‘Thank you.’ Jean clears her throat, peering up at the swimming glow-in-the-dark stars. ‘But I was hoping you’d do more than be happy. I was hoping you’d come too.’
Ava stills beside her, not even daring to breathe.
‘Will you?’ Jean’s voice is small in the dark – perhaps she has misjudged. Perhaps the filthy weekend was only ever meant to be a joke, an impossibi—
‘Of course.’ Ava burrows into Jean’s side, head pillowed against her breast. ‘I’d go anywhere with you, Jean Howard.’
Jean strokes Ava’s hair until her breathing evens. Keeps going until the sky begins to lighten and at last her own heart settles.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s easier than Jean could have imagined. She’d wondered whether Ava might have been too drunk, too sleepy, to hold onto their plan; if it would melt away with the stars come morning. But at precisely nine forty-five a.m. Ava meets her at King’s Cross station and, mindful of Jean’s wrist, insists on wheeling both their cases along the platform. Together they board, Ava stowing away their luggage while Jean locates two seats opposite one another.
As the bustle of London fades away, replaced by open fields and meandering rivers, Ava’s ankle nestles against Jean’s beneath the table. She doesn’t look up from her weighty Hamilton biography while playing footsy, but the corners of her lips curve gently upwards in a way that Jean is certain has little to do with the U.S. Constitution’s fiercest advocate. And though whirlwind trips with lesbian lovers are a world apart from the reality of her life, and her name is doubtless being fed through the rumour mill at this very second, Jean can’t help but bask in the simple pleasure of their adventure.
The further north they get, the less London and all its problems matter. And by the time they reach Edinburgh, Jean feels like another person entirely. After all, as far as the people milling round Waverley Station are concerned, she could be anyone. An MI5 agent or a call centre rep. It doesn’t matter to them how Jean spends her days or nights.
She and Ava bundle into the back of a black cab, peering out of the windows as they glide through an unfamiliar city. With its quaint cobbled streets and ancient castles, Edinburgh could almost be another world.
The Baird family’s beach house is just as Rhona had described – a timeless whitewashed bungalow overlooking the bluest sea Jean has yet seen. She pays the driver and hops down onto the sand-strewn pavement, forgetting everything as she takes in the sea’s miraculous aquamarine, the little island’s verdant greens, pale wisps of cloud floating across an open blue sky. Even the breeze, warm against Jean’s cheeks, tastes of salt.
‘Look at this, Ava!’ She turns to face her companion, struggling to find words adequate for Scotland’s majesty. ‘Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?’
Yet, despite the marvels before her, Ava’s gaze remains fixed on Jean. A little breathless, she says: ‘Never. Not once in all my life.’
Jean ducks her head, warmth blossoming across her scalp. ‘Don’t look at me like that – we still need to go grocery shopping.’ Though there’s nobody around, Jean still lowers her voice, enough that Ava must come closer to hear. ‘And we’ll never make it to the beach today if you get me in bed.’
Ava simply laughs, towing both their cases towards the house. ‘It is beyond adorable that you even make an agenda on holiday.’
‘You think?’ Jean frowns as she enters the lockbox combination from Rhona. It had driven Henry to distraction towards the end, the way she could never simply go with the flow.
Ava trails a fingertip down her spine, and Jean almost drops the silver key. ‘I know.’
The door swings open. Inside the house is simple, yet tastefully decorated, with a classic nautical theme. The walls are painted in whites and delicate shades of blue, with shells and sea glass glued around the driftwood mirror above the fireplace. ‘This is so lovely.’
Ava closes the door behind them, her arms sliding round Jean’s waist. ‘It really is.’
‘I’m going to unpack our things and change into something more outdoorsy.’ Jean holds up a hand, warding off any attempts to follow. ‘You go and make sure the freezer’s switched on – if there’s no ice tray, we can get one in town. And write down foods you want from the shop, so we don’t forget anything.’
Ava salutes, eyes bright with mirth. ‘Yes ma’am.’
The master bedroom has a queen-sized bed, a wardrobe, and a dresser, wood all painted white in textured chalk paint to give a rustic effect – though the Baird family, with their second home, are anything but. Jean unpacks methodically, hanging up crease-able items with care and stowing the rest of their things in drawers.
In Ava’s case, stowed beneath her raincoat, there’s a bag Jean assumes contains her bonnets or scarves for sleeping. But then her fingers close around something long and firm and cylindrical, the dimensions of which she is intimately acquainted with – Jean drops it back into the case, uncertain about the etiquette of strap-on storage as a guest in someone else’s home.
She changes into a sage green camisole and matching loose linen trousers, her white cover-up Jean’s only concession to the summer sun. As she touches up her lipstick in the mirror, Ava’s voice filters through the house: ‘I don’t think we need to go food shopping.’
‘How come?’ Jean rolls her eyes at her own reflection. ‘Is this because you want fish and chips for dinner? We are not living on Twix bars and takeaway during this trip.’
‘Come and see.’
Jean pads through the living room in her sandals, and into the kitchen. Ava stands before the open fridge, stocked with deli meats and wedges of artisanal cheese, olives and chocolates, fresh fruits and vegetables. There are even two generous steaks wrapped tight in plastic. The cupboards hold seeded loaves, crisps, crackers for the cheese. Enough food for a small army. On the counter there’s a magnum of champagne with an envelope balanced against it, which Jean prises open.
Ms Howard,
Though we can never hope to repay the care you’ve taken of our daughter, we hope you enjoy this token of our appreciation.
Yours sincerely,
