One Night on the Island(39)

‘Susie is the only woman I’ve kissed in more than fifteen years. She was my photography professor’s daughter. I spent days studying her face from every angle, in every light.’

Cleo doesn’t speak but she shifts just enough for me to know she’s awake and listening.

‘It matters to me to be an honourable man, Cleo. I need to be able to look myself in the eyes in the mirror when I brush my teeth. My dad cheated on my mother more times than I can count. I’m not him. I’m not anything like him but still it scares me that I might fuck up, that the apple might not have fallen far enough from the tree.’

I don’t need a therapist to tell me I’ve got daddy issues. I’ve tied myself up in so many knots about fatherhood, in his failures and my fears of repeating them, that it’s a wonder I can stand up straight.

‘What just happened out there scared me. You scared me. I scared me. I’d forgotten fire like that even existed. Truth be told, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt heat like it. It kind of blindsided me.’

She sighs, and I wait.

‘Look, I appreciate your attempts to explain, and maybe by morning I’ll feel calm and more accommodating of your feelings, but right now I’m still too wound up to be as grown up as I’d like to be about this so could we please just go to sleep?’

‘Okay,’ I say, because she’s right. I knew it before I even opened my mouth.

‘You know what annoys me, Mack?’ she says, and I really wish I’d taken my own advice to let things lie until morning because now her voice is rising like a simmering pot about to boil over. ‘That we’d finally reached this paper-thin, fragile truce. It was actually starting to feel as if we could salvage this stupid, ridiculous situation, and then just like that, it’s blown sky high. And, I know, we’re both consenting adults, but I don’t like how you made me feel like such a bloody fool out there, that’s all.’

‘You’re not a fool, Cleo, far from it.’

‘I’m disappointed with myself,’ she cuts in. ‘Disappointed that I lowered my guard enough to make yet another short-sighted decision as far as men are concerned. I sat there and told you how I have a knack for letting the wrong guys close and it’s depressing that even when I’m fully aware that I’m stuck in a cycle, I let it happen again tonight. Just keep your sodding shirt on in future, will you? It was too much to come at me with all that … skin and muscle and heat.’

I don’t know what to say. Do I tell her that I couldn’t help myself, that the warmth of her body next to mine reminded me how damn lonely I am, that something about the scent of her skin slides beneath my defences, that the intimate gleam in her eyes out there on the porch tonight unravelled me?

‘Most importantly – and listen to me very carefully, Mack – I won’t shoulder misplaced guilt over kissing a married man. You’ve been separated for almost a year now and I’m sorry that your heart didn’t get the fucking memo, but cheating is a choice, not a genetic disposition. You’re not your father.’ She jostles on the sofa, aggravated. ‘Fuck, that was harsh. Too much wine. No, I’m not going to apologize because maybe you need to hear it. I’m definitely going to shut up now though.’

‘Goodnight, Cleo,’ I say. She’s damn right that was harsh. Did I deserve it? Does she have a point? I close my eyes and try not to remember how her lips tasted.

‘And one more thing,’ she says. My eyes snap open. ‘There’s a damn good reason that kind of heat doesn’t generally occur. It’s dangerous. People get burnt, then they have to walk around for the rest of their lives feeling as if their internal organs have been sizzled.’

I let the analogy sink into my tired, spinning-out brain for a while. ‘So we’re basically a couple of burgers. Is that what you’re saying?’

She sighs loudly. ‘You stay on your side of the barbecue and I’ll stay on mine. That’s all I’m saying.’

It’s late and we’ve strayed a long way off track here. I try to reel us back in, do a little damage control.

‘For the record, the only fool out there tonight was me, okay? You were upset, I was lonely, and we both mistook that for something it isn’t. Can we just agree to wipe the slate clean and never mention it again? We make the rules in this place. If we want to press the rewind button and erase what happened, then we can.’

It’s an appealing thought to be able to pick and choose which parts of your story get to stay.

‘Fine.’ She sounds bone-tired and I’m dead beat. ‘Let’s do that then.’





Cleo





15 October


Salvation Island


SORRY


Fragments of last night parade themselves behind my eyelids as I surface through the layers from sleep to awake. When I risk a glance over the back of the sofa, I’m relieved to find the bed neatly made and empty. Glad of the chance to sink a bucket of coffee alone and re-order my thoughts, I brew up and head out to let the chilled sea wind blow away the remnants of last night. Birds wheel overhead as if in greeting; I like to think they’re growing accustomed to my presence here. I walk the beach, scouring the waves in search of the pod of dolphins I’ve come to think of as belonging to the lodge. Some days they churn the sea silver but they’ve evidently found somewhere else to be this morning. The otters have abandoned me too, their cluster of rocks damp and empty in the morning bluster. Gosh, it’s really bracing out here this morning. I dip my head against the wind as it buffets me. There’s an ancient, mystical feeling to Salvation, as if the island gives something back to those who give themselves to it. The ground feels like a living, breathing thing under my feet; I’m convinced there’s a beating heart somewhere deep beneath the bedrock. If you tune your ear in you can almost hear the thrum backed by the music of the ocean.