Sleeping Arrangements Read online

  ‘Can we go to San Luis?’ he said as they passed the sign. ‘See what it’s like?’

  ‘Not right now. I want to get back to the villa.’

  ‘But it’s boring.’

  ‘If you find it boring, Sam,’ said Philip, ‘I can easily find you something to do.’

  Sam scowled and sank back in his seat.

  They approached the iron gate leading from the road into the dry field and he glanced idly out of the car window. To his surprise, through the iron grille, he saw Jenna’s face. She was throwing back her head and laughing and … smoking? And there was another head with hers. She was with people.

  Bloody hell, thought Sam, sinking back into his seat. Something’s going on. There’s a good time going on. And I’m bloody well going to be part of it. As Philip parked the car in the drive, he glanced at his watch and looked at Nat.

  ‘I think The Simpsons is on, Channel 9,’ he said casually. ‘Double bill.’

  ‘Cool!’ said Nat.

  ‘Television?’ said Philip incredulously.

  ‘The Simpsons, Dad,’ said Nat, rolling his eyes at Sam, and scampered out of the car.

  Sam got out too, but did not follow Nat into the house. Casually he bent down to retie one of his trainers and watched as Nat disappeared through the door. A moment later, Philip wandered off, round the side of the villa towards the pool, and Sam stood up. He checked his appearance briefly in the car window, then turned his steps towards the field.

  He saw them immediately. Jenna and that Spanish bloke who’d spat at the gate, sitting on the ground, sharing a cigarette. And with them—Sam’s heart quickened slightly—a girl. A Spanish girl, about sixteen years old, dressed in tight blue jeans and a black T-shirt.

  As he approached he felt a little apprehensive. Both the Spaniards were looking at him with slight smirks. What had she told them about him?

  ‘Hi,’ said Jenna as soon as he was within earshot. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Puerto Banus.’

  Jenna gave a shrug to indicate that this meant nothing to her.

  ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Have some of this.’ As she passed him the cigarette, he registered with surprise that it was a joint.

  ‘Should you …’ He cleared his throat. ‘Isn’t that like drinking on duty?’

  ‘I’m not on duty.’ Jenna’s voice was scornful. ‘I’m on my afternoon off, and what I do is my business. OK?’ Her eyes glinted menacingly at him and he swallowed.

  ‘Sure.’

  She gazed at him, then suddenly broke into a smile.

  ‘Don’t worry. I know you wouldn’t split on me. Would you, Sam?’ She reached out tenderly and ran a finger down his chest. ‘Mmm. You’re in good shape.’ She gestured to the joint. ‘Go on, have some.’

  Sam took a puff, thanking God he’d smoked spliff before; that he wouldn’t look like a total prat, like some of the guys at school. Jenna watched him closely, as though looking for something else to laugh at—then gave a half-smile.

  ‘We have to go,’ said the Spanish girl, standing up and looking at the large men’s watch she was wearing. Sam looked up in dismay.

  ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Stay!’

  ‘Sorry.’ The girl shrugged. ‘Bye, Jenna.’

  ‘Bye,’ said the boy.

  ‘See ya,’ said Jenna.

  Sam watched as they walked off, towards the gate, then vaulted down into the road.

  ‘Who were they?’ he said after a pause.

  ‘Them?’ said Jenna. ‘They’re called Ana and José,’ she said. ‘They live just along the road. Their mum cleans this place.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sam. ‘Why did they—’

  ‘We had a little … transaction to make,’ said Jenna, and gave him a lazy smile.

  ‘Oh.’ Sam puffed angrily on the joint, staring at the dry ground. Why couldn’t he have arrived sooner? It was so bloody unfair.

  ‘I found out loads from them,’ said Jenna, examining her painted toenails. ‘ Very interesting stuff.’

  ‘Really?’ said Sam, looking up. ‘About nightlife?’

  ‘No,’ said Jenna, looking at him as if he was crazy. ‘About our host, Gerard Whatshisface. And this whole mix-up we’ve found ourselves in.’ She took the joint from him and dragged on it, eyeing him pleasurably as she did so. ‘You thought it was a mistake, didn’t you, our two families arriving here at the same time.’

