by Lucy Dillon
The sand is smooth and slippery under her feet, falling away as she carries on until she’s on tiptoe, straining her calf muscles to keep in contact. With one final push, she lets herself fall into the clean embrace of the sea, like a dancer falling into the arms of a partner, and her face is submerged under the salty water, her hair floating around her as she pushes off.
Under the lazy waves it’s cool and light, and it’s the light that seems to fill her eyes and nose as much as the warm water. Gina’s senses explode with a thousand simultaneous messages, all of which she wants to capture but can’t. Instead, she sinks into the moment, feeling the power of her arms and legs as she pulses them against the heavy weightlessness of the sea, and it occurs to her that maybe this feeling of being completely connected to every muscle, every nerve in her body is what Stuart loves so much about his cycling.
But she’s floating like an astronaut, not sweating and panting against gravity, and pure elation fills her. I’m alive, she thinks. I’m a human being, made of water and blood and muscle and bone, and I’m alive, here in a place on the planet I’d never imagined I’d be. I bought a ticket, I got on a plane, and here I am. I can travel on my own.
Everything is unfamiliar, except herself, and here in the water Gina suddenly sees the point of her sturdy legs, her long arms, her skin, her feet, and she’s grateful for it all.
She kicks hard, and she’s above the water again, shaking her head to get the sea out of her nose. The sun’s hot, but her body’s cooler: another gorgeous sensation.
Naomi swims up to her carefully, a cheeky grin on her face, her pink shoulders visible above the clear water. ‘Can’t swim too far,’ she says. ‘My bikini bottoms are already offending the fishes. Sea to your liking?’
Gina smiles beatifically, closes her eyes and lies back, raising her face to the sky. She feels free, and limitless, and ready to embrace all possibilities. ‘I love it,’ she says.
Gina stared at the timetable for the coming weeks’ work on the Magistrate’s House and knew she was going to have to ask Nick direct: what was going on behind the scenes that she wasn’t being told about?
In the space of a few months, Amanda had gone from breathing fire down her neck about delays in the consent application to not replying to any of Gina’s last three emails about the house, all of which had had, Gina thought anyway, fairly interesting news about the lost objects the builders had found in the walls as well as more technical updates about the roof. Gina needed a few decisions to pass on to Lorcan, but her queries had met with nothing.
The phone calls had stopped too; there hadn’t been another Skype conversation since the night of the power-cut. There hadn’t even been a response to her excited forwarding of the Listed Building Consent for the whole rebuild programme – Nick had cracked open champagne for her and the builders on site the afternoon it had come through. Payments were still made on time, but the beady interest had, it seemed, evaporated.
She tapped her pencil against her teeth, no longer seeing the boxes, instead seeing Nick touching the fresh plaster, asking her question after question about his house. He was more fascinated by the place’s history than ever. She had tried to broach the topic of Amanda’s silence with him, hinting at workloads, wondering when she’d like to visit, but it was awkward. Nick barely mentioned her unless her name came up in direct conversation. And the closer their friendship got, the less Gina felt able to ask about something she didn’t really want to know about: the state of his marriage.
She frowned at her neat flowchart of jobs for the rest of July, August, September, trying to visualise the house knitting back together with each week of plasterers, electricians, builders swarming over the wooden floors and high-ceilinged rooms, but it didn’t give her the pleasure it usually did. There were too many questions lurking behind the building work.
Was Amanda negotiating to sell the house on? Did she want to live here? Weren’t they happy with what she was doing?
Gina stared unseeing at her own plans. Amanda had warned her at the start that she wasn’t going to be very hands-on, but her silence now was different.
Something was definitely up because now Nick had gone silent. He hadn’t returned her last message about flooring for nearly three days. It had been a slightly spurious message – what she’d really wanted to tell him about was her meeting with Kit, and how positive it had made her feel – but even so, he never usually took so long.
Gina rang his mobile, but there was no answer. She tried again, still nothing. Just his cheerful message on the voicemail.
