Then I hang up on him. And boy does it feel good.
Something happens to me as I walk down the streets past the beautiful old colonial houses with their intricate gingerbread carvings and gardens full of tropical flowers. My spirits begin to lift. The sun shines down from the light blue sky and I can smell the ocean. I breathe in deeply and feel free, as free as I did underwater that first time I did an Open Water dive. I really do want to go diving again. Nothing is stopping me, here. Okay, so I should try to do work of some sort. And I definitely need to call Becky. I promise myself I’ll ring her and my parents as soon as I get back home. Home? I snort with laughter. Well, it sort of is, for now.
I buy some underwear, a beach dress and, to hell with it, even a new bikini, a red one this time. I might go to the beach today. Why not, right? I head to a convenience store and stock up on cleaning products and equipment. I also buy some fruit, cereal and a few bits and pieces. I don’t want to be a freeloader. As soon as I feel comfortable enough to ask Carmen, I’ll offer to cook, too. I think of Eric lazily slumming it on the sofa and feel momentarily sorry for her, going out to work and then coming home to cook for everyone. I wonder if anyone else helps her out. No wonder she doesn’t much fancy cleaning.
When I get back to the house, there’s no sign of anyone, but the door is open.
I get out my phone with the intention of calling Becky and my parents, but as my battery is getting low, I decide to text them instead. A bit of a cop-out, but I promise them I’ll call when I get my charger from my suitcase. I rang the airport earlier and they told me they can deliver my bag tomorrow. Apart from the odd text, I haven’t been in touch with my parents in two weeks. They weren’t convinced it was a good idea for me to go away with Marty – they’ve never considered her to be a particularly good influence, even before she didn’t come home from Ibiza. She was always my quirky, cool, but slightly dodgy, smoking-behind-the-bike-sheds, dyeing-her-hair-every-colour-of-the-rainbow best friend. Poor Marty. They’ll probably blame this on her, too, but I’ll explain soon enough.
Putting my phone to one side, I unpack the shopping and get on with the cleaning. I mop the kitchen floor first, tidy away the breakfast things left by Javier and Eric, and then tackle the living room. Apart from the dust, grime and dirt, it’s not too bad. At least it’s not stacked high with dirty dishes, like the kitchen was. Once that’s done, I go upstairs to the bathroom and clean it until the taps shine and the enamel glints, and then I finally make a start on my bedroom. The dust is so thick it becomes ingrained in the sponge, so I have to replace it with a new one after a while. I clean the mirror and the window – and even though it’s still pretty dirty on the outside, it makes a big difference; I polish the wooden chests of drawers, dresser and bedhead; I sweep and mop the floor. And then I open the window. The warm air flows in and I sigh with contentment and lean my elbows on the windowsill. The garden is still a tip, I think, as I look down at it. I wonder how much work it would take to get that tidied up. This would be such a beautiful house if only someone cared enough to put in the effort. I’ve never been much of a gardener, but I’m sure I can clear the junk and cut the grass. Perhaps I’ll tackle it sometime, but not before I head to the beach. I’m in for a bit of a walk, which won’t be much fun in the afternoon heat, but it’ll be worth it in the end.
I step outside my bedroom door and listen. Nothing. I put away the cleaning products and equipment in the laundry room I have finally managed to locate, then I empty the bins and take the rubbish out to the trash cans on the street. I dust off my hands and turn to go back inside, but my eyes shoot up to the eaves of the house. Leo is leaning out of the window of the loft room, his tanned elbows resting on the sill. I smile and wave up at him. He looks vaguely entertained as he lifts his fingers in a lazy wave back at me.
‘You want a coffee? I’m going to pop to the coffee shop,’ I say on a whim. I wasn’t planning on going there at all, but if it makes him come down and chat to me . . . He shrugs and then nods. ‘Cool. Back in a bit.’
I smile to myself as I return inside and locate my purse. I’m back within ten minutes and by then Leo has decamped to the sofa in the garden.
‘What do you do if it rains?’ I ask with a furrowed brow as I kick the gate shut behind me.
