Frida also flicked a glance to her mother, to Johnny and then back again. ‘Great idea,’ she said, far too enthusiastically. ‘One more ice cream from The Ice Cream Dream Kiosk before we go.’
Johnny looked stricken. ‘You’re leaving?’
Callie nodded. ‘Frida wants to get home.’
‘Actually, Mum, I thought it was you busting a gut to get back. I’m not that bothered. Would rather chill here in Lullbury Bay than in Worcester. At least here I can sit on the beach.’
Callie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh. So you don’t want to go home, then?’
‘Nah.’ Frida shrugged. ‘Not really. I only agreed as it seemed you wanted to. And now,’ Frida said meaningfully, ‘I’m going to take myself out of this little scene of unresolved sexual tension and go get one of the kiosk’s magical portions of chocolatey yumminess. Sort yourself out, kiddos, and I’ll be back later.’ She turned to go.
‘Frida,’ Callie protested. ‘Be careful.’
‘Mum, I’m twenty-three not twelve. I’m all grown up. The doc said it’s okay to do some gentle exercise.’ Relenting, she twisted back to her mother. ‘It’s time to stop worrying.’
‘I’ll always worry.’
‘I know. That’s why I love you.’ She gave Callie a brief, hard hug.
‘Don’t worry, Callie, I’ll look after her,’ Verity said, holding out an arm to Frida. ‘We can always use my car if it proves too much.’ Frida took Verity’s outstretched arm and began making her way tentatively down the track.
‘Be careful walking down the hill,’ Callie repeated. ‘Don’t hurt your leg!’ The only reply she received was an airy wave. A lump formed in her throat. It felt as if she was saying goodbye to her little girl forever. And maybe she was. The events of the last fewdays had changed them both. It was time to ease into a new relationship with her, less mother and daughter, more friends. She’d still worry though.
‘She’ll be fine, Callie,’ Johnny said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s taking it slow and not limping.’
‘She’s supposed to be resting.’ Callie peered after Frida and Verity, checking their progress.
‘With the size of the kiosk’s ice creams, she’ll have to sit down for at least thirty minutes to eat one.’ Turning her to him, he took her hands. ‘Callie, now we have this opportunity, can we talk?’
Callie ripped her focus away from her daughter and stared up at him. He looked pale and drawn. Skin was stretched thinly over his cheekbones, making his nose seem more prominent, the black eyes developing dramatically either side of the Steri-Strips. Either he’d been economical with the truth about his injury or staying at his parents really had been stressful.
She panicked. What good would talking to him do? She was as much at risk of falling under his spell as before. More so. And she couldn’t see how they could have any kind of a future. Even so, she owed him big time, as her daughter would put it.
‘Frida’s right. I didn’t thank you properly. You risked your life getting us out of that hut and only minutes before the wall came down.’ Shuddering slightly, she added, ‘I dread to think what would have happened had you not found us. I didn’t know about the wall. I thought staying put, with Frida bleeding so much, was the right thing to do. I was waiting for the ambulance. And, it must have been awful for you. It must have brought so much trauma back–’
He put a finger on her lips. ‘I had no choice. I had to come for you.’ He caressed her cheek softly.
‘For both of us.’
He nodded. ‘For both of you, of course and I’m delighted Frida isn’t too badly hurt. But I came for you. I had to come for you. I had no choice. I love you, Calliope.’ He kissed her gently.
Callie wasn’t proud of her reaction. For weeks afterwards she deliberated over why she did what she did.
Maybe it was the stress of the last few days, the realisation that Frida was growing up and away from her, the relief that Johnny was standing, unhurt, in front of her and looking gorgeous in a bright blue shirt, and linen shorts.
Maybe even the knowledge that, actually, Frida wasn’t all that desperate to go home. Mainly, she concluded, it was the fact that, whatever happened, she loved the man kissing her. She loved him body and soul.
‘And I love you, Johnny Starling. I love you so much.’ And, with that declaration, she burst into a fine display of ugly, noisy, very wet sobs.
Thirty-Seven
Jean-Honore Fragonard 1732–1806
French painter of intimate and subtly erotic scenes. What is the story of the painting?
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
‘Sorry,’ Callie said. They were sitting on the sofa, close together, arms wrapped tightly around one another, the open French windows letting a gentle sea breeze drift the scents and sounds of the beach in.