  Sam looked at her warily.

  ‘Well—yeah,’ he said. ‘It was a mistake.’

  Jenna blew out a cloud of smoke, then shook her head.

  ‘Uh-huh. No mistake. Gerard planned it.’

  ‘How do you mean, he planned it?’

  ‘I mean,’ said Jenna as though to someone very stupid, ‘he set you up. He deliberately invited both your families for the same week, and then pretended it was an accident.’

  Sam stared at her. Was this another stupid wind-up that would end in his utter humiliation?

  ‘How do you know?’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘Gerard told their mum to expect eight people at the villa this week. Told her to buy loads of food.’

  ‘So what? That doesn’t prove anything.’

  ‘Come on, Sam, sharpen your wits. Eight isn’t one family, it’s two families. He obviously set the whole thing up on purpose.’ Jenna grinned. ‘It was a trick. And a pretty good one, if you ask me.’ Sam stared at her, feeling incensed.

  ‘No it’s not!’ he said. ‘To wreck someone’s holiday, just for fun … It’s sick! I can’t believe he would do something like that.’ He looked towards the road, but Ana and José had disappeared. ‘They’re just making trouble. They obviously don’t like Gerard.’

  ‘They hate the guy,’ agreed Jenna. ‘Apparently there was some footpath over this land which Gerard closed off when he bought the house. The whole place hates him.’

  ‘Well, there you are.’

  ‘But that doesn’t change the facts.’ Jenna’s eyes gleamed. ‘Gerard knew you were all going to arrive together and he pretended he didn’t. So what’s going on?’ She took a deep puff on the joint. ‘Oh, and apparently he’s going to come out here himself, too.’

  ‘He’s going to come out here?’ Sam stared at her, and she shrugged.

  ‘That’s what Ana said.’

  Sam scowled. ‘This is all bullshit, if you ask me. Why would he do that?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Jenna. ‘He must think something’s going to happen.’ She grinned wickedly. ‘Maybe he thinks you lot’ll fight.’ Sam shook his head.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense. I mean, we’re strangers. Our two families don’t even know each other.’

  The room was up in the roof, pale and light with simple wooden furniture and a high, old-fashioned bed. There was no bathroom attached, the restaurant owner had explained as he handed over the key, which was why it was not popular with the tourists. But perhaps for Señor …

  ‘It’ll do fine,’ Hugh had said, cutting the man off. ‘Thank you.’

  They had walked up the narrow, creaking stairs in silence, away from the sounds of the restaurant; away from the rest of the world. As the door closed behind them Chloe felt a tremor deep inside her, like the rumble of distant thunder. Like the earth cracking in some far-off, unknown place.

  The guitar music from the courtyard below was vibrating up through the floor; through the soles of her feet into her veins. People below, in the real world, were still laughing and eating and talking. While she and Hugh, up in the rafters, stood in the pale stillness, standing slightly apart, not looking at each other. Waiting.

  Slowly Hugh reached out a hand and put it on her shoulder, and Chloe felt an almost unbearable swell inside her. She closed her eyes; bit her lip to stop herself crying out. But she didn’t move. For as long as she could stand it, she didn’t move.

  At last, she turned towards him. Hugh slid his other hand around her waist and slowly they began to move from side to side, in time to the music, edging closer and closer to each other, until their
bodies were nearly touching. Hugh turned his head and brushed his lips lightly against hers, and a fresh wave of arousal washed through her. She pulled away from him, deliberately torturing herself, prolonging it, savouring the knowledge of what was to come.

  In the courtyard below, the guitar tune came to an end and there was silence. For a second, neither moved; the stillness seemed to sing around Chloe’s head. Then Hugh’s mouth met hers again, more firmly; more passionately. And this time she was powerless to do anything but respond. As the music started up again below, she was lost, exploring and reexploring; touching and remembering and wanting. Finally crying out his name and sobbing and descending, like a feather coming gently to rest.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They seemed to have been lying still in the silence for an eternity. Half conscious, half asleep. Entwined in a shared warmth, as the air gradually cooled around them. When Chloe blinked, stirred and looked around, she saw that the room, along with everything else, had changed. The bright, white light had turned to something more mellow. Long golden shadows were stretching across the floor. Outside, the guitars had stopped playing; some Spanish girls were laying the tables for dinner and chatting to one another.

