‘It’s Friday the thirteenth!’ Layla grabbed Nick’s arm. ‘Show me your watch.’ He twisted his wrist and she glared at the numbers in the date box, the metallic strap glinted in the sharp rays of the setting sun.
‘Forget about it. It’s not important.’
A taxi had dropped them a few feet from the entrance to the beachside restaurant. The air was warm and the sun had turned the sky golden pink over the sea. Propped back with large wooden planters of roses and marigolds, the double doors to the restaurant had been flung wide open, and the sound of chatter and laughter, people having a good time, spilled out.
Layla drew in a deep breath and let it all go. ‘I’m superstitious.’
‘I know you are. Superstitions don’t count for anything. I told you before, we make our own luck.’
‘I beg to differ,’ she argued. He radiated male vitality and he looked stellar in the clothes he’d shopped for while she was in the salon. ‘A party on Friday the thirteenth is bad luck.’
‘What happened to sacking off the bad luck?’
‘I said I’d try, I didn’t make any promises.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m willing to bet that somewhere in the world Friday the thirteenth is a lucky day.’
Her emotions had run high over Joe – anger, disappointment, embarrassment. She straightened her shoulders.
Nick locked her hand in his. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ His firm touch filled her with strength. ‘Let’s do this thing.’
Trish greeted them at the door and pressed a blue cocktail complete with orange straw and pink paper umbrella into her free hand.
‘I’m so glad you could make it.’ The hint of dark circles beneath her eyes had been skillfully concealed by flawless makeup. ‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ Trish repeated, all excitable and distracted. ‘So, so glad!’
Joe’s father shook Nick’s hand over-enthusiastically. The impression that she’d stepped onto the set of a soap where the role of plus one for the groom’s dumped ex had been written in especially unsettled her. She powered through and painted on a smile.
‘You’re looking well.’ The older man’s condescending tone, albeit unintentional, had the effect of making her feel like she’d been struck down with a bout of something contagious, and really shouldn’t be out yet.
She slurped down half her lurid cocktail in one disreputable go, disregarding the straw.
‘She looks stunning.’ Nick’s voice rumbled loudly through the restaurant stopping conversations mid-sentence. ‘Absolutely sensational.’
Okay! Don’t overdo it.
Surprisingly, heads bobbed in apparent approval as people got back to what they’d been saying. She downed the remainder of her drink, and plucked another one from a tray offered by Emily the new girl as the chit-chat built into forced jollity.
She scanned the restaurant. The table centres matched the planters and in one corner a hastily rustled up three-tier cake, complete with ivory fondant icing, orange ribbons and topped with yet more flowers, stood out.
When Layla’s mother appeared, Nick casually withdrew the arm that had been protectively draped across her shoulders. ‘I’ll get some real drinks,’ he murmured softly against her ear. ‘More than one of those things and I’ll be legless.’
‘Lightweight.’
He laughed and went to the bar. Shelly hustled her into a corner.
‘He’s right.’ She took the cocktail from Layla’s hand and set it down on the nearest table. ‘I’ve no idea what’s in this, but it looks and tastes like mouthwash.’
‘Mother! How rude.’
‘There’s a rumour going round that you and Nick are running away together. To Paris!’
‘Mother!’ she hissed. ‘Please lower your voice.’
‘Is it true?’
‘Paris? Maybe,’ she dithered. ‘Running away? Not so much. I’ll be back on Monday. You won’t even notice I’ve gone. If I actually go, that is.’
‘Are you going, or aren’t you?’
Layla picked up her confiscated drink and twirled the pink cocktail umbrella. ‘I haven’t told Dad. I haven’t arranged cover. And there’s Ophelia to think about.’
‘I’ll mind Ophelia. And you can leave your father to me.’
‘Do you think he’ll cope?’
‘It’s a weekend off. Nick’s not asking for your hand in marriage.’
‘Been there, done that, and got the jilted-before-I-got-anywhere-near-the-altar t-shirt to prove it,’ she sniped.
‘There’s no need to be prickly.’
Perfect! She was getting a telling-off. So much for sophistication. ‘I meant how will Dad manage changeover day?’
‘I’ll give him Emily’s number.’ She discreetly pointed a manicured pink nail at Jasmine, who was vociferously regaling the new waitress with her own wedding minutiae. ‘Failing that, he could ask Lady Muck to pitch in.’
‘Mother!’
‘Pigs might fly!’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Layla said. ‘Pulling her weight isn’t Jasmine’s forte. But she’s got staffing issues at the gift shop and she’s been feeling poorly. Pregnancy hormones kicking in.’ A knot of emotion for her mother tightened beneath her ribs. Because she’d fallen pregnant Shelly had down-sized her dreams, only to find herself putting up with an unfaithful husband and faking contentment. And for what? In the end he’d left anyway. Layla crossed her fingers behind her back. She’d die if the party ended in a scene because either she or her mother lost the plot, incapable of stomaching keeping up appearances a second longer.
