Effie sighed and kissed the side of Lou’s head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
She’d never seen Lou look so lost before. It was horrible seeing her so upset, and Effie had to swallow against the sympathy tears clogging up her throat.
‘I’m sorry,’ Effie said. ‘I’ve been going on about my house, the wedding and honeymoon. I didn’t realise.’
She didn’t doubt that Lou was happy for her, but it must have been hard watching Effie get everything Lou wanted when she was feeling so low.
‘It’s not your fault. I’m super happy that you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted; it’s just making me think about what it is that I want,’ Lou replied, wiping her eyes with the tips of her little fingers. She blew out a long breath and shook her head. ‘I don’t want to ruin the holiday.’
‘You’re not ruining anything,’ Effie said, squeezing Lou’s shoulder. ‘I just wish you’d said something sooner.’
‘Whatever.’ Lou flashed her a quick, unconvincing smile. It was rare for her to really open up about her feelings, and seemingly she was keen to push them back into their box. ‘We’re in Ireland, and we’re together. I’m sure all this will still be here in the morning, so let’s just go out, have fun and forget about it for one night.’
Effie nodded and hugged her. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is. But I have to warn you: I’m probably going to get smashed with this mood I’m in.’
Early the next morning, sunlight streamed through a tiny slit between the curtains directly onto Effie’s face, and she squinted as she slowly prised her eyes open. Her mobile lay next to her head and she looked at it, her face scrunching in disgust. Why was she awake at seven in the morning, especially when she’d only gone to bed three hours ago? And why, oh why, had she taken that last shot of tequila? Just thinking about it made her stomach roll over. Lou wasn’t the only one who’d got wasted.
Oliver snored with his back to her. He’d been on top form, making everyone laugh and generally being the most charming man in the room, even with Smith. She smiled and turned to cuddle him, grateful for his presence in her hung-over state. She needed to go back to sleep. The last thing she wanted was to be awake for the onslaught of the hangover that was already brewing, but as she buried her head into his back, she almost gagged at the whisky fumes seeping from his skin.
She turned away and lay on her back, trying desperately to fall asleep again, but the smell of whisky was overpowering. She sighed, threw back the covers and pulled on a pair of leggings before padding into the kitchen. As she stood in front of the kettle, waiting for it to boil, she massaged her temples, pressing her fingers into her skin as hard as she could.
‘You look about as rough as I feel,’ Smith croaked.
She turned around to see him looking at her over the back of the sofa. ‘And you look like death. What are you doing there?’
‘Haven’t got a clue. I must’ve decided my room was too far. You making a brew?’
‘Yep. Want one?’
He nodded. ‘Three sugars, please.’
She remembered perfectly well how he took his tea, but as he flopped back down on the sofa, she realised that, for the first time since he’d come back, the sight of him hadn’t filled her with nervous, angry energy. Maybe it was the hangover, or maybe his coming to Ireland with them had actually been a good idea. She poured the steaming water into the mugs. That was it – she must be starting to get used to having him around again. Maybe he wasn’t a threat to her at all. Ever since Oliver had told her he’d guessed about her history with Smith, she’d been on tenterhooks about every move Smith made. She didn’t want Oliver to be jealous, because as far as she was concerned, there was nothing for him to be jealous of. It turned out she needn’t have worried. So far, Smith was sticking to his word and accepting what she’d said.
She put the milk back in the fridge as Smith stood up.
Oh, dear god.
The tattoos on his arms had been added to since he’d left, and now wound around his ribcage. The slightly raised, pale scar from the operation to repair his punctured lung after his attack was worked into the cranium of a skull composed entirely of small dots. As he yawned, stretching his arms out wide behind him and arching his back, his taut abs rippled, and before she even realised what she was doing, she followed the trail of brown hair sneaking from his belly button into his boxers with her eyes.
Pull yourself together, Effie. Get. A. Flipping. Grip.
