‘Yes. This morning.’
An unnecessary and unwelcome vision of him at the helm of a brilliant white yacht, shirtless, muscles flexing as he threw out a line, shot into my head before I despairingly shoved it right out again.
‘I’m impressed,’ I said, sitting down and flapping out a napkin.
‘So easily?’
Why I’d imagined him semi-naked might be incomprehensible but at least I could understand his icy scepticism. Once upon a time, in my circle of so-called friends, disdain, feigned or genuine, had been cool, which was obviously anything but cool. ‘People change.’
‘Do they?’ He took the seat opposite me and seemed to fill my vision despite the width of the table.
‘Well, some do,’ I said, inordinately grateful for the intricate wooden structure that supported the glass slab and would prevent any accidental bumping of knees. ‘You haven’t. You’re more consistent than anyone else I know.’
‘In what way?’
Ah. So that had been a silly thing to say because now I had to come up with examples. And since I had no intention of embarking on a lengthy explanation of exactly how I knew what his opinion of me had been for the last decade or so—which might suggest I cared when I absolutely didn’t—I had to rack my brains for something more prosaic.
‘Well, obviously the evidence is limited,’ I said, faintly surprised to discover that I didn’t have to rack them for long. ‘But whenever I see you, you always have the top two buttons of your shirt undone. You have a habit of spinning things around your fingers. Toothpick, beer mat, coin, pen. Whatever’s to hand. You walk into the bar, the room, or wherever it is we happen to find ourselves unavoidably in the same vicinity and you look first right, then left and then you frown, as if you’re searching for something or someone and you’re annoyed you can’t find them. You’re perpetually displeased to see me and your girlfriends are, without fail, tall and blonde and never last longer than a month.’
At that, a flicker of alarm did dart across his face. ‘I had no idea you were so perceptive.’
Neither did I, come to think of it.
‘There are lots of things you don’t know about me,’ I said coolly, picking up my knife and fork and assuring myself that the flutter of my stomach was down to hunger, not unease. ‘The main one being that, unlike you, Ihavechanged.’
‘Have you?’
‘I had no choice. I was appalling.’
‘You were spoilt.’
‘I was,’ I agreed. ‘I was an obnoxious brat. As you once so eloquently pointed out. At my sixteenth birthday party, if I recall correctly.’
‘You wanted me to be your plaything.’
Another moment I wasn’t particularly proud of, I thought with a wince that I didn’t even try to hide. Midway through an afternoon of hanging out by the pool, egged on by my so-called friends at the time, I’d sauntered up to him and demanded he come and entertain us. When he’d icily refused, I’d muttered something about chips and shoulders, told him he wasn’t good enough for us anyway and sashayed away.
In my defence—not that I deserved one—I’d been all shaken up inside. Nick had been the topic of conversation and it had confused the hell out of me. Up until then he’d barely been on my radar. He’d simply been a friend of Seb’s, who, since his mother lived four hundred miles north of the school and worked all hours, and his father wasn’t in the picture, often came to stay at weekends and during the holidays, but ultimately had been as unworthy of interest as my brother.
However, that afternoon, I’d seen him for the first time through my friends’ eyes—an eighteen-year-old hunk with a tall athletic frame and a brooding way about him that had suddenly sent shivers down my spine and my hormones into overdrive. In response to the chaos caused by the buzz of attraction that had weakened my limbs and accelerated my pulse and the sting of his rejection that had hurt more than I could possibly have imagined, I’d behaved cruelly and clumsily and I could absolutely understand why from that day forward he’d treated me with such contempt.
‘I didn’t really,’ I muttered, feeling my cheeks turning beetroot as I cut off a bite-sized chunk of fish. ‘I was impressionable and had lousy friends. They bet me to get you to hang out with us. I should have said no and left you alone. I should never have insulted you the way I did. I’m so sorry. It was unforgivable. I didn’t even mean it. I realise the apology comes thirteen years too late, but you have it nonetheless.’
For a moment he just looked at me, his eyes dark and locked onto mine, while my heart thumped so loudly I could hear it in my ears. Then he said, ‘I neither want or need it,’ and it was like a slap across the face.
My breath caught. My flush deepened. No. Well. That was fair enough. I’d always known I’d burned virtually every one of the few bridges we’d shared. It had never bothered me before. Somehow, it did now. My throat was tight with shame. Regret was stabbing me in the chest. And for the life of me I couldn’t work out why. It wasn’t as if I wanted to play with him now. ‘I understand.’
‘You couldn’t evenbeginto understand,’ he said with equal bluntness, but this time I didn’t flinch. I didn’t react at all. Because it was becoming pretty bloody clear I understood absolutely nothing.
The end of the meal couldn’t come fast enough. Despite my best efforts to keep up the small talk, conversation became increasingly stilted. My barrel-scraping questions and observations about island wildlife, water sports and the welfare of his mother met with ever more monosyllabic responses and an ever-deepening frown.
‘What’s the one thing you want but you don’t have?’ I asked, doggedly determined to keep going in an effort to avoid long, uncomfortable silences.
‘Peace and quiet.’
‘Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’
‘Working. Making more money to give away.’