Page 26 of One Bed

Why was he at the party? He’d told her he was desperate to be alone, that he needed solitude, and she thought he would’ve jumped at the chance to have a couple of Bea-free hours alone in the cottage.

But here he was, charming her grandmother, shaking hands and smiling as Golly introduced him to her guests. It was like he’d pulled on a cloak, and Bea suspected he’d flipped into corporate CEO mode. He hadn’t wanted to attend this party, and Gib Caddell wasn’t someone who did things he didn’t want to do.

So …why?

With his hand on Golly’s lower back, Gib guided her to the stone wall. A waiter distributed flutes of champagne, and Gib pulled up a chair. Golly sank into it and placed her bare feet on the wall. Bea stood behind her, her shoulder connecting with Gib’s bicep, her eyes on the quickly changing sky in front of them.

There were streaks of reds and pinks, which deepened to purple. The dying sun tossed yellow sparkles onto the sea, which faded to silver and then disappeared beneath the flat surface. Stars popped out, cubes of light on a swathe of rich, blue-velvet sky.

As the day faded into darkness, Cass’s crew lit fat candles and pretty lanterns, and soft light spilt from the pergola. The violinist segued into soft rock and a few couples swayed in time to the beat.

Bea pushed her way into the space between Golly and the wall and dropped to her haunches. She couldn’t balance well in her heels, so she gripped the arm of Golly’s chair.

Golly pouted. ‘I know, I know, I should’ve showered, changed. And I shouldn’t be slamming back tequilas. That’s what you want to say, isn’t it?’

Bea frowned, shaking her head. Did she really nag so much? ‘Actually, no. I want to know if you’re OK.’ She gestured to her clothes. ‘It’s unlike you not to spend hours on your clothes and makeup.’

Golly shook her head and looked out to sea. ‘I thought I’d lie down for a quick nap, and I fell asleep. I didn’t have enough time to shower and change so I thought, fuck it. I slapped on my tiara, some lippy, and came out here.’

Bea frowned. Her godma had never been a need-a-nap person. ‘Are you feeling OK?’ she asked, resisting the urge to check if Golly had a temperature. If she did that, she’d have a layer of skin stripped off her and her hand slapped.

But the reality was that Golly was growing old, and one day, sooner than Bea’d like, she’d have to live in a world without her. The thought made her feel a little light-headed. Why was she even considering Golly’s mortality? Everyone knew God and the devil needed more time to argue about where Golly would spend eternity – God didn’t want her corrupting Heaven, and Satan was worried she’d upend Hell. Their inability to concede would give her another few decades together and a birthday card for Golly from the King.

Bea wanted to tell her she loved her, but Golly wasn’t sentimental and wouldn’t appreciate her getting soppy. Before she could speak again, Golly slapped her hands against her thighs and stood up, bumping her knee against Bea’s, who wobbled on her heels. Needing every bit of her core strength, of which she had none, Bea held onto the chair and pushed her way to her feet, wincing at her complaining knees. She was thirty, surely she wasn’t old enough to have dodgy knees?

Bea sighed as Golly strode over to the bar, a woman on a mission to get this party started. Rubbing her hands over her face, Bea pushed back her shoulders and swallowed a yawn, thinking she’d like nothing more than to go to bed.

A shower, a pair of men’s boxer shorts and a loose vest, a good romcom on her eReader … she couldn’t think of anything better. Actually, that was a big fat lie. She tipped her head to look at Gib, who was talking to Reena and a tall, thin man with a goatee. Gib, naked and touching her, would be a very decent alternative.

But, thanks to her five-year bed-based-fun drought, she wasn’t sure she’d know what to do with him if they dropped their clothes. Was sex like riding a bike? Did you automatically remember how to do it? Or was a refresher course required? If yes, where did you go to get one? Or was that foreplay? Did Gib like to kiss, to taste and savour, to take his sweet, sweet time, or was he an in-and-get-it-done lover? Despite their years together, Gerry had never managed to give Bea an orgasm without her input.

As Golly always said, you can’t do epic shit with basic people. With Gerry, even mediocre sex had been out of the question.

The clinking of a spoon against a crystal glass caught her attention. Bea wasn’t surprised to see it was Golly demanding attention. Who else would it be?

Bea’s eyes danced over the crowds and stopped on Gib, standing just outside the pergola, his expression one of mild amusement. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned his head, his eyes slamming into hers. In his, she caught the heady combination of want and need and lust. And as they traded eye-fucks – because there was no other word for what they were doing – a klaxon blared in her head flashing ‘BEWARE!’ in huge letters.

Despite their ultra-brief acquaintance, she knew, deep inside, that Gib was a threat to her independence, her lifestyle, to her need to keep herself apart. Something in him called to her and she fought the urge to walk over to him and step into his arms. She wanted to lie to herself, to say that she was simply attracted to him, that it was pheromones or a need for sex, that it was being in Greece, where the innate sensuality of the island heightened emotions…

But from the moment she first saw him walking towards her, she knew an adventure was about to begin.

And tonight, she also, simply, liked him. Liked that he’d sized up a situation, and then did what was needed. Gerry had been blissfully, selfishly unconcerned about anything and anyone that didn’t involve him, and he would never think of her swapping her shoes to minimise her discomfort, or rescuing Golly from her perch on a bar. Instead of talking about himself, as Gerry often did – he was his own favourite subject – Gib gave nothing away about who he was, what he did and how he felt.

Yes, his reticence was frustrating, but he was a refreshing change from her self-involved ex.

‘Calm the hell down, peasants!’ Golly shouted. The crowd laughed but did as she said. Golly’s tiara sat crookedly in her messy pink hair and her eyes blazed with vigour. Her godma was the embodiment of the saying ‘pocket rocket’.

‘A toast!’ Golly raised her wineglass in the air. ‘It matters not if the wine glass is half empty or half full, clearly there’s room for more! Here’s to me!’

Glasses were lifted in the air and a series of ‘to Golly’ floated down the hill, to the purple-black sea.

And they were off.

* * *

As the last of Golly’s guests walked down the path to their cars and waiting taxis, Bea sat on the stone wall and slipped her feet out of her shoes. She wiggled her toes and winced as blood made its way into her scrunched digits, the arches of her feet, and her heels.

Cass, their event manager, sat next to her and crossed one long leg over the other. She wore a plain black shift dress and black hightops, eminently sensible since she’d been scurrying around for hours. She placed two massive margaritas on the wall between them.

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