‘Would you like some wine?’ Sam says as he heads into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got some white. Or a beer? I think there’s some cranberry juice there too.’
‘Wine’s good.’ She glances over at Sam as he grabs a bottle of Blue Star lager from the fridge and a bottle of white wine. His dark hair is tousled by the wind, and he brushes it back with an unconscious gesture. It’s been a long time since she’s been in this kind of situation: alone with a man on a night like this. When the warm wind and the humidity thickens blood to a lazy torpidity. When a veil lifts and guards fall.
What are you doing here, Sophie? You know you’re playing with fire. That kiss at the lighthouse was a silly mistake. What on earth came over you? Acting like a bloody teenager. Don’t be an idiot. Go! Go, now!
She’s been so careful. All those years in Manchester and London. Careful not to get side-tracked. Careful to keep her eye on the prize: a position at the pinnacle of her profession. She has no room for a man in her life. Certainly not a man like Sam, stuck in a backwater in Newfoundland. He’s sacrificed everything for Becca. She could never do that. Not for anyone. But then, she has no one to sacrifice everything for.
Maybe she wants that. Maybe she wants someone to care about. Someone to care about her.
Stop it, Sophie! Pull yourself together. You don’t need anyone. Say your goodbyes.
She sits on the thick white cotton cushion of the hanging chair and leans back against its curved woven-cane back. The chair swings gently, and she tucks her feet up underneath her.
No, Mum. I’m not going anywhere.
‘Here you go,’ Sam says as he offers her the wine glass. ‘Pinot Grigio. Hope that’s okay. We eat a lot of Italian food in this house when we’re not up at Ellie’s. Becca loves pasta. She doesn’t drink the wine, though. That’s just me.’
He sets down the beer bottle on the coffee table, and, grasping the sides of the hanging chair, gives it a gentle push. ‘You found the chair.’
‘I did indeed. I’ve always wanted to sit in a hanging chair.’
Sam gives it another push. ‘I put it in for Becca. I used to sit in it when she was smaller and rock her to sleep in it. Now, she calls it her chair. She reads in it for hours with Tigger and Barbie.’
Sophie shifts in the chair. Reaching under the cushion, she pulls out a striped stuffed toy. ‘I think I found Tigger.’
Sam laughs and takes the toy. He sits down on the sofa, propping Tigger against a pillow beside him.
‘What’s all that stuff in the net over there?’
Sam looks over at the net with its tangle of objects. ‘That’s our Net of Diverse Objects. Ellie named it. Just things Becca and I pick up on the beach. Mostly shells and driftwood, a couple of squid jigs. No plastic yet. They get that down on the south coast. More each year.’
Sophie unfolds one of her legs and pushes at the floor with the toe of Florie’s borrowed socks, sending the chair into a gentle swing. ‘Sam? You know with all the music tonight … Can Becca hear it? She seemed to be able to keep the beat.’
‘No, she can’t hear it, but she’s told me she feels the vibrations in the air and coming from the floor. That’s why she took off her shoes. So she could feel the vibrations better. She says they’re buzzy.’
‘Ellie told me Becca can read lips.’
‘Yes. Winny thought it would be good for Becca to learn to read lips. Not many people sign, especially hearing people. She thought it would help Becca in school. Life. She’s pretty good at it.’ Picking up his beer, he takes a drink. ‘So, why don’t you tell me all about the Millennium Pavilion?’
Sophie’s eyes widen. ‘You know about that?’
‘The internet can be quite useful.’
‘You searched my name?’
‘You were easy to find. There were—’ he counts silently on his fingers ‘—about twenty pages referencing you. Congratulations. That’s quite an achievement.’
Sophie rests a foot on the wooden floor and gives the chair a spin. ‘It was. I hired on some fantastic graduates and we pulled out all the stops developing the proposal. It was a long shot for a small practice like mine, but we got it. Then we had to do it. That was terrifying. It’s been my life for the past few years.’
‘And what about New York?’
‘Yes. New York. Well, I was headhunted. I’ve already had a phone interview. Now I have a second interview and a presentation to do. I’m up against two other candidates. Richard Niven is going to Japan on the nineteenth for two weeks. If I don’t make it there by Tuesday, I miss my chance. The other two have already been interviewed.’
‘What are you going to do? That’s the day after tomorrow.’
What is she going to do? Four days ago all she wanted was to get to New York for the interview. Now, part of her wants nothing more than to stay in Tippy’s Tickle and start over. Reboot. She likes herself better here. She laughs more. Feels more. She’s picked up Ellie’s charcoal drawing pencils and rediscovered something that she’d thought she’d lost. And there’s Sam and sweet Becca. Maybe she could care about them and they could care about her. But … part of her still wants the big job in the big city. It’s everything she’s ever worked for. It’s so close. A hand’s reach away. All she needs to do is decide.
‘You’re not tempted to stay here in beautiful Tippy’s Tickle?’
She shoots a look at Sam. Can he read her mind?
She laughs, though it sounds more nervous than she intends. ‘What? No, no. Of course not. I’m going to Gander tomorrow. I’ll call a taxi. If my plane isn’t leaving, I’ll find another way. There’s a plane leaving from St John’s tomorrow night. I’ll catch that if I have to.’
Sam’s looks at her, his eyes clouding over, and her skin prickles under his gaze. Setting down his beer, he gets up and walks over to the hanging chair. Grabbing hold of the chair frame, he kisses her.
He steps back, his hands on the chair frame. ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you since last night, when you waited for me and Becca in the rain.’
‘Sam, I—’
He kisses her again; long, and slow, taking his time. Taking all the time in the world. He stands back and gives the chair a gentle push.
Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Sophie clears her throat, her mind full of the feel of Sam’s lips on hers. ‘Anybody would have done that.’
‘Anybody didn’t do that. You did that. The princess with the heart of ice.’
Sophie rubs her lips with her fingers. ‘Sam, I shouldn’t have kissed you at the lighthouse. I’m going tomorrow … Our lives are too different—’
‘Did anyone ever teach you how to play cribbage?’
‘What?’
Sam walks over to a Victorian sidetable and pulls out a drawer. ‘Cribbage. I warn you, I take no prisoners.’
‘You want me to play cribbage with you?’
‘It’s either that or Settlers of Catan, but we’re missing some pieces. I think Rupert ate them.’
‘You’re not serious.’
Sam sets out the cribbage board on the coffee table with a stack of playing cards. ‘There you go. Red or blue?’