How to Find Your (First) Husband

by Rosie Blake

  I made a mental note to get Zeb to film the reaction; maybe we could come and film a piece for the company? I felt excitement building in my stomach. We could capture the feel of the jump, tell others how it went: the dread, the sweaty fear and then the incredible feel of whistling through the air, everything a patchwork of jumbled colour and your pulse in your ears thudding through your head and body. I wanted others to hear this, see it and take a chance.

  Darling,

  Sky-diving really? How dangerous and thrilling! I am, as the youth say, ‘Well jell.’ Your father says he’s glad your parachute opened, which is nice if a bit of an understatement.

  We’re eating fish pie with scallops in so living the dream too!

  Ma

  Chapter 36

  To celebrate the successful sky-dive, we arranged a meal at the restaurant back on the other side of the island. It supposedly did the only decent cocktails on Tioman. Actually it was apparently the only place that knew what a cocktail was (vodka and coke didn’t count, we explained to the barman in our regular haunt).

  Remembering Andrew’s face that morning, his grin, his touch on my back, I was feeling pretty confident that tonight could be the night and Andrew was finally falling for me. Pouting at myself in the square of mirror to make Mel laugh, I dashed on some bronzer, lined my eyes with kohl pencil and rubbed in some lip salve to complete the look. Borrowing Mel’s yellow maxi dress, I clipped my hair half up and gave her a twirl, gratified to hear her whistle

  at me.

  ‘Thanks, friend,’ I grinned.

  Mel was wearing a strapless purple top and white cropped trousers, her hair twisted into a bun, enormous silver earrings on display.

  ‘You look great,’ I said, passing her the lip salve.

  ‘Nanks,’ she said through half-closed lips as she applied it.

  The boys picked us up, Andrew in chinos and a light-pink shirt, neatly ironed and Duncan in three-quarter-length shorts and his top on.

  Squeezing into the 4x4 for the second time that day, we were appraised by Ahmad who declared us ‘beautiful women’ as we set off down the track once more, pools of orange light on either side of the road until we plunged into the darkness of the forest and the bumpy crossing, the headlights dipping erratically as we trundled over tree roots and stones.

  Stepping out of the 4x4, I took a couple of wobbly steps forward, relieved to be back on hard ground.

  ‘You look pretty,’ said Andrew. ‘I like that dress.’

  Glad to be standing in the shadows, I felt my face burn with the compliment.

  ‘Let’s get this night started,’ whooped Duncan, who had already managed to undo three of the buttons on his shirt, a nipple very nearly exposed. Linking arms with Mel and me, he steered us towards the entrance to the restaurant, walking up the polished wooden staircase and around a terrace that skirted the building.

  The hub of chatter and a live pianist could be heard as we approached, the genteel clink of cutlery and the sizzle from the kitchen making me smile in anticipation. The large restaurant was cool, the unmistakable feeling of air conditioning circulating. Floor-to-ceiling windows at one end overlooked the beach, the sea a dark strip punctuated by buoy lights bobbing in the water.

  A waiter ambled over to us, his face one big smile and his body suggesting he could do with a few more meals in the restaurant. He pulled out my chair and handed me my napkin with a flourish. Lighting one of the candles that had gone out, he passed round menus and left us to it. I smoothed my hands over the creamy tablecloth, scanning my eyes down the menu, my taste buds tingling at the variety on offer.

  ‘Burger,’ said Duncan, closing his menu after a couple of seconds.

  ‘Same,’ said Mel following suit.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Andrew. ‘But,’ he stopped the waiter with a hand, ‘can you please tell the chef I like my meat done medium, no pink at all. I really hate it when they’re overdone though, so just so a knife can slice through it easily, but no blood.’

  Duncan rolled his eyes and Mel made a noise into her napkin. I had been looking at Andrew with an open mouth as he spoke.

  ‘How…precise.’ I smiled and then realised Andrew had turned towards me and was waiting for me to order. I scanned the pages quickly, the slightly blurred coloured photographs making my mouth water. Plump prawns on a bed of flat noodles, meat crammed with juices, an entire page dedicated to pizzas.

