To say Cate is shocked when I tell her I have the solution to all her problems – in the shape of £5000 – barely covers it. She looks at me open-mouthed across the counter in Daffodils & Stars and a piece of gold ribbon drops from her fingers.
‘What did you say?’ she whispers.
‘I still think you should go to the police about Robby. This doesn’t change that.’ I reach out and take her hand. It’s trembling. ‘But the money’s yours. If this is the only way you feel able to get him out of your life, then I want you to have it.’
She shakes her head violently. ‘No, Lauren. Don’t be ridiculous. I absolutely couldn’t. You’ve spent years saving this up. It’d mean you couldn’t go. And you have to go – you’re out of a job, aren’t you?’
‘There’s always supply work,’ I tell her, which is true, less than ideal as it is. ‘I won’t starve. Some things are more important.’
‘No,’ she says again, her eyes darting about as the implications of my offer sink in. ‘I couldn’t do it.’ Her chest reddens as the next words catch in her throat. ‘You’re such an amazing friend to even offer . . . thank you so, so much. But it’s not fair. This is my problem, not yours.’
‘And you’re my friend – the best friend I’ve ever had. Which is why I’m doing this for you. I’ve already transferred the money to your account,’ I say.
The plump, salty tears that follow are the best kind of tears, ones made up of relief and happiness and the knowledge that you’re loved and protected, no matter how shitty others can be towards you. I walk round the counter and pull her into a hug.
‘I’ll pay you back really quickly, I swear,’ she says, sniffing. ‘I’m going to get a bar job or something and, month by month, I’ll put it back in your account. I absolutely promise you, Lauren.’
‘Take all the time you need.’
As Cate’s face continues to go through a whole range of emotions – disbelief, guilt, elation – something else is flickering behind her eyes the entire time: relief that her nightmare is going to end. What she doesn’t know is that a nightmare of my own is just beginning.
But I still think I’m doing the right thing.
Cate phones me the following day to say she’s arranged to make a cash withdrawal from the bank – having told them the money was to buy a car – and to meet Robby on Saturday to hand it over.
But none of that lessens the private hell I’m going through in having to stay here, with Joe’s words throbbing in my head when, unbeknownst to him, he is about to become a father. And when the mother of his child is one of my best friends.
That night, I sit at my bedroom window, gazing past my curtains as mist swirls around the trees, and I try to work out a solution to this. One that makes Joe Wilborne completely unable to think of me as someone he even likes, let alone anything more.
I pick up my phone and scroll to his name in the contacts book. Then I dial it with a heart that thrashes harder and harder with every ring.
It goes to voicemail.
I sigh and click off, lying on the bed as my adrenalin subsides.
Then it rings. I scramble to a sitting position and glance at the phone. It’s him.
With my breath hanging in my chest, I pick up.
‘Hi, Lauren.’
He has the kind of voice that makes your skin tingle: masculine but warm, with rolling vowels and an accent that’s only apparent with every other undulating lilt. I force myself to stop thinking like this. The only emotion that is ever going to be possible between the two of us from now on is dislike. No, that’s not enough.
I need to make him hate me.
‘Hello, Joe,’ I reply coldly.
‘I believe you got your bracelet.’
‘I did,’ I reply, summoning the strength to say the words I’ve planned to say. ‘I saw your gazebo too.’
‘Well, it’s your gazebo really . . .’
‘No, it’s not. It’s not my gazebo at all.’
He doesn’t answer at first. Then he asks, not unreasonably, ‘What do you mean?’
‘How insensitive can you get?’ I spit out the words as if I can’t bear the taste of them in my mouth. ‘Did you seriously think you could build some crappy replica of the place where I used to spend days with my dad? Was it some kind of cruel joke?’
‘Of course not.’ He tries to say this dispassionately, but the hurt in his voice almost – almost – makes me take it back. Then I think of his baby, of Emily’s determination to make a go of it, and steel myself to deliver a further onslaught.
‘I think you’re sick, Joe,’ I rant on. ‘That’s the only explanation for it. I don’t know why anyone would do something like that.’
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ he replies, with pain in his voice.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he continues, ‘and I apologise if I did. I thought it would be something you’d like. With hindsight, you’re right. It was crass.’
My heart breaks a little more, as I say, ‘Yes. It was upsetting and stupid, and well, like I said, Joe – I just don’t want anything to do with you any longer.’
‘Well, you’re not going to, are you? Given that you’re leaving the country soon.’
‘As it happens, I’m not going just yet,’ I mumble. ‘There’s been a setback so I’m stuck here. And that’s precisely why I wanted to let you know – because of this – that it’s just impossible for you and me to be friends.’
‘OK, I’ve got the idea,’ he says stonily.
‘And in case you’re wondering, I’m quitting salsa,’ I go on.
‘Yes, me too,’ he replies.
That rattles me. ‘Really?’
‘There wasn’t any point in going any longer.’
I let this sentence filter through me then brush aside my innate desire to decode it.
‘So, it seems like we’re probably not going to bump into each other anyway from now on,’ I conclude. ‘Which suits me fine. I’m certainly not going to be heading anywhere near the Moonlight Hotel after the stunt you’ve just pulled.’
‘I’m sorry, Lauren,’ only this time, he doesn’t say it as if he is sorry. He says it as if he’s pissed off in the extreme – and who could blame him. But I can’t let him know that. ‘Like I say, it was meant to be a nice gesture, it was meant to—’
‘Yeah, well, it didn’t work.’
‘Yes, I’ve got it, Lauren,’ he snaps. ‘I’ve got it completely.’