Too much to drink, Hana thinks, feeling the fizz and spin of the alcohol. She’s in the lovely phase of inebriation: her senses heightened so the air feels warm, liquid against her skin. It is liquid, she thinks, doing a double take, then realizes the heat of the grill pulling upward is making the air in front of her shimmer and wobble.
Despite that, the person standing to the left of the grill is clear: Seth. He’s talking to one of the female members of staff, head thrown back in laughter. Typical Seth: his need to charm and flirt extended to waitstaff, anyone around him.
Whether it ever leads to anything more, Hana’s not sure, but it shouldn’t, she thinks, looking ahead at Jo, in conversation with Caleb, phone in hand.
She’s dazzling tonight. A few drinks in and her face is relaxed, open, the black broderie anglaise dress emphasizing her sun-streaked hair and her tan. Their mother is half Swedish, and Jo had snagged most of the clichéd Nordic genes—blue eyes, blond hair, and also her mother’s eclectic dress sense. The brightly colored wrap slung over her shoulders—with splotches of green and pink—would look over the top on Hana, but on Jo it somehow works. Doesn’t overwhelm her.
“You were gone awhile.” Maya smiles. “I was about to send out a search party.”
“I—” But Hana doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Jo’s holding up her phone, playing something back. It’s her, Hana realizes, as she’d tripped. Jo’s managed to slow it down, Hana’s expression of panic—wide eyes, mouth ajar—played back frame by ugly frame.
A broad grin spreads across Jo’s face. Seth, back at the table, is also smiling.
“Sorry,” Jo laughs, the green crescents of her wooden earrings lightly knocking her cheeks. “I was panning around to get some footage of the restaurant and . . .” She bursts into laughter again.
Hana looks at her, senses suddenly and painfully heightened. “You’re not planning on putting that up, are you?” A flush crawls up her cheeks.
“No, of course not.” Jo reaches a hand across the table. “God, you’re not actually bothered, are you? I was only teasing.”
Hana can’t help but recoil from her touch. “Teasing . . .” But she stops as Maya catches her gaze: a warning shot. Don’t react. She nods in assent. Maya’s right. It’ll be her who comes off worse if she snaps back.
It’s at moments like this she wishes Liam were here. He’d have squeezed her hand under the table, changed the subject. It was what he was good at: empathizing, boosting people. It was one of the first things Hana picked up on when they met, at a birthday party.
Tall, dark, lightly muscled, she’d spotted him immediately, but when they spoke, she was surprised at how shy he was, an endearing lack of self-awareness of his attractiveness.
Later in the evening, they’d ended up around the fire pit in the back garden together. She watched in admiration as Liam stepped in to defend a colleague being grilled about why she didn’t have kids. It touched Hana how he’d reacted, and they’d ended up chatting—one of those uninhibited drunken talks you can only have with strangers because you think you’ll never see them again.
She came away from the night certain of two things: that she wanted to see him again, and that if she did, she’d end up on a mountain bike. Liam’s biking obsession consumed at least half the conversation. Hana finds herself smiling at the memory, but then remembers. She has to nudge the thought away, an unwelcome visitor.
“I get it,” Caleb says, looking at Hana. “Sometimes I wish we could roll back twenty years, have a meal the old-fashioned way.”
“What did you say?” Jo nudges her chair closer.
“Just that all the video stuff, it’s too much sometimes.” Caleb shrugs.
Jo wearily shakes her head. “I’ve seen that look before. You think it’s beneath you, don’t you? Bea’s said as much.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen Bea’s posts on social media. All that naff pseudo-intellectual bullshit about TV shows and books. Bea never used to be like that. She always said that if you’re truly intellectual, you don’t feel the need to ram it down people’s throats, what you read or watch worn like some bloody badge to prove how intelligent you are.”
Caleb stiffens, mouth pressed together in a thin line. Jo’s hit a nerve. He changes the subject. “You know, I read about this place before we came, thought it was probably a fuss about nothing, but when you’re here, see the rock close up . . .” He cranes his neck so he can see past her. “It’s got a presence, hasn’t it?”