The Longest Holiday

  ‘Marty told us that your parents weren’t married?’ Barry sounds curious, rather than disapproving, so I don’t mind his question.

  ‘That’s right. My mother was his mistress. Making my brother and me his illegitimate offspring,’ I add flippantly.

  ‘Your mother and brother aren’t around anymore, though?’ Lottie pries. ‘Or your father?’

  ‘No, they’re not.’ I look down at the table.

  ‘I’m sorry. That must be hard.’

  I meet her eyes again and see the sympathy in them. I’m not sure I want it. It’s hard enough to cope with everything else at the moment. But I can’t push her away. She’s trying, after all.

  ‘Do you have any other family?’ Barry asks gently.

  ‘Jorge and Carmen are like family to me,’ I say, deflecting the question, because the answer is no. ‘Jorge is Carmen’s brother, and she was married to my brother. They’re good to me.’

  They exchange a look and after that we change the subject.

  I’m staying in a room at the top of the stairs. The guest room. Laura’s bedroom is next door, Lottie tells me.

  ‘Do you mind if I . . .’ I can’t finish my sentence. I feel too uncomfortable in case she says no or thinks it’s weird, but her reply is easy.

  ‘Of course you can have a look.’ She leads me further down the corridor and pushes open the door. Laura’s perfume instantly fills my senses and I’m shocked.

  ‘I’ll leave you,’ she says gently, going out of the room.

  I stand there for a long time, breathing in the scent of my girl, looking at the bed. Her bookshelves are still full of books, some old, some new, even some from her childhood with battered colourful spines. Then I spot a night light in the shape of a butterfly. I sit on the bed and my whole body heaves as I sob like a baby.

  My poor girl. From the outside looking in she had such a perfect life. A perfect home, perfect parents who love her, a perfect husband who turned out to be not so perfect . . . I should feel like an impostor, being here. But I don’t. Her life wasn’t perfect. And I know that I helped her. I’ll be here for her until she wakes up, and if she ever asks me to leave, I’ll go. But I don’t think she will.

  ‘There, there.’

  I jump at the sound of Lottie’s voice, at the touch of her hand on my shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I choke out, knowing I must look bad.

  ‘There, there, it’s okay. Sometimes we need a good cry,’ she says softly, rubbing my back. ‘She’ll be okay. I just know. A mother is usually right about these things.’

  I look up at her to see her own eyes are filled with tears.

  On Tuesday morning, I’m with Lottie at Laura’s bedside.

  ‘When is Matthew coming here again?’ I ask her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replies. ‘He thought it might be best if he stayed away for a while.’

  I’m blown away by this revelation. Am I taking his place? Are they accepting this fact?

  ‘He doesn’t have to do that,’ I mutter.

  ‘He feels like he does,’ she says quietly, then suddenly blurts out: ‘She just squeezed my hand! I felt it! She just squeezed my hand!’

  I smile at her delighted face and my heart soars. ‘It’s not just a reflex.’ I shake my head determinedly.

  ‘It’s not, it’s not,’ she repeats, breathless with excitement and anticipation. ‘Laura? Laura, darling, it’s me, Mum.’ She presses Laura’s hand and continues to talk as I move closer to the bed. I sit on the other side, stroking her hair while the ventilator breathes for her. ‘I’m with Leo,’ she says. ‘He’s here with me. He came for you, my darling. Come back to us. Please come back to us.’

  ‘HER EYES FLUTTERED!’ I don’t mean to shout it so loudly, but I’m so astounded I can’t help myself.

  ‘Her eyelids fluttered? Come! Somebody, come!’ Lottie leaps up from her seat and leans over her daughter, manically pressing the call button. A doctor arrives within moments, but neither she nor I can tear our eyes away from our girl. He checks over her vital signs.

  ‘It’s probably just a reflex,’ he says kindly, and Lottie and I make eye contact. Perhaps she doesn’t want to deck him as much as I do, but at least we’re on the same wavelength.

  Barry comes that afternoon, so Lottie and I take turns in the Visitors’ Room. Neither of us will leave the hospital. By early evening, though, when nothing else has happened, we’re all feeling deflated. The nurse encourages us to go home and get some rest. We’ll need it if she wakes up, she says.

