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Chapter 15
‘Jasper! Hi!’ I say, swinging away from Ted. There is a sobering chill in the wind and I rub my arm with my free hand.
‘I must apologise for not being in touch sooner, I hope it hasn’t been a huge inconvenience.’ His voice, it is him, it’s Hot Tampon Man! No, don’t call him that.
‘It’s fine, though I’m afraid I did get cold and borrow one of your jumpers, hic.’ I slap a hand across my lips. Did I just hiccup down the phone? I hear Ted make an amused sound next to me.
‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear I haven’t needed to wear any of your clothes,’ Jasper says, his voice as smooth as I remember it. ‘Where are you? I can bring you your bag straight away.’
My stomach swirls, and I clasp my hand tighter around my mouth, swallowing down an involuntary gag. I don’t want Jasper to come here – he’d just drop the bag and leave. Plus, I’m far too drunk to make a good impression – I need some water, or coffee, or a time machine to go back in time and drink less sangria – anything that might sober me up.
I look back up at Ted. Did he know I was about to kiss him? What was I thinking? Ted is technically married, way too old for me. There might be elements of hot mess about him, but no. Why am I even thinking about this? Jasper is the one I want to kiss; Jasper is the man I’ve been looking for.
‘I’m just at a party with some friends,’ I cough, suppressing another hiccup. ‘But if it’s not too late, maybe I could come to you to swap the bags in half an hour or so?’
I feel my stomach lurch again. Jasper says that’s fine – in fact, he sounds keener on that idea. I shove the phone in Ted’s direction and mouth ‘address’ with pleading eyes, before sinking to my knees to try to make the world stop spinning. Wow, I really do need some water.
‘Yes, I’m her friend,’ I hear Ted say, clearing his throat. ‘I’m local, you can tell me the address.’
He’s my friend, that’s nice. Would Ted pass one of those quizzes they have in teenage magazines: ‘How Good a Friend Are You?’ He bought me Jersey wonders today and found me a Phil Collins CD. He’s a really good listener. Now he’s getting Hot Suitcase Guy’s address for me, so, yes, I’d say he’d score pretty highly on a friends quiz.
‘Are you alright, Laura?’ Ted asks once he’s hung up.
I sink into a starfish shape on the dry sand.
‘Sorry, I’m not used to drinking so much,’ I say feebly. ‘I just need some water.’
‘Maybe it would be better if you collected the bag tomorrow?’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’ I wave him away, trying to get up, but then after two steps, I find myself lying face down on the sand again. What is it with sand? It’s so wobbly to walk on; I’m not sure how anyone does it. It’s like a moving, shifting carpet. Even if I was sober, I’m not sure how I’d manage to walk on it.
Without saying anything, Ted reaches an arm around me, props me up and walks me steadily back towards the footpath up from the beach. I don’t protest. When we get back to the cottage, Ted is still holding me up.
‘Zorry, Ted,’ I hear myself slur. ‘I’m zo embarrassed, that zangria really hit me.’
‘Come on, I’ll make you some tea.’
We go inside, and Ted sits me on the bed, then fetches me a large glass of water.
‘Thank you,’ I say, gulping it down gratefully, as he goes back through to the kitchenette to make me a sobering brew. How did I go from fine to jelly brain in – I check my watch, the party started at six and now it’s eight – OK … and I haven’t really eaten anything since the Jersey wonders. No wonder I’m wasted. I stumble through to the bathroom, realising I’m going to be sick, and manage to shut the door behind me just in time. This is mortifying. I don’t think I’ve been sick from alcohol since I was a teenager. Did Ted hear me throwing up? Cold shower – that’s the answer. I need to change anyway; my dress is damp from lying on the sand. There’s nothing as sobering as—
‘ARRGGGGHHHH!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Ted knocks sharply on the bathroom door.
‘Nothing, just in the shower and it’s cold! Out in a jiffy joff!’
Jiffy joff? Who says that?I gulp down some of the water as it flows over my face, then grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth in the shower. The only good thing about being sick, is that now it’s only a matter of time until I feel sober. It’s like turning your phone on and off again when it gets all glitchy. The shower helps and I emerge in my towel feeling considerably clearer-headed.
Ted is waiting for me in the bedroom holding two cups of tea. When he sees I’m wearing only a towel, he averts his gaze, mumbling that he’ll wait outside. I’ve noticed his ears go red when he’s embarrassed. I love that Ted’s this strong, manly-looking guy, who at times can seem so sure of himself, but then something innocuous like a woman in a towel can get him all befuddled. Through the window, I see him take a seat on one of the cottage’s patio chairs. He shifts uncomfortably – it is too small for him – and I find myself smiling, grateful that he is here.
Now what am I going to wear? I have my clothes back from the hotel, the ones I wore yesterday, or the pale blue dress now laundered and dry in the machine. I go for the dress. Whoever invented dresses was a genius – nice, easily put-on-able dresses with no fiddly bits or leg holes.
‘Thank you,’ I say to Ted as I come outside, picking up the mug of tea and sitting down next to him.
The first sip begins to calm my stomach. ‘I’m so sorry about this, taking you away from the party.’
Ted gives a single nod, his face devoid of judgement.
