that would be too dreadful,’ Diana sounded as sarcastic as ever. Ant felt doubtful his approach was working.
He tried again, ‘I know you think I’m a dick.’
‘Because you are,’ said Diana.
He’d said it partly in jest, and was surprised by the power she still had to hurt him. For a moment, he really wanted her not to think badly of him, wanted her to think of him the way she used to, but he tamped the thought down. No point going there; that door was long since bolted.
‘And I think you’re a cow,’ continued Ant, putting more venom into his words than he’d intended, wanting to hurt her the way she’d hurt him. She looked cross at that, but couldn’t really say anything, given that she’d just insulted him, ‘but we can at least be polite to one another, can’t we?’
‘I suppose,’ Diana said grudgingly. ‘But don’t think you’re going to use that famous charm to worm your way back into my affections. I never make the same mistake twice.’
‘Understood,’ said Ant, raising his hand. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He resisted the impulse to say you should be so lucky.
‘Good,’ said Di.
‘Good,’ agreed Ant, wondering if he could risk shaking on it, but decided it was best not to. There being very little else to say, they sped up to catch up with the other two, and Ant naturally fell back into conversation with Harry, while Diane and Josie resumed their chat about … whatever girls chat about. Even after all these years of bedding and chasing them, Ant wasn’t entirely sure what that was.
Tatiana heard the phone go as she knelt on the floor, checking and rechecking the contents of her suitcase: passport, plane tickets, clothes, bikinis, sunglasses, suntan lotion – not that she’d get much time to sunbathe probably. By all accounts the workload on Sail for the Sun was phenomenal, but you never knew.
The phone was still ringing as she finally zipped up her suitcase, and placed her tickets and passport in her handbag, but she decided to ignore it. It would only be Bron, begging her to come back. God knows why he’d suddenly turned so needy after all these years. Who’d have thought?
Walking out on a five-year relationship hadn’t been quite as easy as she’d imagined. Bron had half his stuff at her flat for a start, and she wasn’t quite angry enough to dump it all out in the corridor for him to collect. So instead she’d endured several excruciating visits, when he’d begged her to change her mind.
‘I know the last few months haven’t been easy,’ he’d said.
‘Who for, you? Don’t make me laugh.’ Fear that she might crumble made her cruel. She knew he’d been hurting too, but she pushed the thought to one side. She needed this. She needed to get away, if she had any hope of surviving.
‘No, you,’ he mumbled, his face creased with guilt and pain. He stood underneath the hall light looking forlorn, a little boy lost – a familiar tug pulled at her heart but she ignored it. ‘Of course, for you, they’ve been tough. And I haven’t helped, I know.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ said Tati, then, briskly changing the subject, ‘We seem to have two copies of Rumours, do you want one?’
She went into overdrive, tidying, cleaning, sorting, organising. Anything to stop herself from actually talking to him. All those months, and all she’d wanted was for Bron to listen, to hold her, to share it with her. And now he was ready to, and it was too late. If she let him pull her back now, she’d be lost again, and this opportunity would be gone.
‘Can’t I at least hope?’ Bron had pleaded on his last visit, the one where she’d eventually banned him from seeing her again.
‘You can hope,’ she said, hardening her heart, ‘but it probably won’t do you any good.’
Hearing the catch in his voice as he left made her stronger once more, particularly when she could see tears in his eyes. It meant she was able to resist the heart-melting hug he gave her as he left. She’d cried a river over him, time for him to cry one over her.
Tatiana had spent so long in thrall to Bron it was quite satisfying to discover that while she could manage perfectly well without him (she ignored the painful little twist of her heart that still persisted whenever she thought of him), Bron was finding it difficult to do without her. Well, he’d have to manage, wouldn’t he? Her contract on Sail for the Sun was only three months, to be extended if her character proved popular. When she came back, Bron might be suitably sorry. Then she could think perhaps about having him back.
The beeping of a horn outside signalled the arrival of her taxi, while the beep from the answerphone told her that Bron had left his latest message. Well, he could wait. She’d wasted enough time on Bron. Time to seize her future. Time for Tatiana Okeby to have her day in the sun. Taking one last look at the small flat where she and Bron had shared so many happy times (she felt that familiar twist again, and reminded herself they’d had their fair share of bitter times too), she picked up her suitcase, strode through the door, and locked it for the last time. She was on her way. The future was bright and shining and golden.
As she got into the taxi and sped off, the phone in her flat rang again.
‘Tati – I know you’re there. Pick up, please. I’ve got some great news. Illusions is going to be on TV. And we can have equal shares this time. I promise. Tati? Are you there? Tati?’
The pub was heaving, when they got to it. It was a lovely whitewashed old building with a thatched roof, wisteria growing up the sides, and hanging baskets tumbling down with bright red geraniums, blue and purple lobelia and yellow petunias. There was a pretty beer garden overlooking the harbour, and Diana was hugely relieved when the boys elbowed their way to the bar, and Josie suggested going outside. They managed to squeeze into a wobbly wooden table in the farthest corner of the beer garden, by a low granite wall, with a great view of the harbour. The sea was a turquoise green, and the sun was bright and warm. There was the constant humming of sails as the summer breeze danced its way through the myriad of boats bobbing in the harbour. On any other day it would have been perfect. But Ant’s presence had unsettled Diana more than she would have liked to admit. Dammit. How bloody typical of her pathetic little life, that Harry’s best mate should turn out to be Tony. The only man she’d ever let close enough to break her heart …
Christmas 2005 had found a twenty-two-year-old Diana working a season in the Alps as a chalet girl. She’d loved it. She was out of England, and therefore away from the ever-present sense of her father’s disappointment that she hadn’t made more of herself, and her mother’s rueful comments about ‘If only I’d had the opportunities you’ve had’; Diana’s decision to not go to uni and saddle herself with a load of debt having gone down badly with her parents.
But she was good at what she did. She enjoyed the challenge of organising skiing parties, plus she loved the outdoor life, and the partying hard aspect of the job. Life was for living, and the young Diana had wanted to seize it with both hands. She was earning good money, and unlike her peers, independent of her parents. She couldn’t see what their problem was.
