We Are Family

by Emlyn Rees

  Instead, he’d listed off all the places he’d wanted to see in his short visit: the bar in Palma where his friends had recommended cocktails, the restaurant in Pollença, the posh spa at the exclusive resort in Deià, a day at the nudist beach for laughs . . .

  She’d been happy to go along with him for the ride. After all, she’d hardly seen any of the island since she’d been at Rachel’s and it was fun to sightsee with James. It had been an arrangement that had suited her well: he’d wanted to spend every moment squeezing the maximum fun out of every situation and she’d wanted to spend the minimum time being reminded of Sam.

  And she couldn’t deny that they had had fun. It had been made easier by the fact that she’d drunk more in three nights than she had done in all the time she’d been in Mallorca. They’d partied late into the night, finally falling into a taxi and into bed. They’d had sex a few times, but Laurie had been too drunk to care too much about it or analyse her feelings too deeply.

  It was only on the last day that things had become tricky. It had been ten in the morning and they’d been shopping in the market at Inca. Laurie had bought a bag of ripe peaches from one of the stalls and they’d sat down on the worn step of the old church in the square to eat them.

  ‘I missed you,’ James said, suddenly. ‘Back in London, I mean. I didn’t tell you before, but I did. I missed you.’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ Laurie teased him.

  ‘I did. I swear. It was the strangest thing. I’ve never really missed anyone before, so at first I thought I was hungry. You know, I felt a bit odd inside. Then I realised I was actually missing your company.’

  Laurie laughed. ‘Good. I’m glad it was only me. I wouldn’t want you to get fat or anything.’

  ‘I’ll miss you even more now.’

  She pulled a face at him, trying to jokily dismiss his first real admission of affection.

  ‘It’s not me. You just like being on holiday.’

  But then, when James didn’t make another joke, Laurie looked into his eyes and realised he was serious. He was going to miss her.

  She turned away. James wasn’t supposed to fall for her. James was the man who never fell for anyone. All his friends had told her as much. She saw now that that was half the reason why she’d gone out with him in the first place – because it wasn’t serious. Because she’d had the impression that he never would be serious.

  James nudged her knees with his, breaking the tension. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said.

  ‘You will, will you?’

  ‘I’m going to call Rachel and ask.’

  ‘You two really are the big pals,’ she said, taking another bite out of her peach to avoid his question.

  ‘It’s important to me to suck up to your family.’

  She could feel herself shrinking away from the conversation and despaired of herself. She wanted to encourage him, to tell him that she did want him to come back, that it was important to her, too, that he made an effort with her family. But something stopped her.

  Sam again. They’d made it clear to each other on the boat that there could be nothing between them, hadn’t they? They’d put the past to rest. Sam wasn’t in her life any more, other than as the husband of her newly found cousin. She had to get him out of her head.

  ‘We’ve had a good time, haven’t we? I’m glad you came,’ she managed, keeping things light.

  James paused. He took off his sunglasses and his greeny-blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. ‘You know, I was thinking . . . if you’re stuck for a place to stay when you get back, you can always come and hang out at mine.’

  ‘You want me to live with you?’

  ‘Why not? We’ve had three days together and it went OK, didn’t it?’

  ‘This was a trial run? You came out here to see whether I’d be a good flatmate?’

  ‘No. I came out here because I think you’re cute and, as I said, because I missed you. And I don’t want you to stay out here, if you’re staying just because you’re homeless. I’d rather we were together.’

  This time, the peach remained in Laurie’s hand, halfway to her mouth. This time she couldn’t dismiss his comment with a flippant remark. She turned on the step and looked at James, as if seeing him for the first time. She’d always treated him as such a boy, deliberately not taking him seriously, just because he was a few years younger than her. But now that he’d finally come to express his feelings, she felt ashamed of herself for disregarding his emotions so readily.