‘Move them to the porch, if we can be bothered.’ He jerks his head to the side. There’s a small covered porch, adorned with classic gingerbread. The white paint is flaking after years of neglect, and there’s no first-floor balcony, but I imagine with a quirky colour-coordinated paint scheme, it could look lovely.
‘Have you ever thought about turning this place into a guest house?’ I hand him his paper cup and sit down in one of the armchairs.
He snorts. ‘Do you think I look like someone who mingles well with tourists?’
‘You mingled well enough with me.’
He regards me through half-closed eyes for a long moment and I will myself not to blush. ‘You’re different.’
‘You worked as a conch train tour guide,’ I point out, trying not to stare at his bare leg, now up on a rock that’s doubling as a footrest. He’s changed into shorts and a shirt, and his hair is still damp from the shower. Concentrate!
‘That was different,’ he tells me, changing tack.
‘Why was it different? You could make a lot of money running a guest house here.’
‘You’re forgetting my sister-in-law.’
I take a sip of my coffee. ‘I could never forget her,’ I say innocently.
He raises his eyebrows at me.
‘Anyway, wouldn’t she get in on it? She could cook that pollo rice dish as her speciality and make a killing.’
‘Arroz con pollo?’ he asks with amusement. ‘Has she been trying to impress you?’
‘Me?’ I scoff. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. She made it for Javier, of course.’
‘Aah.’ He blows at the top of his coffee.
‘Yeah. She saved you some.’
He nods and sips his drink. I notice he’s shaved.
I swing my legs around and lie sideways on my chair, resting my head on the armrest and staring up at the sky. A few wisps of cloud drift over our heads.
After a while Leo gets up, muttering something about food. I study his departing back as he wanders across the garden and into the house. I hear the ping of a microwave a few minutes later.
‘Where’s the dog?’ I ask curiously when he returns with a bowl of heated-up leftovers.
‘Eric’s taken him to work.’
‘Eric’s gone to work?’ I ask with surprise. ‘What does he do?’
‘He’s working on some boats in Summerland Key today.’ That’s the next key up. ‘He keeps them clean, that sort of stuff. Javier’s helping him.’
‘Oh. That’s nice.’
I watch as he tucks in. He glances up at me and I realise I’m staring.
‘Do they get on well?’ I ask hurriedly.
‘Pretty well,’ he replies between munches.
‘Sorry, I should let you eat.’
I follow the clouds with my eyes as they pass overhead and idly kick my legs until my flip-flops begin to feel loose. I kick them off completely.
‘Did you speak to your husband?’
Leo’s question takes me by surprise. I glance across at him. He’s still eating, his eyes on his food.
‘Yes.’
He nods but doesn’t look at me, so I turn my head back up to the sky. ‘He wasn’t very happy.’
Nothing, and then, ‘Hmm . . .’
I look over at him again. ‘Serves the wanker right, though, eh?’
He takes one more mouthful and then puts his bowl on the ground beside him. ‘Hey, do you want to come to the beach with me?’ I ask impulsively.
‘When?’
‘Now?’
‘Um . . .’
‘Have you got something better to do?’ I say quickly, because I can see him wavering.
He shrugs. He does this a lot. ‘I guess not.’
br />
‘Cool!’ I sit up and beam at him.
He scratches his chin. ‘Which one are you going to?’
‘Higgs Beach?’ That seems to be the main one here and I don’t know any others.
‘Nope.’ He shakes his head abruptly. ‘Go get your things.’ He nods towards the house.
What does that mean? Is he taking me somewhere else? I don’t care as long as he’s coming with me. Yay!
‘Get a couple of beach towels from the cupboard,’ Leo calls up the stairs.
‘Okay!’ I call back down, doing as he says. The cupboard smells of years gone by – slightly musty, but not unpleasant. It’s full of linen, but there are beach towels untidily stacked up so I take two before hurrying back to my room to change into my bikini.
