ALICE: Have limited connectivity. Must speak this morning.
Then I press send before I can change my mind.
When I look up from my phone, Brandon’s eyes are on me. Had he asked me a question?
“What is the fair?” I ask to stop my mind counting the seconds till Clive calls.
“Lotoman Nutting Festival.”
“Lot of what?”
He holds up his phone with the digital poster. “Your guess is as good as mine. They have a lot of strange names here.”
It makes me smile despite my worries. “Yes. I’m starting to get a sense of La Canette’s penchant for misnaming things. Starting with calling themselves an island, and that cycle path, the high street, and a middle-aged woman,YoungParker.”
“You’re not having the best introduction to the island, are you?”
I shrug. No, I’m not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be leaving soon.
“It grows on you after a while, I promise.” He assures me with a gentle smile.
“Maybe.” I check my phone, nothing yet. The message still has two grey ticks.
An amused look comes into Brandon’s face. “Look at me defending the island, who’d have thought it? Two weeks ago, I was ready to jump on the next ferry. Don’t get me wrong, I still struggle with the quietness, middle-of-nowhereness of it, but…” He glances out of the window at the village square, the fountain in the middle, the stone steps. “It has a certain charm.”
The waitress is back with more waffles which smell eggy and make my stomach turn. The basket she left earlier is still full, but I suspect she’s back for an excuse to chat up Brandon.
Is he really that much of a pull?
Yes, maybe. He is attractive, handsome, even, and he has a certain sexiness about him. I can imagine women falling for his smoky grey eyes and dark straight brows, and definitely the mole above his top lip draws the eye to his mouth. The open collar of his shirt shows a little of his chest, enough to make you want to see more.
He suddenly clears his throat awkwardly. His face colours. “Are you trying to read my thoughts?”
“Sorry.” Hopefully, he can’t read my thoughts either or we’ll both be embarrassed. I look down at my phone.
WhatsApp still shows the two grey ticks. It’s Saturday morning, so perhaps she’s a late starter. Clive would be up already. It’s his Saturday surgeries normally and has an early meeting before that. His timetable was always the basis of my day, all of us who worked with him knew his schedule so we could plan our tasks to fit around him. Where would he be today? After two weeks of avoiding the papers, I feel completely out of the loop.
Quickly I tap BBC.com/news, half squinting, afraid of what I might see about myself.
But there’s not even a mention of me. The headlines are all about the unexpected death of the Home Secretary from a massive heart attack.
Shock and sadness fill me. I knew the Home Secretary, one of the nicest and most intelligent people in cabinet. I close my eyes.Rest in peace, dear, kind man.
The death of a senior member of the government is bound to cause ripples. As the old adage goes, ‘a week is a long time in politics.’ I’m old news. Huge things are happening in Westminster. The Prime Minister has announced a cabinet reshuffle, which means everyone’s job will change.
Coming so soon after the scandal, Clive’s position is uncertain. I google furiously.
There.
EARLY GENERAL ELECTION LIKELY NEXT YEAR. WILL CLIVE SMITH WIN SENIOR MINISTERIAL ROLE?
CLIVE SMITH STILL ENJOYS PRIME MINISTER’S TRUST.
SMITH GEARS UP FOR ELECTORAL CAMPAIGN.
And more pictures of Clive holding hands with his wife. Viv has never been so visible in the press, or in Clive’s life, before.
I’m not upset; really, I’m not. I’m not an idiot. This makes perfect sense. After the scandal, and with an election due soon, the spotlight needs to refocus on his seemingly happy marriage. His image must be whiter than white.
