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Chapter Twelve
Bottled Messages
Alex had drifted back Down-along that evening, talking with Jowan about all the ingredients she’d need if she was to help out in the café tomorrow, and she had seemed cheerful on the surface, yet on the inside she’d felt a numb, but not unpleasant, kind of shock.
All the way home in the drizzling rain, all the way upstairs and into bed, she’d held it together, smiling and saying goodnight to Jowan, but her brain was crackling with activity.
She’d almost kissed Magnús, and even though it had felt like he was going to kiss her back, she had been the one instigating the whole thing.
She replayed it over and over, looking for anything she might have missed. He’d held her hands. That was all him. But she had been the one stepping closer and leaning in, closing her eyes, wanting it.
What had she been thinking? Runaways didn’t go getting involved in cloakroom clinches with near strangers, no matter how much those strangers radiated warmth from their very insides; not even if being near them felt like reaching a life raft after days floundering in the ocean.
Shipwrecked women were supposed to lie low and concentrate on survival. If she were on a desert island right now, she’d be focused on sorting out her basic needs: food, warmth and shelter. Yet these were all things Magnús seemed to represent.
He’d given her a jumper, baked for her, made her sit and drink coffee when she’d been unsure what else to do, and it had all been so easy, and she definitely felt safe with him.Dammit!This was not at all what she’d planned.
Getting in theDagalien, sailing off into the horizon – she was supposed to be runningawayfrom everything, not running towards the first hot landlubber she laid eyes on. And hewashot. She’d felt it when he’d pulled her from the boat, and she’d seen it when they’d talked in the café, but with all the champagne and Christmas carols and the feeling of being the only two sane people in the entire county she’d been hit by the full effect of it tonight.
He was magnetic somehow, pulling her in, and frankly everything he did, from his straight-faced joking to the way his blue eyes lit up like dawn over the Atlantic whenever he was listening to her speak, was completely delightful to her.
What on earth was going on? Was this how it worked for other people? How was it possible to take one look at a person from a faraway land and instantly connect with them?
That was not how it had been with Ben. She’d known of Ben’s existence since she was at primary school, even though he was in the year below her, and she’d been to discos and youth clubs where he’d hung around with his mates and hadn’t given him a second glance. When they were older, he was always at the local pub at the weekends and they’d chatted now and again but it had taken an unexpected New Year’s Eve kiss at midnight after lots of Sambuca and then weeks of shy, tentative dating to decide she might quite like him enough to kiss him again.
Even then, after falling into a cosy cycle of work, dinner, telly, bed, she’d never experienced the same electric current of attraction passing between her core and someone else’s like when she’d stepped close to Magnús tonight. That jolting, buzzing magic just hadn’t been there with Ben and until tonight, she hadn’t even known it had been missing.
She stroked at her hair in bed with the brush (Isolde’s) that Jowan had let her use, wearing the oversized T-shirt that read ‘Crocombe’s Ices’ with a big strawberry sundae printed on the front.
As she brushed, she gave herself a stern talking to – which was the kind of thing a sensible person might do if they wanted to protect their heart and stop themselves making an even bigger spectacle of themselves in a strange place where they’d already been a bother.
She told herself she’d have to leave Clove Lore soon, no matter how cosy she was getting. She told herself Magnús wasn’t even from around here. He’d be going home after Christmas, maybe even before then if she failed in her mission of reminding him of the highs of running his own bookshop. There was also the small problem of having run away and left a million messy loose ends she had no idea how to untangle.
So she vowed to stick to her plan. Yes, she’d help Magnús, as any grateful friend would. She’d have fun in the café tomorrow. She’d keep her distance, and her secrets. Then she’d move on. Unfortunately, that was the part of the plan where she still drew a blank. ‘What am I going to do after this?’ she asked the night.
At that moment, as she pulled the brush through her hair with one last static crackle and laid it down, her old life burst into the shore-side sanctuary she’d made for herself.
Her phone, which had dried out all day long and was now attached to a charger, suddenly awoke, its screen garishly bright, and one after another, loud notification alerts buzzed and pinged, making the screen flash with missed calls and messages.
The blood rushed to her cheeks and made them burn. She found herself hunched over it on the bed, reluctant to touch the thing and wishing the storm had taken her and her phone to the bottom when it had the chance.
She read the messages first. The first one she’d seen ten days ago but hadn’t had a chance to reply. It was from Ben’s mum and seemed so sweet now, it winded her.
Just nipping to Waitrose to recce the smoked salmon for Christmas Day. Did you prefer the smoked slices with dill or the moussey parcel things we had last year? You decide, love, Mum
Mrs Thomas had sent it while Alex had been ferrying and, unbeknown to them both, her son had been doing his best to delve into Eve’s knickers.
Alex ran her thumb over the word ‘Mum’. She wanted to ring her there and then and tell her she’d be back soon and not to forget about her, and not to stop calling herself Mum no matter what she’d heard from Ben, but that was impossible now. She wasn’t her mum. They weren’t going to be a cosy family any more. Tears blurred her vision as she scrolled and clicked the next message.
Where are you? I’m at my place on my own. Will wait until you get here. I can explain everything when I see you. It definitely wasn’t how it looked. I promise. I love you. Come back. Ben x
He must have sent it when she was newly put to sea and with a weak signal. It hadn’t got through to her at the time. Alex blinked hard.It wasn’t how it looked?How could the evidence of her eyes be wrong? Ben had been holding Eve’s face in his hands and the whole thing had looked horribly heated and intense.
Was he really going to gaslight her? Did he expect her to believe she’d read it all wrong and he wasinnocentlypawing at another woman in her living room? And at lunch time on a Monday, too, which made it all the more insulting.
Alex couldn’t remember the last time she and Ben had done anything remotely romantic on a Monday lunchtime, or in the daytime for that matter. Kissing was a Friday night after the pub, lights off and under the duvet kind of thing with them now – had been since the start, if she was honest with herself.
The whole awful shambles was beginning to feel painfully real, unavoidably so. Here were the consequences of her actions coming to get her and they stung. She kept scrolling.