  ‘Mushroom pizza,’ I decided.

  ‘You won’t want pudding after that,’ said Duncan.

  I frowned at him, ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you won’t have mushroom left, gettit?’ His shirt was now entirely open and his stomach quivered as he laughed at his own joke. To my dismay, Mel joined in. Looking up at Andrew, he rolled his eyes at me and I felt that we were connected on this at least. Suddenly finding my napkin hugely interesting, I looked back down. Was this the spark Mel had asked me about? I think I’d felt it then.

  Our food arrived and we threw ourselves enthusiastically into the process of eating. No one spoke for a good twenty minutes as we devoured what was on our plates. It was so fantastic to eat something other than rice for an evening; the fayre on Juara was delicious but not varied. As we munched, a live band started up in the corner and the restaurant was filled with the sounds of some nineties power ballads as they moved through the tables, stopping to serenade various people.

  With inevitable speed, they headed straight to our table. They were playing ‘Saving All my Love for You’ by Whitney Houston which sounded stilted, but sort of wonderful in their thick Malaysian accents. I chewed slowly on my pizza as Mel clapped along beside them. It seemed like a movie and at any moment I was expecting the boys to offer their hands to us so we could start slow-dancing in between the tables, the crowd breaking into spontaneous applause, someone taking a video on their phone and posting it on social media entitled ‘Luved-up Couple’ to hundreds of ‘Likes’. Instead, the boys ate their burgers, flicking their eyes sporadically at the musicians as if to check they were definitely still standing there.

  One mushroom pizza later, overflowing with cheese, and a load of cocktails down, we made unsteady progress out of the restaurant to meet Ahmad. My stomach gurgled as I got in and I placed one hand on it as if to quieten it.

  ‘Nightcap at ours?’ said Duncan and I looked at Andrew, hair mussed up, eyes sparkling in the half-light of the 4x4 and nodded slowly.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Mel, tugging at the top of her strapless top and giggling.

  Duncan helped her into the vehicle, one hand on her elbow, and I frowned a little at the gesture, picturing Dex back in LA, heartbroken and wondering when his girlfriend would be returning.

  It was a humid evening but even sitting next to the window, air rushing past me, I started to feel clammy. My thighs stuck together and my hair was plastered to my forehead as I tried to create some distance between myself and Andrew. It was difficult as Ahmad was navigating potholes in his customary way, mostly leaping over them and I was thrust up against him repeatedly, watching as if from a distance as I thought I saw him smile and return the pressure.

  My stomach gurgled again and I started to feel a loosening in my stomach. Oh no. Crossing one leg over another I cringed as another jolt made my stomach feel like it was filled with bouncy balls. Get me back to the hotel, get me back to the hotel. I sent my prayer out silently, focusing on taking one breath at a time, in, out and again. Mel was laughing as Duncan threw a joke back over his shoulder from the front seat, the noise reaching me as if I was underwater, their voices indistinct.

  ‘So hot,’ I whispered.

  Andrew leaned towards me, a hand on my thigh. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, a hand flying up to my mouth trying to force down the belch that I was sure was coming. Oh no, please.

  We were back and had stopped and the hotel sign wavered in front of
me as I put a hand up on to the warm metal of the car door.

  ‘You okay, Iz?’ asked Mel, reaching a hand out to me.

  ‘Yeah,’ I squeaked, clenching every part of my body, my stomach now swirling like a wave machine. ‘Tired,’ I gasped.

  ‘Oh I thought we could join these guys on the beach?’

  ‘Yeah do come, Isobel,’ said Andrew, one arm over my shoulder.

  My stomach lurched and I felt something rise in my throat. Seriously, Isobel, this is the moment you are going to pick to throw up? Really?

  I couldn’t return his sentence, vaguely aware of someone greeting us from across the road. Liz ambled over, resplendent in a short pink dress – the lace pattern on one of the panels blurring in front of my eyes. My stomach clenched, a cramp removing my ability to see anything.