Her body’s reaction shook her, and she had to firmly tell herself to stop. Of course Smith was attractive; anyone with eyes could see that, but up until that moment, all she’d felt since he’d come back was a confusing mix of simmering attraction that somehow led to anger. This was something else. And she had to admit to herself that her reaction was probably exactly the kind of thing that Oliver would be jealous about.
‘Here,’ she said, averting her eyes as she held the mug out to him.
He took it from her and the merest flicker of a smile twitched at his lips. ‘So on a scale of one to kill me now, how bad are you feeling?’
‘I dunno. Somewhere in the middle.’
‘Lies.’ He grinned and leaned against the counter, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Couldn’t he at least put some clothes on? ‘It was a good night, though.’
‘Yeah, it was.’
Westport only had two main streets, but they were lined with pubs, and they’d ended up going into every single one, having different drinks in each before going to the only club in town. It was no wonder they’d all got so wasted.
‘Am I the first one up?’ Effie asked.
‘Yeah. Everyone else is doing the smart thing and trying to sleep through their hangovers, I guess.’
Effie raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her tea. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that? What are you doing up so early anyway?’
Smith shrugged. ‘I rarely sleep in past seven nowadays.’
Well that was new. Before, he wouldn’t get up before midday, a consequence of being such a night owl. Effie winced at the throbbing in her head and took another sip of tea.
‘God, I don’t think I can drink this.’ She’d put way too much milk in it, and just the smell had her stomach contracting.
‘Me neither. I forgot how bad your tea making is.’ Smith grinned and she put her cup on the side.
Despite the hangover, his eyes shone, and for the first time since he’d come back, she felt able to relax in his company. Until her stomach rolled over again.
‘I’m heading back to bed. I really need to sleep this off, or I’ll feel like death for the flight back.’
Smith nodded. ‘Good idea.’
She turned to walk to her room, but knowing that he was following only inches behind her was making her feel self-conscious. Was he watching her? For the first time since he’d got back, they’d had a conversation without him winding her up or her sniping back at him. Effie looked back and threw him a small smile before slipping into her room. She was sure their progression into something less hostile was a good thing, but she felt too rough to analyse it. Oliver had barely moved since she’d recoiled away from him after waking, and even standing by the door, she could detect the sickly sweet undertones of whisky in the room. She heard Smith’s bedroom door close down the hallway, and sighed as she cracked the window open before climbing back into bed.
After what felt like hours, Effie woke again and looked at her phone. She’d slept for forty minutes, and although her skin was clammy under the covers, her headache had eased considerably. She peeled the cover back and sat up, her body cutting through the thick, hot air. Mickey had preset the central heating, and even with the bedroom window open, it was overwhelmingly warm.
She looked back at Oliver, knowing he’d probably stay in his alcohol-induced coma until she woke him, but what would she do until then? There was
no television in the cottage, and she couldn’t go back to sleep – not in this heat. She looked at her hiking boots in the corner of the room. Hiking wasn’t her thing, but she could go for a walk down to the sea front. It wasn’t that far away, and the prospect of tangy, salty air was a welcome contrast to the stifling interior of the cottage. She quickly pulled a pair of jeans over her leggings, threw on a jumper and bundled herself up into her coat before leaving the cottage.
The fresh air cleared the fuzziness in her head, and the sky was a curious shade of mauve and pink as dawn beckoned. The gravelly footpath at the side of the narrow road crunched underfoot, and she burrowed her gloved hands into her pockets. A gust of wind buffeted against her, and she shivered. What she’d intended to be a relaxing way to pass the time became a brisk walk, and soon her breath became shallow as she marched along the road. Why hadn’t she brought her headphones? The air had swept away her pounding headache, and the only thing she could hear was the squawk of gulls overhead.
