One of the Girls(68)
Eleanor’s voice was flat as she said, ‘Home to what?’ She launched the pebble into the sea. ‘Sometimes I like imagining what I’d be doing in a parallel universe, if things had worked out differently.’
Fen nodded. ‘Tell me. I want to hear. What would you have been doing today – Saturday – if Sam were alive?’
Eleanor turned to face her. ‘Thank you – for remembering his name. For saying it. Sam. People never say his name.’ She smiled. ‘Saturday was always table tennis day for Sam.’
‘Table tennis?’
‘Think of how passionate people are about, say, football. Sam felt that way about table tennis. It was like he was a different person when he played. At home he could be sedentary – yet playing table tennis he was so light and quick on his feet. The Ping-Pong Ninja, I called him.’
Fen grinned. ‘I love that.’
‘Sam used to run table-tennis classes at this retirement home at the end of our road. Every Saturday. Never charged. Just a volunteer thing. Some weekends I went with him – and wow, these men and women, they adored Sam. He’d remember everything about them, asking how someone’s daughter in Spain was getting on with her house renovations, or whether a grandchild had passed their mocks, or whether Marley the cat ever came back from the vet’s. Sam remembered it all because people were important to him.’
‘He sounds wonderful,’ Fen said, pleased by the glimmer of light that returned to Eleanor’s eyes as she talked about Sam. ‘Do you ever visit the retirement home now?’
She shook her head. ‘I know I could still go. I could sit with them, talk, play table tennis, but … it’s too hard. Wouldn’t be the same without him.’ She watched the flames. ‘That’s how my whole life feels: like nothing will ever be the same without him.’
High up at the villa, a screech of laughter cut across the night: Bella. The sound felt abrasive, echoing down the solid shoulders of the cliffs.
Eleanor flinched.
‘I’m sorry,’ Fen said, not sure whether she was sorry for the interruption of laughter, for Eleanor’s loss, or for not being able to make any of this better.
‘When I was younger, I never thought I’d get married,’ Eleanor said, voice lowered. ‘Couldn’t picture it. Couldn’t see me in a white dress, walking down an aisle in front of a crowd of people. And then I met Sam – and, foolishly, I let myself believe it was all going to happen. A wedding. A home. Maybe even children.’ She shook her head. ‘But I never made it down the aisle. There was no fairy tale, after all.’
Fen was aware of movement as the other hens began to descend the terrace steps, lanterns in hands, voices charged and bright. In another minute they’d be upon them.
Eleanor had turned her gaze towards the villa, too. She silently watched the procession of hens, led by Lexi, who was wearing a crown of flowers.
‘Still, it’ll be different for Lexi and Ed,’ Eleanor said, her expression unreadable. ‘They’ll get their fairy tale.’
59
Ana
Lexi led the way, a lantern dangling from her hand as she descended the stone steps, barefoot. Bella and Robyn followed, their voices rising and falling, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Drifts of their perfume infused the salted night.
The cove was lit by the glow of the beach fire, orange sparks quivering. The surrounding cliffs shouldered together, eerie in the light-leached shadows.
Ana’s feet met the warm give of pebbles. The intensity of the day’s heat hadn’t abated, and the air felt thick with it. She moved towards the flames where the women gathered, drinks being pulled from an ice chest and passed around, bottles clinking. Fen handed her a beer, and Ana twisted the lid free, drinking deeply, cool bubbles fizzing in her throat.
‘Here we go, people!’ Bella hollered, commandeering the playlist and dialling up the volume, while Fen watched silently. Ana could feel the bass thumping in her chest.
Robyn uncorked a bottle of Prosecco, a stream of bubbles pouring silver in the moonlight. The flames licked higher as the evening unspooled, moods loosening.
Beneath the bursts of laughter and pounding music, she felt the impending sense that the celebrations were off-kilter, sparks of tension crackling in the moonlit dark. Eleanor was standing on the fringe of the shore, gaze lost to the sea. Bella whirled alone to the music, hair swaying at her back. Lexi watched, a fingertip soothing the clavicle of her throat. Robyn and Fen stood close, cinders swirling towards them.
Someone pointed a phone camera at Ana. She raised a hand to block her face, but not before the brilliant white flash blinded her. Distorted white images imprinted behind her eyelids. When her vision finally resettled, she found Bella staring at her, eyes narrowed, before she spun away, weaving towards Lexi.
Smoke filled her throat and she took a wary step back from the flames. Ana wished she were anywhere but here. She wanted her London flat. The familiarity of the street beyond. Luca. She’d been foolish to allow herself to sink into the weekend, lowering her guard, feeling the joy of being part of a group that was never hers.
She turned, staring up at the empty villa. It stood in darkness on the cliff edge, watchful. She wouldn’t go back there alone to wait in the heavy silence. Moving instead towards the light of the fire, she settled herself on a thick blanket. One more night and then it’d be over.