Chapter 11
If Charlie is Morris, then who the hell is Timo?
I find out in the next diary.
Nicki was sixteen when her parents divorced and her father – a French chef – took a job at a five-star Thai resort. She and her sister were devastated, but, while Kate’s sorrow metamorphosed into anger, Nicki pined for her dad terribly. When he invited his daughters to join him for Christmas, Kate – Nicki’s older sister by three years – refused, opting to stay home with their mother instead, so Nicki went alone.
Nicki and Charlie were just friends at this point, although Nicki did have a crush on him. She’d recently broken up with her boyfriend – a little shit called Samuel who’d stolen her virginity and then messed her around so much that I’d been screaming at her to break up with him weeks ago.
Well, pages. Honestly, her diaries are riveting – I’m properly invested.
So, when Nicki goes to Thailand, she’s single. Charlie, meanwhile, is going out with ‘Too Perfect Tisha’ – Nicki’s nickname, but I agree: it suits the girl.
I remember parts of Thailand from when I was fifteen, which was the last occasion Wendy took me to see Mum on a cruise ship. But Mum cruised around Asia for only two years, and, by the time I was old enough to visit her unaccompanied, the married captain had dumped her and she’d got as far away from him as possible.
The way Nicki writes about Thailand makes me want to book my ticket straightaway. And I really might have to. I’m here in Cornwall, soaking up the atmosphere, which is perfect for the Morris section of the story, but I know I won’t be able to write well about a country I’m not familiar with.
But back to Nicki’s diary. . . Her dad is working a lot of the time, so he books his daughter onto a rock-climbing course to keep her occupied. This is where Timo – a.k.a. Isak – comes in.
Isak, the course leader, is from Sweden – not Finland, as in The Secret Life of Us – but it hardly takes Sherlock to put two and two together.
He’s twenty-one and absolutely gorgeous, with grey eyes and short, dark hair, and seventeen-year-old Nicki is smitten from the get-go. Even I’m captivated as I, along with her, read between the lines and try to work out if he likes her too.
She goes into excruciating detail about their every touch, their every exchanged look, their every conversation. When the course is finished, she states that she’s going to continue to go rock climbing, and then I turn the page to see an entry written at two o’clock in the morning, and I know that something big has happened.
Her excitement spills right out of her pen onto the page as she recounts the events of the night before. After her rock-climbing session she got chatting to Isak and he casually invited her for dinner with him. He took her to the rundown village where he lives – on the same island, a fifteen-minute walk away. Nicki was scared about leaving the resort without so much as telling her dad, but her irritation over his lack of time for her made her rebel.
Isak showed her a side of Thailand that was very different from the five-star luxury of the resort – and, despite her initial fear, she found the excursion thrilling. Later, when he walked her barefoot along the sandy beach under the stars, he pulled her to a stop and gave her the most swoonworthy kiss she’d ever had.
We’re seeing him again tonight. I can’t wait.
Between one of my songs finishing and another beginning, I hear the door slamming downstairs. I lift my head up and look out of the window. No Charlie. What’s the time? Three o’clock! I’ve read straight through lunch! I wonder if he’s gone to get April.
I go downstairs and make myself a piece of toast before returning to the office to continue reading.
I have to tear myself away from the pages at five o’clock and, by then, Nicki has filled up another diary and is onto her third. She’s still in Thailand – as I said, she goes into detail – and she and Isak are having a secret affair. She’s in agony over the thought of leaving him in two days’ time.
There’s no one in the kitchen, but there’s a saucepan on the hob, its contents merrily bubbling away beneath the lid. I put my empty mug in the dishwasher and then jump with fright when I realise April is standing in her playpen, staring dolefully up at me. She bounces on her feet a bit, steadying herself with her chubby little hands on the side of the pen.
‘Hello,’ I say, wondering where Charlie is.
She holds her arms open to me. A split second later, she falls backwards onto her bum and starts to cry.
‘Hold on, hold on.’ I look around for Charlie, then, against my better judgement, reach into the pen and lift his daughter out.
