The Longest Holiday

by Paige Toon

  Matthew looks disconcerted, sensing this is not going his way. He reluctantly hands Evan back to his mother.

  It’s an awkward twenty minutes. That’s the best I can do. Anything longer and I think I’d implode. Matthew gives me a wary look as we walk back down the High Road.

  ‘It will be better next time,’ he tries to reassure me. ‘You did so well.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I say wryly.

  He knows better than to press me further on this, but something inside me has just snapped.

  The next day I meet Marty and Bridget for a Sunday lunch at a pub in Battersea. It’s actually really nice to see Bridget again.

  ‘Hello!’ I exclaim, throwing my arms around her neck.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so jealous of your tan!’ she cries.

  I laugh and pull away, turning to Marty. ‘Hey,’ I say. I’m still feeling a bit cross with her after that irate phone conversation in Key West, but she pulls me into a hug, anyway.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ Bridget urges, pushing me into a comfy bench seat under the window and sitting eagerly opposite me. ‘Tell me everything!’

  ‘What do you want to know?’ I ask her with a grin, loving her enthusiasm.

  ‘Tell me about Leo!’ she squeals.

  ‘Bridget . . .’ Marty says disapprovingly, but she can’t dampen my mood.

  ‘What about him?’ I raise an eyebrow at her cheekily.

  ‘Was he good in bed? Tell me he was good in bed . . .’ she pleads.

  I laugh.

  ‘Urgh,’ Marty mutters, putting her head in her hands.

  Bridget flicks her hand in her direction, brushing her off.

  ‘I was soooo jealous when Marty told me he was giving you one . . .’

  Hmm. Not sure I like that expression. What Leo and I had . . . It wasn’t just about the sex.

  ‘I miss him,’ I confide.

  Marty rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve only been gone a few days.’

  ‘Well, I can’t wait to go back,’ I inform her.

  She rolls her eyes again and my annoyance comes flooding back.

  ‘Say what you like, Marty, there’s more to Leo and me than you – or anyone – thinks.’ I shrug.

  ‘How was it yesterday?’ Marty swiftly changes the subject.

  ‘Hard,’ I reply.

  ‘What happened yesterday?’ Bridget looks confused.

  I fill them in on the previous day’s visit. ‘Tessa said when Evan gets a bit older, Matthew and I can take him out for a day.’ I say this sarcastically.

  All three of us fall silent.

  ‘Whoa,’ Bridget mutters.

  I start to laugh, a bitter, miserable laugh. ‘I can’t believe this is my life. This is how you,’ I say directly to Marty, ‘and everyone else expect me to live.’

  Marty looks down at the table and Bridget shifts uneasily in her seat. ‘I don’t expect you to live like this,’ she says. ‘For the record.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say to her and genuinely mean it.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ she adds. ‘I couldn’t!’ she cries after Marty gives her a look. ‘I’m only being honest. I’d be back on a plane to Key West as soon as I could book my ticket.’

  I grin at her. Is Bridget really the only one who understands me? Who would have thought it?

  ‘I don’t think that’s very helpful,’ Marty chips in. ‘None of us want Laura to go back.’

  ‘What does Laura want?’ Bridget asks me with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I want to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible.’

  Marty glumly takes a sip of her drink. ‘I wish I’d never invited you to Florida with us,’ she says.

  I feel a wave of sympathy for her.

  ‘You were only trying to do the right thing,’ Bridget says. ‘And it was the right thing, for Laura. Maybe not for everyone else, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.’

  ‘What would you do if you went back?’ Marty asks me, screwing up her nose. ‘Do you really think there’s a future with Leo?’

  I nod. ‘I think so. I really think so, even if he can’t say it.’

  I’m nervous that night when I try calling Leo again, and once more it goes straight to voicemail. This time I don’t delete the message I leave, even though it’s almost as rambling as the last one.

  ‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I got here safely. I tried calling a couple of days ago but you didn’t answer. I went to see the baby yesterday. The whole thing was weird. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I miss you. I’ll try you again soon.’

