‘What happened to your friend? Graham, wasn’t it?’ Sarah asks. Of course! When I was with Nick, Sarah had a fling with his pal.
‘God, Graham. I haven’t thought about him for years. He emigrated to Australia soon after we came back from Benidorm and we lost touch.’
I have a sudden pang of disappointment that Graham isn’t around. Wouldn’t that have been a brilliant twist? I bring her here to track down my ex, and she rekindles an old romance of her own? That would have been brilliant, but if Sarah is disappointed, she doesn’t let it show.
Instead, we answer Nick’s questions, giving him edited versions of our life stories, both of us leaving out the troubles and sticking to the good bits.
I suddenly realise that we’re the only people in the room. I look at my watch. One o’clock. We must be in a time warp, I’m sure we just got here.
Nick stands up. ‘Why don’t we go for a wander along the beach?’
Sarah yawns. ‘I’m really tired. Why don’t you two go and I’ll head back to the hotel.’
She’ll never win an Oscar. That’s the worst performance since Farrah Fawcett left Charlie’s Angels.
We walk her back to the hotel, then head for the sands.
I feel awkward. What should I say to him?
He takes my hand. ‘It really is good to see you, Cooper.’
‘And you.’ And it is. So how come I’m not being swept away on a wave of desire and longing? Maybe my libido drowned inside my leather trousers.
We walk for a mile in silence.
‘Did you ever think about me over the years?’ he asks.
‘Yes. A lot. And you?’
‘Sure. I tried to contact you once, but your mother said you’d gone to Paris, or Amsterdam or somewhere.’
‘She never told me,’ I reply honestly. Deep down, I know it wouldn’t have made any difference. Back then, I wasn’t ready for us to be anything more than what we were.
He shrugs. ‘I figured that it was just a holiday romance and you’d have forgotten all about me.’
‘Nick, you were the first guy I ever slept with. I’ll never forget that.’
He kisses the top of my head. ‘Likewise.’
I do a mental inventory of my body. No weak knees, no rushing blood. I think these trousers have destroyed all my nerve endings.
We make our way back to the hotel, chatting like old friends. At the door, we pause. It should be awkward, but it isn’t. It’s just, well, nice. In a non-lusty kind of way. I’m never wearing leather again.
‘Will you join me for lunch tomorrow?’ he asks.
I’m confused. My body obviously belongs to someone else or has died and failed to notify my brain. I’m feeling nothing from the neck down – except sweaty.
‘Sure,’ I agree and kiss him goodnight on the cheek. ‘Lunch would be great.’
Sarah opens the door before I’ve even had a chance to knock.
‘I was listening out for you. Well, what’s the verdict?’
‘He’s lovely. Really lovely.’
‘Carly, that’s like saying that someone is nice. How come I fear that there’s a “but” coming?’
How can I explain it? I know that I’ve only spent a few hours with him, but unlike the first time we met, there was no spark, no electricity. Okay, so I’m a spontaneous nightmare and I can’t base every judgement in my life on an instant reaction, but surely if this man was going to father my children, then I should at least have a glimmer of attraction? I should be desperate to drink champagne and dance in the moonlight with him, not just order a cappuccino and talk about old times. Not once tonight had I had the urge to back him into a corner and snog his face off. What’s more, I’m pretty sure that he felt the same about me, otherwise we’d probably be lying out on the beach just now, talking romantic nonsense about the stars and fate.
Sarah is still waiting for a reply.
‘I don’t know, Sarah. Maybe I’ve changed a lot since I was seventeen. Or maybe he has. Maybe I was expecting too much. Maybe I’m a hopeless case who should think seriously about joining a nunnery.’
‘You don’t fancy him.’ It’s a statement, not a question.
She is right.
I go to lunch the next day with an open mind. Okay, so last night he didn’t light my candle, blow my socks off or set my knickers alight, but maybe it was just an off day. C’mon, hormones, feel free to kick in whenever you’re ready.
Nick’s waiting for us when we arrive at the restaurant. He’s wearing blue jeans, a pale blue polo shirt and deck shoes. He’s Ralph Lauren. As we attack our nachos, he tells us of his plans to open another three restaurants in nearby towns over the next four years. I can see the excitement in his eyes as he talks.
Okay, Cooper, weigh up the pros:
a. He’s a good-looking guy who’s funny, kind and sweet. And he drives a Jaguar.
b. He’s successful, obviously wealthy and full of ambition. A top-of-the-range, black Jaguar.
c. He’s open, interesting and passionate about life. Leather interior, CD system, Jaguar.
d. All in all he’s a great catch. A Jaguar-driving catch.
And the cons?
a. I don’t care about flash cars much.
‘So, when are you leaving?’ Nick cuts into my thoughts.
My mouth makes a split-second decision, way ahead of my brain. ‘Em, we’re leaving, em, tonight.’
His face falls and Sarah’s trying her best not to look gobsmacked.
‘That’s a shame,’ he frowns. ‘It’s been great seeing you again.’
‘You too, but I’m going abroad tomorrow.’
‘Anywhere nice?’
I look at Sarah.
