Jeremy pulls out my chair and then pushes it in. He pours me a glass of water and I take the time to watch him, my attention falling straightaway to his lips. I remember our kiss and wonder if he’s thinking about it too because when he looks up at me, he gives me this half-embarrassed, half-roguish smile that makes my insides turn a bit jelly.
‘What have you been up to?’ I ask, heat rising up my chest like a rash.
‘Oh, you know, studying,’ he says, glancing at the menu. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, you know, nannying,’ I answer.
He looks up. ‘How’s that going?’
‘I’m teaching Brodie how to do a Megan face.’
He laughs. ‘What’s a Megan face?’
I demonstrate.
‘Wow. Remind me to never be on the receiving end of that. I’m not sure my masculinity could survive.’
‘Oh, you know, it’s only reserved for very special people.’
‘Like blind jerk ex-boyfriends?’ he asks.
I nod and have to hide behind the menu. It’s true to say that I haven’t thought about Will once in the last three days.
Jeremy leans sideways, his gaze falling on my bare legs stretched out under the table. ‘Still delicious,’ he says, straightening up.
We order brunch, which I’m calculating will cost me about one and a half week’s wages, but the sun is lying in strips across the wooden floor and bathing my bare legs and clouds are skitting across the sky and Jeremy is smiling at me and my thighs are still delicious and the world feels good so I don’t care about the cost of a bowl of muesli, a croissant and a cappuccino.
‘Hey, dude!’
I glance up. It’s Parker. He’s wearing blue shorts and a white open-neck polo shirt with deck shoes. He nods at me.
‘Yo, what’s good?’ Jeremy asks.
‘Going sailing with my old man,’ Parker says, flinging his arm out towards the phalanx of sails in the distance.
‘Cool,’ Jeremy answers.
‘You should come. You too, Ren.’
‘Not today, bro,’ Jeremy answers and he gives me a sly smile like he has other ideas for what we are going to be doing today that do not involve boats or water and suddenly I’m sitting up straighter and wishing brunch was over.
‘Next weekend, then?’ Parker says and I don’t miss the wink he gives Jeremy. He turns to me. ‘You should come sailing with us, Ren. Jeremy’s a pro.’
‘That would be fun,’ I say, though instantly Brodie’s warning about people dying all the time out on the Sound pops into my head. The only boats I’ve ever been on are a cross-channel ferry, the boat that brought me to the island, and a rowing boat on the Serpentine. I have visions of wearing a bright orange life jacket and hurling over the side while Jeremy battles the perfect storm. I try to re-picture it with me in a bikini lying on the deck of a P. Diddy style super-yacht with Jeremy at the wheel. Infinitely better. Until Eliza appears in stiletto heels, wearing a bikini held together with rhinestones and a prayer, and ruins it.
‘Awesome,’ Parker says, then turns to Jeremy. ‘You coming to the fourth of July party at the Reeds’?’
‘Yeah,’ Jeremy says.
I do a calculation in my head. Fourth of July is Sunday. Of course I had forgotten that this is a big day in the American calendar. Apparently gaining independence from Great Britain was such a big deal for them that even two hundred and fifty odd years later they still feel the need to celebrate it with ostentatious displays of firepower, beer and a general attitude of superiority.
‘Ren,’ Parker says, grinning, ‘we won’t hold it against you that you’re British, I promise – though my father might tie you to one of the fireworks and blast you in the direction of home!’
‘How ’bout if I emphasise my quarter Scottish roots when I meet him?’
‘That could work. We’re all fans of Braveheart.’
‘Yeah, Mel Gibson. Thank God he didn’t sacrifice any historical accuracy in his quest for movie-goers’ dollars.’
Parker pulls a shocked and scandalised face. ‘You mean Braveheart didn’t wear blue face paint?’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, ‘I’m pretty sure the blue face paint is the only authentic detail in the film.’
He laughs. ‘Cool, see you guys there then. I want to see you kick Tyler’s ass in the competition, Jeremy.’
