by Jessica Ames
“I’m not going to make a scene,” Henry grumbles. “I’m just going to throttle him.”
“Darling, that’s making a scene.”
“No one is making a scene or throttling anyone,” I interrupt, plastering on a smile even though inside I’m breaking in half. How can he have moved on already? “Now, let’s order.”
I glance down at my menu, hoping it hides the grief and pain that must be running across my face.
Bastard.
I try to keep up my façade throughout lunch, counting down the minutes until we can get the hell out of there. I’m making a point, but I should have taken my mother’s offered olive branch and got the hell out of there. Instead, I’m trying to swallow my food which is completely tasteless and goes down in a solid lump, but I refuse to leave, to let him push me out of a restaurant I happen to love—a restaurant he knows I love. Which makes him bringing that woman here all the worse.
He really is a hideous bastard.
5
Callum
My favourite part of the day is just before the sun comes up. It’s quiet on the island, and although the stillness only lasts for a short time, I feel a sense of peace when it’s there.
Me, Mace, Alex and Tanner are usually the only islanders up this early, although Doris—who owns the island’s only store—will be up soon. Even when I’m not scheduled to be out on the boat, I’ll come down to the beach at Pebble’s Bay and watch the sun rise on the eastern horizon. Sentimental? Probably. But until you’ve experienced the unspoilt view of a sunrise you shouldn’t judge.
Sitting on the beach this morning, I let my brain empty and just enjoy the view. Here and on the boat are the only two places I can think straight, and I don’t know what that says about me, but for a place as small as Kildirk there is a lot of background noise all the time. I need the quiet sometimes. Today is one of those times.
“You’re not thinking of going in there, are you?” The voice makes me jump, and I twist in time to see Kyle—my brother-in-law and eldest sister’s husband.
He looks frazzled, his dark hair sticking up as if he just rolled out of bed without pulling a comb through it and he’s wearing the thickest dark woollen pullover I’ve ever seen. He’s coupled this with a pair of dark combat trousers and a pair of wellies. He has the baby attached to his front in one of those papoose slings and he sounds like he’s fussing—the baby, not Kyle.
Kyle moves over the sand and carefully lowers himself onto the ground next to me.
“It’s a bit cold for a swim,” I tell him, and it is. It’s a crisp morning and there is a definite chill in the air.
Kyle runs a hand over my nephew’s head as his eyes go out to the horizon. Part of the mainland can just about be made out from here, but the mist makes it look like a watery apparition.
“It’s too cold for anything today, but this one was shrieking the house down, so we came for a walk before Maisy murdered him.”
Kyle and Elin have four children—the eldest, Maisy, is eight and is chock-full of attitude. I suspect it’s the universe’s way of getting revenge on my sister, who was always backchatting Mum and razing hell.
“Is he teething?” I should be irritated at having my isolation ruined but looking at the top of my nephew’s head and seeing his downy hair it’s hard to muster anything but a sense of peace.
Kyle nods. “Yeah. I forgot how vocal this stage can be.” He eyes me and I see the barely veiled concern in his gaze.
I like Kyle—I like all my in-laws, in fact. Haley’s husband, Mike, is also a good bloke—reliable, solid and a good fisherman when he tried his hand at it. Francesca, our youngest sibling, has a high bar to reach when she finally decides to settle down.
“You out on the boat today, Cal?”
I shake my head, my eyes going back to the sea.
“So, why are you up? I’d still be in bed if I could. Man, I miss lie ins.”
I snort. “The joys of parenthood.” It’s said with humour but the words are hollow to me because I would give everything to be in his position. I also ignore his question because I’m not sure I want to tell my burly brother-in-law I’m sitting on the beach moping.
Rolling his eyes, Kyle mutters, “It’s non-stop.”
This I can believe. Their kids are a handful, but I’m also envious as hell. If Mara had lived, we would have had a gaggle of little ones by now. I came from a big family and I always wanted one myself. Mara felt the same, even though it was just her and Mason growing up.
I never expected to be thirty-six and alone.
And I am alone.
The island is beautiful but it’s also isolating. Everyone living here I’ve known my entire life and the pool for choosing a partner is empty. Mara and I lucked out. We were childhood friends who blossomed into something more, but that is not the case for most islanders. The majority of partners are transplants from the mainland. Kyle is originally from Exeter, Mike from Ilfracombe. Even my mother wasn’t a native.
Mara…
Shit.
There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t miss her. She was my world. If I close my eyes tightly I can still—just about—remember the smell of her shampoo and the feel of her skin under my hands. I loved her. I’ll probably always have a place for her in my heart, but I need more. I need to live. I need to feel again. I’m tired of just existing.
And I’m tired of never being allowed to move on.
Mara was my everything but she’s gone. And I’m still here. It’s been six years. Six long, lonely years. I want more. I need it. A life without love, without someone to share with is empty. I’m lost. I know it. I’ve been lost for years. I’m a boat on the ocean that is adrift. Alex was right that day on the boat when he said I need to move on. I do. But doing that isn’t exactly easy when you’re surrounded by water and the only women old enough to date are all related to you.
