‘Where have you been?’ Tove asked, almost falling out of the chair as Bell opened the squeaky gate, her crown lopsided on her head, her hair particularly bed-headed this morning.
Bell winked as she closed it behind her and stretched her arms high above her head. She felt like she was floating on air.
‘You did not! Who?’ Tove gasped with deep melodrama. ‘You weren’t even dancing with anyone.’
Bell flopped down into the other chair and let her arms and legs splay in straight lines like a stick doll. ‘His name’s Emil, and he’s possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Ever.’ She arched an eyebrow, suspicious that it was so quiet – and tidy. ‘Where are the boys?’
Tove groaned. ‘Running,’ she said, batting her hand dismissively. ‘Bodies, temples, all that jazz. But forget them. Emil. Emil. Tell me everything. Who is he? Where is he? And when am I gonna meet him?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know and I don’t know,’ Bell grinned. ‘He just took off in his boat. Could have gone anywhere,’ she sighed with an easy shrug.
‘And you don’t know where?’
Bell shook her head with a happy sigh. ‘Nope.’
Tove stared at her like she was delirious. ‘What is wrong with you? Why would you let the most beautiful man you ever saw take off in his boat, without knowing where he was going?’
Bell ignored the question, smiling happily, tipping her head back and reliving the memories. She sighed, remembering his hands, his mouth on her neck . . .
‘Oh my God, just look at you! I don’t even need to ask.’
Bell rolled her head to the side. ‘Best sex of my life, Tove. I swear to God, it was like . . .’ She narrowed her eyes, trying to put it into words. ‘It was like it was his first time, almost. But in a good way! I mean, the way he looked at me, and touched me . . . I felt like a goddess.’
Tove’s jaw dropped down. ‘And yet, I refer you to my previous question.’
Bell arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, I don’t want to fall in love with him Tove.’
‘Yeah, that would be bad. It’ll inevitably end and then your life will be shit again. Sure, I see that,’ she drawled.
‘Says you.’ Tove never mentioned it, but Bell knew perfectly well that her friend liked to be the one to do the leaving ever since she had discovered that her long-term boyfriend had bedded all her friends.
‘Yeah, but you’re not me. You’ve actually got a heart.’
‘Well, thanks, but I’m perfectly happy with current arrangements. Hot man on a boat? Hell yes. Thank you, next.’
Tove reached an arm over and squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘Babe, not every guy you love is going to die on you.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Bell said, throwing her the side-eye. ‘And besides, you think I’m not ready? He is nowhere close. Believe me. His wife, child and father all died in an accident. He lost them all.’
‘Fuck!’ Tove whispered.
‘I know. It’s so awful.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘He didn’t say, and I didn’t like to ask.’
‘God, so he’s beautiful and vulnerable?’ Tove mumbled. ‘No wonder you got with him.’
‘Mmm.’ She sighed, remembering how he’d been staring into space as she woke up this morning, a look of unbearable sadness on his face. She didn’t know if he’d ever recover from it, but if he did, it wouldn’t be any time soon. He was damaged, like her, a fatal crack running through them both.
‘And he had a boat too?’
Bell laughed. ‘Oh, trust me, that was the least beautiful thing about it! This was not some fancy-pants gin palace. I was just grateful it wasn’t taking on water.’
‘I’ll say, with all that rocking that must have been going on –’
They cackled with laughter together.
‘How about you?’ Bell asked, looking over at her friend.
‘Agh, you know. My usual.’ She shrugged. ‘Wham-bam-thank-you-dude. I didn’t stay over. But he was fun. It was a good Midsommar’s.’
They lapsed into silence, both of them tired. Bell let her head drop back onto the headrest, her fingers interlacing across her stomach. ‘Shame we can’t go back and do it all again, really,’ she murmured, thinking back to Friday and her inauspicious first meeting with Emil – the terse nod in the store, his reluctant chivalry, the sight of him unsmiling and stiff in the crowd. She’d had absolutely no inkling then of what was going to happen between them. If her Self of right now could have gone up to her Self of yesterday and told her what was going to happen, she would not have believed it. Nothing would have made her believe she was going to turn the shortest night into the longest one, staying awake all night in his arms . . . And yet, it had all happened, been so natural. With his baseball cap off so she could see his eyes, when her dress had come off and he could see her curves . . . it had been like they’d devoured each other, both frantic, as though they hadn’t realized they were starving.
She got goosebumps just thinking about it again, and gave an involuntary shudder.
‘Oh my God,’ Tove groaned beside her, her eyes closed and enjoying the peace as the birds trilled around them. ‘Get a room.’
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
‘. . . You don’t think you might have made a mistake not getting his number?’
‘Yes. And that’s precisely why I’m glad I didn’t. This way, it just is what it is. One incredible night.’