  For a moment she felt too heavy to move. She felt slow and torpid and reluctant. Glimmering on the horizon of her brain was the knowledge that there was a world outside this room; an existence she didn’t want to apprehend or acknowledge. For a few minutes she lay quite still, staring at the ceiling, floating in unreality.

  Then, with the strength of will that had carried her through life, she sat up. Without looking at Hugh she stood up and walked slowly over to where her dress had been discarded on the floor. Her new tight black dress. As she picked it up, she knew she didn’t want to put it on; that its overt, tawdry appeal would grate on her now. But she had no choice, she had nothing else to wear.

  ‘Chloe.’ Hugh’s voice hit the back of her head. ‘Chloe, what are you doing?’

  She turned back towards the bed, still holding the dress and looked at him silently for a moment, then said, ‘I’m getting dressed.’

  ‘No,’ said Hugh. His darkening eyes met hers. ‘Not yet.’ Chloe closed her eyes briefly.

  ‘We have to go. I have to go.’ She picked up her underwear and looked at it for a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bed. Hugh came forward and put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Don’t perform your vanishing act. Not this time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Chloe irritably. ‘What vanishing act?’

  ‘You always used to disappear.’ Hugh leaned forward and kissed her neck. ‘You used to get dressed in the dark. Disappear into the night. I didn’t even know where you were going.’ He trailed a hand down to her breast and gently circled her nipple. ‘The thing I wanted most of all was to sleep all night with you. But you always left me. You always rushed away.’

  Chloe slowly turned to face him.

  ‘I always rushed away,’ she said, and gave an incredulous laugh. ‘That’s really good, Hugh.’ She pulled away from him and stood up. ‘I rushed away.’

  Her words pierced the warm air like a challenge. Like the first incision. Suddenly the atmosphere between them seemed tighter, as though someone had pulled a string and closed a window. Averting her face from Hugh’s steady gaze, Chloe located her shoes and placed them side by side on the floor, ready to step into; ready to walk away. She stared at them and felt emotion bubbling at the surface of her eyes. Fifteen years’ worth of emotion, pressing like hot hands at her cheeks and mouth, threatening to pull her apart.

  ‘I could do with a cigarette,’ she said abruptly. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got one.’ She turned to see Hugh gazing at her, his face curiously blank.

  ‘There isn’t a day that I don’t regret what I did, Chloe,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Not a day.’

  ‘Or a drink,’ said Chloe. She swallowed hard, trying to keep control of herself. ‘A drink would do.’

  ‘I was a young man,’ said Hugh. ‘I wasn’t the person I am now. I didn’t know anything about children, or families, or anything. I didn’t know anything about anything.’ He stopped, as though trying to think. ‘When I saw Sam, sitting on that carpet—when I realized what you’d been trying to tell me—I panicked.’ He looked at her, his eyes full of a hard honesty. ‘I was twenty years old, Chloe. Twenty. Only four years older than Sam is now. I thought a baby in my life would … I don’t know. Spoil everything. Get in the way of …’ He tailed off.

  ‘Of your flying success,’ supplied Chloe. ‘Of your fabulous career. Well, you were probably correct. It probably would have.’ She gave him a brittle smile. ‘You played it absolutely right, Hugh. For you.’

  ‘No,’ said Hugh. ‘I didn’t play it right.’ He looked up at her matter-of-factly. ‘I didn’t play it right.’

  There was a taut silence. Chloe could feel a fearful thud inside her. A message from some inner self, pulling her in a direction she couldn’t afford even to look at. Dragging her towards a slippery tunnel which slid swiftly down and away to another place altogether.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said, turning and reaching for her shoes. The leather pinched her foot as she thrust it in, but she didn’t even wince. She needed that sharpness; needed to be pinched back into reality.

  ‘What if you didn’t?’ said Hugh. ‘What if we stayed here all night?’ He stood up and came towards her, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘What if we slept together tonight for the first time in our lives, Chloe? What would happen? Would the earth split apart?’