  After I end the call I sit for a while and stare into space. I feel uneasy about being unable to reach him and my imagination goes into overdrive. Am I out of sight, out of mind? Was I, heaven forbid, just a holiday romance? I’m talking about a holiday romance for him, not for me. He was much more to me than that. Is much more to me than that. But I find the fact that we’re unable to communicate unsettling.

  Every day for the next week I try to call Leo and it always goes straight through to voicemail. He never calls me back. I’m going through each day feeling sick every time I think about him. What the hell is going on? Has he lost his phone? Or is he ignoring me? Has he moved on? Is he letting me move on? My mind ticks over ten to the dozen and I can barely concentrate. Work takes my mind off things to some extent, and it’s quite nice to be back in the swing of things, doing something useful for the first time in a very long time. At home, Matthew is as decent to me as he can possibly be, and I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been a complete bitch to him in return. I feel so helpless and anxious. I just don’t know what to do.

  Matthew, to his credit, has not lost his temper with me once. Even when I’m snapping at him over dinner he’s calm and seems remarkably content. I don’t know how he can be pleased to have me back after everything I’ve done. I’m finding his behaviour increasingly confusing.

  The following weekend it’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. I drive up on the Friday without Matthew, although he has asked to be allowed to join us on the Saturday for the party. I don’t feel able to refuse – I know my dad will want him there. But I’m relieved to have one night alone with them first.

  ‘Aah,’ Dad says warmly, opening up the front door – and then his arms – to me.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, muffled into his big shoulder.

  ‘How’s my girl?’ he asks, pulling away and studying my face.

  I screw up my nose. ‘I’m alright. Where’s Mum?’

  ‘In the veggie patch.’

  I smile at him and breathe in the aroma of my childhood home. I grew up in a big farmhouse set amongst fields of farmland. We’re standing in a large hall with the original tiled floor. I’m momentarily reminded of Tessa’s home.

  Dad ushers me into the spacious kitchen, where an old-fashioned Aga keeps everything warm, even in the winter. This is the centre of our house – everything revolves around the kitchen. Mum, for all her glamour, is an excellent cook.

  Dad farms mostly wheat, supplying grain to local cereal manufacturers. Even though he has hired hands to do most of the heavy work, he still likes to take me into the grain shed after a harvest, where we scoop up handfuls of kernels and let them fall through our fingers. When Will was a boy, he used to come with us. His parents lived in the country home next door, a cold and unwelcoming house in my opinion. No wonder he used to like hanging out here with us.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Just thinking about Will,’ I tell him as I put the kettle on the stove. Dad’s useless at making cups of tea. He gives me a sympathetic look.

  ‘How’s everything else?’ he asks cautiously.

  I can’t get hold of Leo! He’s not returning my calls! I want to scream this out, but don’t.

  ‘Oh, you know . . .’ I say instead, pulling out a wooden chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. ‘Are you all set for the party tomorrow?’

  ‘I think so. Your mother has organised most of it. We’re going to do up the barn and have
everyone in there with a band.’

  ‘Wow, that sounds fab!’

  A moment later the door to the garden opens and Mum bustles in with a wicker basket full of vegetables.

  ‘You’re here!’ she shouts. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  I stand up and give her a hug, then she holds me at arm’s length and studies my face. ‘You look well,’ she says uncertainly, as though I’m going to refute this fact.

  I shrug and she puts her hand to my cheek in a tender gesture. The kettle begins to whistle.

  ‘I’ll make it,’ she says, busying herself with a teapot while I sit back down.

  ‘How’s work?’ Dad asks as Mum leaves the tea to brew and exits the room with the veggies. Washing them in the utility room, I expect.

  ‘Oh, it’s okay . . .’ I reply unenthusiastically.

  A few days ago, Becky and I went to the local coffee shop to have a meeting over lunch. She was keen to get on with organising our next fund-raiser, but we had a more pressing issue. One of the charities we work with in Zambia has offered us a chance to visit a school we had helped to fund.

  ‘I wondered if you would like to go,’ I said. Her face lit up.

  ‘Really? Don’t you want to?’

  ‘No.’ I smiled at her. ‘I’ve done enough travelling recently to last me a lifetime.’ But I’d get back on one more plane if only the goddamn man would call me. I’m quite happy to hand over the reins to Becky on this occasion. And maybe not just on this occasion.

