‘Okay. You sure?’ he checks.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
They head out through the door.
I carry on working for a couple of hours and then picture approval comes in from one of the magazines Johnny had done a photoshoot for recently. The art editor has sent PDFs of the page. We’ve already approved the copy, but it always interests me to see the pages laid out.
The photographs are amazing. The first shot is of Johnny standing front on, staring moodily into the camera. You can clearly see the definition of his torso underneath his vest. I click down a page. This one is a close-up. I feel like his clear green eyes are infiltrating me, and I sit there for a moment just studying them. His lips are perfectly shaped, not too thin, not too full.
Oh God, I fancy him. I still do. Even though he’s a total bastard to women. I just can’t help it.
Hey, where are his freckles? There are none on his nose. When I first met him I wondered why I’d never noticed them in photos.
Anyway, where are those boys? I haven’t seen them since they left for lunch a couple of hours ago.
I don’t have to get back to the art editor about approval until tomorrow, so I decide to take a break and go for a wander, see if I can spot Johnny and Christian.
I find them down on the bench that Johnny and I were sitting on last night. Christian has his notepad in front of him and is writing. Johnny is leaning forward on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, smoking a cigarette. I wonder if I should bother them, but Johnny looks up and nods at me. Christian turns around and smiles, so I wander over.
‘How’s it going?’ I ask.
‘Good, good,’ Christian responds. ‘Just catching up on what’s been happening lately.’
‘Cool,’ I reply. ‘I was just going to go for a walk. Johnny, that picture approval has come in. Shall I bring it along to dinner?’
‘Yeah, yeah. That’s fine, Meg.’
I head off around the corner where there’s a forest full of enormous redwood pines, situated on a steep decline. I venture into the darkness and am soon lost in my own thoughts again.
I didn’t sleep well last night. My head was spinning and I was more drunk than I’d realised. I couldn’t get Johnny out of my mind. The sight of him almost naked in the pool, the feeling of his body pressed up against mine…I went down to breakfast this morning feeling on edge, turning my head every time another person entered the room. But he never showed up. I didn’t know how he’d be with me, but when he appeared in my room he was fine. Totally normal. Just like he was with Christian.
I feel a bit foolish. He probably didn’t think twice about our hot-tub encounter. I’m sure I’m making more out of it than I ever should.
But I am so attracted to him.
I stand there in the forest for a moment and close my eyes, listening to the far-off chirping of birds.
He was so close. I imagine putting my hands on his chest, slick and wet from the water. Touching his bare stomach. I open my eyes, feeling feverish and off balance. I wave my hand in front of my face to cool myself down, and keep walking.
That evening I spend extra time on my appearance. I decide on a black dress and tie my hair partially away from my face. I don’t overdo my make-up, but keep it soft and simple, just vamping up my eyes with a little black kohl.
I don’t want to be the first person to arrive at the table, but by the time seven twenty-five appears on my watch, I can stand it no longer. I’m completely anal when it comes to punctuality. I can just about handle other people being late, but I can’t bear it if I’m the offender.
Of course, I am the first to arrive. The waiter seats me in the middle, leaving chairs for each of the boys on either side of me. We’re on a square table, facing the water, with the cliff dropping away beneath us.
I study the ocean in case I can spot another whale, while the waiter brings over the wine menu and suggests some options for tonight.
Christian appears next.
‘You look nice,’ he remarks as he sits down.
‘Thanks. You too.’ A waiter appears to pour the wine. ‘So what have you been up to?’ he asks.
Soon I relax back into his company, which is just as well, because Johnny doesn’t appear for another half an hour. By that time, Christian and I have made our way through half a bottle of wine and a basket of bread and butter.
He doesn’t explain why he’s late and we don’t ask.
We place our food order because Christian claims he’s starving, and then Johnny asks me if I’ve brought the pictures. I have. I pull my laptop out of my bag.
He studies them for a minute, while Christian and I wait patiently, and then finally nods and says, ‘Cool.’
‘Can I have a look?’ Christian asks. Johnny passes over the laptop.
‘What’s happened to your freckles?’ I ask Johnny, motioning towards the computer. ‘Where are they?’
