The Last Resort (27 page)

“Ava,” she said calmly, and after a long silence, “I don’t envy you at all. I haven’t alienated every acquaintance I’ve made in a new city with my constant rollercoaster of emotions. I haven’t  spilled my guts about how badly I’ve been duped, and then been furious when my friends aren’t totally delighted to hear I’m going to go right back to the one who did it, and let him do it again.”

I was stunned. Each word felt like the scourge of a whip. I wanted to ask
did I really do all those things?
But instead I felt the bitterness rise in me like a tide. How dare she? How dare she pass judgement on me like that—this girl I’d known for less than a week?

“And I didn’t marry someone because I thought I wasn’t interesting enough to just be myself. Because I thought I couldn’t make it on my own.

“If anyone’s alone,” she concluded, “it’s you, not me. And it’s your own doing.”

She looked at me for a long time with that awful expression of regret on her face.

“Fuck off with you.” I said it quietly, but I meant it. “Just go.”

She did.

And so I packed up my hundred suitcases.

I hovered for a moment. As an afterthought, made my bed (rather inexpertly). It occurred to me that I should write Sharon a note. I decided against it. What was I going to say? “
I’m sorry that my husband loved me all along and my life is back on track
”?

Two minutes later Jack had packed my luggage into the back of his rental and we were off.

I marvelled at how quickly I could shake off one life for another. In fact, I was getting quite good at it.

You think I was a fool, I know. But I just want to point out that, if you were in my shoes, you’d have done exactly the same thing as me—I guarantee it.

Don’t you hate it when people say things like that? I mean,
obviously
if you were exactly the same person as me, with all the same experiences and the same beliefs and the same personality, you’d do the same things as me. I know it sounds stupid. But think of it like this: I did the
only
thing I could do—with me being me, if you see what I mean. It was my only option. So please don’t judge me too harshly just yet.

We took the coastal road out of Camps Bay towards the Peninsula, and although the plush little Mercedes coupé was perfectly climate-controlled, I couldn’t stop shivering. I was jittery—thrown by Jack showing up (I kept giving sidelong glances to check he was still there), but even more so by the reactions of Sharon and Michelle. And even Peter, who gave me reproachful puppy-dog eyes as I settled mine and Shaz’s bill.

“I’m leaving enough for Sharon to stay another week,” I said breathlessly, hoping that would cheer him up.

“OK.” Still the hangdog look.

“Um, look. Here’s something extra for your trouble.”

He grimaced. “Don’t.”

I laughed nervously, aware that I was keeping Jack waiting. The last thing I wanted right now was to ruin this precious time together by putting him in a bad mood. “Don’t be silly. Here. Take it!” I shook the fifty-pound note at him.

“No.” Not hurt anymore—angry. “I’m not a waiter.”

“Oh, Peter—”

His face softened again. “Please. Just take care of yourself. That’s all you need to do to repay me.” Pity. More pity. Why did
that
have to be the emotional theme of the day?

“Fine,” I said, sourly, and I instantly regretted it. But I walked off, without looking back.

As we rounded the mountains, the sea glimmering just beyond the sheer drop of the cliffside road, the Spa at the Twelve Apostles came into view.

“You can put your feet up after all this upheaval, darling. Won’t that be nice?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
And we can talk about why things went wrong in the first place. Why I left.

You don’t want to bring all that up, do you?

I was puzzled at myself.
Of course I’m going to ‘bring that all up’. It’s important. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.

Can you not just have a good time, for once? Just enjoy him? Must you pick everything apart?

I remembered what Mia had said to me once. On New Years’ Eve, in fact—a few days after she’d found out Luke was two-timing her. I was trying to get her to explain why she couldn’t forgive him, and accept that she’d played a part in the whole thing too.

“Some things don’t bear thinking about, Aves,” she’d slurred as she poured herself another Sambuca. “Some things just are what they are.” Mum had risked inviting the family back for her traditional New Year’s supper, and she was relying on me to keep Mia safely cooped up backstage—at least, until everyone else was drunk too.

“What do you mean?” I’d asked. “Everything bears thinking about. You can’t just not think about things.”

She laughed, and then hiccupped, and steadied herself against the kitchen counter. “That’s your problem, Ava. You and your thinking. If you’d just stop thinking, you’d be loads happier.”

Even though Mia was always known in our family as ‘the clever one’ (and ‘the pretty one’, and ‘the successful one’, and—you know what, never mind), she thought being clever was worthless, in a way. “If you’d just go headlong into things, without obsessing about whether people like you or not, just thinking about what you want to do, you’d be fine.”

“What do you know?” I snapped, uncharitably. “You’re the one who’s divorced. You’re not fine. Did you follow your own advice, then?”

I could have cut out my own tongue the moment I said it—surely I was going to send her into a fit of rage, or tears, or violence. But to my surprise, she threw back her head and roared with laughter.

Mum came in and shushed us. The Royal Variety Performance was on and Gran was deaf enough without Mia going off like an air-raid siren. “Sorry, sorry,” she croaked as she wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, resenting my curiosity.

“You, you dumbarse.” She gave one last guffaw. “If you were me I bet you’d have stayed glued to Luke in case you couldn’t find anyone else stupid enough to marry you.”

“I would not!” I’d yelped, as I smacked her with a tea towel.

It was not the kind of memory I should have dredged up as my no-longer-estranged husband and I were about to embark on a new phase of our marriage.

