Some Girls Do (48 page)

Claire had got under his skin – like painting, he thought, as he picked up his brush and got back to work. That had crept up on him, too, when he wasn’t looking. It had started in rehab.

Art therapy had been part of the programme, and he had resisted it at first, as he had resisted all help. He had refused to be moved, shoring up his defences against anything or, indeed, anyone that might touch him, determined to be cold, aloof and, above all, not to care. But he’d gone through the motions, as he had with the rest of the programme, and art had got in somehow, breaking through his defences, seducing him until he found himself pouring all the emotions he had kept buried for years into his paintings.

It had scared him at first when he’d seen all that stuff spilling out of him. He’d felt raw and exposed, as if he had no skin. Every shitty thing inside him was there for all to see, in thick, vivid colour – all his cringing fear, his anger, every rotten thing at the core of him made real, given substance; and beyond that, his vulnerability, loneliness and sadness. And yet he didn’t want to stop. It felt cathartic and healing, as if all the poison was being leached out of him and what was left was fresh, clean and healthy.

He could never regret rehab because it had given him one of the best things in his life. He would never regret knowing Claire either, even if they could only be friends. Maybe it was for the best that they couldn’t have sex any more. He wasn’t very good at forming lasting relationships with the women he slept with. They tended to end up pissed off with him.

Besides, who was to say this thing with Mark would last? Maybe if he stuck around long enough …

That night, Claire went online for the first time since her mother had died, catching up with NiceGirl’s Twitter and Facebook
friends. When she logged on to Twitter, she found herself mentioned in a tweet from Mark’s friend Emma, aka @Locksie:

@Locksie
@PublisherMark So disappointed in you. I thought you were being true to @NiceGirl.

It was from the previous Friday, the day Mark had called saying they needed to talk, and she had been too busy arranging the funeral. She knew Emma was just joking – as far as she was concerned, NiceGirl and Mark had nothing more than a light-hearted online flirtation. But what did it mean? Thursday had been Patrick’s birthday party. Had something happened with Sophie? She tried to follow the conversation back, but drew a blank. Some previous tweets appeared to have been deleted. Perplexed, she went into Mark’s feed and scrolled back to Friday, trying to piece together conversations. There had been lots of activity with his friends, and his responses mainly consisted of him telling them nothing had happened. There was a reply to an @Soph, who had to be Sophie, simply saying ‘cease and desist’. Frustratingly, @Soph’s account was locked, so Claire sent her a follow request.

She thought she would have to wait a day or two for her request to be accepted, if Sophie accepted it at all. So she got ready for bed and tried to forget about it for now. But just as she was about to go to bed, she got a notification that she was now following @Soph. She went straight back onto Twitter, into @Soph’s account and scrolled down to Friday’s tweets. She had been very active that morning, throwing out lots of veiled hints that something had happened the night before:

@Soph
The sweetest hangover. :)

@Soph
Don’t worry re that last tweet, rehab fans. Was high on life last night. Strong stuff, but not on the prohibited list.

And finally:

@Soph
Hey la, hey la, my boyfriend’s back.

Claire waited for the appropriate feelings of hurt and betrayal to kick in, but she felt only mild dismay. Of course, Mark was clearly denying that anything had happened, and she had more reason to trust him than Sophie. Maybe that was why all she felt was a strange sort of detached curiosity because, deep down she suspected Sophie was just trying to stir things. Or maybe the general numbness she had been experiencing since her mother’s death was deadening the impact, and it would hit her later when she was more herself.

But right now all she felt was intrigued, and she wanted to get to the bottom of what had really happened. So she sent a DM to @Locksie:

@Locksie
Soz, have been away from Twitter – family crisis. What’s @PublisherMark been up to? Email me gossip, please!

Then she turned off her laptop and went to bed.

The next day was sunny and warm, as promised. Claire was up early, feeling brighter now that she had something positive to focus on. She loaded the car with supplies and went to pick up Luca.

‘So, Brittas Bay,’ he said, as he swung in beside her, throwing his bag onto the back seat. ‘I haven’t been there in years. We used to go sometimes when we were kids.’

How funny, Claire thought, that they could have been there at the same time all those years ago.

