A Hundred Pieces of Me (54 page)

‘I think the sun’s gone to your head,’ Naomi grumbles, but she gathers up her stuff anyway, ramming the straw Stetson over her chestnut mermaid plait and finding the complimentary hotel flip-flops, as Gina heads off down the beach towards the sea.

The sun’s much hotter away from the shady decking, and Gina can feel the rays tingling on her skin. The fact that she only has thirty minutes before she burns makes it all the more urgent, and her feet slip on the soft white sand as she hurries towards the aquamarine shallows.

She gasps with delight as the first ripples of water lick her toes.

The sensation is gorgeous and she dashes in, loving the splashes that tingle on her shins. It’s a private beach, and there’s no one else around, so Gina undoes the sarong covering her hips and throws it back up the sand, plunging in so the water covers her knees, her pale thighs and her stomach. It’s a delicious sensation, and it makes her feel naked, despite her swimsuit.

For a moment Gina stares out to sea and feels a surge of complete freedom, as if there’s nothing between her and the edge of the world. She pushes on, the water now a solid weight against her legs, rising up her body, and all she can see ahead of her is the horizon, a dark blue line against the perfect cloudless Thai sky, and something inside her seems to be rising to meet it.

The sand is smooth and slippery under her feet, falling away as she carries on until she’s on tiptoe, straining her calf muscles to keep in contact. With one final push, she lets herself fall into the clean embrace of the sea, like a dancer falling into the arms of a partner, and her face is submerged under the salty water, her hair floating around her as she pushes off.

Under the lazy waves it’s cool and light, and it’s the light that seems to fill her eyes and nose as much as the warm water. Gina’s senses explode with a thousand simultaneous messages, all of which she wants to capture but can’t. Instead, she sinks into the moment, feeling the power of her arms and legs as she pulses them against the heavy weightlessness of the sea, and it occurs to her that maybe this feeling of being completely connected to every muscle, every nerve in her body is what Stuart loves so much about his cycling.

But she’s floating like an astronaut, not sweating and panting against gravity, and pure elation fills her. I’m
alive
, she thinks. I’m a human being, made of water and blood and muscle and bone, and I’m alive, here in a place on the planet I’d never imagined I’d be. I bought a ticket, I got on a plane, and here I am. I
can
travel on my own.

Everything is unfamiliar, except herself, and here in the water Gina suddenly sees the point of her sturdy legs, her long arms, her skin, her feet, and she’s grateful for it all.

She kicks hard, and she’s above the water again, shaking her head to get the sea out of her nose. The sun’s hot, but her body’s cooler: another gorgeous sensation.

Naomi swims up to her carefully, a cheeky grin on her face, her pink shoulders visible above the clear water. ‘Can’t swim too far,’ she says. ‘My bikini bottoms are already offending the fishes. Sea to your liking?’

Gina smiles beatifically, closes her eyes and lies back, raising her face to the sky. She feels free, and limitless, and ready to embrace all possibilities. ‘I love it,’ she says.

Gina stared at the timetable for the coming weeks’ work on the Magistrate’s House and knew she was going to have to ask Nick direct: what was going on behind the scenes that she wasn’t being told about?

In the space of a few months, Amanda had gone from breathing fire down her neck about delays in the consent application to not replying to any of Gina’s last three emails about the house, all of which had had, Gina thought anyway, fairly interesting news about the lost objects the builders had found in the walls as well as more technical updates about the roof. Gina needed a few decisions to pass on to Lorcan, but her queries had met with nothing.

The phone calls had stopped too; there hadn’t been another Skype conversation since the night of the power-cut. There hadn’t even been a response to her excited forwarding of the Listed Building Consent for the whole rebuild programme – Nick had cracked open champagne for her and the builders on site the afternoon it had come through. Payments were still made on time, but the beady interest had, it seemed, evaporated.