  She’d been so naive. Not being seriously interested in James had inadvertently been exactly the right tactic to get him seriously interested in her. And he was interested in her. He’d come to Mallorca to see her, for God’s sake. He’d spent the three days tirelessly entertaining her in an effort to show her how much he didn’t care. But now she could see that it hadn’t been ironic for him when he’d bought her a rose from the gypsy seller in the restaurant. He hadn’t been joking when he’d aped along with the romantic aria on the balcony of the cocktail bar. And now, sitting on the cool step of the church in the square, with peach juice dripping down their chins, she was aware that this was yet another in a long line of romantic moments she’d failed to acknowledge.

  Now she was truly speechless. She felt hopelessly caught out. What was wrong with her? James was offering her a serious relationship and a solution to all her problems. Why wasn’t she screeching with gratitude and delight? Why wasn’t she signing on the dotted line? James was everything she should want. Everyone back home loved him – his friends and hers. So why was she so tied up with her past? Sam had brought her nothing but heartache.

  Do it! She told herself, not trusting herself to say the right thing, but the moment couldn’t go on any longer. She had to say something, or do something. Panicked, she smiled and opted to kiss him, leaning forward and squashing her peach-covered lips on to his.

  Back at the villa, she got herself into even deeper water. She shouldn’t have kissed James so readily at the church, she realised, as he’d gently undressed her. And as they’d embarked on sober sex for the first time in James’s visit, she realised that he wasn’t laughing it off, as he usually would have done.

  Afterwards, he’d stayed next to her, not saying anything, as if he was revelling in an intense moment, but Laurie stayed frozen next to him staring at the rafters above her bed, unable to shake the feeling that Sam was somehow in the room watching her. She tried to visualise Sam in bed with Claire, in this bed, but thinking about him had only made it worse.

  When James had sighed and had tried to kiss her, she’d rolled away and had started babbling about him missing his flight.

  Now, in the Internet café, as she stared at the blinking cursor on the white computer screen, she could see so clearly how much she’d been deceiving herself. She’d been in love with Sam all along. From the second she’d seen him and James side by side, after they’d come back from sailing, she’d known it.

  Dear James, she typed. She sighed and rubbed her face, picturing James’s smiling face. He was so handsome. He would be so right for someone else. This is not going to be an easy thing to write . . .

  Later, back at the villa, Laurie paced by the telephone anxiously waiting for Sam to call, flexing her fingers against each other, as if they’d somehow seized up with guilt after the email she’d typed to James. She’d recounted the whole story of her affair with Sam and how she’d come to see him again. She’d been brutally honest, hoping that the intensity of her feelings for Sam would somehow excuse her.

  But as she waited now for some word from Sam, there was no way of squaring it with herself, or pretending that she could come out of this in any way as a nice person. She should have been honest with James from the start. She should have told him the truth about Sam, as soon as he’d arrived. Instead, she’d strung him along, let him think that she was going to move in with him back in London. She’d treated him like a child, made a fool out of him, and she knew that when he read her email, he would be justifiably f
urious. It made her wince, just to think of it.

  And then another thought occurred to her. What if James called Rachel? What if he was so angry that he told Rachel all about Laurie’s affair with Sam? She knew that Rachel would have to find out, but to find out from James? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  By ten o’clock that night, Laurie was going crazy. She should never have let Sam out of her sight. She should have gone with him. How was she supposed to fight for their future alone? She’d been so struck with guilt about Rachel and her father, she hadn’t been thinking clearly when Sam said they should wait until tomorrow.

  But waiting until tomorrow gave Sam one whole night to be with his family. Hours and hours in which he would realise how much he was about to hurt Archie and Claire. Hours and hours in which he might realise all he was about to give up.

  And what if it happened all over again, as it had done three years ago? What if Sam lost his nerve and didn’t tell Claire?

  Panicking, Laurie dialled Roz’s number.

  ‘Just hear me out before you say anything,’ she implored, when Roz picked up. She knew Roz would be able to detect the urgency in her voice and that if she blurted out how she was feeling, Roz wouldn’t have a chance to be cross with her for being so lax about staying in touch.