“How did you find dating Elin?” Kyle had uprooted his entire life to move here, to be with my sister.
He arches his brow. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable talking about my relationship with your sister, pal.”
I punch his bicep. “I mean because of the distance thing. I don’t want to know anything else.”
His face contorts into a wince. “It wasn’t easy. Not at first. The journey and then the ferry ride, and only being able to get over here at specific times of the day was a pain in the arse, but I loved Elin and I would have swam here if I’d needed to. Why do you ask?”
I brush my fingers through my hair. “No reason. As much as I’d love to sit here all day…” I push to my feet and brush the sand off the back of my jeans.
“Cal?” I turn back to him. “The long distance thing… it’s not easy but with the right woman it’s worth the effort.”
I nod. Then I head back to the path that leads up to the main part of the island.
There are no roads here, and no cars for that matter. I take the long way around to avoid the cliffs where Mara died, to avoid the nightmares that part of the island invokes. The walk is chilly but it clears my head even more.
As I pass Kildirk’s only store, I see Doris standing outside, setting up for the day. She straightens from folding out the newspaper sign and eyes me. I don’t know why she bothers because our morning papers are not always the most recent. Sometimes Charlie, the ferry boat operator, will bring over a few if he’s had the presence of mind to stop at the shop, but more often than not we’re behind current events.
“Mornin’.”
I give her a chin lift and ask, “You open?”
“What do you need?”
This means no, but she’ll serve me anyway because that is the way it is on the island. When you only interact with the same group of people day in, day out, you become a strangely dysfunctional family in your own way. And when you never know when you might need your neighbours’ help it pays to be considerate.
“A paper, if you have one in.”
“Any preference?”
�
�Whatever you have is fine.” It’ll be out of date anyway, since the ferry won’t start operating for another few hours.
She disappears inside and returns a moment later. I dig in my pocket for some change and hand her the coins. Then I take the paper with a murmured thanks and head home.
I have a small stone cottage on the far south side of the island. My parents, sisters and cousin live just up the way from me in a small cluster of homes. This house was my grandparents’ and was supposed to be mine and Mara’s—a place where we could raise our kids.
I stop those thoughts before they get started and let myself into the house, heading for the kitchen. I make a coffee and sit down at the table to read the paper.
As I flick through it, reading but not really seeing the words, I see a full-page advert that catches my eye.
Match Me Perfect
Find your perfect match using science
Can science find your perfect partner? Here, at Match Me Perfect, we think we can. Using tailored algorithms we will pair you with the perfect partner for your needs.
Sign up today!
I read over the advert again, scanning the testimonials. Online dating… it’s not something I’ve ever considered but when you live on an island and the nearest eligible woman who doesn’t share your DNA is a sixty-year-old, I guess you have to be open to trying new things.
I reach for my laptop and type in the web address.
6
Sadie
Considering it is a Wednesday night the bar is busy. Clearly, the week has already driven most of Islington to drink before the weekend hits—me included.
Emily hands me a tequila shot, which I take gratefully and knock it back without even waiting for the lemon or salt. She stares at me a beat, her own shot clutched between her fingers.
“Bloody hell, girl, you could have waited for me.” Without further ado, she puts the shot glass to her lips and throws her head back, draining the contents in one swallow.
That is one thing I can always count on Emily for—no matter what happens she’ll always stand at my side, even if that means drinking shots with me until she’s sick too. And being sick is likely to be on the cards. I’m already tipsy and the night is still young.
Me and Emily have been friends since we were five years old. We went through school together, separated briefly while I went to university and Em moved to Dubai and both ended up back in London in our mid-twenties. Emily has been with me through thick and thin—including the jilting saga.
“You don’t have to keep up with me,” I tell her as I reach for my main drink—a fishbowl of gin, my poison of choice. I’m throwing that back between the shots, just to make sure I get sufficiently wankered. There’s nothing quite like chasing your booze with more booze.
I take a long sip of my drink to wash down the tequila burn. It doesn’t help.
“Uh, yeah, I do, Sades. What kind of best friend would I be if I left you to get trashed on your own?”
“The kind that has to get up for work tomorrow,” I remind her as I swill the liquid in the bottom of my glass.
“Pot and kettle, sugar. You also have to get up for work.”
I do. Right now that doesn’t seem important though. Nothing seems important besides getting completely and utterly trollied. I’m well on my way. I’m already starting to get a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Says who?”
“Says me.” She leans an elbow on the table and studies me so intently I find my attention straying to my glass just so I don’t have to look at her. “Do you want to explain what this mad midweek drinking session is about? Not that I mind. I’ve had a bloody awful day.”
My brow contracts and my own problems are cast aside momentarily. Actually, now that I look at her closely, I can see the tightness in her face that suggests tension. “Why have you had a bad day?”