‘Bet on it,’ Jeremy answers, smiling smugly.
Parker runs off.
‘What competition?’ I ask, turning to him.
Jeremy smiles and shakes his head. He seems embarrassed. ‘Every year Tyler and I have a competition. This year it’s Call of Duty. We play one computer game over the summer and see who can win.’ He pauses and his expression becomes very serious. ‘A lot rests on it.’
‘Like what?’ I ask. ‘World peace?’
‘Almost as crucial,’ he deadpans. ‘Our reputations.’
‘Who won last year?’ I ask.
He grimaces.
Ahhh.
‘So this year you’re determined to beat him,’ I say.
‘Technically, Tyler only won because the game was interrupted halfway through,’ Jeremy says.
‘Because he was in a coma in the hospital?’
Jeremy nods. ‘Yes. And it would have been bad form to claim a rematch. Given the circumstances I did the gentlemanly thing and ceded to him.’
‘But this year there’s no such excuse so you can take back the crown and reclaim your manliness with it?’
A smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. ‘Exactly.’
‘Is there some sort of prize? Other than the restoration of your reputation and your manliness?’
There’s a glimmer in his eyes. He hesitates and then he leans forwards across the table. ‘The knowledge that I’ve impressed a beautiful girl,’ he says, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
Just then the waiter arrives with our food. ‘It takes a bit more than beating Tyler at Call of Duty to impress me, by the way,’ I say, arranging my napkin on my lap.
Jeremy narrows his eyes at me, still smiling. ‘I like a challenge,’ he says.
‘Well,’ I reply, ‘even though I don’t like to condone an activity that encourages mindless killing and gratuitous violence, I still hope you win. I wouldn’t want you to lose your reputation, after all. It’s a bitch when that happens.’
‘Technically,’ Jeremy says, buttering his toast, ‘I might win if Jesse Miller incapacitates the opposition again while I’m in the lead. There’s always a chance of that. Though I’d rather win fair and square this year.’
I almost choke on my muesli. ‘Incapacitates the what? What did you just say?’ I lay my spoon down. ‘Do you mean Tyler? Why would Jesse want to beat Tyler up again? Didn’t he try that already?’
‘Yeah.’ Jeremy hesitates. ‘But that’s one fight that’s not finished.’
‘Why?’
Jeremy shrugs. ‘How’s your writing going?’ he asks.
‘Good. I’m writing a piece on the art of the non sequitur,’ I answer.
He frowns and then smiles. ‘I’m not changing the subject, I just don’t want our brunch ruined by talking about Jesse Miller when there are much nicer things to talk about. Like you. And me. And Braveheart. And us.’
He said us. And when he said it, he kind of did this pause thing, and studied me to see what my reaction would be. I bite back the smile. Maybe I wasn’t so hasty telling Jesse that I had a boyfriend after all. I think we are definitely inching towards that territory, as Megan would say.
22
After I pick the kids up from camp I take them to the beach closest to town, because Mike and Carrie have work to finish up and want silence in the house. I slather myself and them in sunscreen, stick hats on them and Braiden falls instantly asleep in this little tent thing so Brodie and I decide to build a sandcastle replica of Sleeping Beauty’s castle from Disney World. This is not as easy as it might seem.
‘I don’t think it looks much like Sleeping Beauty’s castle,’ Bro
die says, looking at the mound of sand mournfully.
‘Wait here,’ I say, jumping to my feet with the bucket. I head to the sea, about twenty metres away, to fill it up, as though having wet sand will provide the answer to our building dilemma, and am just reaching down to fill it when I look up and see Parker further down the beach. He’s wearing board shorts and is standing between two girls, both of whom look familiar, and then I realise that one of them is the girl that I saw talking to Jesse outside the bookshop the other day, and the other is Paige’s sister. I’m guessing they’re about fourteen.