  When, not if.

  But I’m not leaving, so they say their goodnights and leave me to it.

  I talk to her that night, more than I ever have. I don’t stop talking. I tell her about my childhood, about the time my father took my brother and me snorkelling and we caught fresh lobster for my mother to cook. I tell her I’m going to cook her parents my coconut curry in the next few days and wonder if they’ll like it. I tell her that I took a sledgehammer to the bathtub and now Carmen and Jorge have put in a shower. And at the end of all of this, when I can think of nothing else to say, I kiss her hand and get up and kiss her forehead, then I tell her that I love her.

  ‘I love you, Laura. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was crazy not to. But it’s true. I love you.’

  I suddenly realise someone else is in the room with us, so I quickly wipe away my tears before turning to see a young nurse standing at the door.

  ‘I need to change her catheter,’ she says with an apologetic smile.

  ‘Okay.’ I stand awkwardly to one side for a moment before saying: ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  I turn left out of ICU and go into the men’s bathroom by the elevator. I take a leak and then wash my hands before splashing water on my face. I turn around, looking for a paper towel, but there isn’t one, so I wipe my face on my T-shirt, catching my reflection in the small mirror. Christ, I look a mess. Red-eyed, unshaven. I push my hair back off my face and wish I had a razor. I don’t want her to wake up and see me like this. I’ll shave tomorrow, I promise myself. I’ll put in a load of washing, too. Lottie won’t mind. She’s asked me often enough.

  I take a deep breath and regard the man staring back at me in the mirror. The man in love. The man in waiting. And then I go back down the corridor and wait for my love to wake up.

  ‘He told me to tell you he loves you,’ my mum says with a smile.

  I grin goofily and try not to roll my eyes. This is all I ever hear. All. I’m not joking; it’s become a bit of a catchphrase to my friends and family.

  When I finally came out of the coma, it took me a while to recognise people, to understand what had happened, to finally come to. They told me all of this afterwards, because I wasn’t very present. But apparently Leo told me he loved me a lot in those early days. And when he wasn’t by my bedside, he made other people tell me he did. Eventually I grew stronger, more conscious, and started to take it all in. I’m still a little forgetful, though. I probably always will be, they say, with a brain injury. But as long as I have my loved ones around to remind me of the things that are most important, I’ll cope. I’m so very lucky to be alive.

  ‘Has the flight landed yet?’ I ask Mum as she waits outside the door while I dry myself off. I heard the phone ring while I was in the shower. I know that Leo was right to get rid of the bath upstairs, but I do miss it sometimes. My leg could do with a good soak when it’s feeling especially tender. Lovely Mike next door lets me use their hot tub whenever I like, though, so that helps a great deal.

  ‘Not yet, but it won’t be long,’ she says. ‘He asked me to crack on with chopping the onions.’

  ‘Is he doing his curry?’ I ask eagerly, popping my head around the door.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiles at me. She looks so well; the sunshine suits her. But if you think her tan is good, you should see my dad’s.

  ‘Can you help me with this?’ I ask, struggling to wrap the towel around my head.

  ‘Of cours
e.’ She bustles in and takes the towel from me as I gingerly bend over. She secures it around my wet hair and I straighten up again. It still hurts to do some things, but I’m doing my exercises several times a day, trying to build up the strength in my arm and leg. At least my ribs don’t hurt anymore when I laugh.

  I laugh a lot.

  I didn’t think I’d have time for the hot tub today, but then we found out that Marty and Bridget’s flight into Key West was two hours’ delayed with mechanical issues. Leo and Dad went to pick them up, stopping for a beer on the way. I’m amazed at how well they get on. I still can’t believe he lived with them for months while I recuperated in hospital. Apparently Leo helped out with odd jobs around the farm. Dad said he’s pretty good at DIY, although Carmen thought this was absolutely hilarious when I relayed it to her. She filled me in on the bathtub incident. She meant to make me laugh, but it made me shudder. I felt so traumatised for Leo, the thought of him having that dream and then finding out about my accident. It still reduces me to tears, thinking about what he – what we all – went through. My friends and family – even the nurses – told me about the weeks he spent at my bedside. His devotion takes my breath away.

