We jump to spin, then I lead the way back to do a spot directly to camera. We’re just setting off the other way again when I hear a loud banging noise coming from a boat further along the quay.
I glimpse a figure on the deck, but he’s out of shot, and I’m damned if I’m going to wreck this take because of one angry sailor hammering on his cabin roof.
When we did school dance shows, the rule was to get to the end, come hell or high water, and that’s what we’ll do now. We do a shimmy or two, more wild jumps, and carry on down the boardwalk. Except just as we arrive back for our ‘final hurrah’ the guy leaps off the boat and steps straight between us and the tripod.
As Tia flicks off the music, I unleash my rage on the sailor. ‘What the hell are you doing? You wrecked our final shot!’
He gives a snort. ‘You may be hell bent on tap dancing along every pontoon in St Aidan on the way to your wedding, but some people here are trying to sleep!’
Our age-old rule is to keep them talking, then run like the wind. ‘Is it Abba themselves you object to? Or the questionable lyrical references?’
‘At six a.m., inches from my cabin window, neither are ideal.’
I’ve always been a sucker for deep voices. This one’s like liquid chocolate, and it’s already sent shivers zipping down my back fastening. There’s something strangely distinctive about the words, even more about the way he says them. The last time I heard a tone that sardonic I was…
My heart does a double somersault as my gaze skims past a half-fastened belt buckle over the faded blue of his unbuttoned shirt and a chin roughened with stubble. Our eyes meet with a jolt.
‘Lando?’ I say the name, but it comes out as a whisper.
I’ve no idea why there’s a question in my voice either when there isn’t any doubt at all. My brother Salvador’s loaded best mate practically lived with us for the whole of senior school, and is entirely responsible for Salvador’s lavish tastes and extravagant ambitions. When they headed off to Australia together without a backward glance it nearly broke Mum’s heart. And then they argued, and Lando left Salvador on his own, thousands of miles from home– so there’s already a lot not to like here, before we get onto the worst part.
That one amazing night that led to Nemmie? Lando Nancarrow was the man I spent it with. Who’d have thought one over-enthusiastic goodbye hug after his going away party would end up with such lifelong ramifications, especially when we’d taken all the precautions. Obviously I should have told Lando I was expecting his baby, but as it wasn’t a normal pregnancy, there wasn’t any lead time. When Nemmie arrived unexpectedly, Lando had already slipped off grid on the other side of the world. By the time I resurfaced from my own struggles and he had signal again, there were a lot more reasons to keep my secret than there were to tell him.
In the few seconds I held Nemmie in my arms before she was whisked away to special care, I realised no one could know about me and Lando, and apart from Tia, that’s how it’s stayed. Tia’s imperceptible raise of an eyebrow and her hand reaching for mine now remind me why I shared.
With so many complications, my feelings of guilt for keeping it from Lando are off-the-scale. I promised myself that as soon as I saw him face to face, I’d be able to gauge the risks better and make a decision based on that, but he never came. Then as time went on, it felt that fate had taken control.
I often played out in my head what I’d do if I ever bumped into him, but I never imagined I’d freeze.
His rage has mellowed to a frown. ‘Maeve! I sail the boat I’m delivering into St Aidan, and here you are! What the hell are you doing marrying someone else? You always said you’d marry me!’
‘What did you just say?’ I’m picking my jaw up off the floor, because that’s not true. Our night together was short. With him and Salvador heading off on the adventure of a lifetime and me staying exactly where I was, we barely mentioned the next day, let alone the next decade.
What’s more, him popping up in St Aidan at daybreak on a Saturday morning now is the worst news for me. I need him to leave town as fast as he’s arrived. That’s the only way my life as I know it can continue.
Then it hits me. He’s not serious. ‘Haha, good joke.’
He swallows hard. ‘Sorry. I’ll try that again. Congratulations, is the lucky guy anyone I know?’ Then his frown deepens as his eyes fall on Tia’s fingers twisting through mine in solidarity. ‘One more go. You’re marrying a woman! Spectacular! I did not see that one coming!’
I hold my hand up. ‘No, Lando! No, to all of it.’
He shakes his head. ‘Your mum’s favourite song, two gorgeous bridal dresses? If that’s not a sure sign, you’ll have to fill in the blanks for me, Maevey Wavey.’
First things first. ‘No one calls me that. Not anymore.’
His lips twist. ‘You’ve stuck with the same dance moves, why not the name too when it suits you so much?’
It’s the same teasing tone that used to drive me wild as a kid, that same diversion from the main subject to distract me. And of course he has all the insider knowledge, because he was there. Salvador and I used to fight over everything, and Lando would be a constant in the background, doing his good-cop-bad-cop routine, pretending to stand up for me but still mocking me enough to keep Sav on side.
I shiver to think of those awful years when I’d woken up to how hot Lando was, me desperate to be noticed, yet knowing he was entirely off-limits. I mean, it doesn’t get any more sad, hopeless or ridiculous than lusting after your older brother’s best mate when you’re fourteen and they’re eighteen and playing the field. And if you finally grow old enough to jump them and accidentally have their baby but don’t tell them about it, there’s no coming back from that. I need to wind this up fast and get off the harbour.
‘If you let me get a word in, Lando, I’ll explain.’
He gives a shrug. ‘Whatever you say, Wavey Maeve.’
I don’t rise to that. ‘There are no brides, no weddings, just me and the same best friend I’ve always had who you must remember.’ I loosen my fingers and flop my hand on her shoulder. ‘Tia works at the wedding shop up the hill, and we’re filming content for the socials.’
‘That’s all?’ His eyes widen, then he frowns again. ‘Aren’t those dresses too good for dragging over mackerel nets?’