A cold feeling pooled in the base of her stomach, and she grabbed her car keys. It was time for a site visit.
When Gina reached the end of the long tree-lined drive to the house, she was surprised to see Lorcan sitting on one of the low walls outside, talking on the phone with his black eyebrows crunched together in stress.
It was only nine o’clock and already the sun was scorching the dark green leaves of the box hedges. Two of Lorcan’s lads were sitting in the back of the van, texting and reading the paper out of the sun, and the roofers’ van was parked next to it. The roofers were sunbathing on the croquet lawn.
‘Morning!’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t you be up on the roof or something?’
‘Ah!’ Lorcan looked relieved to see her. His curly black hair was flattened, a sign that he’d been pressing a hand nervously to one side of his head while making multiple phone calls. ‘Finally. Someone who might know what’s going on.’
‘Where’s Nick? Still in bed?’
‘Not here.’ Lorcan shook his head. ‘I can’t get hold of him. There’s no one in the house, his car’s gone, and he’s not answering his phone.’
‘Really?’ Gina checked her watch. ‘Are you sure he’s not gone for an early run or something?’
‘Nope. I’ve got a set of keys. There’s no one in there. Place was locked but it’s empty.’ He paused, then said, reluctantly, ‘I had a look round, in case he’d had an accident, but nope, nothing. He wasn’t here yesterday either. I didn’t mention it because it was your day off but I haven’t been able to get hold of Nick since Monday.’
‘Since Monday?’ Gina’s bad feeling intensified. Nick never went away without telling them, or at least joking about bringing them exotic delicacies from that there London. ‘That’s a bit weird.’
‘Isn’t it. I was just about to call you. Are they away?’
She reached into her bag for her phone, to see if there were any messages. Nothing. ‘Not that I know of.’
Lorcan frowned. ‘Could he have gone on an assignment?’
‘I think he’d have told me. I mean, I think he’d have let us know,’ Gina corrected herself quickly. ‘Let me try him again.’
But there was no answer. She left another message, then turned back to Lorcan.
‘Um, well, I guess . . . just carry on,’ she said. ‘I’ll try to get hold of him, and update you when I can.’
He gave her a shrewd look. ‘What do you reckon? Done a bunk? Inland Revenue on his tail?’
‘No, no.’ Gina didn’t want to believe that. ‘It’s maybe a family emergency. I’m sure it’s nothing dramatic. I’ll let you know.’
‘And where are you off to in the meantime?’ Lorcan asked, as she turned back to her car.
Gina had a rebuild to quote on in Rosehill, another playhouse-shed to oversee for a friend of Naomi’s, an interior-decorating project to discuss for a café in Longhampton. But if she were being honest, she was only interested in one job right now. ‘Might take the dog for a walk,’ she said.
Buzz was pleased to see Gina back early, and they went for a stroll around the shadier side of the park, where they met Rachel, looking cool in big Jackie O sunglasses, with Gem. Gina took a Polaroid of a chilly can of Diet Coke with condensation beading glassily on it, but it didn’t make her feel any less sticky, and it didn’t stop her mind turning worried circles either.
She was back at home in the flat, having some lunch – why no
t? she thought – when her phone rang.
‘Hi,’ said Nick. ‘I’ve got about ten missed calls from you.’
‘And the rest.’ The relief at hearing his voice caught her unawares. ‘Where’ve you been?’
There was a pause, then a sigh at the end of the phone. ‘Long story. Can you come over to the house this afternoon? I need to catch up.’
‘About three?’
‘Great. Thanks.’ He didn’t even bother to make a joke. ‘I’ll see you then.’
Gina put the phone down thoughtfully. Buzz was watching her from under the kitchen table, his nose laid on his paws. Too hot, said his weary face.
‘I’ll be back later,’ she told him and, almost as an afterthought, picked up the witch-ball by the front door. It didn’t belong in this modern flat. It belonged somewhere older, somewhere spirits were more likely to be.
