The Summer Without You

by Karen Swan

  ‘The Humpers, I’m guessing! I’ve seen them around. Certainly a distinctive fleet you’ve got there.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Hump puffed his chest out a little.

  ‘Hump’s turned his industry on its head too,’ Ro said, proud of her friend. ‘He makes his money from advertising, not fares. And so far all the businesses who advertise with him have reported thirty per cent surges in their takings the nights of their promotions in the Humper. How much did you say your base-level bids had jumped by?’

  ‘Twenty-two per cent just in the first month, and we’ve not even hit Independence weekend yet. This is still very early in the season.’

  ‘Those are impressive numbers, Mr Slater,’ Brook said, regarding him closely.

  ‘And there are four vehicles, with another two on order,’ Ro added excitedly. ‘Hump’s going to try to get the Amagansett routes up and running before Fourth of July.’

  ‘Clearly, I don’t need a promotions team. Ro does it all for me,’ Hump grinned, and Ro thought it was sweet to see him so bashful for once.

  ‘Do you come up to the city much?’

  ‘Occasionally,’ Hump nodded.

  ‘We should talk. I know a few people who’d be interested to hear more about this. I suppose you’ve considered franchise opportunities?’

  ‘Absolutely. Miami, Palm Beach, Cape Cod . . . And that’s just East Coast.’

  ‘I assume you’d be looking for investors to really give you the capital injection you’d need for a large-scale roll-out? I might know a few people who’d be interested. Give me a call next time you’re in the city and we’ll have a drink. Here’s my card.’ And he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a calico-coloured business card.

  ‘Great,’ Hump beamed, pocketing it. Everyone paused as a waitress stopped beside them with a tray of canapés, fingers reaching in delicately.

  Ro saw Hump’s eyes locate the redhead again. ‘Does, uh . . . anyone need a fresh drink?’ Everyone shook their heads. ‘I’ll just go get . . .’

  ‘And if you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to the little boys’ room,’ Brook said.

  Little boys’ room? The words sounded so twee and undignified somehow coming from a man like him.

  He kissed Melodie on the cheek. ‘See you in a while, Songbird.’

  Ro smiled politely as Brook wandered off, leaving the two women alone.

  ‘Drives me mad too,’ Melodie said quietly, her mouth fixed in a smile.

  Ro looked at her in surprise – God! Could Melodie actually read her mind? She found it impossible to keep a secret in the woman’s presence – but Melodie’s eyes were on the crowd and the seething mass of women in too-high heels, their calf muscles bulging and the telltale rim of Spanx showing through on their thighs.

  Ro turned in towards her, closing down their group to advances from strangers. She wanted Melodie all to herself. She felt understood by her, ‘mentored’ almost, and she didn’t want to share it with anyone. ‘You never mentioned you were married.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ Melodie paused. ‘Well, I guess because it’s not your average love story: we met pretty late, although we’ve been married for ten years now. My first, his second.’ She bit her lip, her eyes on the crowd still. ‘No children.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  Melodie smiled, but Ro saw the sadness shine in her eyes. ‘It’s one of those things. Brook has children from his first marriage, so that’s something.’ Melodie’s voice was quieter, less certain, less melodic than usual. ‘I’m not sure it would have been a great idea in any case. God-awful genes running through my family – gamblers, alcoholics, adulterers . . . You name it, we’ve had it. My great-great-grandfather made a fortune in dredging on Long Island: he was a former fisherman who saw an opportunity . . . A real visionary.’ She looked at Ro. ‘He was an entrepreneur, just like you. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to you.’

  Ro flushed with pleasure to hear that Melodie valued their new friendship too.

  ‘Unfortunately, it was pretty much all gone by the time my father died. Three generations of reprobate genes will do that. The repo men seized our family home in the middle of my eighteenth birthday party, two hundred guests watching on as they started walking past the pool with the TVs. Yeah, can you believe it? Talk about timing.’ She said it with an amused tinkle in her voice, an indication she’d recalled it this lightly many times before, but that didn’t lessen the humiliation in the words.

  Ro regarded her statuesque friend through fresh eyes, Melodie’s intense spiritual quest suddenly understood – she was looking for something deeper than material possessions, looking for a new path to the one her forebears had trodden.