We checked in. The Spa at the Twelve Apostles, in case you’ve never been there before, is a palatial retreat, ensconced in the rocky crags of a hill range that consists of twelve peaks and stretches from Table Mountain down the Peninsula toward Hout Bay. The Spa, like the mountains, overlooks a sheer drop into the ocean, and is separated from the surf by nothing but a single-lane road and a thin strip of rocky coastline. Usually, words like ‘breathtaking’ and ‘awe-inspiring’ are bandied about when it’s described.

I’ll stick with ‘gob-smacking’.

Truth be told, I sighed to myself as we were shown to our room, I should have checked myself and Sharon into just such digs the moment we arrived in Cape Town. Should have thrown the credit card around, daring Jack to come and see what I was doing with it. Maybe it would have meant he’d have got here sooner.

It was a beautiful room. Plush cream carpets, silk curtains in muted aquamarine, colonial antiques in dark, glossy wood.

I still don’t understand why he didn’t ring. At least he could have rung.

Can’t you leave it alone? Don’t you remember what he said? That he was afraid he’d mess things up more, and all that?

And you believe him?

You’ll never get anywhere if you’re so mistrustful. Look at this lovely place he’s taking you to. You should be grateful!

I snorted out loud at that one—when Jack turned around, sharply, to look at me, I pretended it was the porter.

Jack was the one who’d asked for a suite rather than a room. Sea-facing, rather than a courtyard view. The waves crashed violently into the rocks below. Although they were out of sight from the terrace, I imagined their crushing weight, smashing mercilessly into the crumbling cliffs.

“Darling,” said Jack suddenly, and I jumped. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, squashing my boob and making me wince.

“Ow.” I hated when he did that. I’d always hated it. Why did he always do that?
You’ve never complained before—don’t go turning into a nag now, just when you need to be pleasant.
“What’s up?”

He swung me side-to-side gently, rocking me, his face in my hair. “It’s so good to have you back,” he murmured into my neck. “I was so worried you wouldn’t come to your senses.”

My throat constricted.

“And I’m so sorry about Tam. You must have been so troubled after hearing all his fibs.”

I extricated myself from him, unable to control my annoyance, and turned so we were face-to-face. “It was you that was worrying me, Jack.”

It was all I could do not to bite my tongue. A long moment passed—his head was cocked and his eyes like slits, thoughtful but not benevolent. That familiar posture of outrage.

My body was afraid. Actually afraid. My mind was resisting, valiantly.
Why should I be the one who’s in the dog box?

But when he spoke, his voice was cool, and I toppled into terror.  “What did I ever do to worry you?”

Can you believe that I couldn’t answer? I couldn’t even look at him. And so we stood in silence, him knowing he’d won. Me knowing I was pathetic.

I could hear the waves booming below.

“Come on,” he said. He took me by the wrist and, looking meaningfully into my eyes, led me to the enormous four-poster bed. “Let’s forget about the last week. Let’s start over.”

I jumped. A week? Was that all it had been? I counted the days in my head. He was right, more or less—good Lord. It’d felt like centuries.

“Ava?” He shook me by the wrist, a look of annoyance on his face.
“Earth to Ava?”

I balled my hand into a fist without thinking. “Sorry,” I said. “Just feels like longer.”

“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “It’s all over now. Things are going to be so much better this time around.”

“Really?” I admit, I was suffused with hope all over again. After all, now I had an explanation. And I felt that at last I was back on solid ground. And here he was—my Jack. We’d work out the details later. Now wasn’t the time.

But as he came in towards me, the whip of guilt stung me again, and I had to turn my face from his.

“What?” he pouted, knitting his brow in annoyance.

“I have to tell you something,” I blurted, before I knew I even wanted to say it.

“Oh?” He looked a little amused, and it infuriated me. Why wasn’t he taking this seriously? Well, he’d change his tune in a moment.

“I kissed Tam last night.” I couldn’t help jutting my chin a bit, meeting his eye with plain defiance.

Dully, I remembered the thrill of revenge when I’d staged my abortive seduction the night before; I’d be able to regain that sense of power now—power over a man that scared me much more than I remembered. I’d make him hurt like he hurt me.

For a second, he looked perplexed.

Then, without warning, he burst into laughter.

“What?” I demanded, unable to keep the plaintive note from my voice.

“That Tam,” Jack wheezed eventually, while I stood with my hands still balled into enraged fists at my sides, trying to keep myself from pummelling him with punches. “He certainly knows how to take advantage of a situation. Never mind, Ava, you’re safe from him now.” And he laughed some more, stopping every so often to shake his head in disbelief.

After a few more seconds of this humiliation, his mobile rang, and he turned away from me, leaving me fuming with embarrassment. “Jim,” he said. “Nice to hear from you. Yes, Cape Town. Lovely weather here—”

He opened the French windows and stepped out onto the little balcony, and I stared after him, rage bubbling through me like molten lava through the cracks of the earth.

I heard him laugh through the glass doors, and resentment gurgled malevolently inside of me. Just an hour before I’d been overwhelmed with happiness and now this? What was wrong with me?

He’s treating you like shit, that’s what’s wrong with you. You should have told
him
to fuck off, not Sharon. How could he care so little? Surely we needed to
talk,
or something?

What are you whining about? He’s forgiven you. You should be grateful.

I stared out onto the balcony at Jack’s back, tracing the v-shape outline of it lazily in my mind. He was a looker, and no mistake. The image of Tam, asleep in his chair as I snuck out of his room, flashed in front of my eyes.
Why am I thinking about him?
I scolded myself.

I stuck my head out onto the balcony as Jack hung up. “I’m going down to lunch,” I said dully. Anything would be better than staying here.

“Alright,” he breezed, not even looking me in the face.
Everything’s an affront to you today, isn’t it?
Just relax.
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute—I just want to get in the shower and change my clothes.”