  I reply to my dad’s question. ‘Truth be told, I haven’t settled back into work as easily as I thought I would.’ Before I set up this charity, I used to work for another, and I was always very passionate about my work. It’s such a diverse job, and I used to love feeling like I was making a difference. I still do; I’ll never lose that. And I do want to continue to make a difference to the lives of underprivileged people, but something about my job at the moment is not fulfilling me like it used to. In fact, it’s doing the opposite. It’s dragging me down, wearing me down.

  ‘You’ve been back only a short while,’ he says.

  ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘But I’m starting to think that it might be time to move on, time to leave Will behind me.’

  He nods thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s not to say I won’t come back to charity work, but I think I need a break. At least for the foreseeable future. Let someone else with fresh eyes and more passion have a go. Becky can move up into the director’s chair and hire a new assistant. She’s practically been doing my job, anyway. She’s more than capable of continuing.’

  ‘She did make a very good speech at the charity ball,’ Dad muses.

  ‘Really? Mum omitted to tell me that.’

  ‘She probably wasn’t sure you’d want to hear it.’

  ‘She’s wrong,’ I say. ‘I’m pleased for Becky’s sake.’

  ‘She was quite captivating,’ Dad adds.

  I smile. ‘Good for her.’

  We sit there in contemplative silence for a while. Mum comes back into the kitchen to pour the tea.

  ‘So . . .’ he says eventually, ‘how’s Matthew?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ I reply. ‘He’s arriving tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘How did your visit go last weekend?’ Mum asks warily, placing a tea cup down in front of me and pulling up a chair.

  ‘It was okay. Not as bad as I was expecting,’ I admit, and her face lights up. ‘Not that that means anything,’ I tell them quickly. ‘I still want to go back to Florida.’

  They flash each other looks.

  It’s approximately three hours later when the inquisition begins. We’re in the living room sitting on my parents’ new cream-coloured sofas. The old ones from my childhood have finally given up the ghost.

  ‘Your mum mentioned you were seeing a man called Leo,’ my dad says, looking even more uncomfortable than I feel. As if I want to talk to my dad about my love life! He doesn’t appear to want to talk to me about it, either, but I’m gathering my mother has been egging him on.

  ‘That’s right,’ I reply evenly.

  Dad frowns. ‘How does Matthew feel about this?’

  ‘Dad, I’ve been through this with Mum. Of course he doesn’t like it. But I’ve been honest. I have real feelings for Leo and Matthew knows that. I don’t really understand why he still thinks there’s a future for us.’

  ‘But of course there’s a future for you!’ Mum chips in.

  I shake my head and stare out of the window at the sundrenched fields beyond the trimmed hedge at the edge of the kitchen garden.

  ‘How was little Evan?’ she asks with a hopeful smile.

  ‘He was . . . He was a baby, Mum. And you know what he’s like,’ I add poignantly.

  ‘Matthew said you might be able to bring him up to see us one weekend.’

  ‘When did Matthew say that?’ I ask crossly, and Dad unfolds his legs and looks shifty.

  ‘He called a couple of days ago,’ Mum admits.

  ‘So you already know how my visit went last weekend, then, if you’re so close to Matthew.’

  ‘Don’t be angry, Laura. It’s unbecoming of you,’ she says.

  I cannot believe she just said that.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ Dad interjects, trying to restore the peace. ‘You know we like Matthew. Hell, we were as angry as you were about what he did on his stag do.’ I doubt it. ‘But he’s trying to make amends,’ Dad continues. ‘He’s a good lad at heart. Don’t be upset with your mother for having a relationship with him.’

  ‘I’m not upset,’ I fib. I’ve always liked the fact that my parents and Matthew get on. I’m just not liking it very much at the moment.

  ‘Have you spoken to Leo?’ Mum asks.

  ‘No.’ I hate to admit it. ‘I can’t get hold of him.’

  Another shared glance between them. My stomach tightens.

  Mum looks down at her fingers. ‘Maybe he’s accepted you should move on,’ she says with some difficulty.

  I glare at her. ‘You don’t know that.’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m just saying . . .’

