‘Have you got a sec for me to show you where it is on a map?’
‘Sure.’
He returns a moment later, unfolding a map as he goes.
‘This is Harbour Cove.’ He presses the map up against the hallway wall. ‘You can park up here and walk down this track to the beach.’ He traces his forefinger across the image. ‘The tide will be out, so you’ll be able to walk across the sand to steps here at Hawker’s Cove, where the old lifeboat station is, and then along this path to the teashop. Otherwise there’s a path up here.’ I follow the direction of his finger across the green coastal path. He’s standing so close, I can feel the warmth of his body heat beside me. I experience a flashback to lying in his arms last night and feel a prickle of what feels a lot like guilt.
‘What’s the teashop called?’ I ask, stepping away to put some distance between us.
‘I think it’s called Rest a While or something. They do nice lunches and cream teas with amazing sea views.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Shall I meet you there at about three?’
‘Or on the beach if you can come earlier?’
‘Unlikely. I’m catching up with some friends in the morning.’
‘Are you all right?’ I ask him suddenly. He really has been extraordinarily quiet today.
‘Yeah.’ He folds the map and hands it over. ‘You can take that.’
I look at him with concern. After a moment he meets my eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ he says softly. ‘Nicki’s been on my mind a lot today.’
‘I’m sorry. Good days and bad days?’
‘Exactly,’ he replies heavily. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’
I take the hint and leave. He’s not in the mood to talk. All my shit from last night probably wiped him out. I feel another stab of what isdefinitelyguilt and resolve to cheer myself up by tomorrow.
I am knackered that evening. I get Marty’s roof-space bed ready for her, but it’s almost one a.m. by the time she arrives. I explained in detail where she could find me – for someone who’s a travel agent, she is exceptionally bad at geography and directions – but I’m asleep when she gets here, and it’s only her knocking on the window that rouses me. Thankfully, she’s as shattered as I am, so she’s happy to change into her PJs and go straight to bed.
We both sleep in the next morning, but when I wake up I feel a bubble of excitement.
She’s here! My friend is here!
I crawl across the bed and hunchback-creep under the now-low, flat ceiling until I come out in the standing area between the two front seats. I straighten up and turn around, ready to see my pal’s friendly face.
She’s twisted into a bizarre shape, her legs and arms all caught up in the sheet and blankets. Her mouth is wide open and her dark hair looks matted and crazy. Her new tortoiseshell horn-rimmed glasses are perched on the ledge above the driver’s seat – she always looks odd without her glasses on. I giggle and stare at her for a long moment, then remember that she’s like a bear with a sore head if anyone wakes her up before she’s ready, so I get on with making us coffee. I’m reading in bed when she finally comes to.
‘What the— Bridget?’ she asks in a muffled voice.
‘I’m here,’ I reply with a giggle, crawling back across my bed. Her upside-down head appears from over the edge of the roof space, her dark hair falling crazily around her face like something out ofThe Exorcist.
‘Fuck, you’re scary.’ I reel backwards, flinching.
She grins. ‘Do I smell coffee?’
‘You do indeed. But yours has gone a bit cold.’
‘Give it,’ she says, waggling her hands at me.
‘Come down,’ I reply.
‘How do I do this?’ She scrutinises the area between the front seats.