Her cries stop instantly, her face breaking into a full-beam smile.
‘All right?’ I ask, grinning back at her.
She reaches up and pulls my hair.
‘Ow!’
She giggles, so I let her do it again.
My squawk this time prompts her to laugh like crazy. Huh. I don’t want to get ahead of myself here, but I think she likes me.
‘Okay, that’s enough now, you cheeky monkey,’ I say, trying to untangle her fingers from my locks before she bruises my scalp. She grins at me, her chubby cheeks widening to chipmunk-like proportions. Maybe it’s her blue dress, but her eyes seem bluer today.
The lid on the pan begins to vibrate violently and both April and I turn our heads at the same time to stare at it. With one arm holding her to my hip, I go over to the stove and carefully take off the lid, grabbing a wooden spoon and stirring the red sauce within. The toilet flushes inside the hallway cloakroom and Charlie emerges.
‘Thanks,’ he says, coming into the kitchen. I jut my hip towards him, expecting him to take April, but he goes to a cupboard and begins rooting around.
‘What are you making?’ I ask.
‘Spaghetti Bolognese.’
‘For you or April?’
‘Both,’ he replies, unscrewing a jar of dried herbs and shaking some into the pan, flecking the red sauce with green. ‘Just have to blitz hers in the food processor first.’
‘Ew.’ I pull a face.
He smirks at me as he screws the herb lid back on.
‘How’s your work coming along?’ I walk over to the French doors and look out.
‘Getting there,’ he replies.
‘Is that driftwood?’ I ask, studying the twisted structure that’s beginning to form around the outside of the play kitchen’s frame.
‘Some of it is. It can be pretty brittle, so I tend to use pine for the base and fix branches and driftwood on top to give it character.’
‘Do you get it from the beaches yourself?’
‘Yeah.’ He materialises at my side. ‘And my friends and family sometimes pick it up when they see it.’
‘It reminds me of the seaside,’ I say. ‘I like the colour.’
‘Yeah, it’s been bleached by the sun. I like the shape,’ he says. ‘It’s been knocked about in the water for so long that the waves have smoothed away most of the rough edges. And I like not knowing where it comes from or how long it’s been adrift at sea.’
I smile at his reverential tone, and he in turn, smiles at his daughter, reaching across to tweak her nose. She giggles.
‘Well, I guess I’d better get home,’ I say, offering April over with more purpose this time. I still seem to have her attached to my hip.
‘Do you want to stay for dinner?’ Charlie asks casually, finally getting the hint and taking her from me. ‘I’ve got plenty.’
‘Oh, no, thank you,’ I reply automatically, and then frown at myself as I walk away from him. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do – and I like a bit of spag bol – but he doesn’t repeat his offer.
Nicki’s bike is still resting in the hall and the sight of it makes me nervous.
I’m reluctant to pick up her helmet, and even more so to pull it over my head, but I do. The fit is good, but the straps don’t quite meet under my chin and I’m struggling to loosen them.
I honestly would be so much happier on hired equipment.
‘Let me help,’ Charlie says, putting April down and coming to my aid. I didn’t know he’d followed me out here.
I’m not sure where to look as he fiddles with the straps, so I focus on his jaw, trying not to flinch as his rough fingertips brush against my throat. His jaw clenches and my eyes dart up to his, my breath freezing in my lungs – his pain is palpable.
‘Charlie, I—’
‘Done!’ He interrupts me, taking a step backwards and forcing a bright smile.
‘Seriously, I don’t want to—’
He covers his hands with his ears. ‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he says, going over to open the door.
I roll my eyes at him to lighten the mood as I wheel the bike past.
‘Height okay?’ he asks when I reach the road and swing my leg over the frame.
‘Fine,’ I reply, wondering if he’s already adjusted it. I’m pretty tall at five foot eight.
He nods. ‘Ride carefully.’ He pats the doorframe with an air of finality and goes back inside, shutting the door behind him. I’m glad he didn’t wait to see me set off. I’m feeling on edge enough as it is.