Page 19 of Under A Sicilian Sky
‘You really need to live a little more dangerously, you know,’ Gerry insisted.
‘Bugger off. I called to speak to your wife. And tell her to take me off speaker!’ She giggled with a shake of her head.
‘Charming. I’m off to put the kettle on, but I won’t be makingyouone, Miss Locke.’
There was a shuffle as he handed the phone back to Kitty, and Ruby laughed, secretly wishing she could meet someone with a sense of humour like him.
* * *
Once her call was finished, Ruby trotted down to the kitchen again. She decided it might be a good idea to introduce herself to the builder, seeing as he was going to be working on the house whilst she was there,indefinitely. Although, on arrival, she spotted that he had left his dirty teacup, complete with a wet ring of dark liquid, on the work surface, which annoyed her. He wasn’t there, so she decided to have a look through the books in the library. He could clean up his own mess.
The shelves in the large, square room were floor to ceiling and surprisingly dust-free. The room was clearly loved. An old, leather-bound wingback chair sat in one corner, with a floor lamp beside it, angled at just the right height for reading. She ran her fingertips along the spines of Italian volumes that had certainly been well-read. Her fingers landed upon a section full of British classic novels by Brontë, Orwell and Austen, to name but a few, and she selected an old favourite,Rebeccaby Daphne du Maurier. The sun had made another appearance, so she returned to the secluded, covered terrace to read in peace and quiet.
9
Boredom and melancholy were already setting in.
She’d only been on the island a couple of days, but Ruby found she already had too much time to think about what had happened recently, and that was doing her no good whatsoever. Finding it hard to concentrate, she placed her book on the coffee table and walked over to lean on the railing that overlooked the grubby swimming pool with its tired old sunlounger. Ignoring the rather unpleasant sight below her, instead she peered off into the distance and longed to be on the beach, dipping her toes in that crystal-clear water.
If only she had lines to learn or even a contract to read through. She was so used to spending her time poring over her latest script, responding to online interviews, appearing on radio or TV chat shows or at press junkets. Instead, here she was standing in a half-empty house with no internet access – although she figured there were probably positives to that – no one to talk to, no one to give her a hug and tell her everything would be okay, and no one to make her laugh. It all exacerbated the loneliness she felt.
Her mind wandered back to Tyler. The way he’d always pushed himself forward in photo shoots. The way she’d always ended up walking behind him into events. The way he whispered secretively into his phone when he thought she wasn’t watching, or sent texts under the table, a wry smile on his lips. Why the hell had she put up with their superficial relationship for so long? Because, in retrospect, that’s exactly what it had been, like some kind of marriage of convenience but without the nuptials. And the stupid thing was, if she was completely honest with herself, she’d known that all along. Why had she convinced herself that he loved her? Why had she made excuses for him? Was she really that delusional and desperate? Was it simple naivety, or was it a case of feeling that she couldn’t change things because he was the kind of man sheshouldbe with?
Everything else in her life was decided for her; what to wear, what size to be, which interviews to do, what products to endorse. Had she really fallen into the trap of letting circumstance dictate her love life too? She’d always been attracted to personality first. Until Tyler. But with him, she was so gobsmacked that he, in all his outward perfection, wantedher.It was as if she’d let it all happentoher, rather than being an active part of it; as if she was somehow grateful to him.Ugh, pathetic!She scoffed in disgust at herself. Was she really the kind of person to fall for a façade? She hadn’t thought so until now. Self-analysis was a dangerous thing, she realised. Well, she wouldn’t be bitten bythatsnake again. Looks were definitelynoteverything. In fact, all she had learned up to now was that good-looking men were not to be trusted.
But even with all that, she missed the feeling of being loved, of being wanted, of being held. Her stomach knotted and she was so overcome with emotion and loneliness that a sob escaped her throat. How the hell did she get here? How did she end up a fugitive, hiding from the people who put her on the pedestal she’d now fallen from? The very people who had once hailed her as the next Kate Winslet now considered her evil and unworthy of their adoration.
She missed the simpler times of childhood; her dad’s hugs and her mum’s soothing singing voice that used to lull her to sleep. Their inexpensive family holidays to Scarborough, their treat nights out at Pizza Hut – things that she would give anything to do now. When did things get so complicated?
Her face was wet with tears and her heart ached. Maybe it was exhaustion or the fact that things had been building since Valentine’s Day, but she’d never experienced homesickness and regret like this before. It was all-consuming, physically painful, so hard to bear. Was this accidental life she had found herself a part of really worth it? She was beginning to think it wasn’t and that terrified her. She had no clue what to do beyond Sicily. She had no clue if her name would ever be cleared. And if it wasn’t, what then? But, worse still, if it was… whatthentoo?
‘Merda! Spiacente,’ a gruff male voice said from the doorway.
She snapped up her head and, to her horror, saw the hunky builder standing there, staring at her, a distinct look of concern furrowing his brow.
She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, defeated and broken, the antithesis of everything she’d worked so hard to become.
She waved her hands at him. ‘Go away! Please! Leave me alone!’ she shouted in anguish as she swiped at the wetness on her face. Her eyes were no doubt puffy and red, her cheeks swollen, and her hair was definitely a mess from the change in water – something that always spoiled her natural curls.
The builder didn’t speak, instead he held up his hands, rapidly turned around and left.
She immediately felt guilty for shouting at the poor man. He had clearly been worried about her; his expression alone told her that. And now she had pretty much ruined any chance of striking up a friendship with him.
She went to her room and splashed her face with cold water. Her reflection was just as she had feared. She looked a mess. Shewasa mess. In fact, her wholelifewas a mess. She knew she must find the poor builder and apologise. Although there was a huge problem with her plan; she had no clue how to communicate with him to do so. She grabbed her phone and dialled Kitty.
‘Hello?’ Kitty sounded like she was standing in a wind tunnel and the line crackled.
‘Kit? Kitty, I need a huge favour.’
‘Hello? Ruby? It’s a… line… tunnel… to the seaside…’
More crackling, more swooshing.
Ruby blocked her other ear. ‘Can you hear me? I couldn’t tell what you said,’ she shouted.
‘It’s… bad… s’up?’ It was like talking to Norman Collier doing his faulty microphone act. Her dad used to find him hilarious.
‘Look, I need a favour. I need you to text me how to apologise in Italian to the builder. The things I want to say are a little more than my phrase book can handle. I need to know how to explain that I’m probably hormonal and… ugh… I don’t know… Something about my endorphins being all over the place. I’ve just shouted at him and I feel terrible. I can’t get online to look it up. Can you look for me and text me how to say it?’
