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‘I’ve got no regrets,’ she continues. ‘Doug’s a good man, and I love my boys. What about you? Anyone special in your life?’
I don’t want to talk about Ed to her, so I tell her I’m currently single. She tells me more about their life in Connecticut, and asks about mine. I try to be polite, but I’m conscious that my answers are verging on the monosyllabic. She doesn’t appear to notice though. Given that her children are teenagers, and I don’t think Doug has spoken a word since they sat down, she may think that I’m extremely entertaining company in comparison. After a while, the conversation peters out, and I’m left with my thoughts again. Hopefully, pervy Dave and his sidekick Jamie will have given up by the time I get back, and Ed and I can have some time to swap numbers and make a plan before he leaves. It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea how long this trip actually is.
‘Excuse me,’ I say to Hannah, ‘this is going to sound odd, but I signed up for this very much at the last minute, without really knowing what was involved. Do you have a leaflet or something so I can get an idea of what we’re going to do?’
‘Sure, honey, no problem!’ she says, and hands me a brightly coloured leaflet. It seems we’re currently heading out to a reef for some snorkelling, and then we’re going to sail on down to an area of mangrove swamps, which we will kayak through with a guide. We’ll then have lunch ashore before re-boarding the boat for the return journey up the coast. Bold type informs me that the
BAR WILL BE OPEN!!!
on the return journey. Estimated time of arrival back at the dock is four o’clock in the afternoon.
I do some swift calculations in my head. Allowing time for everyone to get off the boat and back onto the bus, plus the other drop-offs before my hotel, I’m not going to be back before six, by which time Ed will have left for the airport. Three thoughts hit me in quick succession:
Ed’s last memory of me will be me running away from him.
I’ve missed the opportunity to say goodbye to him properly and get his number.
I’m probably never going to see him again.
The last one hits me like a punch in the gut and starts the tears. I stare resolutely out to the side of the boat as they fall. The last thing I need is sympathy from a stranger – that will set me off properly.
* * *
By the time we arrive at the reef, I’ve recovered a little of my composure, and I line up behind Hannah and her family to be issued with snorkels and flippers. We’re warned about not touching the reef itself and given a safety briefing, and then we’re sent off to explore. The water is crystal-clear and I’m soon floating above the reef, looking down at an amazing variety of multicoloured fish. I try to capture some of them on my camera, but they’re fast and I suspect I have quite a few pictures of empty sea. I’ve seen some of these fish before, on visits to various aquaria when I was growing up, but I can’t remember the names of any of them. Ed would like this, I think. My mind flashes back to this morning, to the camera crew and the way Dave leered at me. Ed was so sweet, the way he tried to protect me from them. I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted, and we’d had our last day together as planned. I imagine us arranging to meet up when we’re back home, and an image of us at a cosy pub somewhere comes to my mind. My stomach does a little backflip as I entertain the fantasy, but reality crashes in far too quickly with a much bleaker picture of Ed looking down from his plane and mentally wishing me goodbye as the Antiguan coast recedes from view. I don’t want to think about that now. I concentrate on the fish instead and try to remember the name of at least one of them. A number of striped fish with yellow streaks swim by, and at last a name comes to me – they’re Sergeant Majors, named because the bright stripes look like the insignia of a military sergeant major.
Once back on the boat, I distract myself by asking Hannah, Doug and the boys what they saw. Hannah is convinced that she and Doug saw a parrot fish, but the boys just shrug and bury their noses back in their phones. Hannah turns to me and whispers, conspiratorially, ‘They think they’re all cool and indifferent, but they’re just boys underneath and they’re secretly loving it.’ I look at them and I’m not convinced.
To be fair to them, the boys do liven up when we get to the mangrove swamp. The kayaks are all designed for two people, so they’re busily angling to get one together, rather than one each going with Hannah and Doug, which is Hannah’s preference. I seem to be the only person here on my own, so the captain kindly volunteers to come with me. Joel and Matthew set off at top speed, overtaking the guide and whooping as they go, with Hannah and Doug in hot pursuit calling to them to slow down and be careful. The captain, who I learn is also English and called Richard, and I take a more leisurely pace. As we glide through the swamp, he explains about the animals and birds that live there, and why the swamps are so important. When we come out on the other side and circle back to the beach we started from, a barbecue has been set up, and there’s a bar serving drinks. We are the last to arrive, and there’s already a queue for food.
