The phone rang and Lucy lunged for it — only to see Jen’s name. She ended the call quickly, then declined another from Megan. Finally, she silenced everything except Oliver’s number and lay on her bed, propped on one elbow, watching the phone as the light faded from the room.
It didn’t ring.
A goods train thundered through the village, and she knew with sudden clarity that he wasn’t going to call. She rolled over and lay on her back, looking at the ceiling and the flashing red lights of the level crossing, mute at night, like a disco light on her ceiling. She’d always enjoyed the night-time flashes of light. It felt like a reminder that she was connected to other places. Part of a system, an interconnectedness, but now it seemed like a warning light.
Stop. It ends here. It seemed even more final when the train flashed through and the lights stopped.
The sounds subsided once more to the swish of the sea as it swept up the beach and dragged lazily back down again, and the clatter of the date palms which lined the road.
She felt curiously above the world, just like Dan said he’d felt. She could see what he meant now. It was calming to be out of the world a little. She’d sleep now and then she’d wake. She’d get her fight back.
This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be.
* * *
By midday the next day, Lucy still hadn’t heard from Oliver — but she had learned where he would be.
His office informed her that he would be going to a waterfront Wellington restaurant for his birthday celebrations. He could hardly fail to show up for that.
She drifted through her shift at the café, fielding concerned looks and gentle questions until the staff finally suggested she go home early. She didn’t argue.
She drove into Wellington and waited in her car outside the restaurant as people arrived — faces she recognised from Oliver’s office, others she recognised from gossip columns. But she didn’t see Oliver.
At last she got out the car and ventured into the waterfront bar, imagining he must have got there early. If he wasn’t there she was quite willing to resort to banging on his apartment door until he let her in. Desperate times called for desperate measures. What she couldn’t do was to allow him to disappear from her life tomorrow. Because that was one thing she’d been able to glean from his secretary — the day he was leaving the country, for good, she presumed.
Strange, she thought as she entered the waterfront bar, it was quiet. She went to the bar and asked for Oliver. The barman gestured outside. It was a lovely night. No doubt he’d taken the party outside.
* * *
But, as soon as she stepped outside it wasn’t party vibes she received. It was quiet ones. The rumble of traffic in the city a block behind them was deadened. There was just the clack of flags from the cluster of boats and the squawk of seagulls fighting over something. She was about to turn away when she saw him. If it hadn’t been for him turning his head suddenly when someone yelled, she’d never have noticed him.
He was alone. And not just alone. He looked lonely. He had his back to her as he looked along the harbour to where it curved, and to where the land he wanted to develop was. For a moment she wondered what he was thinking. Was he trying to figure out what he could do with the now worthless piece of land? She almost felt sorry for him.
She could leave now. Pretend she hadn’t seen him. He clearly didn’t want company.
Then he heaved his shoulders in a heart-felt sigh and leaned forward, looking down at the wooden planks beneath his feet through which he’d be able to see the swirling water. He looked not only lonely, but defeated.
Her chest tightened. She huffed a sigh, turned around as if to leave, but then turned back — doing a 360 — until she was looking at him again. There was nothing for it. She couldn’t look away, not now. It was too late.
* * *
He didn’t hear her approach. Lost in his own thoughts which swirled around like the water beneath the jetty on which he sat, he only knew someone was approaching him by the vibration through the wooden slats. He looked up, about to tell the waiter, who he assumed it was, that no, he really didn’t want anything else to eat. But his mouth remained open as Lucy stopped before him.
‘Lucy.’ He stood automatically. His first instinct was to pull her into his arms, anchor himself to something solid. But what she did next stopped him.
She sat down, and he had no other option but to follow suit. He waited for her to speak but she said nothing, except look at him with an expression he couldn’t read.
‘I… didn’t expect to see you,’ he said at last.
‘It was a spur of the moment thing,’ she replied.
‘What was the spur?’
She frowned slightly, distracted.
‘The catalyst,’ he clarified. ‘For coming here. What was it? Or perhaps you’re not here to find me,’ he added, suddenly fearing that he’d made a leap too far in his guess.
‘I am.’
