The images he created in the sand were so beautiful. Iwantto like him.
He looks confused. ‘The one telling me that check-in time was at four?’
‘No, the one telling you I’d managed to get the place ready for midday.’
His eyes flare wide and he shakes his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Oh.’ My face falls.
‘My phone ran out of battery. I came at four, like you said.’
‘Shit,that’sannoying,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, I meant annoying foryou. You had to kill almost nine hours.’
‘Eleven, actually.’
‘Really?’ I’m shocked.
‘I got here at five.’
‘And you didn’t drive?’
‘No. Trains, buses, on foot.’
‘How long didthattake?’
‘A while. I don’t want to relive it.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry you made an effort to get the place ready earlier.’
‘Haven’t you seen my email since?’ I ask, perplexed, still standing in the doorway.
He shakes his head. ‘I haven’t charged my phone.’
‘Do you need a charger? I probably have spares.’
‘No, I—’ His voice cuts off. ‘It’s deliberate, to be honest,’ he confides reluctantly. ‘I’m trying to have a break from it all.’
A break fromwhat? Friends? Family? Awife? I glance down at his left hand, but there’s no wedding ring on his finger. Girlfriend? Colleagues? Does he work? He doesn’t look like a bum, but a month is a long time to take off. Has he got a job? Has helosta job? Does he work from home?
‘Did you see my Instagram post?’ I ask curiously.
From the way he’s been watching my mind ticking over, I think he’s surprised thatthisis my question.
‘What Instagram post?’
‘On Seaglass’s Instagram page.’
He shakes his head, confused. ‘I haven’t been online since last Friday morning.’
‘So the forest was all your idea.’ I say this quietly.
He stares down at me, his eye contact unnervingly steady. And then he gives me the slightest, smallest nod ofconfirmation and all my butterflies wake up, all at once, and begin to flap their wings.