  ‘OK,’ Roz agreed, ‘but what the hell’s the matter? You sound dreadful.’

  ‘Oh, Roz,’ Laurie began, feeling tears threatening to choke her. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Just tell me everything,’ her friend soothed. ‘Start from the beginning.’

  But five minutes later, when Laurie had filled her in on the details of her current predicament, rather than issuing the much needed words of comfort Laurie needed to hear, Roz was furious.

  ‘You bloody idiot,’ she stormed.

  ‘Roz, please understand,’ Laurie begged. ‘I love him.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how pathetic you sound?’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Once was bad enough, but to get bitten by the same snake twice? That’s just suicidal.’

  ‘It’s not . . . he loves me too.’

  ‘So where is lover boy now? Why are you calling me if he’s so bloody marvellous.’

  ‘He’s . . . gone. He’s with Claire.’

  ‘He’s telling her?’

  ‘No, she’s . . . she’s having a party.’

  ‘A party! Of course!’ The sarcasm in Roz’s tone cut Laurie to the quick. ‘You’re tearing your hair out, but he’s at a fucking party? I can’t believe you’ve done this again, Laurie. I thought you were over him.’

  ‘I did too.’

  ‘Look, why don’t you just come home, honey?’ Roz said, more gently. ‘You’ve got all your friends here. Your life is here. Your career. Just walk away.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Laurie hadn’t even begun to tell Roz about her father arriving at the villa tomorrow. Now she buried her head in her hands, but the more she tried to explain her situation, the more confused she became.

  Her nerves were shot to pieces by the time she’d rung off. Roz was right, she decided. Why should she be feeling like this? What did a party matter, when she and Sam were supposed to be changing their lives for ever? Why was he stalling with such a lame excuse? Laurie imagined him in his home right at this moment, smiling and greeting all his friends with Claire as if nothing had happened.

  You have to believe in us, she’d said earlier. And she had. She’d finished with James. James, who had proved himself to be so much more emotionally together than she’d ever suspected. James, who had been ready to make a commitment to her, to their future together. And she’d thrown him away. Finished with him – callously – by email. And as Roz had so plainly put it, nobody deserved that, surely? Especially not James. And what had Sam done in return?

  Laurie dialled his mobile phone.

  ‘Hello?’ Claire slurred in the kind of sing-song voice that immediately told Laurie that Sam hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened. She was drunk and clearly in the middle of her party, judging from the noise in the background.

  ‘Is Sam there?’ Laurie asked, pretending that she didn’t recognise Claire’s voice.

  ‘Laurie, is that you?’

  ‘Er . . . yes. Oh, hi, Claire.’ Laurie’s face contorted into a grimace. She was a hopeless actress.

  ‘Hang on, I’m walking through. Sam’s hiding in the wet room having a shower,’ Claire shouted, above the noise of the party. ‘Would you believe it – he hasn’t had the courtesy to turn up to his own party all day and now he’s complaining that everyone is too pissed to talk to!’

  Laurie could hear the noise of the party abruptly being muffled and then suddenly the sound of running water in the background. Sam was naked, just a few metres away from where Claire was talking to her on the phone. Here she was, all alone, agonising about their future, and Sam was in the shower?

  ‘That’s better,’ Claire said, obviously referring to the noise level. ‘I’m so glad I got a chance to speak to you. Tell me, tell me, is that divine boyfriend of yours still at the villa?’

  ‘No . . . no. He’s gone,’ Laurie mumbled, her pulse racing. She could feel her hair prickling and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

  ‘Pity. I was so hoping the four of us could get together for dinner. Rachel said he was to die for. She planned his surprise visit, didn’t she? She was so excited, but so nervous too. Was it wonderful? No wonder you’ve been so quiet! I’ve been dying to come over there, but I stopped myself.’

