Ollie liked that Cher song.
‘They weren’t important. Just talking about life here. I couldn’t find Yu-Gi-Oh cards for ages and when I did, they were in Greek.’
‘Very important information,’ I say. ‘You know, I still have my shiny blue-eyes white dragon card.’
Sam wiggles his eyebrows. ‘So do I.’
‘Well, I’m sorry I never got your letters.’
‘Don’t worry about it. We can text these days.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘Sam’s dad wanted to move back,’ Jill says. ‘Just felt like a good decision at the time.’
‘And how is Mr Greer?’
‘I wouldn’t know. We divorced.’
My wine glass almost shatters in my hand. There’s that horrible word again. Divorce. Why go through all the effort just to divorce? God, I wish I could use this as an example to Ollie. ‘Oh, Jill.’
‘It happens.’
Yes, it does. Divorce always seems inevitable. I wish Sam had told me earlier in the car.
‘We were meant to go back,’ Sam says, after a moment. ‘To the UK. When I found that out, after being told we were staying, I was angry.’
‘Why? It’s perfect here.’ I say looking around.
Sam nudges me. ‘I wanted my friend back.’ My heart constricts at his touch, hairs on the back of my neck standing as a frisson of excitement tingles between my legs.
His confident gaze, with his lips slightly curled, is directed towards me. He’s so sure of himself, his bicep curled as he drinks, his other hand inches from mine.
This is Sam.
Friends only.
‘I’m here now.’
‘For twenty-five days,’ Sam says.
‘A toast,’ I say, raising my glass. ‘To the next twenty-five days.Yamas.’
Jill laughs in surprise, and Sam looks impressed. Bonus points scored.
‘Yamas,’ they echo.
Chapter Sixteen
SAM
Day One
Will is… different. He has a handsome smile, a lovely set of teeth. I remember when they were crooked. Not anymore. Also, his eyebrows are a lovely shape, almost like a crescent moon. They’re looked after, as if he goes for beauty treatments. His eyelashes are thick and dark. I’ve been mesmerised by him all night.
It’s weird to observe these things in the face of a boy who made my childhood so special. But he’s not a boy anymore, is he? He’s a man. He has this way of speaking that brightens up the room. Mum can’t contain her mirth at the way his Welsh accent lilts up, and the way his self-deprecating humour tells us he’s part of the joke, that he knows he’s being crass at times.
But there’s something else. I see it in the way his eyes flicker, never truly resting on the person he’s talking to. The way he plays with his cutlery, or strokes the side of his wine glass. Or how he looks down at the floor, at his lap, at his hands. He relaxes back into his chair when the attention isn’t on him. When one of us is talking and he’s observing, he finally meetsyour eye. It’s like he turns the spotlight back on us and yet he’s the one who shines.