  ‘Melodie, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Oh, it was all a long time ago. And thankfully, I’m a lot more stable than my ancestors.’

  Ro laughed, but the smile died suddenly on Melodie’s lips and she leaned down towards Ro – Ro wished she was wearing something with more heel than a flip-flop: Melodie was so tall – her eyes sternly fixed on something over Ro’s shoulder. ‘I don’t wish to frighten you, but your unwanted guest is at two o’clock and staring.’

  ‘Huh?’ Ro said, trying to work out where two o’clock was and who the unwanted guest was at the same time. Both answers came at once.

  Long Story was at the far end of the room, holding a wine glass by the stem in one hand, his other jammed in his trouser pocket. He was standing in a group of five other people. And Melodie was right – he was staring, his eyes darting from the person talking in his group to her, in rapid succession. When he saw her looking back, his surprise was apparent even from across the room and he looked away too quickly, too obviously, so that the woman next to him, a slight, grey-eyed blonde, put her hand on his shoulder and asked him something. He shook his head, and Ro could just see his jaw jut forward a little as he stood in profile to her.

  Ro turned her back to him, safe in the certainty he wasn’t going to try to approach her again – not here, not anywhere. She had bared her teeth and her message had been received, loud and clear. ‘It’s fine. He won’t be bothering me again. I’ve dealt with that situation once and for all.’

  Melodie looked impressed. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Oh, surprise, surprise,’ Ro muttered, tutting lightly as she was diverted by the sight of Hump steering the redhead towards the bar. He had a cheeky grin plastered on his boyish face and looked even more handsome than usual, no doubt boosted by the confidence that Brook Whitmore’s interest had engendered. ‘I’ll be eating breakfast with her tomorrow, then.’

  ‘I take it Hump has lots of notches on the bedpost?’

  Ro cast her a bored look. ‘His bedposts look more like what beavers do to trees.’

  Melodie laughed. ‘Poor boy. He’s obviously chasing comfort.’

  ‘Comfort?’ Ro spluttered. ‘Yeah, right.’ Melodie’s world view of peace and love would change dramatically if she spent a week in Sea Spray. It wasn’t comfort Hump wanted.

  ‘Hey, what would you think about all of us getting together for dinner?’ Melodie asked. ‘I mean, just something casual. The boys seemed to get on well, and I’d like to get to know your other housemates too. They’re going to be your family out here, really, aren’t they?’

  Ro swallowed. Bobbi as a sister? The thought was terrifying enough to make her leave home. Who could compete, or even cope, with all that energy and ambition and perfectionism on a daily basis? ‘That sounds brilliant.’

  ‘Good. So then I’ll set it up.’ A small sigh escaped her and Melodie looked back out into the crowd again, both of them watching from afar the scene they were enveloped in. ‘That really will be something to look forward to.’

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time in a long time, Ro was woken nose first. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her hair falling over her face like a collapsed sail. The sound of a door slamming told her Bobbi was up, and she swung her legs out of bed, poking her head out of the door just
as Bobbi was crossing the hall on her way back from the bathroom.

  ‘Really, though?’ she demanded, stopping in her tracks at the sight of Ro. ‘Come on! You must have heard of hair serum?’

  ‘Ugh,’ Ro grunted. ‘Don’t start. It’s too early.’

  ‘Listen, you’re a pretty girl, Ro, but you’re not getting any younger. You have to make more effort as you get older.’ Her pretty nose wrinkled as she took in Ro’s unpedicured feet.

  Ro shook her head, rubbing her face violently with her hands. ‘Whatever. I’m going downstairs. If my nose is right – and it’s rarely wrong – Hump is a man with a pan this morning.’

  ‘I know! Right? I’m coming with you. I am so starved,’ Bobbi beamed, forgetting all about Ro’s feet and trotting behind her like a frisky pony. ‘You coming to yoga with me later?’

  ‘No. I told you – Melodie’s is more my kind of thing.’

  ‘What? You mean the napping-in-a-dark-room thing?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Tch. That’ll never deal with your thighs.’

  Ro frowned. What was wrong with her thighs?

  ‘Hey, listen, I say that with love. So was she that woman I saw you with last night? The one in the blue dress?’

  ‘That’s her,’ Ro replied proudly. ‘Did you check out her shoulders?’

