‘Love you too.’
We end the call and I spin the phone in my hands, staring out to sea. It’s easy to get lost in the random undulations of the water, the white caps utterly mesmerising – the same sort of beautiful turmoil as staring into a fire.
ShouldI be moving heaven and earth to get to Iceland?
Even if the answer’syes, there’s no way I’d agree to get married under these circumstances. It’s too rushed, too ill-considered, and my mum would kill me. It would also mean breaking Pip’s heart at the altar, which would be far worse than her believing external forces have ruined the wedding.
Ironically, Mount Etna erupting may have been a good thing.
I don’t have time to ponder this further, because Delaney bursts onto the balcony, carry bags in each hand.
‘Hey!’ she says.
‘Hi – got the shopping bug, I see.’
She looks down at her haul, her cheeks flushing, which I shouldn’t find cute, but do.
‘I’ve probably gone a little overboard,’ she says. ‘I’ll probably never wear half this stuff. At work, I live in jeans and tees, and I’ve bought this dress that’ssonot me… Hey, can I show you?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
She dumps all the bags on the other sun lounger and takes out a carefully wrapped package, tearing the tissue paper like a kid at Christmas. The paper falls to the tiles, and she holds a very pretty dress up to her shoulders.
‘It’s real Italian linen,’ she says, looking down and swaying from side to side. ‘I never usually wear anything this…feminine, but I’m a sucker for seafoam, so…’
‘Seafoam?’ I ask.
She looks up. ‘The colour.’
‘Ah.’
She shoots me a self-deprecating smile. ‘Sorry,’ she says, carefully folding the dress and putting it back into its carry bag. ‘I’m using you as a proxy girlfriend. I’m sure you don’t give a shit about women’s clothes,’ she adds with a laugh.
Only she’s wrong. Ihavegiven a shit in the past – with Pippa. But I’m not about to bring her up. Besides, it’s not the dress that’s captured my attention. It’s the idea of Delaneyinthe dress.
‘I’ll probably return it. I packed a couple others that I can?—’
‘Well, we do have that dinner at the chef’s table,’ I say, interrupting.
‘True.’ She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, but this time it’s more contemplative – it’s doubtful she’s in danger of drawing blood.
‘Maybe keep it for now,’ I suggest. ‘You might change your mind.’
She looks at me, the corners of her mouth curling up. ‘That’s exactly what my best friend, Megan, would say, so good job on the proxying.’
‘Happy to be of service.’
She glances at my watch. ‘Oh shit, we should get going. We’re supposed to meet the skipper at the marina soon.’
‘Right – sorry.’ I get up and follow her inside. ‘So, do I need to bring anything?’
‘Bring whatever you’d take to the beach,’ she says, packing her things into a canvas bag. ‘Your bathing suit, probably a hat, sunblock – actually, I’ve got some you can use, and they’ll have towels on the boat for us, so…’ She stops and looks over to where I’m rummaging through my duffel. ‘Do you have a beach bag?’ she asks.
‘Er, no – I’ve only got the duffel.’
‘You can put your stuff in mine then,’ she says. ‘Plenty of space.’
‘You sure? I’ll wear the hat, and I can carry these,’ I say, holding up my swim shorts.