The Irish weather had been unforgiving from the moment they’d arrived, but at least it had stopped raining. She stopped to look at the view ahead of her, the surface of the sea shimmering, and sat on the gritty shore facing the horizon. There was nobody around for as far as she could see, and she thought back to the last time she’d been on a deserted beach. Admittedly, the one in Koh Tao had had beautiful golden sand, a cloudless sky and crystal-clear water, but even still, Tintern Bay held its own charm.
Effie made an effort to sit still and pointedly did her best not to think about Oliver or Smith. She was alone, in her own company, and she wanted to enjoy it without thinking of either of the men who had occupied her thoughts for weeks on end. The way Oliver and Smith had talked over dinner on their first night was like a pissing contest. Backpacking was something Oliver would never do, whereas Smith would always choose a basic hostel over a swanky five-star resort. The underlying jibes they’d thrown at each other would have been amusing if she wasn’t caught in the middle. As much as she hated it, she felt torn between the two. As amazing as her honeymoon had been, she let herself wonder what it might have been like if she’d been there with Smith, seeing it from a completely different viewpoint. In her head, she’d have enjoyed the adventure, sleeping in a hostel or a beach shack, spending time with the locals and partying with other backpackers, but in reality she’d become so quickly accustomed to Oliver’s way of living. It was classy and glamorous, just like he was. She smiled and shook her head. She’d changed. She wasn’t the same girl Smith had left behind. He could keep his beach shacks and backpacks, and all the chaos and uncertainty that went with them.
After a while, she heard the crunch of boots on the gritty sand behind her. Effie turned to look, expecting to see a dog-walker, but instead saw the dark blue of Smith’s jacket. She swallowed as she turned back to face the sea. She’d been enjoying her moment of solitude, and the realisation that she’d evolved into the version of herself she’d always wanted to be, but instead of feeling annoyed that Smith was about to intrude, yet again, she had to bury the excitement fluttering in her stomach.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said when he reached her.
‘Out of all the beaches in Ireland you just happened to show up on this one, huh?’ Effie looked up at him, shielding her eyes with her hand, even though there was no reason to. Morning had broken, but the sun was staying put behind the clouds.
‘Well, obviously I heard you leave the cottage and followed you down here.’ He sat next to her, and Effie noted the sarcasm in his voice. She wondered if what he was saying was true.
She looked at him with mock horror. ‘Stalker alert.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘You should be careful, hanging around on a deserted beach with the likes of me. Now’s your chance to make a quick getaway.’
Effie laughed and turned to look out at the sea again.
‘How’s the hangover?’ he asked.
She nodded and looked back at him. ‘Better, actually. The walk helped. It’s been ages since I’ve walked somewhere just for the hell of it.’
‘I’m not surprised. Olly doesn’t seem the type to don a pair of hiking boots.’
‘You know, Mum used to take me walking all the time,’ she replied, ignoring his comment and refusing to take the bait. ‘I forgot how nice it could be.’
‘How is she?’
Effie shrugged. ‘The same as always. That’s one person who’ll never change.’
‘She might have been a crap mum, but as a person, she doesn’t need to,’ Smith said, leaning back to rest on his hands. He was definitely one of the ‘We love Penny’ brigade. ‘What did she think of Olly?’
‘Not much. They only met for a few hours.’
Smith nodded, and Effie wondered whether he was reading between the lines. He’d always had a good sense for detecting the hidden truth in things, but if he suspected that Penny hadn’t taken to her new son-in-law, he didn’t let on.
‘I’m sorry I called him a Hoorah Henry. That was probably a bit out of order. To give him credit, he seems like an alright guy.’
Effie blinked. She definitely hadn’t expected that. Smith never apologised for anything, ever. Who was this new Smith? It was as if he’d woken up that morning and morphed into someone else – someone who apologised for things and didn’t make her angry from the outset.
‘It’s fine,’ she replied, remembering the way he’d said it at the wedding. With everything that had happened since, it felt like a lifetime ago, and an involuntary laugh fell from her mouth.
