by Tina Seskis
‘Jemma, please. Leave me alone. I’m sorry, but I can’t talk any more.’
‘But …’
‘No, Jemma. You made your decision. Go on your honeymoon. Enjoy it. Bye.’
Jemma stared at the phone after the call cut out, and then she dropped it into the coarse winter grass and hid her head in her hands. She was so confused. She longed to confide in someone, but it felt too disloyal. What, more disloyal than calling Dan? She ignored the thought.
Jemma gave herself a few moments to grieve for the life she might have had, for the mistakes of her past, before forcing herself to confront what she’d done. It seemed she’d got everything wrong, and she needed to fix it, as soon as possible. She bent down and picked up her mobile, looked up the definition of annulment. When she was finished, she cleared her phone’s history.
Jemma always felt better once she had a plan. She just needed to get on with it now. She broke into a run, the dog chasing after her, snapping viciously at her heels, like its owner. When she couldn’t run any more, she threw herself into the long scratchy grass and lay on her back, panting. She stared up at the sky, at the capricious clouds. Ever changing, ever shifting, like life. Samson came and sniffed at her, bemused now. What should she do? Didn’t she love Jamie?
Or did she love Dan still?
Jemma put her finger in the air and drew patterns in the sky. She tried to shut out the cacophony of other people’s opinions, tried to access how she really felt. She found she didn’t know. But the Maldives were booked and paid for. They were meant to be flying in the morning. Jamie needed her to hold his hand at take-off.
What should she do?
At last Jemma’s mind started to clear. Maybe this was all simply a blip, and she had to forget about the last couple of days, forget that she’d ever spoken to Dan. She wondered how he could have been so coolly dispassionate on the phone just now. It had felt almost cruel.
Finally Jemma stood up and brushed herself off. She called Samson, ruffled his shaggy, oversized head as she put on his lead, and started walking again, more calmly now. By the time she’d reached the lane, she’d made up her mind. Who knew what might happen between her and Jamie in the future – but she’d married him, and so for now she owed it to him to at least give it a try. Yes, she decided, she would go with Jamie to the Maldives, would do that for him. She would do her best to act like a honeymooner, try to forget about the past all over again – do her utmost to make their brand-new marriage work.
Part Three
* * *
THE HONEYMOON
51
Jemma
The airport was crowded, and Terminal Four had that hemmed-in atmosphere, where the lines were long and people were bottling up their stress and frustration at the thought of flying through thin air, or of having to take off shoes and belts and bracelets as they were herded through beeping machines that undressed passengers’ souls and pried into the secret pockets of their lives. Jemma’s sunhat had a length of fine metal wire that ran the perimeter of the brim, keeping its shape – but it had come loose and the end was protruding through the straw, and she reckoned that, if she so chose, she could pretty easily poke a crew member in the eye with it, really cause some damage. The hat was airily waved through, of course, although she had to put her nearly empty lip gloss in a transparent plastic bag so they could take a look at it, in case she was planning on using it to blow up the plane. On the plane itself she could put her can of Coke under her jumper and disappear into the toilet and crush it under her heel to fashion a sharp, lethal edge from the busted red-and-silver metal … but still she had to show the security guards her oh-so-dangerous mascara wand. The whole world has gone mad, she thought, it wasn’t just her.
Jemma offered to meet Jamie at the gate as usual, just so she could get away from him for a bit, but he said he was happy to come with her. As they wandered about, she had no interest in the airport shops, or in buying a magazine, or grabbing a coffee, and she was sure that Jamie had noticed. Yet no matter how much she’d resolved yesterday to kick-start her heart, re-energize her feelings for her husband, it simply wasn’t working. Her tongue felt hoary in her mouth, furred up. Her feet were dragging. Their lives together stretched before them like hell. The travellator dumped them at the gate, and Jemma found a single seat where she sat and stared into space. Jamie disappeared off, and she was glad. This wordless antipathy felt far worse than their normal fights at the airport. Jemma was wrestling with dark, bitter thoughts that were surely alien to a love-flushed new bride, and it made her wonder what she might be capable of.
