When her father returned from Argentina, Lexi wouldn’t look at him, speak to him, be in the same room as him. She left the present he’d bought unopened in the lounge. She stayed in her bedroom, refusing to come downstairs at mealtimes. Eventually, he knocked at her door, insisted she let him in. That’s when she’d finally spoken. Sadie, Sadie, Sadie. You have a daughter!
‘She’s not my daughter in the way that you are,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t know her. I don’t care about her.’
He’d actually thought that was the right thing to say. He thought Lexi was worried about not being the favourite, not being loved enough – when her questions were really about him – what sort of a man he was. And in that response, he’d answered.
Lexi’s parents finally divorced when she was eighteen, but she’d already spent a lifetime witnessing her mother crumbling within the walls of their marriage, trying to fit herself into the image of who her husband wanted her to be.
Lexi didn’t want that life.
She stood abruptly, knee bashing the table.
Robyn looked up. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine. Back in a minute,’ she said, feeling for her mobile.
She needed to talk to Ed.
36
Fen
‘Top-up?’ Bella said, hovering the wine bottle above Fen’s glass.
She nodded. Fen was already on her third drink.
Bella slid her hand beneath the table, settling it on Fen’s bare thigh. Her palm felt warm and smooth as she ran it in slow strokes, fingertips trailing to her inner thigh.
Fen didn’t tell her to stop. She was grateful for the distraction and the grounding feeling of touch. She kept glancing around, waiting to see him, steeling herself.
‘These are the ones you love, aren’t they?’ Bella said, passing her the vine leaves, filled with fragrant oiled rice and herbs.
‘Yes,’ she said, although her appetite had vanished. She knew she should eat more. This afternoon, while the others had been taking a siesta, Fen had gone for a run in the mountains. She’d been too unsettled to lounge by the pool, aware of the current of anxiety like a low beat in her chest that she had to march to. So she’d run. Feet pounding across the hard, dusty earth, knees complaining from the impact, sweat drenching her. But she’d welcomed the discomfort. Needed it. The motion outpacing her thoughts, her mind turning welcomely blank, the sensations of her body taking over.
But now there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
‘Babe,’ Bella said, voice low so the others couldn’t hear. ‘I really want us to be okay. I’m going to do better, all right? Make it up to you.’ Her eyes were wide, lashes painted long.
As Bella was speaking, a second waiter appeared at her side, with a tray of drinks. Fen’s gaze travelled his thick forearms, over a gold watch lost in the weave of dark arm hair, upwards to his face. His jaw had broadened from the boyishly high cheekbones she remembered, and there was a scar now in the centre of his chin. The thin wisp of moustache was gone and his face was clean-shaven.
It was him.
Her mouth turned dry. There were only inches between them. She could smell his cloying aftershave.
‘How is your food?’ he asked the group.
‘Delicious!’ Bella purred.
His gaze moved across the table. When his eyes skirted Fen, there was nothing, no flicker of recognition. He didn’t even remember.
‘What a beautiful group of women!’ he said. ‘Holiday?’
‘A hen party,’ Bella said.
He drank her in, eyes roaming across her body. Then he smiled, teeth white.
Fen knew that smile. Knew the quicksilver flash as it slipped from smile to sneer. She felt herself go cold, felt herself sliding back seven years, felt the cool press of the terrace wall, the night at her back.
Bella placed a hand on Fen’s arm, about to say something. Her touch was like a bridge. Fen gripped on to her fingers, then leant into her, surprising Bella by placing her mouth on hers, kissing her deeply. She tasted sweet and warm, of familiarity and comfort.
‘What was that for?’ Bella asked afterwards, delighted and a little taken aback. The waiter had already left.
Fen felt a hot flush of guilt. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I want more of that.’ Lips against Fen’s ear, she whispered, ‘Much, much more.’
37
Lexi
Ed’s voice was deep and welcome. ‘Lexi! I was just thinking of you!’
There he was. Her fiancé, smiling right at her from the video call. He was sitting at his home desk. She could see the glare of a computer screen reflected in his glasses. ‘One moment,’ he said, propping the phone against something on his desk, then fiddling with his mouse, blanking the computer screen.