  ‘Huh? What? No! Why would I check out . . . ?’ Bobbi, confused by the sudden swerve of the conversation, drifted off. ‘You two seemed pretty tight.’

  ‘She’s lovely.’

  ‘She’s loaded is what she is. Skin like that doesn’t come cheap, and let’s not even talk about the gold.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me that’s what you notice when you meet people,’ Ro grumbled.

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it. Where there’s money, there’s property.’ She clicked her fingers intensely. Ro guessed that meant she was concentrating and stayed quiet. They padded down the stairs together. ‘What’s the husband like? I don’t suppose you could introduce us?’

  ‘I only met him for the first time last night myself.’

  Bobbi hummed thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I should come to the yoga class. Go through the wife.’

  Ro slowed her pace. She liked Bobbi, very much, but she had the type of energy output that could charge a room, and Ro wasn’t sure she’d ever find Matt in her memories with Bobbi beside her, plotting her next career move with an intensity that could short a power station.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s your thing. It’s very mellow. Quite emotional.’

  ‘Emotional yoga? What the hell is that?’

  ‘Besides, Melodie doesn’t do weekend classes.’ Ro bit her lip. Melodie had explained she specifically kept her classes to weekdays so that her clients were locals and not the high-octane commuting Manhattan set, of which Bobbi was clearly a cheerleader. ‘Besides, Melodie’s going to set up dinner for us all. You can meet her husband then, schmooze him direct—’

  The two girls stopped in their tracks at the kitchen door. The table had been laid with a tablecloth and cutlery, a jug of sweet peas, several glass carafes of sunrise-coloured juices, a heaped bowl of berries, Ro’s marmalade and a rack of toast. And there was indeed a man with a pan, but it wasn’t Hump.

  ‘My two favourite housemates!’ Greg said brightly, flipping a pancake into the air. He looked more like Gatsby than ever, dressed all in white, although Ro thought it was a shame to have missed seeing him in his pyjamas. He looked great in a suit, even better out of it, and she was wildly imagining him in pressed and piped Turnbull & Asser pyjamas, Savile Row’s finest. ‘Take a seat. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Famished,’ Ro said, noticing with delight a teapot warming on the trivet. He could almost be British! He’d thought of everything. She sat down and immediately helped herself to a glass of juice.

  ‘How about you, Bobbi?’ he asked, sliding the pancake from the pan onto a stack of them, his back turned to her.

  ‘I never eat before yoga.’

  Ro frowned. She was sure Bobbi had said . . .

  She watched the way Bobbi seemed to have closed down; her sunny Saturday mood had dissipated in a flash. Greg, it seemed, couldn’t meet her eye.

  ‘Um . . . should I go wake Hump?’ Ro asked, wondering if she should leave them alone.

  ‘He’s driving his date home,’ Greg said quickly, clearly guessing her motives.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So what have you got planned today?’ he asked, placing the plate of stacked pancakes on the table. ‘Please, help yourselves.’

  ‘Ha! Try and stop me!’ Ro beamed, spearing a pancake with her fork and spooning out a tumble of berries and crème fraiche. ‘What do you think, Bobbi? After you’ve done your yoga, shall we hit the beach? The forecast is for the high eighties today. You have no idea how exciting it is for me to actually be in a summer that’s hot and sunny, as opposed to wet and windy.’ She took the maple syrup and drizzled it over the pancake in ever-increasing circles. ‘This looks amazing,’ she said, taking an enormous bite and chewing on it with appreciation, before noticing that, alongside Bobbi’s sudden abstinence, Greg wasn’t eating either.

  ‘Aren’t you going to have some?’ she asked quietly, her hand over her mouth, her eyes swivelling side to side between Bobbi and Greg.

  ‘I’m saving myself for brunch,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Brunch?’

  ‘Yes, it’s my summer weekend routine – brunch and tennis at the Blaizes’ place – you know, my friends in Southampton? I think I pointed them out last week.’

  ‘Bobbi? You’re not going to have something?’

  But Bobbi just shook her head, pretending to examine her hair for split ends.

  Ro chewed more slowly, cross to be made to feel awkward – even if it was inadvertent – about having an appetite.

