She showers back at hers, aching and swollen and full of him. She’s probably still a little drunk, but despite the lack of sleep, she feels wide awake, renewed.
She’ll have to manage the situation, so Alison doesn’t go ballistic. There’s no rule about dating guests, but it is very much frowned on if things turn nasty, and even though Alison didn’t see it because she was down the pavilion end of the pub at the time, everyone will tell her boss about that little scene between Kit and the drunk blonde – the girl screeching about him ‘leading her on’ and slapping him about the head, calling Hannah a whore and ugly crying.
But it was worth it. Hannah shivers in delight as she towels herself dry.
In bed, after that first frantic fuck, even before the second and third time, she’d realised Kit was something special. He told her he was young, free and single; he swore there had never 63been anything romantic between him and the blonde girl. But she’s been caught out like this before. Holidaymakers forget mainland life as soon as they get here. Different rules apply. What happens on the island stays on the island and all that, although Tresco is hardly Vegas.
Hannah never expects much from these holiday flings. She takes them at face value, enjoying the fact that they burn so much brighter than ordinary relationships.
And she’d really enjoyed last night. Kit – a buffed-up Timothée Chalamet face, all chiselled cheekbones and sexy lips. Tall, good body, wavy reddish-sandy hair. Not really her type. Young. Keen.
She’d guessed he was a fire sign, an Aries as it turned out. She’s a Scorpio. Aries and Scorpio matches are often passionate. Incan-bloody-descent!
She manages a couple of hours’ sleep, jerks awake at the alarm, dresses in her vintage silver leggings and her favourite leopard-print hoody, and swings by the shop.
John, the numpty from the garden team, waves at her as he’s coming out and Hannah’s going in. He’s by himself, which is unusual because he and his wife are normally joined at the hip, walking to and from work together most days. ‘Bless-ed day!’ he trills. He says ‘bless-ed’ like they do in The Handmaid’s Tale. He was a former pastor or something back in the swamplands of America. He gives Hannah a smile, and the creeps.
She ignores him, but no matter how rude she is to him he continues grinning. Something about him makes her want to hit him in his beaming beardy face.
Inside the shop, Hannah grabs a bottled Frappuccino. It always makes her think of the time two daft timeshare lads put up an announcement on the notice board by the mini post 64office (on estate headed notepaper, which was a clever touch), announcing Starbucks was opening a branch on the island, and all hell broke loose.
At the till, Thor is already in full investigative mode, obviously having heard about the altercation in the pub from earlier customers.
‘All kicked off then last night?’ he mumbles. Very little eye contact as usual, which puts Hannah on edge.
She makes a non-committal grunt.
‘The guest from Falcon?’
‘Mm.’
‘What happened?’ He rings up her purchases.
‘The usual,’ Hannah shrugs, putting the coffee and a bar of chocolate into her bag as swiftly as she can, keen to be off. When she offers nothing more, Thor gives her the death stare.
His attitude annoys the hell out of Hannah. They’d had one kiss at a party last year. That was it. But he’s not let it go since. Hannah tried to let him down gently, saying she wasn’t in the market for a relationship, not adding that even if she was, Thor would never be in with a chance. But ever since, he’s acted like a bloody stalker.
‘I want details,’ he demands, a fake smile plastered over poorly hidden jealousy.
‘Nothing to tell really,’ says Hannah.
Thor refuses to hand over Hannah’s change. He crosses his arms, to show off his muscles, and says, ‘But I want to know.’
‘None of your business,’ snaps Hannah.
‘Don’t be a tease, Hannah.’
‘Don’t be a prick, Alec.’ That’s his real name. Thor is an affectation. 65
He looks furious.
Hannah might have said more, but Emma from the playgroup comes in and she makes her escape.
Outside, her phone buzzes. A text from Bobby asking her to meet him in Puffin. Bugger.
She drinks her coffee and eats her chocolate, collects her bike, fires up a quick breakfast cigarette, then cycles over, a fresh sea breeze behind her back. It’s only ten minutes to Puffin, although pretty much everywhere by road here is only ten minutes to cycle. Her skin’s tingling by the time she arrives at the cottage.
Luck is on her side. She doesn’t have to explain why she hasn’t got her key because the door’s already open and she finds Bobby in the kitchen. If he’s aware of what went on here last night, he doesn’t mention it.
‘Will you give me a hand with the curtains?’ he asks. ‘We have a new rental coming in next Tuesday.’
‘That’s good news,’ she says. ‘Shall we air the place out now most of the painting’s finished? Put the heating on for a bit?’ The advantage of that suggestion is that she’s hoping for a replay with Kit tonight.
‘Yep, yep, yep,’ says Bobby. He seems preoccupied.
She switches on the boiler, goes upstairs to bring down the curtains – checking the mattress for any of her incriminating long dark hairs – and then she and Bobby remove dust sheets and wrangle pieces of furniture back into place downstairs. They re-hang the curtains together, Bobby straining as he holds up his end.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
He mumbles a non-committal reply. 66
Hannah knows Bobby well and something’s bothering him. She wonders if someone saw Kit sneaking into the cottage with her last night.
‘What’s eating you?’ she pushes.
‘Just … bloody guests!’
‘What have they done now?’
‘We had one dopey cow come into the office first thing this morning to ask us to turn the big light off because it was keeping her awake – the bloody lighthouse light! You couldn’t make it up! And the complaints about being fogged in the other day! “I’m expected in Munich. I can’t possibly stay another night.” Spoilt brats! I just …’ He trails off.
It’s unusual to hear Bobby talk like this. The guests annoy everyone, but they’re a necessary evil. Usually it would be Hannah bitching about their insane demands: ‘Do you make your ice with tap or filtered water?’ Moaning that the foghorn’s too loud!
Bobby falls silent.
Hannah doesn’t mind his mood. He doesn’t require conversation, which makes a change from her always having to be on, being chatty and flirty behind the bar however she really feels. And in this companionable peace, she relives the restorative images of the previous night.