She tapped her pencil against her teeth, no longer seeing the boxes, instead seeing Nick touching the fresh plaster, asking her question after question about his house. He was more fascinated by the place’s history than ever. She had tried to broach the topic of Amanda’s silence with him, hinting at workloads, wondering when she’d like to visit, but it was awkward. Nick barely mentioned her unless her name came up in direct conversation. And the closer their friendship got, the less Gina felt able to ask about something she didn’t really want to know about: the state of his marriage.

She frowned at her neat flowchart of jobs for the rest of July, August, September, trying to visualise the house knitting back together with each week of plasterers, electricians, builders swarming over the wooden floors and high-ceilinged rooms, but it didn’t give her the pleasure it usually did. There were too many questions lurking behind the building work.

Was Amanda negotiating to sell the house on? Did she want to live here? Weren’t they happy with what she was doing?

Gina stared unseeing at her own plans. Amanda had warned her at the start that she wasn’t going to be very hands-on, but her silence now was different.

Something was definitely up because now Nick had gone silent. He hadn’t returned her last message about flooring for nearly three days. It had been a slightly spurious message – what she’d really wanted to tell him about was her meeting with Kit, and how positive it had made her feel – but even so, he never usually took so long.

Gina rang his mobile, but there was no answer. She tried again, still nothing. Just his cheerful message on the voicemail.

A cold feeling pooled in the base of her stomach, and she grabbed her car keys. It was time for a site visit.

When Gina reached the end of the long tree-lined drive to the house, she was surprised to see Lorcan sitting on one of the low walls outside, talking on the phone with his black eyebrows crunched together in stress.

It was only nine o’clock and already the sun was scorching the dark green leaves of the box hedges. Two of Lorcan’s lads were sitting in the back of the van, texting and reading the paper out of the sun, and the roofers’ van was parked next to it. The roofers were sunbathing on the croquet lawn.

‘Morning!’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t you be up on the roof or something?’

‘Ah!’ Lorcan looked relieved to see her. His curly black hair was flattened, a sign that he’d been pressing a hand nervously to one side of his head while making multiple phone calls. ‘Finally. Someone who might know what’s going on.’

‘Where’s Nick? Still in bed?’

‘Not here.’ Lorcan shook his head. ‘I can’t get hold of him. There’s no one in the house, his car’s gone, and he’s not answering his phone.’

‘Really?’ Gina checked her watch. ‘Are you sure he’s not gone for an early run or something?’

‘Nope. I’ve got a set of keys. There’s no one in there. Place was locked but it’s empty.’ He paused, then said, reluctantly, ‘I had a look round, in case he’d had an accident, but nope, nothing. He wasn’t here yesterday either. I didn’t mention it because it was your day off but I haven’t been able to get hold of Nick since Monday.’

‘Since Monday?’ Gina’s bad feeling intensified. Nick never went away without telling them, or at least joking about bringing them exotic delicacies from that there London. ‘That’s a bit weird.’

‘Isn’t it. I was just about to call you. Are they away?’

She reached into her bag for her phone, to see if there were any messages. Nothing. ‘Not that I know of.’

Lorcan frowned. ‘Could he have gone on an assignment?’

‘I think he’d have told me. I mean, I think he’d have let us know,’ Gina corrected herself quickly. ‘Let me try him again.’

But there was no answer. She left another message, then turned back to Lorcan.

‘Um, well, I guess . . . just carry on,’ she said. ‘I’ll try to get hold of him, and update you when I can.’

He gave her a shrewd look. ‘What do you reckon? Done a bunk? Inland Revenue on his tail?’

‘No, no.’ Gina didn’t want to believe that. ‘It’s maybe a family emergency. I’m sure it’s nothing dramatic. I’ll let you know.’

‘And where are you off to in the meantime?’ Lorcan asked, as she turned back to her car.

Gina had a rebuild to quote on in Rosehill, another playhouse-shed to oversee for a friend of Naomi’s, an interior-decorating project to discuss for a café in Longhampton. But if she were being honest, she was only interested in one job right now. ‘Might take the dog for a walk,’ she said.