  ‘We were . . . busy.’ It came out as no more than a whisper, but Claire didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘I bet you were!’ Laurie heard her lighting a cigarette. ‘You’re not offended about the party, are you, Laurie? I would have invited you –’

  ‘No, no, don’t worry.’

  ‘Ugh! Sam’s taking ages in the shower. Did you want him for anything?’

  Only the rest of my life, Laurie felt like saying, but as soon as she thought it, yet more guilt kicked in. Out of nowhere, she noticed that hot, silent tears were suddenly popping out of her eyes. ‘Oh, really, no, I don’t want to disturb him, Claire. It’s late and I’m sure he’s very busy . . . especially in the middle of a party –’

  ‘No, go on . . . what’s the problem?’

  What was the problem? How could Claire even begin to comprehend the magnitude of the problem!

  ‘It’s the electronic gate,’ she managed. It was the only excuse she could think of. It took all her effort to keep the emotion from her voice. ‘I can’t seem to get it open. I was wondering whether . . . Sam had Fabio’s number?’

  ‘Oh, boring! Don’t disturb Fabio at this time of night. I’ll get Sam.’

  ‘No, don’t. I’m sure you have things to . . . it can wait . . .’

  But it was too late.

  ‘Darling?’ she heard Claire say, knocking on the door of the wet room.

  Darling. Laurie heard the shower in the background. She imagined Sam washing the scent of her from his skin. She felt sick.

  ‘He’s not answering. He probably thinks it’s someone trying to get in there for a shag. I’ll tell him you called. Don’t worry about the gate. I’m sure someone will fix it by the morning. Now I must dash, I’ve got guests waiting.’

  And then Claire had gone. Laurie pressed the call-end button and, with a howl of rage, threw her phone at the wall.

  Chapter XVIII

  Stepmouth, August 1953

  Even on a day like today, with the rain slashing against the glass shopfront, leaving angry diagonal stripes on the glass, Emily Jones was as breezy and cheerful as the summer day it should have been. Rachel stood behind the counter in the dark corner of the shop, folding a pile of new yellow dusters, but her attention was entirely focused on Emily, who seemed like a luminous butterfly fluttering in the middle of the dreary shop.

  Rachel had always felt a curious mixture of envy, pride and longing whenever she saw Emily and today wasn’t any different. There was somethi
ng so unique about her. In all the months since she’d reappeared in Stepmouth, her style had been unfailingly modern. Rachel didn’t know one single girl in the town who didn’t want to be exactly like her.

  Today she was wearing a felt hat, pulled down at a rakish angle over her blonde curls and a polka-dot raincoat, which matched her umbrella. A silk scarf printed with a motif of sweet williams was tied around her neck. Her cheeks glowed with pretty pink rouge and the scent of her perfume filled the musty air, even overpowering the box of boot polish next to Rachel. It was as if Emily was stamping her personality on everything, forcing everyone to be cheerful. No wonder Bill was behaving like a lovesick puppy.

  Rachel watched as Emily smiled, pushing the large Coronation sweet tin housing her latest offering across the counter towards Mrs Vale.

  ‘You really don’t have to bring cakes all the time,’ Rachel’s mother was saying, her tone at once disapproving as well as begrudgingly grateful. ‘I’ve told you before, I’m perfectly capable of baking myself, should we want to indulge ourselves –’

  ‘But I was only thinking this morning about who I could rely on to help out,’ Emily cut in, ‘and I suddenly thought that a smart woman like you, who hates for food to go to waste, must be able to. You see, in this weather, I’m so down on numbers for afternoon tea. My cake’s only going to go in the bin. And it’s fresh cream and –’

  ‘It’s chocolate,’ said Rachel’s mother, easing up the lid of the tin and peering inside. She said it as if it were coated in rat poison.

  ‘Mrs Vale, is it really worth living, if we don’t have a few treats once in a while?’

  ‘Let me pay you for it.’

  ‘No, no, it’s a gift. And if you can’t eat it, then at least you could try and sell it. We might as well spread the wealth. Us businesswomen must stick together.’