“I didn’t steal your car,” I reply quickly. “I just borrowed it, on a permanent basis. I assume from the fact that you drove here that you have a new one anyway.”
“Yeah. Bright red Porsche. I might as well have ‘mid-life crisis’ tattooed on my bloody forehead.”
He stifles a yawn, kicks off his shoes, and flops back down. He suddenly looks deflated, as though he might crash out at any second. He’s had a long drive, and a tough conversation, and none of this has gone the way he probably imagined it might. It’s like all the energy has fizzled out of him.
“Do you mind if I stay here?” he asks, gesturing at the child’s bed his feet are hanging out of. “I don’t think I have it in me to go anywhere else right now. Then tomorrow, maybe we can talk some more – sort stuff out properly.”
I can still hear the sound of music from downstairs, and know that the party is still going on. That Connie will be dancing, the beer will be flowing, Dr Wong and Dan might have formed a mosh pit. I know that the party will have to continue without its guest of honour. I will find Jake in the morning, and explain and apologise, but I can’t do it now.
I look back at Mark, and see that his eyes are already half-closed. His expensive clothes are rumpled, and his face bears lines I have never noticed before. He is older than I recall, and carries his own scars. I don’t have the heart to kick him out, especially as his new car is probably too small to sleep in.
“Okay, Mark,” I say quietly, standing up and pulling the duvet over him. He is already asleep. I draw the blanket over him, and draw a line beneath our time together.
ChapterNineteen
I wake up the next morning feeling rough. A combination of slightly too much alcohol, way too much jumping, and a restless night of unpleasant dreams. Having Mark walk back into my life has chased away the blush-inducing variety, and brought with it the unwelcome return of the worry-inducing ones instead. I spent the whole of my sleep running away from zombies, forgetting my PIN number, and trying and repeatedly failing to find the right key to unlock the car door when Larry was trapped inside it.
Thank you, Mark, I think, as I get up and make my way into the bathroom to get dressed. Larry is at my heels, keen to go out, and the man himself is still comatose. I poke him on the shoulder, and he comes to in a shudder of groans and slobber. He blinks his eyes a few times, obviously disorientated, then stares up at me in surprise.
“Wakey wakey, Rip van Winkle,” I say. “Time to get moving. I’m taking the dog out for a walk. How long do you need to get yourself sorted?”
Mark is the kind of man who usually takes a while with his ablutions, but he can tell from my tone that this isn’t an option this morning. He sits up, pulls a face as he sniffs his own armpits, and replies: “Shower, shave, clean clothes…twenty minutes?”
I nod, and leave him to it. I feel nervous as I make my way down the stairs, uncertain as to what I will say to Jake. Uncertain what I will say to Connie and George about their job offer. Uncertain about everything.
I spot a few tables that are occupied, and quite a few people looking worse than usual. One poor woman actually has her head laid flat on the wooden surface, a packet of paracetamol nearby. As I am a medical professional, I instantly diagnose an epidemic of hangovers will be sweeping Starshine Cove this morning, and that the pace of life will probably be even slower than usual.
I don’t see Jake at all, which is something of a relief. I need to clear my head, trawl through my thoughts, look at things in the cold light of day rather than the hot light of lust.
Larry runs ahead of me, down the steps to the beach, and we spend our twenty minutes chasing waves, peeing on suspicious-looking seashells, and picking up poo in small black bags. I only do the last one, honest.
I can’t say that it helps me come to any lucid conclusions, but it does at least blow away the cobwebs, and the very slight hint of a headache that I’d felt the minute I opened my eyes this morning.
I perch on one of the big rocks, and message Priya. We have been in regular contact recently, which has been an unexpected bonus to my life imploding.
“Almost slept with Jake,” I type. “Then got offered a job as Starshine Cove’s doctor. Then Mark turned up and begged me to go back. Advice?”
I see the little symbol saying she’s typing, and laugh when she answers: “Shit. Go for a long walk on the beach?”
“Already done that,” I answer, adding some smiley face emojis. “No clearer.”
“Make a list,” she suggests. “Pros and cons of all scenarios. Don’t forget to include multiple orgasms on the plus side.”
Ha, I think, putting my phone away. She has always been a fan of a good list, Priya – and it might not be a bad idea.
I give it an extra ten minutes, because Mark always takes longer than he says he will, and by the time we head back into the inn, he has just emerged. His hair is still damp, and he’s wearing his weekend uniform of jeans and a Scotland rugby shirt.
I point at a table that is halfway between us, and meet him there. Larry immediately goes into sit, because he knows this is the place where the sausage magic happens. Mark stares at him and grins.
“That is one weird-looking dog,” he announces.
“Yeah, well, what he lacks in looks he makes up for in personality. You okay?”
“Will be, as soon as I get some coffee inside me…”
As he says it, Jake emerges from behind the bar. I see him pause, and wonder what this must look like from his perspective. I’m not so full of myself that I imagine him heartbroken, but I also know that from the outside looking in, it appears that I have just spent the night with my ex when all the signs were pointing to me spending the night with him. I am awash with embarrassment, and can’t wait until we have a moment to ourselves and I can explain.
He approaches our table, looking as though he is immune to the hangover epidemic, maintaining an air of calm friendliness that I am in complete awe of. How he pulls that off is a total mystery – unless, it occurs to me, it’s because he just doesn’t give a damn. Here’s me, flapping away, worrying at it all, and here’s Jake, Mr Congeniality, without a care in the world.
