Chapter Thirty-Seven
Fin
‘The world is a-fucking-gainst me.’
‘What? What’s gone on? Who do I need to open a can ofI’ll-fuck-you-upon?’
‘No one.’ At least not yet. In Ivy’s tiny Fiat, I sit at the entrance to the rapidly flooding causeway, the rain pounding against the windscreen so hard the wipers can barely cope with the downpour. I’d be risking it crossing in a SUV. In this tiny Italian tin can I’d be afloat in no time.
I’d followed Rory out of the salon; he’d had maybe a half hour head-start at best. I should have followed him straight away but I’d panicked and second guessed. Would he still want me? Was I going to him only to be spurned? But there was only one course of action; I needed to find him. To explain. To tell him how much he means to me.
Time and tide wait for no one? Fuck Nature. The only thing stopping me from bawling my eyes out is Nat on the other end of the line.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Yeah. Yes, I am. But I’m not where I want to be, because the fucking tide has fucking well come in.’ I’m not going to cry or sob, but I didn’t say I wasn’t going to wail.
‘Ah, no way. What’s to do?’
‘I’m just going to sit here and stare at the ocean until it goes the other way.’ Sit here and stare over the small stretch while thinking about what a fuck up I am.
‘Don’t be an arse. It’ll be hours before it’s safe to cross. Come back and we’ll make some sort of a plan.’
‘There’s no planning my way out of this one. And what if Malady turns up again?’
‘That’s not likely. She’ll no’ show her face again for a while, not after showing her real one today.’
‘I’m such a dumb—’
‘If you say fuck again June says to tell you she’ll wash out your mouth.’
‘I’m on speaker phone?’ My question is more groan than actual words.
‘That you are, dearie,’ comes June’s cheery tone. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were so keen on the young man?’
‘I don’t think I realised myself until today. I told myself it was just, well, sex.’
‘There’s no such thing, hen.’
‘Unless your name is Natasha,’ the woman herself scoffs.
‘You keep tellin’ yourself that,’ says June dryly. ‘You might not have mentioned him, but I could tell the minute you walked in he meant a lot to you.’
‘I didn’t tell anyone. I guess I just wanted to keep him—it all—to myself.’
‘Apart from that first time.’ Nat chuckles. ‘You know, when Ivy got shit-faced drunk? You shared plenty then.’
‘Oh, did she kiss and tell?’ asks June, a kind of starry-eyed thrilled.
‘There wasnae much talk about kissing, but her skirt was full of tells.’
I brace my free arm on the steering wheel. Then bang my head on it repeatedly.
‘What was that?’ June sounds startled, so I stop.
‘She’s probably head-butting the steering wheel.’
‘Young lady,’ June chastises. ‘You come home.’