She flicks her auburn hair over her shoulder and waves off my question. She’s still wearing her work clothes—a pantsuit and a blouse that probably cost more than most people’s rent, but despite the subtle underlying stress she still looks fabulous. Then again, she always does.
“Not important, sweetie. You drowning your sorrows so aggressively is, however.”
I let out a breath. “Fine, but we’re definitely coming back to why your day has been awful.” I roll the glass between my hands, the gin sloshing a little in the bottom. “I saw Richard last night.”
“Richard the prick?” she demands.
I wince at her name for him. He is a prick, but she doesn’t have to say it.
“The one and only. He was with some woman. He’s clearly shagging her because he looked all gooey eyed and annoying.”
She lets out an irritated huff.
“He didn’t let grass grow, did he?”
She’s not wrong, but it doesn’t help my self-esteem, which has already taken a kicking. Who moves onto a new woman that fast after leaving your previous fiancée on the day of your wedding?
I tighten my grip on my glass and move it to my lips. Then I glug it down like it’s water, not highly potent alcohol. At least there is tonic in it to lessen the impact, although it doesn’t really help.
“I shouldn’t care,” I tell Emily. “I don’t know why I do.”
She reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it. “Because you’re human, darling. You loved the man. You were going to marry him and have a life together. It’s perfectly natural to feel out of sorts when you’re confronted with the fact he’s moving on with his life.”
This is all true but does not help me in this moment. “Bloody hell,” I say, throwing back another mouthful of gin.
“Well, maybe it’s time for you to take a leaf out of Richard’s book,” Emily says, and she says it in a way that makes it clear it definitely is time.
She’s probably right. No, she’s definitely right. Emily is rarely wrong about anything, which is the main reason I asked her to meet me tonight. Of all my friends, I knew she would be the one to talk sense into me.
“You think I should leave someone high and dry at the altar?” And don’t I sound bitter?
She scoffs at me. “No, silly. You’re not that evil. I mean maybe it’s time for you to move on. You know, live your life a little. Have fun.”
I have fun.
Kind of.
Actually I don’t have fun at all. I work and I sleep. That is about the sum total of my existence. I’m stuck in a rut.
“It’s only been a few months,” I defend, although why I’m not sure. Obviously, that was enough time for Richard to get me out of his head.
The pain of him ending things the way he did has not really disappeared although it has lessened. It’s certainly not as intense as it first was. Richard was my life; I planned the future with him. Mortgage, children, grandchildren, retirement. To have that taken away was a difficult pill to swallow but having it taken away when I thought everything was fine and dandy hurt worse. I didn’t see it coming. With hindsight, I was far too wrapped up in wedding fever to notice Richard was floundering and not into the idea of forever as much as I was.
“Do you know the best way to get over a man—”
I hold up a hand, silencing her immediately. “I swear if you tell me to get under another one I will hit you.”
She smirks then shrugs. “It’s true, darling. Even if you just get yourself some casual sex, you need to do something besides mope over that waste of space.”
I was joking about hitting her a moment ago; now, I’m considering how hard. Talk about pouring salt into the wound.
“You do remember the part, Emmy, where he ripped my heart out in front of a hundred and fifty people and left me bleeding all over the wedding venue floor, right?”
I’m not surprised when her eyes roll at my dramatics. I’m well versed in drama; I am Margaret Greenwood’s daughter, after all.
“Sadie, what he did to you was terrible—unforgivable, in fact. He’s a total bastard and I hate him for it, but pining over him isn�
��t good either. You’re young, attractive and you deserve to be happy.”
I stare at her. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”
She lifts her glass and takes a delicate sip. “Since the day you almost got married to a narcissist.”
Both Emily and my sister, Lilliana, had filled me in on all the details of what happened after I left the wedding venue. Apparently, Richard’s change of heart had not been welcomed by either his parents or mine. My mother especially had not handled the news her eldest child would not be getting married well. She’d waited to play mother of the bride for two years after Richard proposed; I think she hates him more than I do.
“It’s past time for you to reclaim your life, Sades, and get back on the horse.”
“The horse?”
“The dating horse. When you fall out of the saddle, the only way to get over the fear of riding again is to climb back on that horse.”
I don’t know whether it is the alcohol clouding my brain or that her words don’t make sense, but either way I’m confused as to why we’re talking about horses.
“What’s a horse got to do with dating?”
“Nothing.” She scowls and lifts her glass in my direction. “You need to find your Prince Charming, love. And you’re not going to do that sitting in a bar drinking fruity fucking gin with me after work, are you?”
Probably not, but she’s overlooked the most important factor. “I don’t want to find Prince Charming. Prince Charming can get on his own horse and fuck right off.”
She ignores my biting words, muttering, “You’re thirty-one years old, not dead. You need regular loving, honey.”
“Regular loving was what got me into this mess in the first place. If I hadn’t met Richard, I wouldn’t be sitting here drowning my sorrows.”
And I wouldn’t. Richard ruined me and while I’m slowly rebuilding my self-esteem, I’m not sure I’m ready to jump back into a relationship with someone.