“Uh-oh, talk of the devil,” says John. “Here comes trouble.”
“Oi you,” says Ali, leaning in to give him a hug. She’s lost enough inhibitions not to worry about holding onto the top of her dress anymore, but Rachel still has a few left and finds herself constantly wanting to reach out to protect her modesty.
“I’m sorry I’ve not had a chance to talk to you properly yet,” says Ali, as she kisses Kimberley. “How are you?”
“Good,” says Kimberley, smiling. “This is wonderful. You look so happy.”
“I am,” says Ali. “I can’t wait until tomorrow when we’ll finally be husband and wife.”
“It’s so exciting that you’re about to embark on this new chapter.”
“I know,” says Ali, with a smug expression. “I can’t believe I got so lucky.”
“You deserve it,” says Kimberley, putting her hand on top of Ali’s. “After everything you’ve been through.”
Rachel waits, ears pricked up, hoping for someone to elaborate. It might help explain why Ali’s like she is.
“It’s been a long time coming,” says Ali, sighing. “But it finally feels as if my life is back on track.”
Kimberley nods. “It’s all about looking forward now,” she says. “The future’s exciting. A new husband and, God willing, children.”
“Kim,” starts John, as if warning her not to pry.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” says Ali, smiling. “I’m not quite ready for kids just yet.”
“Wait, what?” The words are out of Rachel’s mouth before she can stop them.
Ali stares at Rachel with wide eyes and surreptitiously shakes her head. “We’ve got plenty of time,” she says. “There’s no rush.”
Rachel glares back, knowing that wasn’t the plan—at least it wasn’t last night, when Ali had professed to wanting children with Will immediately.
Rachel wonders if Ali hasn’t got a bigger problem than what they’re all making allowances for. Perhaps her tendency to over-exaggerate and need to be at the center of every story is just the tip of a far deeper psychological issue. This isn’t the first time Rachel has suspected her of lying, though it’s the first time she’s caught her red-handed, blatantly changing her tune, depending on who she’s talking to. Though she’s spoken with such conviction both times, that Rachel can’t tell which is the lie and which is the truth.
“If you’ll just excuse me,” says Rachel, unable to listen to whichever version this is for any longer. She gets up, not knowing where she’s going to head, but then she sees Jack leaning in to Noah at the bar, jabbing a finger into his chest. Her heart quickens at the same rate as her feet.
“Is everything okay?” she asks falteringly as she reaches them.
Now she’s closer, she can see Jack’s features, twisted with anger.
“What’s going on?” she asks, as the tension in Jack’s shoulders dissipates and he takes a step back. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Noah.
“You’d better watch yourself,” says Jack, straightening his shirt, as if he’s been in a fight.
Noah laughs and Rachel wishes he hadn’t. She almost looks out of one eye, expecting Jack to be launching himself at him.
“I’m warning you,” hisses Jack.
“Jack!” says Rachel, knowing she’s got her work cut out. He’s far too drunk and far too angry. “Jack, why don’t you go and talk to Paige?”
He looks around unsteadily.
“She’s over there,” says Rachel, as if she’s cajoling one child to go and play with another.
He lurches off and Rachel lets out the breath she was holding in.
“What the hell was that about?” she says, turning to Noah.
He shakes his head. “Your husband can be such a prize tosser when he wants to be.”
“Is this over what happened earlier?” she asks, not knowing which event she’s referring to. Selfishly, she hopes it’s the one in the sea rather than the conversation he’d probably overheard her and Jack having in their bedroom.
“He’s still maintaining that he told me not to go toward the waves.”
“O-kay,” says Rachel carefully, not wanting to stoke this unpredictable situation any further.
“And I know I’ve had a bump to the head, but I clearly heard him telling me to follow him.”
“But it must have been incredibly noisy out there,” says Rachel, trying to stay on neutral ground.
“I know what I heard,” says Noah. “He said, ‘Come on, this way.’”
“But you must have known it looked dangerous,” says Rachel. “If Jack told you to put your head in an oven, you wouldn’t do it, would you?” Rachel attempts to laugh.
“No, but I’d lost sight of Will, and in the absence of him telling me what I should be doing, Jack seemed the next safe bet.”
“But maybe it was just a miscommunication,” says Rachel. “Maybe he didn’t make himself clear and you didn’t hear him correctly. I’m sure he wouldn’t have taken you out there intentionally.”
Noah goes to counter the argument, but seems to think better of it. Instead, he looks at her with soft eyes and smiles. “I hope you’re right,” he says.
In that moment, it’s as if a time machine has picked them both up and dropped them into 2001.
Rachel can see him at the airport, standing under the departures board, begging her to go on the year-long trip they’d planned so meticulously.
“What if this is our only chance?” he’d said.
“But what if I came with you and forever regretted not staying with Jack?” she’d said.
He’d kissed her in answer and for those few minutes she’d wondered how she could even question it.
“I’ll wait for you,” he said, when they eventually came up for air.
“If we’re meant to be, we’ll find a way.”
“I hope you’re right,” he’d said.
By the time she saw him again, she was married with a baby, and she’s spent the past twenty years convinced she’d done the right thing. Except now, with him looking at her as if he’s trying to read her mind, she wonders if she made the wrong decision after all.
She shakes herself down as the unfamiliar, and wholly unwelcome, thoughts wrap themselves around her psyche. She tells herself that this is merely a knee-jerk reaction to seeing Noah unconscious on the beach today. That it’s natural to feel panicked and scared when faced with the prospect of losing the best friend she’s ever had. All those feelings are perfectly understandable. But what she hadn’t bargained for was the acute sense of grief she’d felt on realizing that they might never get their chance.
“Could I get a gin and bitter lemon, please?” says an old woman coming up beside Rachel and breaking the spell she’s been momentarily under.
Rachel smiles warmly and the woman smiles back, her eyes shining. “What a lovely do,” she says.
“Isn’t it?” says Rachel. “If this is just the warm-up, I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”
The woman nods in agreement. “I’m Ali’s grandmother,” she says. “Are you friends of hers?”
“Well, yes, we are,” says Rachel, nodding. “But we’re more from Will’s side.”
“He seems a lovely boy,” says the woman.
“Oh, he is,” says Rachel. “She’s got a good one there.”
“He reminds me of my boy, looks-wise—when he was younger, of course.” She laughs ruefully. “I call him my boy, but he’s almost sixty. How on earth I could possibly have a sixty-year-old son, I don’t know.”
Rachel looks around the room of forty or so people, most of whom are now milling about, or have swapped seats, leaving glaring gaps in the carefully thought-out table plan.
“Is he here?” asks Rachel, looking for who she assumes is Maria’s brother.
“Oh no,” says the woman. “I’m Alison’s father’s mother, but since their divorce, it’s only me she stays in touch with. I’m afraid my son wasn’t the best role model. He drank too much, went out too much … he really put poor Maria through the wringer until, one day, she decided enough was enough.”