The hotel was bearing down on him oppressively, and he no longer felt he could call Mark ever since both he and Marsha had made such a massive point about how much they adored Flora, of course, and how much they felt this girl was the one for him and how he should settle down and so on and so forth. So he cut himself off from that.
He exercised relentlessly, which normally worked to quell his restlessness, but pounding the city sidewalks for hours didn’t help; didn’t tire him out enough to sleep; didn’t switch off the endless, clouded panic circling in his brain. He tried more work, but the more he did, the more Colton fed him. He tried drink and realised that in the past he would have gone to a bar and found an incredibly attractive woman and tried to screw it out of himself … but he didn’t … He didn’t want to do that any more. There was only one thing he wanted, only one person, and he couldn’t seem to get through to her at all – couldn’t seem to get it right. He was worried that she would want more and more and more, and all sorts of things that weren’t in him to give.
And now that place – the place he thought he’d found, where the endless, self-doubting torment, the desperate running and fleeing wasn’t necessary – now was that still there for him? Colton was about to change it irrevocably. Was he even still welcome there? He had no idea, truly, what was going on in Flora’s head; he felt merely that he had been locked out of paradise, that Flora’s careful, non-committal chats echoed precisely the language he had been used to all his life, when a well-meaning but nonetheless determined social worker had explained, yet again, why he wasn’t welcome at this place, that they would try and find somewhere else for him.
He went to the balcony. The heat and noise of the city rose up to meet him. Christ, he hated it here. He hated it. He wanted to be cool, and quiet, and walking a long beach, and smelling the freshest of sea wind, just letting the air blow out every cobweb in his head. No. They weren’t cobwebs. They were more like twisted snakes, coiled around the inside of his brain, squeezing tighter and tighter, and if Flora knew … If she only knew, if she got close enough, if she suspected what was beneath the carapace of him; what it contained … It was a writhing, choking mass of slithering monsters that tightened every synapse, the great coiling insides of him that he could conceal with a smart suit; with a charming manner; with a fit body; with spending money; with everything like that. For as long as that worked.
He couldn’t risk letting her get closer. But if he didn’t, he would lose everything. And Colton was taking a sledgehammer to it all.
His head hurt, as if the monsters in there were trying to burst out, trying to escape. He couldn’t … If he ever let them out, if he ever did, he worried that he would start to scream and never, ever be able to stop.
He staggered along the balcony, peered over the top and stared down to the ground. The suite wasn’t on the street side; it simply led down to the roof of another building.
Why was it so fucking hot? Hot everywhere. He’d turned on the air conditioning, but then he’d started to shiver uncontrollably. He didn’t know how long he’d been in this room, in this hotel. His brain was cloudy. None of his clothes fitted; he didn’t know what the hell was wrong with everyone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He blinked; sweat was dripping down his forehead. He staggered forward again.
Flora was closing the Seaside Kitchen and had dismissed the girls and was making Lorna a cappuccino. ‘This we can afford,’ she said. ‘Well done today.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lorna, blushing. ‘Was he pleased? He was hard to read. I think he was pleased.’
‘I can’t believe you studied Arabic for a month.’
Lorna blushed more. ‘It’s a beautiful language.’
‘You’re a dark horse.’
‘You’re not. God, but those boys are tiny.’ Lorna sighed. ‘He’s going to need a lot of help.’
Flora gave her a look. ‘Sexy help?’
‘Oh Christ, of course not,’ Lorna said. ‘Trust me, I’ve given up in that department. Can you imagine? Not in a million years.’
‘Things that shouldn’t happen in a million years do actually happen, you know,’ said Flora, licking the foam off the cappuccinos she’d made them. ‘I mean, look at this place.’
They looked around at the lovely painted homely café.
Lorna smiled. ‘True. But I think he has quite enough on his plate, and I’m hardly going to impinge upon his image of his missing and perfect wife, am I? Anyway, it’s inappropriate. I’m going to be looking after his boys. Christ. That’s a job ahead. Poor wee mites, they looked miserable. It would be disgusting weather this morning.’
‘I know. Want me to send up some buns tomorrow?’
‘Nothing in the budget,’ said Lorna gloomily.
‘Nothing in the charity fund,’ said Flora equally gloomily. ‘Jan takes it all.’
‘Any news from Joel?’
‘Um, I’m playing it cool.’
‘You?’
Flora went pink. ‘I know, I know. Shut up.’
‘You literally pursued him for four years …’
Flora ran her finger round the rim of her cup. ‘Seriously, I’m desperate enough to try anything.’
Lorna nodded.
‘And, by the way, you’re learning Arabic …’
‘To help the children,’ said Lorna piously. ‘So, you’re giving him the cold shoulder …’
‘Nothing …’ Flora shook her head. ‘Not a thing. I haven’t heard from him at all.’
Lorna grimaced. That didn’t sound good. ‘I mean,’ she said. ‘You know what those friends of his told you in New York.’
‘Yes,’ said Flora, ‘but they didn’t say, “Keep on making a fool out of yourself. For ages and ages and ages.”’
Lorna looked sympathetic but glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I have to go. I have nine miles of marking.’
‘I know,’ said Flora. ‘I’ve got accounts.’
‘Isn’t it great, being awesome women completely in control of our lives and destinies?’ said Lorna, getting up and giving Flora a hug. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘You love him. Put your cards on the table. If you want him, I don’t think waiting is going to do it.’
‘Me either,’ said Flora. ‘But what if he brushes me off and says he’s too busy?’
Then she sat, staring at the telephone, pondering and weighing up what to do, without the faintest idea, not the slightest, about the tumult that was taking places thousands of miles away. She had a romantic notion, or had done in the past, that if you were with the person you truly loved, you would pick up on how they were feeling, ‘tune in’ to their vibes; even if they were far away, you could pick out a star or sense from a passing cloud how they were or when they were thinking of you.
There was every possibility, she now realised, that this was total and utter crap.
On the other hand, as she stared at it, her phone started to ring …
Flora grabbed the phone and picked it up.
‘Hello?’ she said, registering with some disappointment as she did so that it was Fintan, not Joel.
‘YAYYYYYY!’ came a noisy roaring sound down the phone. It sounded battered and windy.
‘Fintan? Where are you? Are you drunk?’
‘No!’ came the ecstatic voice. ‘Actually, now you mention it, that sounds like a totally fabulous, fantastic idea. Let’s go and get drunk!’
‘Yes, doing my accounts always goes better when I’m drunk,’ said Flora. ‘What’s up?’
‘Tell her,’ came Colton’s unmistakably growly voice behind him.
‘What?’ said Flora.
‘We’re getting married!’ screamed Fintan joyously down the phone.
Flora paused, only for the very briefest of milliseconds, before she screamed ‘Yay!’ down the phone too.
It wasn’t fair, it really wasn’t at all fair to be jealous of her brother for getting married first. She was fine about it. Great, in fact. She loved Fintan; she loved Colton; this was all brilliant. Brilliant. And she would be happy, she told herself. Plus, it really was a good excuse for not doing the accounts.
‘That’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘Who proposed?’
‘The one with the grey hair,’ said Colton. The phone was now obviously on speaker. ‘Obviously. Come join us up at the Rock for some fizz.’
‘What did Dad say?’