  Trying not to stagger away, I called over my shoulder, ‘Brilliant evening, thank you, lovely dinner, see you back in the room in a bit, Mel,’ and then half-walked, half-jogged into the door of the hotel, straight up to our room, poking the key uselessly in the lock before falling through the door into the bathroom to hug the basin of the loo and throw up a load of mushrooms. As I groaned, I just imagined Duncan’s smirk if he’d been here – the contents of my stomach now having more room.

  Not trusting myself to move, I reached up to the sink, attempting to splash my face with cold water from the tap, alarmed to hear the door to our room open and my name being called out.

  Mel stood in the doorway, the yellow hallway light shining behind her, her face full of concern as she took in the scene. ‘Oh you poor love.’

  ‘You didn’t need to come back,’ I said, embarrassed to be found on the cold tiles of our shared bathroom but not having the energy to get up from there.

  ‘Don’t be silly, I thought something was wrong.’

  I felt like someone was reaching a hand into my stomach and squeezing all my internal organs in turn. Whimpering, I turned away from her. ‘I’m disssssgusssting.’

  ‘Yes you are, but that’s okay. I’m not here to mock you. That’s for tomorrow.’

  When I was finished and she had flushed the loo, she gently lifted me to my feet, guided me back to my bed, propped up my pillows and fetched me a glass of water and a bowl from the kitchen ‘just in case’. Patting at my head with a damp flannel, I felt like I could be back home being nursed by my own mum.

  ‘You’re brilliant,’ I said in a half-whisper, eyes closing and starting to feel like the worst might be over.

  ‘You’d do it for me.’

  I was too exhausted to make a joke and tried to sit still, force my body to forget. I spent an uncomfortable few hours drifting into a half-sleep and out again. Mel had changed into a T-shirt and shorts, her hair hastily tied in a bun and her face free of make-up. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she looked about twelve years old and we had long conversations about the stupid jobs we’d done, our first meeting in LA when she had spent the entire day getting me to ask her in my finest English accent whether she would like a cup of tea. About inviting me round to her tiny box of a flat where Dex and her had taught me poker and introduced me to flaming sambucas and then, of course, making me sleep on their sofa bed.

  Even through the net curtains, the moon cast a blue sheen over the room and, opening one eye, I made out Mel, a silhouette, her sitting on a chair looking out of the window, her bare feet perched on the windowsill as she spoke quietly into a phone.

  ‘…I miss you, will you call me?’

  She looked embarrassed when she turned to see the quizzical expression on my face. ‘Dex?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘It keeps going to answerphone.’ She tried to sound nonchalant, but I knew it was clearly hurting her.

  ‘He’ll come round,’ I said.

  ‘God, Iz,’ she said, putting her head in her hands. ‘What if I’ve really messed things up?’

  ‘You can’t, Mel, you guys are meant to be together.’

  She walked over to her bed, pulling the thin white sheet up to her chin. ‘We are, aren’t we,’ she agreed, turning towards the wall so I couldn’t see her face. ‘Now get some sleep, sickie,’ she said, trying to sound upbeat. Her voice broke in the middle.

  They really were meant to be together. I thought of them both then, finishing each other’s sentences, her ruffling his hair affectionately as he made a bad joke, the thoughtful way he would make room for her on the sofa without looking at her, bring her coffee the way she liked it, buy her favourite magazines because he’d thought of her. They had always been great together, didn’t bitch or put each other down. I loved hanging out with them, well, apart from when they did the eskimo rubs and talked about a new sex toy. They laughed together about the same things and had so much in common. A thought flickered across my mind. Did Andrew and I share the same things? Did we laugh in the same moment? Woozily I tried to think of a time we had really connected in that way but perhaps I was too tired or too weary from being ill to focus properly and I went to sleep with nothing but a blank.

  Chapter 37

  Andrew was sat in the shade of the cafe, the sea behind him steely grey from the storm that was still threatening. Huge clouds bloated with the promise of an almighty downpour clung to the island. The beach was practically deserted, everyone no doubt hiding from the inevitable. He was stirring sugar into a second coffee and I moved towards him gingerly, an unconscious hand on my stomach, still feeling weak after the night before.

  He half stood up as I approached and then sat back down quickly continuing to stir.

  ‘Where’s everyone?’ I asked.