Nick was waiting at the newly painted front door of the house when Gina arrived, leaning on the frame and making such a neatly angled picture that she would have Polaroided him if she hadn’t been carrying the green glass witch-ball.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, nodding at it. ‘If you’re planning on putting that under my mattress, even I might spot it.’
‘A witch-ball. For detecting evil forces trying to creep into your house.’ She smiled but had to hold the smile when she got near enough to notice what a ragged state Nick was in.
His jaw was dusty with silvery stubble and his eyes had that gritty up-all-night appearance Gina knew well. Although his linen shirt and jeans were fresh on, he looked grey and exhausted, as if he’d caught a quick nap just before she arrived.
‘You can only give them away,’ she went on. ‘I’m giving it to you. Well, to the house. In case the ghosts are getting upset by all the building work.’
He smiled bleakly. ‘You might be a bit late on that score.’
‘Why?’
Nick gestured for her to come in, and she followed him into the dust-sheeted hall, prepped ready for the specialist plasterers to start the detailed renovation of the loops and swags of the elaborate moulded ceiling. He sank onto the broad stairs, and Gina sat down next to him.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘You look terrible. If you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘Ha.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Haven’t been to bed in a few days. I’ve got some news. Did you get Amanda’s email?’
‘No.’ Gina reached for her bag, to get her phone to check, but Nick stopped her. She looked up, surprised to feel his strong fingers brush her wrist, however lightly. They made her skin tingle with a bright sensation.
‘Sorry.’ He lifted his hand apologetically. ‘I just . . . I’d just prefer you heard it from me.’
‘Is it the house? Are you selling?’
‘No! Not at all. It’s . . . me and Amanda.’
‘Oh,’ said Gina.
Moving? Baby? She didn’t know which she wanted to hear least.
‘OK.’ Nick rubbed his face with his hand. ‘Right. I don’t know how to put this. Amanda and I have decided to separate. She’s filing for divorce from me – I’ve volunteered to be unreasonable. Photographers often are, apparently. We’ve been in London since the weekend trying to work out how to handle it but, for the time being, she’s going back to New York, and I’m staying here.’
‘Here here, or here here?’ Gina pointed to the parquet floor of the hall, then felt stupid.
Nick pointed at the floor. ‘Here here. I’m finishing the refurbishment, then we’re going to reassess. So your job is safe.’
‘I wasn’t worried about my job.’ She met his gaze. Nick’s eyes were bloodshot, but still sharp. She wanted to touch him, to pat his arm comfortingly, but wasn’t sure she should. ‘Are you OK? What happened?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing’s happened. Well, no – you happened.’
Gina’s heart chilled. ‘What? Me?’
‘Don’t worry, not you you. It was talking to you the other night, about regrets and moving on – it made me realise how unhappy I was. And how unhappy Amanda was. I realised we were wasting time, and none of us has time to waste, have we?’
Nick hadn’t moved his gaze from her face since he started speaking, and Gina felt a low, slow heat building inside her. She tried to put up some kind of barrier to hide the confusing sensations filling her mind, but she couldn’t. It was as if Nick was reading everything about her, then and now, and things she didn’t even know she was thinking.
‘Amanda is determined to have a baby, and I don’t want to be the dad who sees his child every two months via flights to New York. Babies don’t stick relationships together. She’s been “investigating her options” so it’s safe to assume she’s got plans laid already. With or without me.’
‘And you?’
Nick said nothing but gazed at Gina for a long moment; she could read everything from the spark that flickered in his weary eyes when he looked at her.
‘Do I have to say?’ His lips were dry, from hours and hours of talking, and they cracked a little at the edges. Gina felt a tugging desire to run the ball of her thumb over them, then kiss them to feel their roughness against her lips, to have that mouth that said such intelligent, funny things exploring her own.
She nodded.
‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else,’ he said. ‘Someone who makes me absolutely determined not to waste a single second of my life away from her.’