  It’s been nine months since my accident, and everyone says I’m doing well. I had a lot of help, a lot of love. I still can’t believe how lucky I am.

  This weekend, and for the next two weeks, we have a full house. Jorge, Carmen and Javier, Bridget and Marty, and Mum and Dad, who have been with us ever since we returned to Key West two months ago. They wanted to come. They didn’t ever want me to leave the UK, of course. But I had to. Was desperate to in the end. Leo, too. I could see it in his eyes, although he never once mentioned it. So as soon as I was well enough, Marty booked our flights. Then my parents asked if they could come, too. They won’t stay for much longer. Leo gets on well with them – I think he enjoys having parental figures in his life. But only up to a certain extent – there’s only so much time you can spend with your in-laws. I don’t mean in-laws in the technical sense, by the way. We’re not married, nor are we engaged or planning on getting engaged anytime soon – if ever. But I have some very good immigration lawyers working on my visa, so whatever we do will be by choice and not by necessity. Anyway, Jorge occasionally promises he’ll be my back-up option when he wants to wind Leo up.

  I am officially divorced. It came through a month ago. I spoke to Matthew a couple of weeks ago, but we don’t speak much. He seems pretty good. Evan is a year old now and he sees a lot of him. When we sold our apartment he bought a place in North Finchley so he could be nearby. As far as I know, there’s still nothing going on between him and Tessa. But that’s only as far as I know, and it’s none of my business anymore, anyway.

  This weekend we’re celebrating the opening of our guest house. I can’t believe we’ve actually pulled it off. The house is fully renovated, and we have our first proper paying guests coming in a few weeks. It won’t be a very busy season, but that’s okay. We’ll ease ourselves in slowly and hopefully I’ll be back to full health by the time high season comes around next year. Mike has offered to give any customers our details when he’s fully booked. We’re not exactly competition at our small size: five guest bedrooms compared to his twenty-odd.

  I never knew this house had a name because Leo took the sign down before he left to live in Miami all those years ago and it just became a number on the street. But now Casa Lorelei – named after his mother by his father – is once more. I think her name is beautiful. We were all touched when the sign went back up.

  Mum goes out of the room and leaves me alone to get ready. Leo and I have the main bedroom downstairs now, with a brand-new en-suite, leaving the bathrooms free for visitors. The stairs were too much for me to manage at first. I miss our old bedroom at the top, and I sometimes go up there to take some time to myself, although that doesn’t often last for long, because Leo hunts me out. As if I mind . . .

  My lovely boy. He looks younger these days than he did when I met him. Happier, more carefree, at peace with the world. I love him so much. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Funnily enough, he says the same about me.

  I get dressed and dry my hair, taking things slowly so as not to wear myself out too much, then I go outside to wait for the posse to arrive. We’ve retired the old seats because they don’t really fit in with the new look of the place, but I’m nostalgic for them, and even though my memory might not be at its best right now, I’ll never forget those early days sitting out here with Leo, those long looks with his dark eyes, the shivers trailing up and down my spine . . . What am I talking about? I still get shivers up and down my spine every time he gives me one of his come-to-bed stares, which is often. I’m tingling now just thinking about last night . . .

  I sit down on a new deckchair and survey the scene, looking forward to seeing the effect of the extra rope lights we have trailing up the new potted palm trees we’ve dotted around the place. We might get a small pool one day, but that’s in the future.

  ‘Hey, girl!’ I turn around to see Carmen coming out of the kitchen door. ‘You want a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks, I’ll wait for the others,’ I reply with a smile as she takes a seat beside me.

  Leo is right: she’s much nicer without Eric around. She’s been a rock, actually. She’s taken over Leo’s lease on his apartment in Miami and has started working as a care worker in a nursing home. She comes down here most weekends to catch up with us and I never thought I’d say this, but I look forward to her visits. Maybe she’ll move back here one day, but for now she seems to be enjoying her new free single life . . .