Smith looked at her with a confused smile. ‘What?’
‘It’s bad.’ She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but it was actually pretty funny.’
‘Yes!’ Smith grinned. ‘I knew you were still in there somewhere.’
‘Of course I’m still in here.’
‘I’m not going to lie, Eff – I did wonder for a while.’ He reached over and gently poked her arm. ‘All this Stepford Wife stuff you’ve got going on . . . I wasn’t sure you were still you.’
He was teasing her, just like he always had done. Something had shifted since they’d come to Ireland. It was like they’d gone back to being friends – real friends. The kind of friends they used to be.
Before I started shagging him.
Effie shook her head a fraction and buried her face into the collar of her North Face jacket, thinking about what he’d said in an effort to distract herself from the thought that their sleeping together had ever been a bad thing.
‘I haven’t changed that much, have I?’
Smith leaned forward and drew lines in the sand with his finger. ‘Honestly?’
Effie nodded.
‘When I saw you at the wedding, I was like, wow. Who is this girl? I mean you looked . . . different. And I’m not talking about your hairstyle or whatever, but just in general. I thought the same at Somerset House, but when I started at Archive . . .’ Smith tailed off and laughed a little, shaking his head.
‘What?’ Effie asked, immediately on the defensive.
‘The way you reacted when you shot me down after the team meeting.’ He shook his head again. ‘That’s when I knew you hadn’t changed, not really. The hair, the makeup, the clothes, the husband – they’re irrelevant. You’re still the same Effie who used to give me shit all the time and pull me back into line.’
Effie thought back to that day in the meeting room. She’d been angry with him for showing up at her office, angry at the way he swaggered into the room like he belonged there and angry with herself for reacting so strongly.
‘You always did like to overstep the mark.’ She shrugged, hiding her smile.
‘Yeah, I did.’ He nodded. ‘But it paid off, didn’t it?’
His eyes bored into her, and she blushed. She knew full well what he was talking about. Time and time again, they used to find themselves face-to-fac
e with the air crackling between them, millimetres away from kissing, and it was always her who pulled away. They were practically best friends, and she knew way too much about him. His bedroom might as well have had a revolving door, and she was way too cautious to let herself step through it herself. But then, one night after going to the Notting Hill Carnival, she’d been the one to close the gap and give in. They’d woken up together, and it was true: sex changed everything. They weren’t the friends they used to be; they became something else, something better. Until he screwed it up, and things fell apart. The thought of it, combined with a strong gust of wind blowing around them, made her shiver.
‘Cold?’ he asked, clearly as observant as ever.
Effie nodded. ‘I should have stuck another layer on.’
He looked at her for a second and then brushed the sand from his hands. ‘Turn around.’
‘Why?’ She frowned, warily.
‘Do you want to get warm or not?’
She turned her back to him, the frown still on her face, and behind her, Smith pushed aside her ponytail and turned down the collar of her jacket. The cold air licked the nape of her neck, and her skin bloomed with goosebumps.
‘What are you doing? It’s freezing.’
She turned her head a fraction but stopped as she felt his cupped hands on the back of her neck, followed by the warmth of his breath. When he exhaled again, the heat spread farther down across her back. Effie shivered, despite the heat. Every exhalation he made carried signals along her nerves, down her spine, into the tops of her thighs and into the pit of her stomach. Every inch of her body tingled in a way it hadn’t done for a long time. She waited for the next one, but instead he turned her collar back up and patted her back.
‘Better?’ He looked down at her, and her cheeks flushed.
‘Yeah. Thanks,’ she mumbled.
What was that about? Why did he stop?
‘Eff . . .’
She turned towards him, her body buzzing from the warmth of his breath. She could still feel it on her back, through her jacket and under her clothes. Everything about him seemed to be pulling her in like a magnet. She looked at him and realised how close together they were – so close that moving a few mere inches would put their lips together.
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