Jasper’s eyes flash disappointment, but he quickly hides it with a smile. I offer to call a cab, but he insists he will drive me home.
We’re about to leave when Jasper says, “Your case!”
He presses a palm to each cheek, and we both laugh at the fact we might have forgotten. Opening a hall cupboard, he pulls out my suitcase. When he hands it over, I hug it to my chest—relieved to finally have it back. I’ll have so many choices of what to wear tomorrow, my good mascara, my silk pajamas, my diary, and the shampoo that makes my hair smell like a spa in a citrus farm. I didn’t know these objects were so important to me, but clearly they are.
There are two cars in Jasper’s driveway, a black SUV and a red sports car. He takes me to the Land Rover, which he opens with two beeps of a key fob. Were these expensive cars inherited from his uncle too, I wonder, or are kitchens a lucrative business? When we reach Ted’s road in L’étacq, I tell Jasper he can drop me on the road—I don’t want to disturb anyone by driving in so late—but Jasper insists on seeing me to the bottom of the drive. The beach is dark; no sign of the party, but inside Gerry’s house the living room light is on.
I start to open the car door, but Jasper says, “No! Wait. Stay there.” He leaps out of his side and runs around to mine, opening my door and taking a little bow. He has rather sweet, old-fashioned manners, or perhaps he’s simply trying to impress me. If he is, it’s working.
“Why, thank you,” I say, with a little curtsy. Then I lean forward to kiss him on the cheek, but he’s leaning in to kiss my other side and we end up bumping foreheads. We both clutch our heads and laugh. Jasper blushes at his own clumsiness and then feigns leaning in again, knocking his head on the car door, and falling down on the ground, flat on his back on the gravel. His clowning makes me burst out laughing, and I reach out my hand to help him up.
“That wasn’t very suave of me,” he says. “I was trying to be suave.”
As his eyes meet mine, I see a flash of nerves and I’m surprised a man who looks like Jasper could be nervous. Standing opposite him, I feel a warm glow of validation; I was right about the suitcase. Everyone thought I was being nuts, but look, here he is, exactly what I sensed from his luggage he might be.
“I’m looking forward to seeing more of this suaveness tomorrow,” I say with a grin.
“Another day in paradise,” he says.
“Well, if leaving me is easy.”
“You’ll be in my heart.” He smiles, pressing a hand to his chest.
“Are we actually doing this? Are we having a conversation with Phil Collins’ song titles?”
“Oh, I could keep going all night,” Jasper says with a dramatic sigh, and I feel my cheeks begin to ache with smiling.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, turning toward the garden.
“Laura,” he calls after me, and I turn to look back at him. “I can’t wait.”
The words send a hum of contentment through me, and I raise my eyes to the sky, silently thanking the stars for their part in all this.
12 September 1991
Alex,
I’m so disappointed you aren’t coming this weekend, when it’s our last opportunity to see each other before you go to Greece. Surely you could find the money for the flight. Would your mum not lend it to you?
I can’t understand why you were so cross with me on the phone. I only borrowed the coin to make a way for it be to worn—otherwise, it will only sit in a drawer. I know you don’t believe me, but I feel its memories when I hold it, it shouldn’t be hidden away. I thought you would be taking it back to her after your visit this weekend. You will be so pleased when you see how it looks.
Let’s be friends again, please? Maybe I can find a way to come and see you in Greece once my dance classes break for half-term. I miss you every day, and the days you do not call are hardly days to me at all.
All my love,
Annie
Chapter 17
Once Jasper has driven away, I glance furtively back at the house. I’ll have to walk past the kitchen window to get to my cottage but don’t want to draw attention to my return. If I walk behind the stone wall, I can avoid the spotlight shining onto the lawn from the kitchen window. I pick up my case and carefully climb onto the low granite wall—oh, this is fine, easy as anything. I’ll just walk along the wall; I have the balance of an Olympic gymnast.
“AHHHHHH!”
I stumble on a lump in the rock, launch forward like a bat without wings, landing splayed across the lawn with a thunk. Pain alarms explode in my leg. “FUCKING OW! FUCKITY OW!” I cry. I know I said I don’t swear much, but I think breaking my leg buys me some allowances on the language filter.