?”

Polly was remembering the warmth of Sam's lips on hers. “What?” she said, trying to concentrate on the conversation. “Oh. Yes, I did. It was on the beach on Friday when you were looking for me.”

“I can't believe you kissed a boy and didn't tell me,” Lila complained. “Was it someone from school? Was it that Liam guy you were with by the fire?”

“No,” said Polly. “He's called Sam, and he has a boat. But don't get too excited. I lost him five minutes later.”

“How can you lose a guy?” Lila sounded confused.

“I don't know,” Polly said. She still hadn't figured that out. People generally didn't vanish the way Sam had. “But I did. So I've had that on my mind too.”

“No wonder you've been so preoccupied,” said Lila. “I'm sorry it went wrong for you, Polly. But how romantic! Meeting a boy and kissing him straight away. Was he a good kisser?”

“Amazing,” said Polly, flushing at the memory again. “I mean, I don't have anything to compare it to, but . . . it felt really great.”

Lila laughed. “He was, then.”

Polly wanted to tell Lila so much more. About California, and how she'd seen Eve and Max kissing, and all the worries and anxieties that were eating her up all the time. But she couldn't.

“So you'll definitely be at the harbour at two?” Lila checked. “There's no way Ollie and I are going if you're not coming too.”

Polly left Lila with the promise that she would be there at two. Then, after a long shower, she straightened her room and went downstairs, hunting for something to eat. Her mum was at work, showing buyers around houses, and had left a note on the kitchen table saying she wouldn't be back until five. Weekends were always busy for estate agents, who often had to fit around other people's normal working weeks.

And don't answer the phone if your father calls again
, her mother had added to the message.
I want him to leave you alone.

Polly finished a tub of hummus, two pittas, a carrot and an apple, then went back upstairs again. What was she going to wear?

Everything she took from her wardrobe seemed wrong like it had the day before, ill-fitting or badly made. She discarded the uneven trousers at once, and didn't even look at the dress with the missing shell button. She took the dress she had been hemming out of the bin and studied it carefully.

She had found it in a car boot sale, its bright yellow flowers and splashes of blue catching her eye at once. It was stupid to throw it out before she'd had a chance to wear it. Maybe she could sponge the stain out. The hem wouldn't take long.

After ten minutes at the sink, the bloodstain had gone. Polly threaded a needle and stitched the hem in properly. Then she ironed it and prepared to put it on.

It was a seventies style, with a flared skirt and no sleeves. She twirled in front of the mirror, trying to decide if the hem was straight. When she stood front-on, it looked OK. But was it riding up at the back?

Calm
, Polly told herself. She checked her watch. She still had an hour before the boat left. She stood with her back to the mirror, checking the hem. The yellow and blue pattern blurred in front of her eyes. It was definitely uneven.

Wriggling out of the dress, she attempted the hem again, and reironed the result. Again she positioned herself in front of the mirror. Was it shorter on one side now, or was it her imagination?

She slammed her wardrobe door. The mirror wasn't helping. She still had to do her make-up and jewellery.

Settling on a pair of white-and-yellow daisy earrings, she slipped her feet into a pair of black flats she had customized over the summer with a row of silver beads across the toe, and opened the wardrobe door again to study the result, resting her hands on her hips and turning in a slow circle with her eyes on the mirror.

It's all wrong
, she thought in despair.

Ten more minutes passed as she took off the dress and hunted for something else. The clock on her bedroom wall now said one-thirty. She started to panic. She couldn't be late. The boat would leave without her.

You're worrying too much
, she told herself.
The dress looked good. You'll be fine.

Wearing the yellow and blue dress again, make-up done and her hair swishing around her face, she let herself out of the house. But halfway down the road, a voice started up in her head. The outfit was wrong. She couldn't do this.

She turned back. Ran home. Rushed through the front door and up the stairs. She stared hard at her reflection. A white, pinched face with anxious hazel eyes looked back at her.

You are unique, Polly Nelson
, she thought, willing herself to believe it.
Be proud of who you are.

This time she made it almost to the end of the road before she could feel that nagging little voice again.
She looked awful. Almost in tears, Polly started back towards her house. She forced herself to stop on the pavement and breathe. Her legs were trembling with nerves. Her heart was racing.

What's more important?
she asked herself.
Your stupid outfit or missing that boat?

She checked her watch and groaned. She had exactly seven minutes before she got left behind. Somehow, she found the strength to start running down the hill towards the harbour.

The sun gleamed on the water. Boats were sailing away from the dock, their sails full and billowing. Memories of Sam pierced her like arrows. She had a stitch in her side, and she stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

Great look, Polly,
she told herself wryly.
Red-faced and sweating.

She could hear someone shouting her name.

“Polly!” Rhi was waving her arms madly from the prow of a white boat that was starting to move, her cloud of dark hair pulled back from her head. “
RUN!
”

Panicking for real now, Polly put on a burst of speed. As she reached the edge of the water, she stared with wide fearful eyes at the widening gap between the boat and the jetty, the calls and shouts from her friends. . .

She jumped.