The waiting was interminable. She played aimlessly on her phone, darting through headlines, raising an eyebrow at celebrity outfits, reading about breakups and murders and bombings. All there, in the palm of her hand, to further poison her mind. At least in the air she’d be free of the world. The latest depressing news wouldn’t be able to reach her high in the sky. Instead, she would be stuck up there with her husband beside her, and the thought was so oppressive she could feel the pressure building in her heart, and she really thought she might implode, fall in on herself.
‘Jemma,’ said Jamie as he sat down beside her, taking the place of the impatient-looking man who had just got up to start queuing to board already, as though that would get him to his destination quicker. He took her hand. ‘What’s wrong, darling?’
She couldn’t look at him. ‘I just don’t feel well, Jamie, that’s all. I’m sorry.’
‘Normally I’m the one who can’t cope with flying.’ He laughed. And then she understood. He hadn’t noticed her mood after all. He had an ego the size of his mother’s, and he didn’t know.
It still wasn’t too late for this to be over. She could just walk up to the gate staff and tell them that she’d changed her mind, that she couldn’t board after all. But were you even allowed to do that these days? Jemma wasn’t sure. It was as if a thick mist had descended, had turned her feelings to fog, her heart to a half-life. She longed to do the right thing, for her, for Jamie, who didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t sure about anything any more. The announcement for boarding intruded into the mayhem in her brain, and it was only as she stood up that she definitively knew what to do. She moved with Jamie along the snaking queue quite steadily now, her mind calming. After all, they were on their way to paradise. Surely that would fix it.
52
Jemma
‘Wow, this is amazing,’ said Jamie. They had just been shown into their bungalow, which was beyond gorgeous, set back from a beach that was like those you only saw in brochures. They were standing in the magnificent bathroom, the pictures of which hadn’t been able to do it justice. Jamie had taken off his shoes and shirt and was in just his jeans. Jemma stared down at the floor, as timid as a child. His toes were attractive, she’d give him that.
Jemma felt ambivalent still. Not even being met off the flight in Malé and being treated like royalty had helped her state of mind. And although travelling over the atolls had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced, almost as if she were looking at another universe entirely, it hadn’t shifted the feeling of unspecified dread lodged inside her. In fact, in a way it had added to it, seeing as it was clear that they were travelling to the middle of absolutely nowhere. As they’d flown over all the tiny islands, Jemma had thought they looked like green fried eggs, swimming in a sea of turquoise oil, and that had reminded her of the Dr Seuss books her mum used to read to her, which had made her even more sad. But, on the plus side, at least Jamie’s terror had rendered him apparently oblivious to how his new wife was feeling, and she knew it would take nothing short of tranquilizers to get him back on the seaplane to go home again.
The sick tinge to Jamie’s face was fading at last. He put his arms loosely around her waist, but that made her feel uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to notice the bleak look on her face. He glanced over at their plunge pool. ‘Fancy a dip?’
Jemma wasn’t quite sure of his motivation, but she couldn’t risk i
t. ‘Sure,’ she replied, gently detaching herself and moving towards her suitcase. ‘Just not that kind of dip, though. I’ve got my period, remember.’
Jamie looked crestfallen, for just a moment, and although sex was probably not what he’d meant at all, she felt bad for pulling away from him. She was pulling away in a way he wasn’t used to, and it seemed the yin and yang of their relationship was confounding him. Where had needy Jemma gone, who flew into a rage the minute she felt rejected? Where was the girl he’d thought he was marrying, who’d adored him, had been desperate to be his wife? Where was the girl he’d last seen three nights ago? Neither of them had a clue.
As Jemma entered the pool, she was sure Jamie knew she was lying, and the atmosphere between them was quiet, stilted somehow. Afterwards he was silent as he dressed, in beige shorts and a linen shirt, and Jemma liked his outfit, liked his stubble. She liked the way his skin furrowed on his forehead when he smiled. Yet it seemed it had been a mistake to come, after all, and she knew she must be careful. They might be married, but she still hadn’t slept with him, and as long as that remained the case Jemma knew that all was not lost – and that at least she still had options.