  ‘You must enjoy getting time out from the office,’ Ro said, her mouth still covered by her hand, her head bobbing as she tried to swallow. ‘Hump says you work such crazy hours. Even worse than when he was a doctor doing, like, double shifts.’

  ‘It can get a bit much,’ Greg nodded. ‘I appreciate my time out, that’s for sure.’

  ‘That must be tough for your girlfriend too.’

  Oh no! Classic Freud! The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself and she glanced quickly at Bobbi – as did Greg – who had moved on to examining her nails.

  He hesitated. ‘Well, I’m not really seeing anyone right now . . .’ Bobbi’s head jerked up. ‘I mean, I kinda am, but . . .’ he said quickly, before giving up with a rueful smile. ‘It’s complicated. Let’s just say the only people who care about my hours are my bosses.’ He smiled, before giving her a concerned look. ‘Hump told me you’re having a tough time, though, with your boyfriend being gone so long.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Ro faltered. ‘You know, every day is a day closer.’

  Greg refilled her fruit juice. ‘That’s the spirit. I’m a big believer in patience. We all get what we want in the end. It’s just a waiting game, right?’

  There was a rap at the screened front door.

  ‘Come through,’ Greg called, tipping back on his chair so as not to yell in Ro’s ear. ‘This’ll be them now.’

  ‘Who?’ Ro asked, aware that Bobbi had stiffened beside her as a man and a woman walked in: she, a five-foot-ten brunette with a thoroughbred ponytail, slender as a pencil and wearing a green visor of the sort people used to wear in the 1970s. He was a similar height and stocky, with hairy forearms and a smile that warranted free sunglasses.

  The woman stopped in the doorway like it was the end of a catwalk, draping a tennis racquet over one shoulder and laying her other arm over her companion like he was a resting post. ‘Hey,’ she smiled.

  Ro choked on a blueberry and Bobbi obliged by smacking her hard between the shoulder blades. Slightly too hard.

  Greg stood up to make the introductions. ‘Ro, Bobbi, I’d like you to meet Erin and Todd. Guys, my housemates.’

  Ro, who was still c
oughing, could only nod and smile wanly, raising a feeble hand in a wave. She felt strangely blessed, though, to be struggling to breathe, as it meant she didn’t have to rise from the table wearing just Matt’s T-shirt, which hung almost to her knees and – because she had worn it for a week and a half – came with its own atmosphere. Bobbi, on the other hand, dressed in her pretty lawn cotton camisole set, managed to convey a sense of equality with the two glamorous breakfast interlopers by merely nodding and popping a blueberry in her bored mouth.

  ‘Hey, have we met?’ the brunette asked Bobbi, a smile on her lips, confusion in her eyes.

  ‘Us?’ Bobbi’s withering tone closed down any scope for discussion about it. She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh,’ the brunette said after a moment, her eyes widening with a sarcastic ‘wow’ as they met Greg’s.

  ‘So, you’ve got a nice day for it,’ Ro said, after a tight pause.

  Todd grinned. ‘Yeah. You play?’

  ‘Used to. Not as much as I’d like. Time.’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘Talking of which,’ Todd said, pointing his racquet at Greg, ‘I just booked us in for a round at the Maidstone at two this afternoon.’

  Greg looked pleased. ‘On a Saturday? How d’you work that?’

  Todd tapped the side of his nose with a finger and winked. ‘So, you ready? The others are in the car.’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Greg hesitated, seeing Ro’s plate was only half finished.

  ‘No, no,’ she pooh-poohed, desperate for them to leave. ‘You must go. You’ve set us up beautifully for breakfast. Thank you so much.’

  ‘The pleasure was all mine,’ Greg said, grabbing a large sports bag from beside the fridge.

  Bobbi watched them go, merely shrugging her eyebrows as a goodbye gesture. She waited for the front door to fall on the latch, then leaned so far forward on the table that her hair dipped in the maple syrup. ‘Oh my God, they are so fake. That guy is such a phoney,’ she hissed.

  ‘They seemed very nice to me,’ Ro said, pushing away her pancake, which was now cold, and reaching for the toast instead. She wasn’t entirely sure which guy Bobbi was referring to – Greg or Todd? But there was no doubt something was going on between the housemates. They’d barely looked at each other since that first night.