  Jorge is also thinking about giving up his apartment in Miami and moving to the keys for good. He and Leo have been talking to Timmy at the dive centre about becoming business partners and buying a share in his boat. He wants to spend more time with his mother on the West Coast, so it could work well for everyone. To Jorge’s immense amusement and my immense pride, Leo has decided to train to be a dive instructor. Jorge isn’t teaching him, although that was suggested (by me), but Leo said hell would freeze over first. He starts his course next week.

  I hear a car pull up outside on the road, followed by a loud: ‘Woo-hoo!’

  I’m laughing as I get to my feet. Marty has arrived – and Bridget, too. Leo told me what she did for him and I’ll never forget that. She’s a true friend now, not just a friend of Marty’s. I’m so glad the pair of them have come back to help us celebrate the opening.

  I go down the path to see my dad, tanned and looking great in shorts and a white shirt, leading Marty and Bridget into the yard. They drop their hand luggage and engulf me in the biggest girlie hug of my life. Dad pats me on my back, then picks up their hand luggage and heads towards the house while we squeal like teenagers checking each other out. Bridget has cut her dark hair into a short, sharp bob and she looks fantastic, Marty has got a new pair of glasses, but is otherwise the same, and they tell me I look amazing. I do look well these days. If you didn’t know me, you would never know I almost died.

  My mum comes out of the house and cries out hello, so Bridget and Marty break away from me and hurry off to see her.

  But I hang back, waiting for him, for my love. He appears a minute later, with a suitcase in each hand. I can tell immediately which one is Bridget’s.

  ‘Fuck, that’s heavy,’ he says, dropping it with a thud.

  ‘I missed you,’ I reply with a smile as he takes me in his arms. He kisses my lips gently, but the shivers are there – always. I slide my hands around his neck and he pulls back to look at me, those dark eyes burning into mine.

  ‘When can I get you alone?’ he murmurs, his fingers trailing up my arms and making my knees feel like jelly. Not fair, I have a bad enough leg as it is.

  ‘Soon.’ I pull him in for another kiss. He holds me to him, supporting my weight as his kiss deepens.

  ‘Stop snogging each other’s faces off!’ Marty hollers down the path towards us. ‘Let’s get
this party started!’

  We break away and grin at each other.

  ‘Two weeks,’ I promise, ‘then you’ll have me all to yourself again.’ I take his hand, but he tugs me back.

  ‘Oi,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I know,’ I reply with a smile.

  And I do, I really do.

  Thank you, always, to my readers, who continue to make me smile, well, I would say every day if I were more organised about going onto Twitter and Facebook, but I promise I’ll be better this year! Please keep your messages coming – they really do mean the world to me.

  Thank you to my editor Suzanne Baboneau – you’re the best! – and to everyone at Simon and Schuster, but in particular Maxine Hitchcock, Emma Capron, Clare Parkinson, Sarah Birdsey, Florence Partridge, Nigel Stoneman, Matt Johnson, Dawn Burnett, Ally Glynn, Sarah Jade-Virtue and Alice Murphy. Thanks also to Knight Hall Agency for handling the theatrical rights to my books.

  Enormous gratitude to my old friends Susan and Dean Rains for their recommendations on where to go in Key West and Miami. We loved Blue Heaven, and the Wynwood Walls were indeed very, very cool. Special thanks to Susan for her help with Leo’s Americanizations (note the use of the ‘z’ instead of ‘s’ on this one occasion . . .)

  Big thanks to Jo Whiting from St Elizabeth Hospice, Suffolk, for her insights into working with a charity – especially at such short notice. Massively appreciated! And thank you to her fabulous sister and fellow author Ali Harris, for not only suggesting I contact Jo, but for being such a fantastic sounding board for the last year and a half. Long may it continue!

  Many thanks to Davina Sycamore for her help with all things hospital related, and thank you to Mike, Lucy and Diane for organising the Birmingham event last year – I hope you enjoyed your little cameos . . .

  Thanks to the Bilbao hens, Cheryl McGechie (congrats to you and Mike!), Susan Powell, Natalie Andrew, Amy Wettenhall, Allison Grant, Andrea Southey, Shona Wilson and Sharon Gigli for the hen night inspiration. M&Ms, mmm . . .