53
Chrissy
Chrissy stood waist-deep in the sea and carefully dunked her face into the water, into a magical world full of flashes of silver and relaxed flaunty colours and undulating waves of tiny fish darting between the bigger ones – and it was like nothing she’d ever seen before. She stood up straight again and looked around. Kenny was just coming up for air, and he looked comical with his mask on, and she wondered if she looked as silly. He waved at her.
‘Come out here,’ he yelled. ‘It’s amazing.’
Chrissy shook her head. She didn’t like the idea of getting out of her depth, or of getting her hair wet.
‘Later,’ she called. ‘When I get some Dutch courage.’ As she sashayed out of the water she knew Kenny was watching her, so she wiggled a bit more than usual, just for effect. She dried herself off with a huge, soft towel and then lay down on her splendidly comfortable sun lounger. A misting green cocktail was on the table next to her, glinting in the sunshine, and she downed it, almost in one go. She stretched luxuriously. Five minutes passed.
‘Are you coming back in, love?’ Kenny called from the water.
‘No, not yet,’ she said. She wiggled her toes. ‘This is far too nice.’
‘It’s like a bloody aquarium in here. It’s unreal.’
Chrissy smiled and picked up her paperback. She’d imagined nothing better than this. A good book. Sunshine. Drinks on tap. Their own private bit of the white sandy beach. Palm trees. It was heaven. And Kenny might behave like an overgrown toddler at times, but it was endearing, and at least with the kayaks and the boat trips and the snorkelling there would be enough to keep him entertained while she relaxed. And then, at night, they could have dinner in the restaurant over the water, and wander home through the palm groves, and sit outside drinking cocktails on the terrace, before tangling between the cool silk sheets, and the world was really quite wonderful. And so what if the other guests looked down on them – they were just snobs. She and Kenny had as much right to be here as anyone. Kenny had done well for himself in the City, and Chrissy was proud of him. And even if she still wasn’t sure exactly what he did there, no-one at this resort needed to know that. They had nothing to be ashamed of.
Chrissy watched as Kenny pulled off his mask and waded out of the water, and she admired how hunky he looked as he strode up the beach towards her. He grinned as he shook himself over her, like a naughty puppy.
‘Aaagh,’ Chrissy yelled. ‘Gerroff.’
Kenny ignored her and put his hand on her waist, and when he kissed her, he tasted of the sea. His nose was freckly and his eyes were bright, the pupils reduced to mere pinpricks.
‘I bloody love it here,’ he said. ‘I wish we never had to leave.’
Chrissy laughed. ‘We’ve only just got here,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll get fed up. Give it a few days, and we’ll be like them.’ A couple were wandering by, and they looked so bored and despondent it was noticeable. The girl was walking on the edge of the water, and her feet were sinking into the soft, saturated sand. Her partner walked further away from the water, just ahead of her, his arms crossed, his expression grim. Chrissy wondered what was wrong. She wouldn’t waste time here being miserable, what was the point? Make the most of life, that was her motto. You never knew when happiness was going to be snatched away from you.
Kenny plonked himself onto the sun lounger next to her. He stretched his arms over his head, flexed his toes and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
‘This place is wicked,’ he said.
‘Hmmm,’ said Chrissy, back in the grip of her book, the truth of the protagonists’ deteriorating marriage unfolding before her, word after word. It wasn’t really a honeymoon read, and the irony made her smile.
‘They’re in the next-door bungalow,’ Kenny said, after a little while, having busied himself with applying more sun cream, flicking sand, studying the cocktail menu, adjusting the umbrella angle.
‘Who?’
‘Mr and Mrs Miseryguts.’
‘That’s not very nice.’
‘Ha, you were the one who said it, you hypocrite.’
‘How d’you know, anyway?’ she said.
‘Maybe because I just saw them go in there. Doh.’ He sat up and tickled her under the chin.