For a stomach-dropping instant she wondered if he was talking about someone other than her, that he’d met someone else, but his eyes never left hers, and the grey irises grew darker and softer as if he were trying to print her face on his mind, like a photograph. Nick’s voice was breaking but he couldn’t stop talking in his husky whisper.
‘I met someone who’s made me notice all the small things, as well as all the big things, that I like about my life. I want to make her happy. No,’ he corrected himself, ‘I want to be happy with her. She makes herself happy.’
Gina managed a smile. The moment was stretching out, not flitting away from her. She tried to slide herself into it instead of hovering above it, framing it with her imaginary Polaroid.
‘Even happy people can always do with some help.’ Her own voice was husky now, echoing in the empty hall. They were whispering for no other reason than to make their own little world smaller in the big house.
Nick turned on the stairs, his long thigh pressing against her hip. Her senses were filled with his familiar Nick-smell, a mingling of washing powder, cologne and the musky maleness of his skin. Gina had surreptitiously sniffed every washing powder in Waitrose, trying to identify the right one; when she’d found Fairy non-Bio her heart had done a secret flip. But it had only been a tiny base-note of the scent that had seemed so familiar to her from the morning he’d walked up behind her outside. If it was a colour, she thought, it was dove-grey, sleepy but strong, the colour of Georgian walls, something she wanted to wrap around herself.
Nick took her wrist again, but this time he circled it gently with his hand, caressing the knobbly part with his thumb.
‘You’re bringing this house back to life,’ he said softly, more to her wrist than to her face. ‘And the way you do it is so thoughtful it moves something inside me. The way you show me what to fix, what’s rotten, what needs replacing. What to cut out, what’s precious. You have no idea how incredible you are when you’re running your hands over some oak, or telling me the story of some stone.’
He lifted the wrist up to his lips and kissed the blue veins on the inside. A million shivers of electricity ran up Gina’s arm, tingling into every part of her.
Nick was giving her every chance to stop this, she thought. He was giving her a moment to say, ‘No, this is too weird, too soon, too unprofessional.’ But it wasn’t any of those things. It felt completely right, as if every other wrong step in her life had been leading to the centre of a dark green private maze in the middle of this falling-down, magnificent house.
Gina turned, givi
ng in to the longing to feel the dry heat of Nick’s lips, and pressed her mouth against his. He hesitated briefly, then she felt him slide a hand around the small of her back to pull her closer. The kiss was sweet and soft for a moment, then Gina’s lips parted and it became something more urgent and yielding as her own hands reached for him, wrapping around his back, then tangling into his hair.
They kissed as if everything else had vanished around them, and Gina felt a sense of utter happiness she’d never experienced before. It was like floating, weightless, the same euphoria she’d once felt in a tropical sea, of being completely supported but at the same time lighter than air.
She felt a buzzing in her back pocket. ‘My phone’s ringing.’
‘Ignore it,’ Nick murmured into her neck, pressing kisses into the hollow where her scent gathered in the hot weather.
‘That’s not very professional. What if it’s Keith Hurst?’ She laughed into his mouth.
‘Oh, go on, then . . .’ Nick released her, but only far enough for her to get her phone out of her jeans. He carried on burying his nose in the soft skin behind her ear while she answered it on the other side.
‘Stop it,’ she muttered happily, batting him away. ‘Hello?’
‘Is that Georgina Bellamy?’
‘Yes.’ Something in the voice made her sit up straighter. It was an official voice, one that rang a distant alarm bell in the back of her mind.
‘This is Catherine Roscoe from Longhampton Infimary breast clinic. Is this a good moment to talk?’
Gina pulled away properly, and put a finger in the other ear to hear better. Reception was mutinously bad in the old house. ‘Um, no, but go on.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s regarding the annual appointment you attended on Monday – I wonder if you could come in and have some further tests this week?’
‘This week?’
‘Yes, we’d like to schedule them as soon as possible. Are you available tomorrow lunchtime?’
Gina’s insides hollowed out. Tomorrow lunchtime. That wasn’t a routine test. That was urgent. That was . . .