They heard the pounding of feet, and heavy breathing.
‘You’re back,’ Tove said, still with her eyes closed, as the squeaky gate was opened.
‘Yeah,’ Kris panted, his hands on his hips. He shot an enquiring glance Bell’s way, and she replied with a confiding smile. He winked at her, understanding; it didn’t need to be said. There was a dark arrow of sweat down the front of his top, his hair was pulled into his man-bun, and for the thousandth time she wondered why her soulmate had to be gay. He came over and kissed her on the forehead as Marc pulled to a stop a moment later, looking wrecked.
‘What took you so long?’ Kris asked, sitting on the arm of her chair like he’d been there for hours.
Marc chucked a twig at him.
‘So – lunch,’ Tove announced, as the guys began stretching. ‘I don’t mind where we go so long as they serve stuff starting with carb- and ending inohydrates.’
‘Vardshus, then?’ Kris chuckled, getting up. ‘Let me have a shower and then we can go.’
‘Me too,’ Marc said, following after him.
‘Not together, please!’ Tove called after them as they stepped into the little yellow house. ‘I know what you two are like, and we’ve got a ferry to catch, remember.’
Bell groaned. ‘Oh bugger. It’s Sunday already? I forgot.’
‘He really did fuck you stupid, didn’t he?’ Tove chuckled. ‘Yes, it’s Sunday. All day. Almost time to ship back to real life and our most excellent jobs again.’
Bell felt her good mood get a crazy-glaze. She hadn’t seen the Mogerts at all yesterday, which was just weird. And she had to face Hanna tomorrow. The conversation she’d been dreading was almost here. How to not get fired? She still couldn’t work it out.
‘I think this thing has surgically attached to me,’ she muttered, reaching up and trying to disentangle the floral wreath from her hair. With a sharp tug, she pulled it free, staring at the battered, misshapen garland, the flowers wilted and limp. For some reason, it felt totemic, her first and last remaining link to him.
‘Going to keep it for posterity?’ Tove teased, seeing her hesitation.
‘No. I’m going to get changed,’ she said, getting up and tossing it in the bin, hoping Tove didn’t see her wince.
The pub was rammed, every table taken and a queue snaking down the lane. ‘Looks like we’re not the only ones needing to carb-load,’ Marc muttered as they waited in line, looking as longingly at the shade of the apple tree as at the cold beers.
‘And guess what? They’re all going to be getting the same ferry back with us,’ Tove groaned.
‘Forget to take your happy pills, you two?’ Kris asked, looping his arm through his fiance’s.
‘Ugh, it’s just the Sunday blues,’ Marc groaned. ‘Why does the weekend have to pass so quickly? I want to stay out a few more days. I need to.’
‘Well, we can’t all be as lucky as Bell, getting to spend the summer here and being paid for it.’
‘Excuse me! I’d like to see you keep two three-year-olds and a ten-year-old occupied simultaneously, when there are hazards at every turn. I’m living on my nerves from the moment I leave my bed till I’m back in it again. You have no idea how hard it is.’
‘And to think in my job, I only have to keep them alive,’ Marc quipped.
‘That’s nothing. I’ve got to do that and keep them happy!’
Kris laughed. ‘I’d only know how to keep them fed, but if Tove could do “the birds and the bees” chats, vet their boyfriends, show them how not to get their drinks spiked –’ He raised his hands in the air triumphantly. ‘Between the four of us, we’d be the ideal parents.’
A table came free and they settled at it gratefully, ordering a round of beers. It wasn’t quite in full shade and they played a game of musical chairs for a few minutes as Marc and Tove fussed about the dangers of ‘being in the sun’ and kept switching seats with the others, who didn’t care.
Their drinks came quickly and they ordered what they always had here – Tove, a quiche; Bell, a burger; and the boys, large salads with steak.
Bell fussed distractedly with her dress, a flippy red gingham with fluttery short sleeves. It clashed with her yellow chequerboard Vans, but she quite liked that. Her hair was still wet from the shower but she’d piled it into her usual topknot to get it off her shoulders. She’d got a tune stuck in her head – If you can’t be with the one you love . . . – and it was beginning to drive her nuts. She didn’t even particularly like the song.
‘– don’t want anything big. Town Hall and a room at the back of a pub would do me fine,’ Marc was saying.
‘Oh, you can do better than that,’ Tove chided. ‘This is your wedding we’re talking about.’ She placed her hands on the table. ‘Have you considered holding it at the Vasa?’
They all laughed.
‘I can’t think of anything more tacky!’
Tove looked hurt. ‘But it’s got history there. A sense of scale. This is a huge deal, guys. You’re getting married.’
‘It’s not an epic occasion in Swedish history, though,’ Kris said carefully. ‘Although we do love your enthusiasm.’ He patted her hand on the table.