Shelly stretched out her pink painted fingernails. ‘Do I clash with the décor?’
Layla hugged her. ‘In a good way.’ Her mum had pretending that everything was okay down to a fine art. ‘How are you feeling about it all?’
‘I’m …’ Shelly gulped. ‘I was about to say “fine” but the word’s never felt less fine. I’m making a stab at acting cool with things but I’m only just holding it together. It probably shouldn’t, but Jasmine expecting and planning her wedding feels like déja vu.’
Their eyes rested, like a spotlight, on her father. Relaxed, a pint of beer in his hand, he was gregariously telling Joe’s parents a story that made them laugh.
With a small smile Shelly shook her head slowly. ‘Good luck to him!’ She touched her daughter’s arm. ‘I mind that Joe’s not marrying you.’
Layla sipped her reclaimed cocktail. ‘This really doesn’t taste good.’
‘I’m cross with Joe. He’s been so thoughtless. He treated you terribly. He’s upset his parents. The more I think about it the more I wonder why we’re here.’
Layla stopped herself from commenting that Shelly was the local expert at tolerating bad situations. ‘We’re keeping up appearances.’
‘To pot with that.’ Shelly stepped backwards and accidentally on purpose put a heel through a balloon. Oohs followed by laughter broke out above the loud pop. ‘I thought the sun shone out of Joe, but he put himself ahead of you. I didn’t say anything because you and he were making a go of things.’ Shelly twisted her thumb and forefinger nervously around the empty spot where there used to be a wedding ring. ‘Your dad and I weren’t exactly a prototype for married bliss, so it wasn’t my place to weigh in with an opinion.’
‘Joe did the right thing the wrong way. We weren’t meant to stay together.’
‘Maybe you had a lucky escape. It’s funny how things work out.’ She looked around as if searching for someone. ‘One blue drink was enough for me. It’s gone straight to my head. Look. I match with the cocktail umbrellas.’ She only diverted the conversation momentarily. ‘There’s no point promising to be together forever if you don’t mean it.’
Layla’s fingers worried at the clasp on her bracelet.
‘Go and have fun. Starting with Paris.’ Her mother picked a rose from the nearest table centre and pulled the petals off one by one, dropping them onto the floor around their feet. ‘He loves her, he loves her not. He loves her, he loves her not.’
‘Stop!’ Self-consciously, stifled by the atmosphere, lost without Nick, Layla plucked the half-destroyed flower from her mother’s hand and put it back in the vase. The volume of chatter had risen, ever more excitable as people knocked back drinks. Because he’d been swamped welcoming guests, she’d avoided Joe at the door. While he was circulating around the room she stole a quick glance. Grinning broadly, he looked nauseatingly content. In ankle-length ivory chiffon, red hair braided and twisted artfully around her face, Lainy rocked the bohemian beach bride.
‘So about Paris? Is it what we used to call a dirty weekend in my day?’
‘Mother! You’re ruining my attempt to channel ice cold indifference. First off, it still is your day. And secondly, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘That’s a yes then.’
‘I didn’t expect you to be quite so on board with the idea of Paris. You do get that it’s a fling?’
‘You make a lovely couple. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’
‘Now you’re being fanciful. That cocktail didn’t just go to your head, it scrambled your brain.’
‘I plead insanity.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Seriously though. Joking aside. He’s a lovely guy. Much nicer than the papers make him out. But I’d hate to see you fall for another commitment-phobe only for him to waltz off with some other woman. Like Dad and Joe.’
She winced. ‘Did you close your ears to what I just said?’
‘Ignore me if I’m overstepping the mark. Pouring cold water all over everything isn’t my intention. A weekend in Paris is fantastic. Don’t lose your heart, that’s all.’
Returning from the bar with two cocktails Nick cut in, ‘Sex on the beach anyone?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
‘Mother!’ Shelly nabbed a glass and walked off giggling inappropriately. Layla glared disbelievingly. ‘Is that what you call a real drink?’
He laughed. ‘Your mother seems to think so.’
‘My father’s engagement has left her a sandwich short of a picnic.’
‘Should I go after her and get that drink back?’ Nick looked perturbed. ‘Do you think she’ll unravel before the night is out?’
‘Not a chance. Mum would rather stick pins in her eyes than let her true feelings show.’ She blamed herself for the years of disillusionment her mother had clocked up. ‘I’ll pass on the sex on the beach thanks. I’m pacing myself.’
He cocked an eyebrow and drank it himself.
Cocktails gave way to plates of delicious food and wine, desserts, more wine. All the while, Nick stayed attentively at her side. Together they turned heads and she lost count of how many compliments the outstanding little black dress collected. Like compass points, Joe and Lainy and Layla and Nick remained strategically positioned on opposite sides of the restaurant.
‘Are you avoiding them?’
‘Way to go Sherlock.’