He looks a little embarrassed.
‘Airbrushing,’ Christian says. ‘You know, touching up. Getting rid of any little imperfections, clearing up skin tone, making Johnny look hotter than he actually is…’
He says ‘hotter than he actually is’ in a joking tone.
‘But why get rid of your freckles?’ I press.
Johnny shrugs.
‘Do you like his freckles, Meg?’ Christian teases.
‘Yeah,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I do.’
‘Aah…’ Johnny leans across and rubs my arm affectionately. Christian just laughs and closes the laptop.
The night wears on. I’m stuffed by the third course (there are five in total) but still manage to squeeze in dessert, whereas Christian has been tucking in with gusto and Johnny has been tasting each dish, happy to leave at least half of it on his plate.
I know I should head off to my room and leave the two friends alone, but when I flag up that idea, they’re having none of it.
‘Fuck that, Meg,’ Christian says, ‘let’s go to the hot tub!’
‘Um…’ I hesitate. Out of the corner of my eye I see Johnny glance at me.
‘Go on,’ Christian urges. ‘She can’t go to bed, can she, mate?’
Johnny shrugs.
‘No, really.’ I try to be strong. ‘I could do with an early night. Anyway, it’s too cold for the hot tub tonight.’
It is colder tonight. I think we were lucky yesterday.
‘It’s called a “hot tub” for a reason, you know,’ Christian says.
‘I know,’ I reply. ‘But, sorry, the idea of going back to my room, lighting the fire and climbing into bed with a book is very inviting indeed.’
‘Alright,’ Johnny says, putting an end to the discussion and turning to his mate. ‘What are we drinking?’
I set off for my room, leaving them to it.
An hour and a half later, I’m lying in bed on my side, watching the log fire crackling. The hearth doesn’t pass out much heat, but the scent of the burning wood fills the room and I’m so relaxed and content that I can hardly concentrate on my book.
A knock on my door snaps me out of my reverie.
‘Hello?’ I call, reluctant to get out of my nice, warm and very high bed.
‘Open up!’ comes the sound of Christian’s voice.
What does he want at this hour?
‘Open up!’ comes Johnny’s voice.
Oh dear, they both sound a bit pissed. This could be funny. I get out of bed and look for my dressing gown, realising I’ve left it in the bathroom at the other end of the Tree House. I quickly unlatch the door wearing only my pyjamas and run back to my bed, shouting over my shoulder, ‘Quick! I’m freezing!’
‘Sorry, Nutmeg.’ Johnny tries to sound sober as he leans against the doorframe to my bedroom. ‘Didn’t think you’d be in bed already.’
Christian pushes past him, clutching a bottle of champagne and three glasses. ‘Have a drink with us!’ he all but shouts.
I’m pretty sober now, so having a couple of piss-heads crash my solo slumber party could
be considered annoying. But, truthfully, I’m thrilled that they’re here.
‘Come on, then.’ I pat the bed.
Christian tries to get a leg up, but stumbles backwards and almost bashes into the fireplace.
‘Give ’em here.’ I hold out my hands for the bottle and glasses.
Unencumbered, he has more luck, but he’s still remarkably ungainly. I watch, laughing, while Johnny just stands in the doorway, looking amused. He seems a bit more together than his pal.
‘Come on, mate,’ Christian beckons for Johnny to get up. He does so with substantially more grace, lying down on his side behind Christian and alongside me, and propping his head up with his arm. I’m sitting up against the wall, cross-legged, under the covers, and Christian is sitting at my feet with his legs hanging off the side.
‘Nice swim?’ I ask, nodding towards Christian’s fluffy robe. I glance at Johnny–his has fallen open at the chest. I look away quickly.
‘Yep, yep,’ Christian says, waggling his hands at me and looking eagerly at the champagne bottle I’m still holding.
‘Don’t you pop that cork and get it all over my bedspread,’ I warn, handing it over.
‘I will endeavour not to pop my cork all over your bedspread…’ Christian assures me with a grin as Johnny starts to guffaw.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I berate, ‘you two are like teenagers.’
