“Stop saying ‘business’! I just do odd jobs!”
I wonder what Rog’s tax return looks like. I bet it’s an interesting read.
“I’m done, too,” Marly said, stretching out her shoulders. “Rosie’s out this evening with Charlie—fancy a nonalcoholic cocktail at the farmhouse? What?” she added, at my surprised expression. “Do I not seem like a nonalcoholic cocktail woman?”
“Not really,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Well, we all have different sides to us, Jones, don’t we? Virgin sex on the beach?”
It ended up being an unexpectedly nice evening, the sort of spontaneously enjoyable night that I would’ve thought could only happen with alcohol. We sat with Ginger in the snug room that Rosie and Marly use as their living room—the main one is given over to the B&B guests. It was cozy, packed with a sofa set that didn’t really fit, dotted with family photos.
“All Rosie’s,” Marly said, when she saw me looking. “My family and I aren’t really on family-snap terms.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not the lesbian thing, they’re not homophobes, they’re just narcissistic wankers.” She nodded to the biggest photograph, in the center of the mantelpiece—a young couple, eighties clothes and hair, big smiles. “Rosie’s parents. I wish I’d known them. By all accounts they werenotwankers. It’s kind of sad to know I could’ve had an extended family if the Nicoles had lived—a good one.”
“They do look nice,” I said. “Very…parental.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Like a stock photo of a good mum and dad. It’s the kind eyes,” Marly said, stroking Ginger’s ears as she examined them. “And the way they’re holding each other. So much love.” She sniffed. “My parents were childhoodsweethearts, too. Definitely didn’t end with a marriage like that. Yours?”
I wasn’t sure quite what to say. “Complicated,” I told her, in the end. “Though I didn’t really realize how complicated until recently. Funny what you accept as a kid, isn’t it? You assume your life is the norm. But they screwed me up more than average, I’d say. We’re not estranged or anything, just…not close.”
“Sorry to hear it, mate.”
“You know, you do have another family, now,” I said, a bit tentatively. “Here on the island, at Bramblebay, with Rosie. You’ve built your own one.”
“True.” She gave me a fleeting smile over her glass. “What about you? Is that your plan—build a family here? I’ve seen you eye-flirting with Charlie.”
“Charlie and I aren’t talking right now. And if you saw any eye-flirting, that’ll be the last of it.”
Marly sat up, interested, and Ginger mimicked her so precisely I couldn’t help smiling.
“Really? What happened?” Marly asked.
I explained that I’d caught Charlie in Rog’s tractor, moments from firing him. Marly found it hilarious, annoyingly. Her guffaws of laughter really took the sting out of my argument that Charlie had behaved abominably.
“Ah, she was trying to be nice,” Marly said, waving it off. “You wouldn’t care so much if you weren’t obsessed with her.”
I protested this; Marly silenced me with a look.
“I’ve wanted to ask you what happens if we can’t justify both our salaries,” I said instead. “How will you choose who stays?”
Marly waved that off, too. “Let’s cross that bridge. I suspect the answer will become obvious pretty soon.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me shrewdly. “Just know I’m rooting for you.”
We moved on to discussing something else, though now I’m home I’m realizing how uncomfortable that made me. Was she saying I’d get the job over Charlie, if it came to it? I should be pleased, obviously. But I can’t help thinking it doesn’t seem very fair.
CJ
From:Charlie Jones
To:Charlie Jones
Subject:Day forty-four sober