  ‘Left. I waited. Well, you know, Mel said you weren’t well last night and I was…’

  Was he babbling?

  ‘Thank you, that’s really sweet,’ I said, dragging over a chair so that it left dusty smears on the wooden

  floorboards.

  I ordered coffee and some toast, refusing my usual waffles, and Andrew didn’t embarrass me any more by talking about my sudden illness, my wan skin probably explanation enough.

  The waitress brought over my coffee and toast and in that moment there was a low, long rumble that rolled across the sky and fat droplets of rain made dark divots in the sand beneath the terrace, dotting the whole beach with them in seconds. A couple took shelter under the awning of the cafe and they were joined by a man, dark hair already wet, a familiar-looking bag slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Zeb,’ I called out without really thinking. He turned and squinted into the doorway of the cafe, his face brightening as he caught my half wave. I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously and, for a brief second, wished I looked a little better.

  It seemed he almost needed to duck as he entered the cafe, bending down to greet me with a kiss on my cheek and holding out a hand across the table.

  ‘Oh, Andrew, Zeb this is…’

  ‘We’ve met, Iz,’ Zeb said, grinning at me gently.

  I felt a blush creep up my neck when I realised he had helped clear out the hut after the fire.

  Zeb pulled out a spare chair beside me. I looked at him, grateful that he hadn’t pointed it out.

  ‘You helped after the fire,’ Andrew said.

  Fortunately much of the sentence was drowned out, competing with the rain drumming in an uneven rhythm on the tin roof above us. ‘Were you going somewhere?’

  Zeb signalled to his bag. ‘I was heading over to the pier to take some shots of this weather. It’s kind of brilliant, isn’t it?’

  Beyond the pier a long, grey cloud brooded, edged with bright white light over a blue sky. It was an extraordinary sight.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I agreed.

  ‘You should come and film another piece about it with me,’ he suggested.

  I turned to Andrew to fill him in. ‘Zeb’s a photographer, he’s taking some shots for a blog about the island. They’re fantastic, you sh
ould see them.’

  ‘Photographer, as a job?’ asked Andrew, his nose wrink­ling a fraction.

  ‘Yup,’ said Zeb laughing. ‘I’m going to be an astronaut when I grow up but, for now, this will definitely do.’

  ‘So you spend a lot of time on Instagram?’ Andrew chuckled.

  ‘Er…not exactly,’ said Zeb, raking a hand through his hair. ‘So, Andrew, what do you do?’ Zeb asked, a smile on his face I hadn’t seen before, like it was plastered on. I shifted in my seat, regretting calling him over.

  ‘I teach Geography,’ Andrew said, lifting his chin.

  ‘Cool,’ replied Zeb in a voice that I think meant he thought it was anything but.

  Feeling defensive, I jumped in. ‘Andrew’s headmistress thinks he’s wonderful,’ I gushed.

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘Did she say that?’ beamed Andrew.

  ‘She did,’ I said, sipping at my coffee and praying Mel might burst in here and ease the atmosphere.

  ‘So what are you doing today?’ asked Zeb, turning to me, his eyes seeming to trap me in our own private bubble. ‘Have you got time to film ano—’

  ‘We’re going to go out on the boat,’ said Andrew, his hand suddenly on my forearm. I looked down at it, the freckles and veins unfamiliar. I felt like shrugging it off. Why didn’t I feel more pleased?

  ‘Yes, we’re…’ I coughed. ‘Well I hadn’t…but that sounds great,’ I said, pulling myself together and smiling at Andrew. This WAS great: we were going out on the boat and he had his hand on my arm. This was exactly what I wanted.

  Zeb stood up abruptly, towering over me in the small cafe. ‘Well I wouldn’t want to hold you up.’

  ‘I’d love to film another tim—’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Zeb said, not catching Andrew’s eye.

  ‘Have a good….’

  He turned and left before I could finish my sentence, stepping out into the deluge, rain instantly flattening his hair. He didn’t look back. I felt my stomach grumble again. It must be the sickness still left over from last night. I watched Zeb disappear out of sight and then dragged my eyes back to Andrew.