ELEVEN

Water glinted under her feet. Music was pumping through the air, and she could hear the insistent chatter of a party. Polly just had time to remember what had happened the last time she had tried to jump aboard a boat when a pair of strong arms caught her round the waist.

“Welcome aboard, Oh Incredible Flying Girl,” Ollie shouted over the music, grinning down at her. “Better late than never.”

Polly's whole body went rigid. Ollie was wearing a tight blue hoodie that emphasized his strong chest and brought out the colour in his eyes. She could feel every muscle in his back as she held him, and the warmth of his palms as they pressed against her. Blood roared in her ears. She knew she should let go, but she didn't seem able to. For what felt like an age, she couldn't tear her eyes or her arms away.

“No need to smother me, thanks,” Ollie added, his arms still holding her up off the deck.

Dimly Polly sensed Eve lounging at the side of the boat in a long green dress and jewelled sandals, watching them as intently as a cat might watch a mouse. With a lurch of horror, Polly realized she had let her guard down. Every dream she had ever had about Ollie – every heartbeat felt, every tear shed and every swell of emotion experienced – was written all over her face. And now Eve knew.

She pushed at Ollie's arms, her face flaming scarlet. “You can put me down now,” she muttered. “I'm not a football.”

There was a flash of something in his eyes that reminded Polly of the hurt she'd seen when she'd compared his brain to a marshmallow.

“Whatever,” he said, putting her down abruptly on the shining wooden boards. “Nice curtain, by the way,” he added, sweeping his eyes over her dress. “Very you. Is the rest of you double-glazed?”

Polly felt winded with hurt. “You probably can't even spell that,” she managed. “How does it feel to have nothing between your ears but a gentle breeze?”

She wrenched herself away from his hands, which were still on her shoulders. As she did so, she heard the telltale sound of ripping fabric. Her collar hung at an awkward angle down the front of her dress. Ollie had torn it.

She ran blindly for the cabin, her hand pressed against the ruined fabric. She was aware of people parting, letting her through. All she wanted was to escape.

The cabin was dark and quiet. Several rooms led off from the long, low sitting area. Polly chose the one furthest from the deck and slammed the door behind her.

Breathe
, she told herself hysterically.
Don't let this get to you.

She was in a bedroom which seemed much too large for a boat. Pictures of yachts in full sail hung on the walls, and a jumble of clothes lay haphazardly on the polished wooden floor. She couldn't exactly help herself to the clothes lying around the room, not without asking. From the style and size, they were clearly Eve's. Polly rifled desperately through the drawers beside the bed instead. She needed a needle and thread.

I hate this dress,
she thought savagely, snatching up a packet of needles and a spool of white cotton.
I wish I'd never worn it.
But she had, and she was stuck with it, and there was nothing for it but to mend the problem.

Her fingers were shaking so much that it took five attempts to thread the needle. The feeling of the sharp steel point between her fingers calmed her and focused her mind. She had to pretend Ollie had never said those horrible things to her. If only she could rewind the last five minutes!

Setting the needle down, she wriggled out of the dress and studied the damage. The collar had come away from the seam around the neck, and the fabric on the collar itself had ripped.

Polly steadied her breathing and unpicked the whole collar. When it came away from the dress, she started to slip-stitch the seams back together. In five minutes, it was a collarless dress. She held it up and examined her stitches. Given her state of mind, they were surprisingly neat.

She put the dress back on and smoothed out the skirt. Then she checked herself in the long mirror set inside one of the cupboards.

Better
, she thought, feeling calmer.
Much better.
She sat down, fiddling with the fabric over her knees, trying to find the courage to leave her safe haven.

The door swung open. Eve's eyes widened at the sight of Polly on her bed.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” she demanded, recovering.

Polly leaped up, frantically preparing excuses. How much had Eve worked out about her feelings for Ollie? Had she come across as completely crazy out there on the deck, running off the way she had?

Polly saw Max scurrying back down the corridor behind Eve, ducking his head to avoid Polly's gaze. Everything became clear.
Attack is the best form of defence
, she thought, and instantly felt calmer.

“Did I spoil your private time with your best friend's boyfriend?” she said. “Sorry about that.”

Eve folded her arms. “Look who's talking,” she drawled. “That was very romantic out there on the deck, wasn't it? Don't deny it. I saw the way you looked at Ollie. Not so high and mighty after all, are you?”

“That's ridiculous,” Polly bluffed. She tried to stop her voice from trembling. “You and Max are a fact, Eve. How long are you going to keep your nasty little secret?”

Eve's eyes darted from side to side, but she stayed where she was.

“We have a deal,” she said.

“And our deal only lasts as long as my patience.” Polly took a step forward. “If you breathe a word of your lies about me and Ollie, I will tell Rhi about Max.”

Polly caught sight of Rhi's dark head appearing round the bedroom door as the last words slipped out. She gasped, putting her hand to her mouth, wishing she could push the words back in again.

Putting her arm around Eve's shoulders, Rhi smiled, intrigued by the silence that had suddenly descended.

“Tell Rhi what about Max?” she said with a laugh.