Ignoring her feeble sarcasm, he curved his arm around her waist. She stifled a yelp of protest as he propelled her across the floor to where Joe and Lainy were holding court in the midst of a group of friends. Instant silence descended. Someone cleared their throat. Someone else suggested more drinks. She shook her head, well aware that off-her-face at her ex’s party wouldn’t be a good look. In a split second the circle of friends vanished leaving just the two of them facing the bride and groom.
For the sake of any eavesdroppers she turned her charm setting to maximum. ‘Lovely party Joe.’ She switched to Lainy and they air kissed without a hint of awkwardness. ‘It’s so good to meet you. You two were made for each other.’ Translation – You’re much too good for him. Like a nodding dog her head swiveled back to Joe. ‘Good luck with everything. Have a nice time in Newquay.’
‘I love your dress Layla.’ Her attention bounced back to Lainy who sounded sincere, not at all like she was sizing her up.
‘Oh, this?’ She played down the designer dress. ‘I found it at the back of the wardrobe. It’s something I’d forgotten I had.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that telling a white lie to save face wasn’t horrible.
Lainy linked her arm through her husband’s and leant into his side. Emily passed out champagne, Joe’s father called for hush, and Layla backed away melting into the shadows with Nick, side by side, bodies almost touching, silent.
‘Raise your glasses, please, in a toast to the happy couple. Lainy and Joe!’
The room echoed with the mumble of Lainy and Joe. Overhearing someone mistakenly announce Layla and Joe, she exchanged a look with Nick, and held her glass high.
‘The happy couple!’ Her words rang out a little too loudly. She pressed her champagne glass to her lips. Inhaling the aroma, she sipped the bubbles. Nick touched her shoulder with one finger and trailed it the length of her arm. His free hand covered hers, their fingers meshing neatly. On the far side of the restaurant the groom kissed his bride and they posed for photos by the wedding cake. Layla looked on with the detachment of someone watching the scene on a cinema screen.
‘Come here.’ Nick spoke in a husky whisper. Warm salty air wafted in through open doors which led to decking overlooking the beach. Unresisting, she followed. Outside she practically swigged her champagne, remembering a second too late that she was meant to be pacing herself with the booze. She set the champagne glass on the wide wooden surface of the deck rail. ‘It’s lucky you’re here. I don’t think I could have done this without you. You’re keeping me grounded.’ He’d been more than a distraction, she’d gained perspective. ‘You’ve helped me sort myself out. I can’t believe I’m saying this but Joe and me … we were perfectly okay together,’ she said quietly.
‘You were happy?’ He tensed, and they stood not looking at each other but out into the twilight to the place where the red sun had dropped into the sea. A bank of cloud hung low above the horizon, its edges glistening pink and golden.
‘I wouldn’t go right to happy. I wasn’t unhappy. I’d settled. We both had. The things we shared weren’t enough. We were perfectly okay but we weren’t perfect. When I saw him tonight I expected to feel something.’
‘What kind of something?’
‘Sad or numb. Instead I felt nothing. If he hadn’t let me down when he did, it would have happened another time. Maybe a worse time.’
Nick stared at the sea. He didn’t speak.
‘You know what,’ she said. ‘I’m sick of defending him, being polite, saying nothing. My mother’s accident was a seriously bad time. The worst. The doctors couldn’t say if she’d be okay. He swept it aside like it was nothing. He’s a selfish pillock. He sent me a text from the airport to say he wanted to be on a break, didn’t bother to ask how Mum was. So I texted back that we were over.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ Nick turned to her, incredulity on his face. ‘About the break?’
‘I didn’t swear to tell you the truth and nothing but the truth. It’s a tiny detail. It didn’t matter. He went away when I needed him to stay and if I had feelings back then I don’t any longer. They’ve gone. You should know that.’
From inside the restaurant applause drifted out, along with the ripple of laughter. She looked in through the wide-open doors in time to see everyone gathering around Joe and Lainy, hands joined around a silver cake slice, ready to plunge the shiny blade into their cake. Her dad was standing behind Joe. Across the distance he caught her eye and for a comical half second held up the palms of his hands as if poised to give Joe a shove. He wouldn’t have done it in a million years but the idea of Joe face planting his wedding cake was a funny one, and she appreciated the silliness of his dad joke.
‘I’m tired of the Porthkara pressure cooker. Mum might be able to handle it. But I’m not sure I can. Is it too soon to slope off?’
‘Say Joe made a mistake, he wants you back. What then? Would you have him?’
Emotional confusion twisted her insides. ‘That’s irrelevant.’ She shook off his question. ‘I’m different. I’m not the person he left behind.’ Wide-eyed she gestured towards the restaurant. ‘And, anyway …’
Nick searched her face as if he’d anticipated a different reaction. He filled the void. ‘I’d say the jury’s out on whether he can step up to the plate for Lacey.’
‘Lainy!’
‘He’s going to let her down. I’d put money on it.’ In the darkening light his face was moody. ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’
‘Cynic.’
He nodded towards the couple inside the restaurant. ‘Watch this space.’