Still looking pleased at his own wit, Christian cracks open the champagne and starts to pour it, deftly, into the three glasses. I’ve already cleaned my teeth. Oh, well.
‘You look different without make-up on,’ Christian observes.
‘You’ve seen me without my make-up on before,’ I remind him. ‘Last time, when I was doing my laps in the morning.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he says. ‘Have you finished the box of Fruity Pebbles yet? I could really do with some of those right now, actually,’ he continues, not waiting for me to answer the question.
‘You two and your Fruity Pebbles,’ Johnny chips in.
‘Hey, what about my bet?’ Christian exclaims, suddenly.
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ I reply. ‘In fact, if you pass me my bag over there I can settle up immediately.’
Christian groans. ‘Bag over where?’
‘Over there,’ I point. ‘That one.’
‘Can’t get down,’ he says, sorrowfully.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I huff and get out of bed, bringing two bags of sweets back with me. I chuck them on Christian’s lap and climb back up under the covers.
Johnny sits up beside me, moving closer and pulling his robe across his chest. ‘Brr.’
‘Are you cold?’ I ask.
He nods, quickly. ‘Can I get under the covers, too?’ he asks.
‘Oi, oi!’ Christian grins.
‘Fuck off, mate,’ Johnny replies.
‘Are your swimming trunks dry?’ I ask.
He nods.
‘Go on, then.’
Johnny jumps off the bed, strips out of his robe and climbs back in again.
‘That is so not fair,’ Christian says, shaking his head, unimpressed at the sight of us both, warm and dry under the covers.
I’m struck again by how different these two friends are. Johnny is so gorgeous, I wonder if it’s hard being friends with him. Christian’s not bad-looking, but he’s kind of ordinary. He doesn’t look like he’s ever seen the inside of a gym in his life, and he certainly hasn’t spent any time lying in the sun recently, judging by those pasty-coloured forearms. Bless him.
‘Are you sure you’re dry?’ I ask Johnny again, trying to sound like I’m not in the least bit fazed about the fact that he’s moved quite a bit closer to me.
‘Yeah,’ he nods. ‘Have a feel.’ He takes my hand and slips it under the covers to touch the fabric of his swimming trunks. I’m so taken aback that I don’t even register if they’re damp or not.
‘Jesus, mate!’ Christian shouts. ‘Get off her!’
Johnny laughs and lets go and I attempt to laugh too as I put my hand back up above the bedspread. I’m glad this room is lit by firelight; at least no one will notice me blushing.
Christian studies the two bags of Skittles I’ve bought him.
‘Tropical and Original,’ he muses. ‘Good choice, Megan.’
I laugh. ‘My name’s not Megan.’
‘It’s not Nutmeg, either,’ he says, ‘but you let him get away with it.’
I say nothing. Christian busies himself opening the packets. I feel Johnny edge a little closer to me in the bed. His warm arm brushes against mine, sending a shiver ricocheting through me.
Christian pours the sweets from the two bags out onto the bedspread in two neat little piles.
‘Strawberry,’ he notes, munching away.
‘Pass me one.’ I lean forward. He does.
‘Johnny?’ I ask. He shakes his head.
‘Johnny doesn’t get sweets,’ Christian says, rummaging around for a purple one.
‘I do,’ Johnny says.
‘Favourite confectionery?’ Christian challenges him.
Johnny considers this for a moment before answering, ‘After Eight Mints.’
This sends Christian into hysterics. ‘I forgot you loved those things. Man, your sweetie age is ninety. You are such a grandma.’
I suppress a giggle. ‘Favourite flavour?’ I ask Christian, not wanting to make fun of Johnny.
He calms down surprisingly quickly considering the mayhem, then answers, ‘In order of favourite to least favourite, I’d have to say…Okay, Original Skittles: grape, strawberry, lime, orange and lemon.’
‘Me too!’ I sit forward. ‘Well, maybe strawberry before grape, but close. What about Tropical?’
He picks one up and starts to chew. ‘I can’t work out the flavours for these ones.’
‘Give me the packet,’ I say.
‘That’s cheating!’ But he complies.