I stand up, throwing a glance at Brodie and Braiden to check they’re still OK. When I look back at Parker I see a familiar figure striding down the beach towards him. It’s Paige. And she looks furious. She parks herself in front of him and starts shouting, but between the sound of the waves and a game of volleyball going on behind me, I can’t hear what she’s saying.
Parker grins at Paige and then shakes his head and jogs off up the beach. Paige stands there, staring back along the beach after Parker, before she turns her head suddenly and sees me standing there gawping.
She says something to her sister and the other girl, then walks straight towards me and I straighten up and try to look like I wasn’t just spying on her.
‘Hey,’ she says.
‘Hi,’ I answer. She’s wearing a black swimsuit with a sarong tied around the waist and has a cap on covering her hair and shielding her eyes and face.
‘Who are you here with?’ she asks me.
I point at Brodie and Braiden.
‘What was that about?’ I ask, jerking my chin in the direction Parker just ran off.
‘You saw?’ Paige asks me.
‘Um, kind of.’
‘Parker’s a jerk,’ she says.
I don’t say anything.
‘They’re all jerks,’ she says, shooting me a sideways glance.
I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Don’t let them suck you in, Ren,’ she warns.
I’m about to ask for more details on their exact jerk crimes when Brodie appears at my side and takes my hand. ‘Ren,’ she says, ‘come on. The castle is crumbling.’
23
Sunday morning is the fourth of July. In case I had forgotten, at eight a.m. Brodie jumps on my head to remind me.
‘We beated the British.’
‘Yep. I heard that. It happened two hundred and fifty years ago and you still can’t let it go and move on. What is that about?’
‘Oh, Ren . . . is Brodie giving you a history lesson?’ It’s Mike, poking his head around the door.
I sit up, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, and clutch the duvet closer to my chest. I’m wearing a camisole top which leaves little to the imagination.
Carrie appears behind Mike holding Braiden on her hip. They’re both dressed already (not matching today). ‘We’re heading into town soon to catch all the celebrations,’ she says. ‘Are you coming with us?’
‘Well of course,’ I say, ‘I mean, I couldn’t miss this celebration of American independence from your cruel and indifferent overlords, could I?’
‘Or the watermelon-eating contest,’ Carrie adds, smiling brightly.
‘The what?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘And you can get your face painted,’ Brodie bursts in, ‘can’t she, Mom?’
‘Yes, Ren can get the English flag painted on her cheeks.’
I arch an eyebrow at Mike and he grins back at me.
What the Tripps failed to mention is that we’re cycling into town. Apparently something about there being no parking on Main Street due to the celebrations, which sounds like a lame excuse to me. Mike has a little wagon attached to the back of his bike into which both children are tightly strapped. Unfortunately there is no space for an extra big child in this wagon trailer so I have to man up and cycle into town after them. Even pulling both children behind him in a trailer the size of my mum’s car, Mike powers ahead, leaving me to bring up the rear, trying to work out the gear thing. Still. One day I’m going to get it.
By midday the little town is heaving. A stage has been set up halfway down Main Street and a man dressed in a funny outfit is reading out a list of the day’s upcoming events. There’s an ancient fire truck giving some kind of demonstration and stalls lining the pavements selling food, and all sorts of red, white and blue paraphernalia.
Brodie gets her wish and her face is painted so she looks like a sparkly, pink butterfly. I refrain from getting painted up like a football hooligan. Mike stops in front of the next stall where a trestle table is bowing under the weight of several dozen pies. A pie-eating competition is occurring. I have never witnessed one of these in real life. I thought they were made up for movies. But no, behind the table there are six chairs and, as I scan the pie-eating participants having their hands tied behind their backs, I spot Parker and Matt. They are occupying the two seats furthest from me.
I shake my head in astonishment and then eye the pies lined up in front of them. Quite a crowd has gathered now and people are taking pictures. I debate the wisdom of standing too close. Surely someone is going to hurl.
Brodie is pointing out the pies and counting them. ‘Six pies each!’ she squeals. ‘Six!’