  Chloe felt a stab of pain in her chest; a longing that threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘We can’t …’ She rubbed her face. ‘We have to go. We have to go back to the—’

  ‘I love you,’ said Hugh.

  For a moment she couldn’t move.

  ‘You don’t love me,’ she said eventually, looking away. Her voice felt thick and heavy, her face hot.

  ‘I love you, Chloe.’ He reached up and brushed away the wisps of hair from her forehead. ‘I love you. And I want to sleep all night with you by my side. I want to wake up cradling you in my arms.’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Chloe in a low, husky voice. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

  ‘We do have a choice.’ Gently, Hugh lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes. ‘Chloe—we could start again.’

  Chloe looked at him for a long time, unable to speak. Then, without replying, she turned away and, with trembling hands, began to get dressed.

  Philip sat on a sun lounger by the pool, sipping a beer, gazing into the water and wondering idly where everyone was. The entire villa seemed deserted. Chloe was nowhere to be seen, Sam had disappeared off without a sign, Nat was, he presumed, glued to a television set somewhere or other. As for the other family, they had vanished entirely.

  He took an unconcerned swig of beer and lay back comfortably. It was the time of day he liked best on holiday. Early evening, when the scorching sun softened to a warm glow and the water glimmered shades of blue and gold. When people came alive again after lying all day in a sun-drenched, debilitated torpor. When energy levels rose and drinks were poured and thoughts turned pleasantly to the night ahead.

  It had been a good day, he thought. He’d been reminded again of just how much he enjoyed the boys’ company; just how entertaining they could be. And it had been good for him to spend some time away from Chloe. He felt as though his troubles and petty irritations had been swept away by the ocean breeze. Distance had given him the perspective he needed. They would begin tonight anew. Maybe even go out for dinner.

  A sound interrupted his idly drifting thoughts and he looked up to see Amanda heading towards the pool. She was holding a sheaf of papers and a mobile phone, and wearing a harassed expression.

  ‘Hello,’ she said shortly, and sat down.

  ‘Hi,’ said Philip. For a while there was silence, then he looked up. ‘Have you had a good day?’

 
; ‘Frankly, no,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ve had a nightmare of a day. Beatrice has been unwell, and Jenna completely disappeared this afternoon when I needed her most … And I’ve had a complete crisis with my paint-effects woman.’

  ‘Your what woman?’ said Philip, smiling slightly.

  ‘My paint-effects woman,’ said Amanda, turning a clear, humourless gaze on him. ‘At the house. We’re having a lot of work done while we’re away.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Philip, and took a swig of beer. ‘I see.’

  ‘I phoned her this morning just to see how things were getting on. I casually mentioned the spare bedroom—and she started talking about turquoise. Turquoise!’ Amanda closed her eyes as though unable to contemplate the thought. ‘When what I specified was a very pale aquamarine.’ She opened her eyes and looked at Philip. ‘Well, of course, now I can’t be sure what she’s slapping on our walls. It could be any old colour. I’ve been faxing her all afternoon, but she hasn’t bothered to reply …’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ said Philip. He thought for a moment. ‘I expect she’s using the right colour—but just describing it differently.’

  Amanda gazed at him suspiciously.

  ‘You think turquoise and aquamarine are the same colour?’

  ‘Well,’ said Philip. ‘They are quite similar, aren’t they? To the … the uninitiated eye.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Amanda exhaled sharply. ‘Maybe you’re right. But not even bothering to reply to my faxes. I mean, that’s just plain discourteous. When I’m the one paying the money, I’m the customer …’

  ‘I didn’t even know there was a fax machine here,’ said Philip, trying to change the subject. ‘This villa’s got everything, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It’s in that study, off the hall,’ said Amanda. ‘There’s a little office set up there.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘In fact, I’m surprised Hugh hasn’t commandeered it already.’ She lay back on her sun lounger and was silent for a minute. Then she gave a gusty sigh. ‘God, I’m exhausted. Beatrice was up half the night. She just wouldn’t be left alone. And I’ve been on the phone all afternoon—’