We pull the kayak onto the beach and join the queue. The food smells great and I realise that I haven’t eaten anything today, so I take a little bit of everything. Hannah and her family are on a table that’s already full, so I take a seat by myself on another table. Richard comes and joins me.
‘I love Americans,’ he tells me. ‘They’re so exuberant when they come on holiday. I think that, because they work so hard and don’t get as much holiday time as we do in Europe, they come here determined to make every moment count. Watch them on the boat on the way back when the bar opens. They’ll be knocking it back like it’s their last day on earth.’
He's not wrong. After lunch, we board the boat and set off on our return journey. Richard announces that we will pop into a couple of interesting bays on the way back, and then tells us that the bar is open. Soon a real party atmosphere has developed on board. I spot Hannah, her face flushed, having an energetic conversation with Doug, who is making steady progress through a beer. He seems to have relaxed and has his arm around her.
I take my towel out onto the deck area at the front of the boat, spread it out and lie down. I need some quiet time to properly digest the events of the last few days and, particularly, this morning. I love Ed, there’s no doubt about that, and I’ve loved every second of our time together. But there’s so much I don’t know about his real life. For all I know, he might live miles away from me, although I suspect he’s probably based within striking distance of London. I have no concrete evidence for this theory beyond an irrational conviction that all hotshot lawyers must be based there. When I look at it more objectively, I realise that he could be based anywhere in the UK. As I realise how little I actually know about him, the sensible part of me tells me to chalk it up as a holiday romance and let him go, but there’s another part, deep down, that knows it was much more than that, for both of us. After all, he was the one that wanted to talk about what would happen when we got home, so it was obviously more than a holiday romance for him. I wish we’d had a chance to say goodbye properly, and maybe even make those promises to meet up in the UK that we probably wouldn’t keep. Instead, I’m left in a kind of limbo where I’ll never know what might have been. Bloody Dave and his stupid, leering face.
Thinking of Dave brings up my second problem. How am I going to cope with being seen as Ed’s holiday fling whenMarried Before We Metairs in the autumn? How many people that I know are likely to watch it? Mads will, of course, but I’ll tell her the whole story when I get home anyway. Will anyone at work watch it? If Rachel on reception does, then I’m doomed to some serious piss-taking from my colleagues, especially by the time she’s added her inevitable enhancements to the story. What about the girls from school? They’ll think it’s hysterical and we’ll have a good laugh together; that’ll be fine.
Even though I’m trying hard to blot it out, my mind inevitably makes its way back to this morning. Perhaps I should have had more courage and fronted up to Dave and his camera. I imagine the scenario playing out differently. In this version, I’m calmly answering his questions and coming across as a much more suitable match for Ed than Sarah was. Ed is delighted and has his arm around me as I talk. Back in the real world, I look at my watch. He’ll be waiting in reception for his transfer to the airport. I miss him so much already.
When the bus finally drops me back at the hotel, I know that Ed will be long gone, but I call into reception anyway, just in case. I ask if he dropped off my phone, but there’s nothing for me when they check, and they promise me the cleaners would have handed it in if they’d found it. My mind is in turmoil as I wander slowly back to my room, trying to work out what could have happened to it. As soon as I put my key in the lock, my parents’ door bursts open and they rush out.
‘Where have you been? We’ve been so worried!’ my mother cries. ‘We were starting to think something had happened to you!’
She wraps her arms around me and I hug her back.
‘Are you OK, Charlotte?’ Dad asks, sounding equally concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘I’m sorry you were worried. I needed some time alone and booked an excursion at the last minute. It was only when I was already on the bus that I realised I hadn’t told you I was going out, and I’d left my phone behind.’
‘We’ve got that, don’t worry,’ Dad tells me, and a wave of relief briefly crashes over me, before I realise that means my cover is probably blown.
‘How have you got it?’ I ask, nervously. ‘I’m pretty sure I know where I left it.’
‘Ed gave it to us. When you didn’t appear at breakfast this morning, we assumed you were with him and didn’t think anything about it, but when he came to find us, told us you’d left your phone behind in his room and asked if we knew where you were, we started to worry. Your father searched the entire resort. He even called into reception to ask if they’d seen you, but of course they wouldn’t tell him anything because of client confidentiality,’ my mother tells me.
‘I really am sorry,’ I say.