‘Kiwi lime, banana berry, what the hell is mango tangelo?’ I ask.
‘Fuck knows.’
‘Just do colours,’ I decide.
‘Right,’ he says, sampling each one. Johnny yawns beside me. ‘Yellow, blue, pink, green and orange.’
‘Let me have a go,’ I say. He passes me a handful.
‘Yeah,’ I say a minute later. ‘I’d have to agree. Banana first…’
I hear Johnny sigh behind me and realise we’re leaving him out.
‘Anyway, enough sweetie talk,’ I say, leaning back against my pillows again. My arm rubs hard against Johnny’s warm bicep–he appears to have moved in even closer. He wriggles a little to make room for me, but snuggles back in close. How strange.
Christian lies on his back, looking up at the ceiling.
‘Want a top-up?’ Johnny asks me quietly.
‘Sure.’ He pours in more fizzing champagne.
‘Yep!’ Christian enthuses, propping himself up slightly and offering up his glass.
‘So, mate,’ Johnny says. ‘How’s Clare?’
Christian looks down at his glass and takes a big gulp. ‘Wouldn’t know,’ he replies. ‘We split up.’
Johnny sits up straighter. ‘Have you?’
‘Yep.’ Christian hiccups.
‘Shit,’ Johnny says.
‘Yep.’ Christian hiccups again, then takes another gulp.
‘Why…How did that happen?’ Johnny asks.
His friend just shrugs.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ I say, gently, for want of something better to say.
‘Why? You never met her,’ Christian points out. ‘Nor, for that matter, did you,’ he says to Johnny.
Neither of us says anything. Christian laughs, awkwardly. ‘Ah, it was just one of those things,’ he explains. ‘Wasn’t meant to be.’ He hiccups again. ‘We should go to bed,’ he says to Johnny. ‘Let Meg get some sleep.’
‘Can’t I just sleep here?’ Johnny wriggles further down underneath the covers. His leg brushes mine.
‘No!’ Christian insists. ‘Get y
our arse out of poor Megan’s bed.’
I giggle. ‘My name’s not Megan!’ I tell him again.
‘Can I sleep here, Nutmeg?’ Johnny looks up at me pleadingly with his beautiful green eyes.
Oh my God, he is such a flirt. Is he like this with everyone? Probably.
‘No, you can’t,’ I tell him, laughing.
‘Please?’ He wriggles closer to me and drapes his leg over my leg under the covers. Christian leaps off the bed and pulls the covers back.
‘For fuck’s sake, mate, get off her!’
‘No!’ Johnny protests, jokingly.
Christian all but drags him out of the bed, while Johnny tries not to spill the remaining dregs in his champagne glass.
‘Apologise to your PA!’ Christian insists.
Johnny looks comically repentant.
‘Apologise, I said!’ Christian shouts again. I’m giggling now.
‘I’m cold,’ Johnny moans, hopping from foot to foot at the side of my bed, wearing nothing but swimming trunks. ‘Please can I get back in?’
‘No!’ Christian shouts. ‘Put your fucking robe on, you git.’
Johnny grudgingly puts it back on and looks mournfully at the space he’s just exited.
It’s funny how all of a sudden you can be struck with the absurdity of a situation. Johnny Jefferson wants to sleep in my bed. With me! How nuts is that?
Christian drags Johnny around to the other side of the bed in the direction of the door.
‘We’ll leave you in peace,’ he tells me, pushing Johnny out in front of him.
‘Okay. Night,’ I say, smiling.
‘Night night,’ Johnny calls from the doorway.
‘Oh.’ Christian comes back and sweeps the remaining Skittles off my bed and into his hands. He pulls out a few yellow ones and puts them on my bedside table.
‘Come on, then!’ Johnny calls from behind him.
‘I hope they’re banana and not lemon,’ he says.
‘I hope so too,’ I say, super-seriously.
‘Night.’ He smiles down at me and I up at him.
Johnny comes back into the room and tugs Christian away from the bed, pushing him out into the hall.
‘Bye, Nutmeg,’ he says, looking down at me.
‘Bye!’ I reply, cheerfully.