My plan is short-lived as I hear heavy, raspy breaths and the sound of feet shuffling towards me.
‘Are you talking to me yet?’ The American heaves herself down into the chair next to me, a large sunhat and glasses concealing most of her face.
‘Depends on what you have to say.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘That’s a good start.’ I bring my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and linking my fingers together, watching as Alphonse stands behind the line and deftly launches the silver ball in the air where it swiftly lands a few inches from the jack. There are some cheers, Rupert shakes his hand vigorously before pulling him into a sort of half-hug.
‘Did you and Florian talk any more?’ The American persists. I meet her eyes, genuinely curious and well-meaning.
‘What, in our adjacent rooms?’ I peek at her over my sunglasses. She looks a little bashfully at the floor, realising she has been well and truly caught out.
‘You’re the only ones here with your original hips, the room situation was sort of out of my hands.’
‘Well, I caught him in the pool. We said we would be civil to each other.’
‘Civil,’ she tries the word on her tongue, ‘how…’
‘Sad?’ I smirk. ‘Yeah, well at the minute I guess I’m lucky to at least have civil.’
‘Did he say anything about the other night?’
‘No. It wasn’t a conversation I think either of us realised was going to end well.’
‘Still,’ she shrugs, ‘it’s a conversation you need to have.’
‘Well why don’t you orchestrate a game of sardines and lock us up in a cupboard together, sure we’d have the conversation soon enough.’
‘Tempting.’ She looks as if she is genuinely weighing up whether it would be worth it.
‘Look, I appreciate how invested you are in my love life, honestly no one has tried harder, but at the end of the day some things just can’t be worked through. This is one of them, and it’s sad and it hurts but I can’t say I didn’t give it a good go and whilst I don’t believe that everything in this life happens for a reason, I do believe that if despite your best efforts things still aren’t working out, then you probably should admit defeat.’
The American’s eyes move to the group below who have now set up another game. She lets out a deep and sad sigh.
‘I like him, Ava. I just think it’s very sad.’
Chapter 34
Ihave only everseen a ‘white party’ on an episode ofThe Real Housewivesand had assumed that, as we most definitely did not run in the same social circles, I would never have to attend one in my life. Obviously, I had never factored in meeting a flamboyant American geriatric who thought lime green was a neutral and who lived for a bit of theatrics. So, when I slip on the white maxi dress left in my closet, that is all too white and all too sheer simultaneously, I can’t help but feel as if I’ve fallen into some alternative reality.
It is a small mercy that the dress is what some would describe as ‘beachy’ and not ‘bridal’ as I have a sneaking suspicion that The American might think that decking me out in a white dress with a train would be an excellent opportunity to demonstrate to Florian how right we are for each other.
I unscrew one of the pre-mixed cocktails from the gift bag and down it in four gulps, not stopping to feel the sting just knowing that in a few moments whatever’s waiting for me downstairs will feel much more manageable.
The bell rings for the second time from downstairs and I grab my bag and take one last glancing look in the mirror before leaving. When I get to the top of the stairs, I hear something slam behind me; I turn to see Florian who freezes on the landing. He looks frustratingly good: linen trousers, brown brogues and a white linen shirt left open at the collar.
I feel my cheeks redden, debate whether to say something to him, but I know that anything that falls out of my mouth will be idiotic and unfathomable. Instead, I manage a sort of sad half smile, the kind you shoot strangers in parks when you walk past them and you’re trying to be nice. He receives it and matches mine with an equally awkward gesture until I turn around and make my way to where the music is coming from.
I am grateful to see Crispy’s face at the bottom of the stairs. He pretends to faint at the sight of me.
‘Well look at you.’ He presses his red cheeks into mine and makes me stand back for appraisal.
‘I feel ridiculous.’
‘You look Grecian,’ he says suggesting an alternative and I take it. ‘Bloody hell!’ he suddenly guffaws and I look at where his gaze has fallen, onto Florian who has been snapped up by Debbie with the three husbands. ‘Doesn’t he look dashing?’
‘Does he?’ I lie through my teeth and catch Crispy’s disbelieving look. ‘Okay, yes he looks good.’
