@SophHey la, hey la, my boyfriend’s back.
Claire waited for the appropriate feelings of hurt andbetrayal 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 holidays,’ 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 was 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 was too incapacitated 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 piled up in the corner beside a threadbare set of goal posts 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 wereseriouslycute,’ 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 notthatdedicated 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.