‘Kenny,’ she said. She giggled, but in truth he was annoying her now. Did he ever sit still? Maybe she’d get him to go and order her another drink.
Kenny stood up once more and walked down to the edge of the sea, and he looked pale against the sand. She should have made him go on a sun bed before they came. He needed to be careful – this sun was so strong, and he was getting burnt already. As he started humming an unknown song her skin prickled. Being here felt almost too perfect, as though there was something that was bound to spoil it, and she hoped it wasn’t going to be her brand-new husband. She suddenly wished he’d just bugger off, so she could lie on the beach, reading her book, with no-one bothering her.
‘Chrissy, I’m hungry,’ Kenny said, as he came back and sat down. ‘Shall we go and get lunch?’
Chrissy demurred, saying she wanted to finish her chapter, and so he picked up a magazine and carried on humming. A few minutes later, he leaned over and took her hand, rotated her wedding ring as he stared into her eyes, and it was a little disconcerting. She knew she needed to be careful. Kenny wasn’t a man who liked to be kept waiting, even on holiday. She reminded herself how lucky she was, here on honeymoon in the Maldives, with her successful banker husband – and when he asked her again if she fancied some lunch, she knew better than to refuse him.
‘Oh, all right, babe,’ she said, with a smile. She stood up, put on the teeniest pair of shorts over her bikini bottoms, and then she let him take her hand and lead her along the beach, past the other bungalows, towards the infinity pool, and the bar, and lunch.
54
Jemma
Jemma gave up on the beach bar’s lunch menu and made do with just a cocktail, too stressed to even think about eating. She was glad they’d booked a boat trip for the next morning. It would be a distraction from just lying around, having to pretend to be enjoying herself.
‘Psst, there they are again,’ said Jamie now. His voice seemed to carry across the calm slick of the pool to further around the bar, where a couple were sitting, leaning into each other, flirting, drinking cocktails.
‘Shush! You are so indiscreet.’
‘There’s enough gold on them to sink a ship.’
‘Shush, Jamie.’ Jamie looked a little hurt at her tone. ‘Sorry, I just don’t want them to hear us slagging them off.’
‘They can’t hear, Jemma. What’s got into you?’ Jamie took an exaggeratedly long swig of his beer as Jemma picked up the menu again and hid behind it.
A Chinese couple entered the bar area and sat down at
one of the tables beside the pool. They were young and the woman was pretty, slender as a teenager, dressed like a little girl at a party, with alabaster skin and flowers in her hair. Her partner was earnest-looking, bespectacled, and even in just swim-shorts and a T-shirt, his overall look was pristine, and expensive. They sat opposite each other in the wide wicker chairs, placed their iPhones on the table, and proceeded to stare silently at them, and occasionally prod them. Another couple were in the infinity pool in matching rash tops, snorkelling, presumably practising. A faint flurry of air lazed across the water towards them, and the man spanked at the glinting water with his hand, as if the ripples were threatening him. Two more couples were dining together on the other side of the beach bar, and they seemed happy enough, although one pair were perhaps a little too ostentatiously in love, with a good deal of nose-rubbing – as if it were a competition, Jemma thought. It seemed that that was the problem with these couples-only places – it felt like you almost had to put on a performance, and it just augmented her and Jamie’s predicament. She looked over at the barman, who was round and chirpy, his frequent smile a brilliant gash below his flared, turned-up nose. He was wearing the resort’s uniform of a brown-and-gold flowered shirt (with a prominent name badge announcing that his name, rather improbably, was Arnie), and he was taking the various cocktail orders as if each were a gift, and a pleasure. Jemma watched now as his dark-brown eyes settled briefly on the blonde girl’s spectacular cleavage and then shifted away almost immediately, like a caught-out child’s.
‘D’you want another drink?’ said Jamie.
‘No, thanks.’ Jemma was trying to absent herself, blank out her feelings, and yet still she felt dreadful. She watched Arnie expertly mix the girl another cocktail – a Sex on the Beach this time – but once he’d served it, he turned away from her again, as if he thought she were bad news somehow.