Leo is leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Ready?’ I ask with a smile. He picks up a set of car keys from the table next to him, before pushing off the wall and languidly walking to the door. His car is parked on the street outside the house. The smell of leather is still present, and there’s sand in the footwells. I imagine he’s had it for years. He reaches across to the glove box and opens it so it falls onto my knees. Pulling out some black sunglasses he pops them on and shuts the glove box again, his fingers brushing against me as he does so. I’m still tense from his touch even after he’s started the ignition and driven away from the curb. The car is a manual and I keep glancing down at his hands and the dark hair on his arms as he changes gears. Luckily I’m wearing sunnies myself so it’s easier to spy, but after a while I force myself to stare out of the window before he notices me watching.
Whichever beach we’re going to, the approach to it does not make it seem massively appealing. We drive past the docks and Leo points out an enormous – absolutely mahoosive – cruise ship. I can’t believe that something so big can come so close to the keys without becoming grounded.
‘It’ll be in Miami in a couple of days,’ he tells me. ‘I’ve seen it go from here to there.’
‘When are you going back to Miami?’ I ask, trying to keep the fear from my voice. What the hell will I do when that happens?
‘Not until the end of the season.’
‘Which is when?’
‘A couple of months,’ he replies casually. ‘I tend to do a swap with the boat captain in the summer while he goes back to the West Coast to see his mother.’
We park in a medium-sized car park under the shade of tall pine trees. Through the small wood I can see the sandy beach and then the ocean. We walk through the wooded picnic area, my flip-flops slippery on the pine needles beneath my feet, until we come out the other side into the hot sun. The sand is cream-coloured, the water calm and bluey-green. There are a few rocks by the waterline and some sea grass washed up on the shore. It’s not picture-postcard perfect, but it’s not rammed full of people, either.
We lay out our towels and sit down. Leo loops his arms around his knees. He’s wearing a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt today, unbuttoned at the top. He looks cool, as far from cheesy as you could get. I peel off my beach dress, locate the sunscreen I remembered to pick up at the convenience store earlier, and start to apply it to my arms.
‘Want some?’ I ask him, offering it.
‘Don’t need it,’ he says, and I take in his deeply tanned forearms.
‘Really? Don’t you ever burn?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’re lucky.’ I start on my stomach.
‘You want me to do your back?’ he asks with a sideways glance.
‘That’d be great.’ I turn away from him, glad that he can’t see my face. I think about unclasping my bikini strap so he can apply it properly, but I chicken out. His hands are warm as they smooth cream over my back and under my straps, but he’s finished all too quickly.
‘Thanks.’ I lie down and a little sigh escapes me. I watch him furtively from underneath my dark glasses. He stays sitting upright for a moment before unbuttoning his shirt. God, give me strength. He takes off his shirt, giving me a perfect view of his broad, muscled back, and then he lies down. I can see from here that his stomach is taut and toned. It’s all I can do not to sit up and congratulate him on his really quite awesome body. I can’t relax for the life of me, lying there next to him in the hot sun, both of us barely dressed. I won’t last long before I need to take a swim to cool down, that’s for sure. In fact, that’s a really good idea.
I sit upright, wracked full of tension. ‘I think I’m going to go for a swim.’
‘Already?’ he asks, lifting his head to look at me. ‘You’ve only just got here.’
‘I’m not very good with the heat.’ I glance at his chest.
He props himself up on his elbows. ‘I’ll come with you if you wait a bit.’
Well, now, that’s an offer . . . I turn around and lie on my front so I can face him. There’s no way I can remain here in silence. I’ll go crazy.
‘Do you come here a lot?’ I ask, resting on my forearms.
‘Not that much anymore. I used to come when I was a kid.’
‘With your parents?’
‘Mostly just my mum and brother.’
I frown. ‘What happened to your dad?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with me. ‘I don’t mean to pry.’
‘It’s okay.’ He smiles. ‘My father died when I was eight. Heart attack.’
My face falls. ‘I’m sorry.’ He was so young.
He looks up at the sky, contemplatively. ‘I didn’t see him much. I felt guilty for not missing him more after he was gone.’
‘Were your parents divorced?’