Parker sees me and smiles. He can’t wave as his hands are tied behind his back. I remember what Paige said yesterday about him being a jerk, but then maybe she’s just mad at him because they had a bad break-up. Sophie did mention that they used to date. And I remember too how funny he was at the Harbour Club teasing me about Braveheart. Matt shouts out hello. Are they jerks? They’ve only been nice so far to me. So I smile and wave at them both.
A man holding a watch blows his whistle and all six participants (all male it must be stated) slam-dunk their faces into their pies and start eating. Or not so much eating as snarfing and grunting.
I’m watching with something approaching awe and brushing on disgust when I feel someone touch me lightly on the arm. I turn around and see Sophie and Eliza. Eliza’s nose is wrinkled in disgust as she watches Parker and Matt – though now I’m starting to wonder whether that’s just her natural expression.
‘Ren!’ Sophie says, hugging me. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ I say.
‘Awesome. Matt was trying to convince me to take part.’ She nods at the pie eaters. ‘As if,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘I swear there must be like a million calories in those pies.’ She takes out her iPhone and starts filming as Matt nosedives into his second pie.
The people around us start counting down the seconds left as the pie eaters begin to slacken their pace, pausing between pies to gasp for breath. Matt and Parker are purple-faced, mashed fruit and juices dripping from their noses and smeared across their cheeks.
‘Where’s Jeremy?’ I whisper to Sophie, not wanting Eliza to hear. I didn’t hear from him yesterday but he did post a cartoon of Braveheart on my Facebook wall.
Eliza has supersonic hearing however. She turns to me. ‘He’s studying,’ she says.
‘He’ll be at the Reeds’ later for their party,’ Sophie adds, seeing the disappointment that I desperately try to hide. ‘You’re coming right? It’s going to be epic.’
I don’t miss the venomous look that Eliza shoots her way.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ I answer, as the man blows his whistle and places a paper crown on Parker’s head.
‘Ren, come on!’ It’s Brodie. She has had her fill of pie too and is now tugging me away onto the next exciting activity.
‘I have to go,’ I say to the girls. I wave at the boys who are bent double, heaving with laughter as pie dribbles down their chins.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask Brodie.
‘To the races!’ she answers.
For a moment I think she is talking about horse racing – possibly a recreation of the Paul Revere horseback ride – but she soon sets me straight. ‘There’s a three-legged race and an egg one and I am really good with the spoon.’
From
this garbled description I deduce that there is a kiddie sports day going on. Brodie seems to know where we are going so I follow her, keeping an eye out for Mike and Carrie who we seem to have temporarily misplaced. We pass a stall with lots of bikes parked around it. I slow my pace without even realising so the man behind slams into me. There’s a sign over the stand and it says MILLER’S then, beneath it, written in pen and decorated with swirls and little cartoon characters (including Spider-man), is another sign that says:
Decorate your bike. All proceeds to The Fairfield Shelter!
And then I see him. Jesse. He’s crouched down talking to a little boy who is standing proudly beside his bicycle. Jesse is admiring the bike and the two are locked in conversation. An older man stands behind a table laden with paints and stickers and a cash tin.
‘Hello there, missy, you have a bicycle you’d like to get decorated?’ he asks Brodie.
Brodie looks up at me with a grin that splits her face in two – the same one she uses when she’s asking for a double scoop of ice cream.
‘You need to ask your mum,’ I say, shrugging and wondering where Carrie and Mike have got to.
Jesse looks up sharply when he hears me. I see him out of the corner of my eye.
‘Ren,’ he says and he stands.
‘Hey,’ I say, the word catching in my throat.
‘You two know each other?’ the older man says, looking between us.
‘Yep,’ Jesse says. His hand rests on the little boy’s shoulder.
‘Ren, can we decorate my bike trailer?’ Brodie asks. ‘I want butterflies and fairies and maybe a dragon too. What do you think? Can we? Can we?’
I glance at Jesse. He’s smiling in amusement. ‘I think that could be possible,’ he says.
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