Just Haven't Met You Yet(47)
“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, coming 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 judgment.
“Are you still thinking you’ll try and get your case tonight? I’ll go and get it for you if you want, if you aren’t feeling great,” Ted offers.
“If you swap the cases, then I won’t have any reason to meet him, will I?” I put the tea down and cross my arms tight against my chest. This feels awkward, the fact we just had a weird moment on the beach and now we’re talking about me wanting to go and meet my suitcase guy.
“Look, obviously I don’t know you very well, Laura, but I remember what you said when you first got into my cab—about having unrealistic expectations.”
“I’m embarrassed I said that,” I say, studiously focusing on the handle of my mug.
“Just because a guy likes the book your dad read and buys the perfume your mum wore—it doesn’t mean he’s going to fill the hole in your life that they left.”
His words are gentle, but they feel like a punch to my fragile stomach.
“I don’t think you’re qualified to dabble in pop psychology, Ted—you’re a walking example of how not to process loss. Clearly, you haven’t been looking after yourself since your wife left. Is growing a beard some kind of penance until she comes back? Because it doesn’t sound like she is coming back.”
I regret the words as soon as they are out, scratches from a cat feeling cornered. I see hurt flash in his eyes and almost leap out of my chair to beg back my cruel words. Instead, I freeze.
Ted gives me a tight smile and stands up. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business.”
As he starts walking back toward the beach, I call after him, “Wait, Ted, the address?”
He calls back without turning around, “In the notes on your phone.”
“Any chance you could drive me?”
“Don’t push your luck, Laura. I’m not a bloody saint.”
I don’t know why I asked that. I think I just wanted him to stay a moment until I could find the words to apologize properly. My mind hums with discomfort over my behavior, and hurt by Ted’s words, but I push those feelings down. I just need to focus on meeting Jasper now, on seeing if my instincts about the case were right.
I order a cab from a different taxi firm, reapply my makeup, and then pack the contents of Jasper’s bag so they look less interfered with. I still haven’t quite worked out how I’m going to explain the mangled jumper and the missing shoe.
When the cab arrives, I stand for a moment in the driveway. Watching the party in full swing down on the beach, I feel a tug of remorse—an urge to stay, to rejoin the party, and to make peace with Ted. On the grass, where the footpath meets the sand, I see Sandy—wildly waving at me to come back—but I just wave in reply. I look down at the case in my hands—my mind running over the contents again. It has to mean something. It has to.
* * *
*
It feels strange to be sitting in the backseat of a cab again—like I’ve been demoted. It’s only a ten-minute drive before we pull up to a large granite house called Maison D’Oie, north of St. Ouen’s village. These Le Maistres certainly live in fancy houses. This place is a similar size pile to Maude’s, large enough to be the setting for some kind of murder mystery with a billiard room, a scullery, and a house party full of suspects.
As I give my reflection a final check in my compact, blending a little nude eye shadow across my lids to ease my post-sangria pallor, the driver says, “Don’t worry, you look gorgeous, love.”
I give him a tight smile.
Standing on the doorstep, I feel my heart in my throat. I’m definitely feeling more sober now, but for a moment I wish just enough of my drunker self back, to muffle the overthinking. I put the suitcase down on the doorstep, press my palms together, and hear my own heartbeat, loud and fast, in the quiet of the evening. This is it. I’m finally going to meet him; the person the universe has led me to, my destiny. I ring the doorbell.