‘No.’ He lets out a little laugh and takes off his sunglasses. ‘No, no. They weren’t even married.’
‘Really?’
‘My mother was his mistress,’ he tells me and I can’t hide my shock. ‘He was a cigar manufacturer in Cuba. He had a wife, four children – two boys, two girls.’
‘You have half-siblings?’ I ask with surprise.
‘They don’t know that I exist.’
I instinctively put my sunglasses on top of my head. ‘Are you sure? How can you be sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ He meets my eyes for a long moment and my heart starts to flutter. I’ll be the one having a heart attack if he keeps this up. My most vital organ has been through quite a rigmarole recently. I shake my head slightly, trying to keep track of the conversation so we don’t go off it.
‘So . . . How did they meet? Your mother and father.’
He breaks eye contact to look out at the ocean. ‘He met her at a market, here in Key West. She sold fruit. He used to come here for business. Illegal business,’ he reveals cautiously, but I withhold any reaction, so he continues. ‘I know that he loved her. I still remember the way she made him smile. But he had a family. It wasn’t the done thing. He bought her the house. He would come to visit us when he could. But we were his secret. When he died we didn’t go to his funeral.’
I’m aghast. ‘But that’s awful. You couldn’t even say goodbye?’
‘I was used to saying goodbye to him. Every time he left to go back to his other family.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘But I was very close to my mother.’
‘How did she die?’ I ask gently.
He swallows, and I’m worried I’ve pushed him too far, but he says a single word. ‘Suicide.’
I gasp. I can’t help it.
‘She suffered with depression,’ he reveals in an even voice. ‘Sometimes she would shut herself off for months, even a year. It was all I could do to keep her alive.’
‘Oh Leo, I’m so sorry.’ It seems like she tried to take her own life more than once.
‘I wasn’t there when she did it . . .’
His mind is far away as he remembers. I realise I’m holding my breath.
‘Where were you?’ My voice comes out sounding choked.
‘Miami. With Alejandro.’ He shakes his head. ‘He was in a b
ad place. He left home when he was sixteen – I was twelve – and got in with a bad crowd in Miami. He met Carmen when he was nineteen. She was good for him – two years older. She helped him to get off the drugs . . . for a while. But she fell pregnant almost immediately. They got married before the baby came.’ He smiles sadly. ‘I still remember how happy my mother was when she held Javier for the first time.’ He sighs. ‘They should have moved back to Key West, then. My mother begged them to. Maybe if they had, things would have been different . . . I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know,’ I agree. I think back over our conversation.
‘Anyway,’ Leo continues, and I remember we were talking about where he was when his mother died. ‘Carmen called me for help – Alejandro hadn’t been seen for two days – so I went to get him back.’
‘Back from where?’
‘His shithouse friends. Drug dealers,’ he spits. ‘But when I got home, it was too late.’
‘You found her?’ My voice is scarcely more than a whisper.
He nods slightly.
‘Oh Leo,’ I say again as I imagine him returning home to that scene, whatever scene it was. ‘How did she . . .’ My voice trails off.
‘She slit her wrists in the bathtub.’ He says it in such a detached fashion, but his words have an overwhelming effect on me.
‘Oh, God!’ I try to stifle a sob, but I can’t. To my horror, I start to cry. I get up onto my knees and try to control myself.
‘Hey,’ he chastises gently, sitting upright and leaning over to rub my shoulder. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘I’m sorry!’ I gasp, but I can’t stop. At least the beach is pretty much deserted.
‘Don’t cry,’ he says softly once more, but his sympathy sets me off in the opposite direction.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ And then, before I even have time to think about what I’m doing, I lean towards him and hug him tightly, pressing my face into his neck. A good few seconds pass before he hugs me back.
‘Shh,’ he says into my hair as he strokes it soothingly.
I’ve so wanted to have him hold me. It’s an urge I’ve been trying to control ever since I met him – it’s like a drug. I thought I’d forget about everything else, if only I were in his arms. Then all of a sudden I feel ashamed that he’s the one comforting me. My tears come to an abrupt stop. I pull away and brush them off, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.