‘But mostly we went to beaches closer to home,’ he continued.

‘We pretty much lived at Brittas Bay during the school break,’ Claire told him.

They had spent long summer holidays there as children, living a beach-based life no matter what the weather. They had been able to roam freely, making friends with other kids staying in the caravan park, playing in the dunes and swimming in the sea. Every meal seemed to have been eaten outdoors. It had been an idyllic existence for a child.

In latter years, she had spent the odd weekend there with her mother, but they hadn’t been for some time, first because the weather was never good enough to entice them down, and then because her mother wasn’t well enough for caravan living. Claire had missed it, and she was glad to have the opportunity to use it again, possibly for the last time. She knew her mother had left the mobile home to her, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep it on. The site was expensive, and there were service charges on top of that. If she didn’t use it, she didn’t think she could justify the upkeep on purely sentimental grounds. She would have loved her nephews and niece to enjoy it, but her brothers weren’t keen on caravan holidays, and her sisters-in-law even less so.

She felt herself start to relax and unwind as they breezed along with the windows down, summery music blaring from the speakers. When she caught her first glimpse of the sea, the water sparkling and shimmering in the sunshine, her heart gave an instinctive leap, just like it always had when she was a child. She turned into a little side road and opened the electronic gates to the caravan park, driving down the soft grass track to their site.

‘Home, sweet home,’ she said, pulling up in front of a large caravan, set on a grassy area, with a picnic table beside it. The garden was neat, a pile of inflatable toys and body boards – remnants of Claire’s childhood – piled up in the corner beside a threadbare set of goalposts and a covered barbecue.

‘Really?’ Luca looked delighted.

‘I told you not to expect anything fancy.’

‘It’s perfect!’

Claire felt better already as they got out of the car and she took a deep lungful of the sea air. She opened the door of the caravan and Luca followed her inside. He stood in the middle of the little living room, then gave a long, luxurious stretch, his T-shirt riding up to reveal the fine black hair of his happy trail against the white skin of his taut stomach. The living area was roomy enough as mobile homes went, but it suddenly felt very small with Luca in it, and Claire felt a moment of apprehension. She hoped it wouldn’t be awkward spending the weekend in such close proximity while keeping their distance physically.

Luca was studying a corkboard over the little seating area, pinned with photographs and flyers for local businesses and takeaways. ‘Is this you?’ He was pointing to a photo.

‘Yes.’ Claire blushed. It featured her in a swimsuit on the beach as a gawky eight-year-old, her hair in pigtails, her legs buried in sand. ‘Aw, you were cute.’ He studied the other photographs. ‘And then you were
seriously
cute,’ he said, pointing to a photo of her as a teenager, all budding breasts and stick-thin thighs in a halter top and frayed jean shorts. ‘I wish I’d bumped into you then.’

‘Come on, let’s get the car unpacked. And then we can hit the beach.’

They unloaded the stuff from the car, and stocked up the fridge and cupboards, finally grabbing their bags. ‘You can sleep in here,’ Claire told Luca, opening the door of the biggest bedroom.

‘Where will you sleep?’ he asked.

‘Here.’ She showed him the other room. There was just about space for the narrow single bed.

‘Looks cosy,’ he said regretfully. ‘I wish I was sleeping here with you.’

She shot him a warning look.

‘I know, I know.’ He held up his hands defensively. ‘I promised to behave myself, and I will.’

‘So, lunch first?’ she said. ‘We can eat up here at the picnic table. For the full nostalgic experience, we should really eat on the beach, so everything gets nice and sandy, but I’m not
that
dedicated to nostalgia.’

‘Great.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She dumped her bag on the bed, slipped past him, and busied herself getting lunch ready.

They sat outside with big mugs of tea and picnicked on crusty rolls, cheese, ham, apples and grapes.

‘This is so good,’ Luca said, wolfing down the food hungrily.

Claire was enjoying it too. All the flavours tasted bright and alive, and she had more of an appetite than she’d had all week. ‘Everything tastes so much better outdoors,’ she said. ‘Especially at the sea.’ She breathed deeply, suffused by an enormous feeling of wellbeing.