  I try calling him again that night, and, as before, it goes straight through to voicemail.

  I help string up lights in the barn the following day, large coloured bulbs that hang across the vast space. We’ve stacked blocks of hay around the outside as make-shift seats, and a bar has been constructed in the corner, providing booze on tap all night. Matthew arrives just as the band is setting up. I see him to his room. I think it feels strange to both of us to be putting him in a guest bedroom on the other side of the house, when in the past we’ve always slept together in my room. Everything was so different the last time we were here. Mum, Dad, Matthew and I had a late night playing Monopoly and getting drunk on red wine – even Mum, who doesn’t drink much at all. Those days were easy. Well, they were for me, but then I was ignorant. Matthew, on the other hand, was carrying a dark secret, a secret he hoped would never rear its ugly head. He must have lived in fear with it for some time. I think of Tessa and wonder how she felt, being young, pregnant and on her own. She must have been terrified. For the first time, I feel sympathy for her.

  Mum tries to convince Dad to make a grand entrance at eight o’clock after all the guests have arrived, but he’s having none of it, wanting to get into the party spirit pronto. I find him and Matthew in the barn, joking with one of the girls behind the bar. Matthew turns around and catches my eye. He was laughing, but now he looks more sombre. He smiles at me as I cross the room.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he says softly.

  I’m wearing a knee-length, fitted, navy-blue dress with heels and a chunky gold costume-jewellery necklace. My heels will get scuffed up on the always-dusty barn floor, but hey-ho.

  ‘Hello, darling!’ Dad booms, interrupting us.

  ‘What can I get you to drink?’ Matthew asks with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I’ll go for some of the sparkling, thanks.’ I give Dad a kiss on his cheek.

  �
�Where’s your mother?’ he asks.

  ‘She’s coming.’

  Actually, she’s running around like a nutcase, trying to get her hair out of rollers.

  My dad’s mate Gerry bursts into the barn with a theatrical, ‘Hey, hey, hey!’

  ‘Gerry!’ Dad shouts, leaving us to it.

  I turn to Matthew. ‘Thanks for coming,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’

  ‘He’s pleased you’re here.’

  ‘Are you pleased I’m here?’ he asks gently.

  ‘Of course,’ I reply.

  ‘But . . .’ he adds.

  I give him an apologetic smile and chink his glass. ‘Let’s not talk about anything bad tonight, eh?’

  ‘Deal.’ He chinks my glass again.

  We look across the barn to where more revellers have started to arrive. The band starts up and the air is immediately charged with a party atmosphere.

  ‘Is Marty still coming?’ Matthew asks.

  ‘She sure is!’

  ‘I didn’t think your parents were that keen on her,’ he says with a grin.

  ‘I think they’ve forgiven all her sins considering the efforts she went to, to make me come home.’

  He laughs, and even though there’s that nervous feeling fluttering around my stomach, I do, too.

  I called Leo again this evening, as I was getting ready. Again, voicemail. I’m trying not to freak out, but I really need some answers from him sooner rather than later. It’s been nearly two weeks since we spoke, and I feel incredibly uneasy every time I think about him saying he’d understand if I got back together with Matthew. Then there’s my mum, telling me maybe he’s letting me go, and my own overactive imagination wondering if I was just a holiday romance for him. But no. No. That’s not it. They’re wrong. I know what it was, and it was more than that. So why the hell isn’t he calling me back?

  ‘Speaking of the devil,’ Matthew says, breaking into my thoughts. I turn around to follow the line of his vision and see Marty, flanked by her parents, wander into the barn.

  ‘Marty!’ I shout. She grins as she separates from her parents and comes over. I give her a hug and she turns to Matthew, doing the same to him. It’s a bit odd – they’ve only ever politely kissed each other’s cheeks in the past. What’s with all this hugging business? It occurs to me that they’ve grown closer as a result of trying to bring me home. Hmm. Not too happy about that. I already feel like it’s them against me, as it is. I take a large swig of my champagne, the bubbles hitting the back of my throat before going straight to my head. I’m determined to have a good time tonight. It might be the last time we’re all together in one place. Because I am going back to Key West. He’ll ring me soon, I’m sure of it.