He’s talking to Scarlett. ‘Now might be a good time to make a run for home. What do you think, Scarl?’
Scarlett’s face is diagonally across the screen. ‘We can’t leave Bets in Jaggers on her own with six cocktails to finish.’
My tummy clenches as I hear that.
Tate’s voice comes in. ‘Sit tight, Bets. We’re right here with you.’
I refill my glass, and putting the jug down I send a splash across the bar. I’m mopping it up with my sleeve, thinking of the walk back along the beach. How far it will stretch in the dark with the alcohol expanding my perceptions. The way the room is going in and out of focus, even a visit to the Ladies could be out of my reach if I don’t go soon.
I prop my phone up against the cocktail jug. ‘Talk to Paul while I go to the bathroom. I won’t be long.’ I slither down from my stool and try not to leave any skirts behind as I land.
Paul’s calling directions after me. ‘Straight across, Betty, then left at the end.’
It feels like I’m walking on a cross-channel ferry in a Force10 gale using someone else’s legs, but once I grab hold of the chair backs it gets easier.
It’s so long since I’ve been out that I’ve forgotten how loudly the toilet doors bang when you forget to close them quietly. Then there’s that moment of calm while I pee and hold my head in my hands. Then the door slams again as I open it, and when I wash my hands, the person I’m staring at in the mirror looks like a different version of me. Then the lobby door is closing behind me, and I’m back to steadying myself on the chairs.
It hits me that I used to do this in five-inch heels rather than Converse high tops, and I’m impressed by my past self. In fact, the lack of height might explain why I’m finding it such hard work here. When I get back to the bar, push off on the polished foot rail and try to scramble back onto my stool, it feels less achievable than climbing the north face of the Eiger. I’m halfway up, when a low, resonating male voice cuts through my head and ruins my concentration.
‘Betsy, are you okay?’
There’s a thud as I land back where I started. Then I look up and there’s a moment of recognition and I let out a shout.
‘Miles, what the hell? You didn’t tell me you drank in Jaggers!’
He pulls a face. ‘This is my first time.’
Paul laughs from behind the bar. ‘You might like to try our sex-on-the-beach summer offer, three for the price of one, every night in June.’
I reach for my phone, miss, watch it slide along the bar, then shout for the benefit of those in New York. ‘Scarlett and Tate, guess what? Miles is here!’
Miles stares down at my screen as it slides to a halt in front of him. ‘Okay, guys, I’ve got the St Aidan end of the party. You two go and enjoy the rest of your evening.’ He looks at me. ‘Would you like more cocktails, Betsy Bets, or are you ready to head home?’
‘Home how?’
There’s that twitch to his lips. ‘My car is on the harbourside, if you’d like a lift.’
There’s a sudden pang in my chest. ‘Have you come specially…? In which case what about your real date?’
‘Tate rang to say you needed a lift, I’m sure she understood.’
I’m not sure I would have. I feel suddenly defiant. ‘I don’t need rescuing!’
‘No one is saying you do.’ He eyes me levelly. ‘If we’re heading in the same direction, it makes sense to go together, that’s all.’
With that query covered, I move on to the next.
‘Could we have chips?’
‘To eat on the harbourside or to take away?’ His arm slides around me, and I lean in as we weave our way towards the door. Then we move outside and the wind from the sea hits me in the face and blows my hair off my head. By the time I get to think,what the actual eff?we’re already halfway across quayside.
23
Boathouse Cottage, St Aidan
Wet wet wet
Friday