Buzz was pleased to see Gina back early, and they went for a stroll around the shadier side of the park, where they met Rachel, looking cool in big Jackie O sunglasses, with Gem. Gina took a Polaroid of a chilly can of Diet Coke with condensation beading glassily on it, but it didn’t make her feel any less sticky, and it didn’t stop her mind turning worried circles either.

She was back at home in the flat, having some lunch – why not? she thought – when her phone rang.

‘Hi,’ said Nick. ‘I’ve got about ten missed calls from you.’

‘And the rest.’ The relief at hearing his voice caught her unawares. ‘Where’ve you been?’

There was a pause, then a sigh at the end of the phone. ‘Long story. Can you come over to the house this afternoon? I need to catch up.’

‘About three?’

‘Great. Thanks.’ He didn’t even bother to make a joke. ‘I’ll see you then.’

Gina put the phone down thoughtfully. Buzz was watching her from under the kitchen table, his nose laid on his paws. Too hot, said his weary face.

‘I’ll be back later,’ she told him and, almost as an afterthought, picked up the witch-ball by the front door. It didn’t belong in this modern flat. It belonged somewhere older, somewhere spirits were more likely to be.

Nick was waiting at the newly painted front door of the house when Gina arrived, leaning on the frame and making such a neatly angled picture that she would have Polaroided him if she hadn’t been carrying the green glass witch-ball.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, nodding at it. ‘If you’re planning on putting that under my mattress, even I might spot it.’

‘A witch-ball. For detecting evil forces trying to creep into your house.’ She smiled but had to hold the smile when she got near enough to notice what a ragged state Nick was in.

His jaw was dusty with silvery stubble and his eyes had that gritty up-all-night appearance Gina knew well. Although his linen shirt and jeans were fresh on, he looked grey and exhausted, as if he’d caught a quick nap just before she arrived.

‘You can only give them away,’ she went on. ‘I’m giving it to you. Well, to the house. In case the ghosts are getting upset by all the building work.’

He smiled bleakly. ‘You might be a bit late on that score.’

‘Why?’

Nick gestured for her to come in, and she followed him into the dust-sheeted hall, prepped ready for the specialist plasterers to start the detailed renovation of the loops and swags of the elaborate moulded ceiling. He sank onto the broad stairs, and Gina sat down next to him.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘You look terrible. If you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘Ha.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Haven’t been to bed in a few days. I’ve got some news. Did you get Amanda’s email?’

‘No.’ Gina reached for her bag, to get her phone to check, but Nick stopped her. She looked up, surprised to feel his strong fingers brush her wrist, however lightly. They made her skin tingle with a bright sensation.

‘Sorry.’ He lifted his hand apologetically. ‘I just . . . I’d just prefer you heard it from me.’

‘Is it the house? Are you selling?’

‘No! Not at all. It’s . . . me and Amanda.’

‘Oh,’ said Gina.

Moving? Baby? She didn’t know which she wanted to hear least.

‘OK.’ Nick rubbed his face with his hand. ‘Right. I don’t know how to put this. Amanda and I have decided to separate. She’s filing for divorce from me – I’ve volunteered to be unreasonable. Photographers often are, apparently. We’ve been in London since the weekend trying to work out how to handle it but, for the time being, she’s going back to New York, and I’m staying here.’

‘Here here, or
here
here?’ Gina pointed to the parquet floor of the hall, then felt stupid.

Nick pointed at the floor. ‘
Here
here. I’m finishing the refurbishment, then we’re going to reassess. So your job is safe.’

‘I wasn’t worried about my job.’ She met his gaze. Nick’s eyes were bloodshot, but still sharp. She wanted to touch him, to pat his arm comfortingly, but wasn’t sure she should. ‘Are you OK? What happened?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing’s happened. Well, no – you happened.’

Gina’s heart chilled. ‘What? Me?’