‘Ugh, I’m so tired,’ Bell groaned, leaning over and resting her head on Marc’s shoulder. ‘I’m just going to go to sleep here. Don’t move, okay?’
‘Poor baby. Not getting enough sleep last night,’ he teased. Tove had of course wasted no time in telling him and Kris all about her athletic night as they were walking over here.
She stuck her tongue out but her eyes were still closed as she rested on his shoulder, happily listening to her friends’ weary, hungover chatter, the gentle clatter of ice cubes as drinks were lifted and set down, other people’s laughs, bird song around them all . . . his salt-crusted dark hair, sun-bleached clothes, puttering about on that paint-flaked, under-powered boat.
She opened her eyes, sensing something.
The others were deep in conversation about the festival they had booked tickets for in Croatia next month, but she had an instinct she was being watched. She swung her gaze round the garden, looking at all the other people enjoying their Sundays, until –
He gazed back at her. He had his baseball cap and sunglasses back on; it was almost like he was hiding himself away. His arms were folded on the table, a pint in front of him as the dark-haired woman – his sister – talked animatedly with two teenagers sitting opposite, neither of whom was remotely animated in return.
She felt her stomach do a flip. When he had left the jetty today she had assumed he was leaving leaving; that he’d come here only for the Midsommar celebrations and would disappear to wherever it was he lived, never to see him again. But she realized now – she’d seen him in the shop on Friday, stocking up on essentials. Even if he didn’t live on Sandhamn, he was nearby. She was going to keep bumping into him like this . . .
She swallowed, her body saying one thing about it, her head quite another.
He inclined his head in the slightest of nods, a movement so slow and tiny, no one watching him would even see it as such, not unless they saw how he had tethered her with his stare, how she couldn’t look away . . .
They had finished eating, she saw, the waitress coming over to clear the plates. He glanced up at her and sat back slightly to allow her more room, but his gaze came straight back to Bell.
She felt paralyzed. After everything they had done, it seemed ludicrous that she couldn’t get up and walk over and say hello; to even smile. But they were separated by three tables, a patch of grass and whole other lives. Only last night united them, two perfect strangers looking to lose themselves for a few hours, to keep the darkness away. And this morning, as she had prepared to leave, he hadn’t asked for her number or where she was staying, or even her last name. He had pulled away from the jetty with burning eyes but an air of finality, no more wanting to shape a future from one night than she did.
All of which was completely achievable, so long as she didn’t ever see him again.
His sister got up beside him, all thin limbs and blow-dried hair. She was wearing skinny cropped jeans and red-soled ballerina pumps, a cotton shirt and pearls; she was understated in her style, yet still somehow screamed ‘rich husband’. He, by contrast, was in another faded t-shirt, a hole at the neck, navy cargos, battered boat shoes that looked the same vintage as his actual boat.
She felt her heart constrict as he got up to leave too, his niece and nephew shuffling with bored torpor, fiddling with their headphones. She tried to think of something, a reason to make him stay, an excuse to talk to him; but there was nothing. It was done. He stood by his table and stared at her openly for a moment, before giving a smile as tiny as the nod, hidden in plain sight. No one else was watching. No one else cared. But as he turned away and followed his family out of the garden, she knew she did.
He stared at his untouched lunch, not reading the paper open before him, his hand spread in a tense claw. Their laughter dominated the space, heads turning towards their vibrant group. They were young and beautiful, poised on the cusp of taking on the world.
Though his head was down, the brim of his baseball cap allowed him to sneak furtive glances in her direction. He could see her friends joking about, the conversation open and buoyant – yet always somehow coming back to her, everyone’s eyes settling on her face like bees returning to a flower. Her fingers tapped against her glass as she talked, her bright hair worn up in a sleek ponytail and showing off her slender neck. Under the table, he could see she had kicked off her shoes and was scrunching the grass between her pink-varnished toes, her laughter tickling the air as the guy beside her cracked a joke. She clutched his arm, weak with amusement.
She was with him. His friend. He remembered the contents of her basket . . .
He looked away as she threw a casual, queenly glance around the garden. Was she aware of the way everyone watched her? Was it what she wanted? She had to have known what she was doing in the shop earlier, her impact upon people. Men.
His fingers drummed the wooden table, his sandwich beginning to curl in the midday sun, but he still couldn’t stomach it. He felt tied up in knots. Anxious. Sick. He took a sip of his beer, feeling it slide down his throat. He reminded himself it was cool, refreshing, relaxing . . .
He looked back up at her again, and perhaps it was the abrupt movement of his head that caught her attention too, because their eyes met in the next moment. She looked straight at him – startled, but something else too. Intrigued? Interested? The smile faded on her mouth, but not in her eyes.
Not in her eyes.