'The trick is to start with one room and go slowly.'
'Is that the voice of experience?'
‘Oh yes.’
As they ate, Darby was in her element. Happy, relaxed, stuffing her face and chilled out. What a nice state to be in. The combination of good food, wine, and easy conversation surprised her. Her previous dates had been nothing short of a disaster. Sitting, sipping her wine with the view of the harbour framing just about everything, she realised that when she was with Archie, everything had a little sprinkle of sparkle to its edges. Not just a sparkle to her surroundings, but actually toher. It had been a while since sparkles had appeared. They’d been gone for a long time.
The conversation flowed. Archie chuckled. ‘Have you got yourself stuck in any vintage fur coats this week?’
‘Gosh, no. I’m scared to go in there again. I have to tell you, though, I have found some amazing things there since I moved to Pretty Beach.’
'What made you decide to move here?’
Darby considered the question. Initially, the move had been because of Molly, who’d been studying not far away. She’d been having serious money issues and relocating her entire life to a small coastal town where she knew virtually nobody had meant financial security, by way of swapping a large mortgage for asmall one, for the first time in years. ‘It was a combo of things, actually. All three of them were moving to various study options and it just worked. The fast train helped. I wanted somewhere that felt like a fresh start, too, you know? If I’m truthful, I wanted to get away from a few things. That side of it was successful.'
'Had you visited here before you moved?'
'A few times. Molly had a friend whose family holiday here every year, which is how she found the course, too. That’s how it started. We came down a few times on the train and I thought it was lovely. I looked for a while and nothing came up on the property market. Moving here was quite a leap of faith, to be honest.'
'Brave. Most people wouldn't relocate somewhere they didn't know well.'
'Or possibly just foolish. There were moments during the first year when I wondered whether I'd made a terrible mistake. The children went off and did their own thing, which left me not knowing anyone. It's quite isolating when you don't know anyone and you're not sure how to begin building connections.'
'Has that changed?'
'It’s been time, mainly, but yeah, I love living here. I can’t see myself ever moving.'
‘No. Same.’ Archie got up to get another bottle of wine.
Putting her hand on her chin, Darby looked out at the view. A beautiful night looked back at her. She wondered what would happen next and hoped it wouldn’t disappoint. It wasn’t going to.
30
It was an incredible morning when Darby woke up. One of the most incredible things about it was the fact that she was not in her own bed. What the actual? Sitting bolt upright, she looked around, grabbed the duvet, pulled it up and swore. For sure, she was in Archie’s bed. For sure, he wasn’t in it. The sash paned window on the far side of the bedroom was ajar at the bottom and a sea breeze coming in from the harbour nudged the curtain back and forth.
For a minute, she just sat there like a lemon as Pretty Beach sounds swirled around her. On a bed she’d got quite familiar with the night before in a T-shirt that wasn’t hers, she tried to work out where she was and what had happened. Outside the window, life went on as usual; the sea lapped, she could hear boat masks clunking, a seagull somewhere called out and voices carried on the wind. Darby Lovell sparkled.
Save the noise going on outside, the house was silent. There wasn’t a sound of someone downstairs in the kitchen making a cup of tea or perhaps in the bathroom having a shower. Instead, there was an almost eerie kind of quiet. The night came back to Darby as she reached over to grab her phone. On seeing her clothes strewn on the floor, she smiled, closed her eyes for asecond and heard an elongated, slow exhale come out of her lips. What an evening it had been. A long, luscious carb-filled meal. A glass of wine too many. A falling. Falling for all of it. Falling for him. Falling into bed. Falling for finding herself again.
There was a message from Archie on her phone.
Archie:You might not have remembered I had to get up for the hotel job. Help yourself to whatever you want.
Darby read the message three times, gathered herself and went into the bathroom.Oh, okay, that’s rather abrupt. Right.She wasn’t sure if she liked the message. No, thank you, she did not. No, it wasn’t nice. Blunt, yes, very blunt, punchy, erring on the side of very rude. She had to try hard not to feel a bit used. After doing a wee, for a bit she just sat on the loo and wondered what to do. Shower, walk home, text him back. Do what? Deflated sprang to mind.
Ten or so minutes later, Darby stood in the doorway of Archie's ensuite bathroom and observed. When she’d sat on the loo staring at her phone, she’d not really looked at it properly; now she did. The room was everything her own cramped bathroom wasn't - spacious, elegant, thoughtful details. A standalone bath in an ensuite, really? White subway tiles from floor to ceiling. Actual clean white grout. Large pale stone tiles on the floor that clearly had underfloor heating. Talk about another world.
A walk-in shower, a showerhead the size of a dinner plate, a sparkling basin, a window looking out to sea. Definitely a cleaner. Screwing up her nose, Darby felt as if she were in an American film. Even the toiletries were nice. Curated even. Everything was sort of classy, chosen and expensive; a wooden shaving brush, Aesop, a matching bowl, bottles of cologne and aftershave with fancy labels, posh skincare products, Jo Malone. Picking up a bottle of shower gel, Darby read the label: an artisanal blend of bergamot and cedar from a boutique inLondon. She unscrewed the cap, inhaled and smelt the scent of the night before. Gulping, she also blushed a little bit. Everything in the bathroom screamed at her that she was way out of her depth.
Turning on the shower, the rainfall showerhead did just what it promised. It felt luxurious, hot, perfect. Lugging on loads of the shower gel and shampoo, by the time she got out, she felt like she’d just stepped from one of those annoying adverts for spa treatments where women wrapped in brilliant white turban towels floated out of rooms in full faces of make-up. As she dried herself with a plush towel from a heated towel rail, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and did a triple-take. Lord, she was glowing. For someone who had spent the night in an unfamiliar bed after rather more wine than usual, she didn’t look like it.
Back in the bedroom, she continued to think about the abruptness of the text as she gathered up her bits. Her blouse was draped over the chair by the window, her jeans had somehow ended up near the door, and her underwear was tangled with a white linen sheet that had been kicked to the foot of the bed sometime during the night. Getting dressed in a strange bedroom and on her own wasn’t that pleasant. Regret may have waved at her. What had she been thinking?
As she was examining a photograph on a small occasional table near a window looking out to the harbour, her phone buzzed with another message.
Archie:Assume you’re up by now. I kept it short before, so you knew what was what. Last night was wonderful. Sorry about the early start. Would love to see you later if you're free. x
How strange, almost completely different in tone from the first message.