‘It’s beautiful here.’ Luca sighed, turning his face to the sun. ‘So peaceful.’

She was pleased that he appreciated it as much as she did. ‘Mum would be glad we’re doing this,’ she said. ‘She loved it here.’

Later they trailed down the wooden walkway that led to the beach, cresting over the grass-covered dunes. Claire pulled off her sandals, her feet plunging into the warm, powdery sand as they stepped onto the beach. She turned and looked back at the dunes. It was hard to believe that they had seemed so huge once, and it had felt daring for her and her brothers to jump from the top into the soft sand beneath, like launching yourself off a cliff.

They spread their towels on the sand, stripped down to their togs and made for the sea.

It took Claire a while to ease herself fully into the water, gradually acclimatising to the cold, but when she did, it was wonderfully invigorating, awakening all her nerve endings and bringing her senses to life. She looked at Luca beside her, his hair
tangled and curly from the salt water. He was so beautiful she wanted to cry. Why had their lessons had to end? she wondered sadly. If only she could have had a few more weeks when he was hers to kiss and touch. Why couldn’t Mark have waited just a little bit longer?

Later, as they lay on the sand, she pushed on her sunglasses, and took her book out of her bag.

‘Did you bring
Pride and Prejudice
?’ Luca asked, propping himself up on an elbow and holding out his hand for it.

‘You don’t have to read to me,’ Claire said.

‘Hey, I don’t want you to go on without me.’

‘Okay,’ she said, handing him the book. She had to admit, she loved being read to – it was all the pleasure with none of the effort, like receiving oral sex. She lay down and closed her eyes, relaxing to the deep tone of Luca’s voice. She found herself drifting in and out of consciousness as the words washed over her …

‘“… for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing penis.”’

‘What?’ Claire reared up with a jolt and turned to Luca.

‘Just checking you were still listening,’ he said, with a cheeky grin.

She laughed and lay down, closing her eyes once more. ‘I’m listening. And Jane Austen is spinning in her grave.’

‘“… a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address,”’ Luca continued. When he got to the end of the next chapter, he closed the book.

‘Do you think Mr Darcy is really well hung?’ he asked.

‘You should so be in a book club,’ Claire said drily, turning to face him. ‘I have no idea! What makes you think about that?’

‘Well, all the girls go nuts for him, but he seems like a bit of a git to me. He must have something going for him.’

‘Well, he’s loaded.’

‘Yeah, I got that.’

‘And he’s handsome.’

‘And tall.’

‘Very tall. Anyway, he’s not a git. He turns out to be really nice – you’ll see.’

‘When are we going to get to the bit where he goes skinny-dipping?’

‘I thought you didn’t know anything about
Pride and Prejudice
?’

‘I don’t. But I remember all the girls going on and on about that scene,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

‘That didn’t happen in the book. It was just in the TV series.’

‘I’m not surprised. He doesn’t seem the type.’ He was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘
We
could go skinny-dipping.’ His smile faded. ‘Maybe not such a good idea,’ he said. ‘Sorry. This friends thing takes a bit of practice.’

‘No harm done,’ she said. He wasn’t the only one who was having trouble drawing the boundaries between friends and lovers.

Later they barbecued steaks and ate at the picnic table as the sun sank in the sky.

‘I’m going to have an early night,’ Claire said, yawning as she cleared the table. It was only nine, but she was exhausted. ‘I can hardly keep my eyes open. It must be all this fresh air.’ She took an armful of plates into the caravan, and as she was dumping them in the sink, she heard voices outside. She went to the window and saw Luca talking to a girl as he gathered up the rest of the stuff. Tall and slender, her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She looked around the same age as Claire, but she wasn’t one of the regulars she had got to know over the years they had been coming here. Luca had put down the glasses he’d been holding to talk to her. Even though she couldn’t hear a word that was being said, Claire could tell the girl was flirting
with him – her posture, her smile, the coy way she twirled her hair around her fingers as she talked to him. She was suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to run out and kick sand in the girl’s face. So much for feeling numb, she thought. And she’d forgotten all about being tired because she was fantasising about wrestling that girl to the ground, and she knew she’d have the strength to do it.