‘Tiggy . . . Mrs Tiggywinkle . . . you know I’m not going to fall for that crap. You’re not telling me you knew all those people on the train that time. Or those people walking back from the club via the park bench you were joyfully grinding me into.’
She rolls over onto her back and lets the blanket slide off. Her T-shirt is halfway up her stomach and the warmth of the sun feels good against her bare skin.
‘That was different. They were total strangers.’ She reaches down and pulls off a sock, throws it at him. ‘Just go back onto the path and make sure they’ve gone, OK? I don’t want that Scott seeing me half dressed. He gives me the creeps.’
Giles gives her a look of despair but says nothing. Just disappears up the path. If there’s one thing she knows how to do, it’s getting him to do what she wants. She runs a hand along her bare stomach, pushing her shorts down. He does what she asks, and he does it well. She groans, remembering the last time they were at a beach resort together. Their own cabana on a private beach, sheer white curtains billowing in the breeze. She’d lain back into the sumptuous pillows, looking down at Giles’s head, and the perfect azure water lapping into the shore behind him. He’d looked up at her and grinned and she’d disappeared to another place, somewhere far, far away. Somewhere floating on a cloud, blissful and beautiful and rapturous. She was almost there now. He’d better hurry up.
‘Giles, baby . . . where are you?’ Her voice is hoarse, almost breathless.
He comes bounding back down the sandy path towards her, his face flushed. He sees her, and he knows. Oh yes, he knows.
He pulls his T-shirt over his head and she sees the sleek sheen of sweat defining his perfect biceps as he leans down, putting his hands on either side of her head and moving in for a long, slow kiss.
He pulls back, trails his hand gently over her bare skin. She shudders. So close.
‘I see you started without me . . .’ He pulls down his shorts and lies on top of her.
The weight of him alone is almost enough.
‘Oh, Giles . . .’
His lifts one hand off the lounger, ready to guide himself in. His breath is fast and hard, and she’s ready for him. So ready.
A high-pitched beep sounds somewhere close by and she flinches as her tracker vibrates against her ear. Giles collapses on top of her.
‘Babe.’ He nudges her. ‘Turn over.’
But she can’t. She’s seen it now. In front of her own eyes.
It flickers. Pixelated. Then it clears.
Porn? They don’t need porn. She almost laughs, but then she sees what it is.
‘Babe?’ He tries again, but she wriggles out from under him. Pushes him off. All feelings of desire have gone. ‘Oh, shit . . .’
Of course it was too good to be true.
The volume is low, but not too low that she can’t hear the sounds coming from the sordid little scene that’s being projected, somehow, from her tracker.
‘Babe,’ he says, ‘I can see it too. I don’t want you to watch this. Please . . . close your eyes. Maybe if we close our eyes it’ll stop.’
But she can’t stop it. Doesn’t want to. She’s inside his head. Seeing the projection in front of her as if she’s him. She stares at the white fabric above her, the image sharpening, slightly curved with the shape of the umbrella.
In the projection, her eyes – Giles’s eyes – flit from one girl to the other.
Same dark hair. Deep blue eyes, huge dilated pupils. Girl one. Girl two. Plumped-up lips, high cheekbones. Massive fake tits. Jeez, are they twins? On top of one, and a side glance to the other, and she’s grinning, rubbing herself. Bending down to kiss the other girl. Tiggy can almost feel the force as he thrusts himself so hard that the padded gold fabric headboard thumps against the wall. Feels like she’s fucking that girl herself. It would be comical if it wasn’t so utterly tragic.
She closes her eyes, and this time the image disappears.
As she opens them, a treacherous tear slides down her face and she wipes it angrily away while trying to find the sock that she’d thrown off the lounger only a few minutes earlier.
‘You utter shit.’
Giles yanks his shorts up and tries to vault over the lounger towards her but gets tangled in the blanket. He swears. ‘Tigs . . . wait. I can explain. It’s not what it looks like, I promise.’
Tiggy snorts. She can’t quite believe that he’s trying to weasel his way out of this, with the evidence playing right in front of them. She has literally seen it with her own eyes. Exactly what he’s done. And yet . . . somehow, she understands.
Because she’s good at denial. It’s something she’s had to deal with her whole life. It’s easy to paint a picture of happiness on your social media channels, when in reality you’re dying inside. Of course she’d known Giles was cheating. But she loves him. In her own way.
Perhaps it’s just the idea of him she loves. The idea of them. The Golden Couple. Love’s Young Dream. Is there any such thing? All the high-profile couples that people worship are a sham. Everyone buying into it, because the reality – the cold, hard reality – is that everyone is alone.
‘I’m done with this.’ She grabs hold of her tracker, tries to twist it off, but it won’t budge. She means the performance, but she means Giles too. She should never have listened to him when he said they should tell each other everything about their invitations. Is this her punishment for violating the NDA? He said it’d be better if they shared information. Worked as a team. None of the others had to know. But now this.
This was not meant to happen. And now her ear hurts. She rubs the skin behind the tracker, trying to soothe it.
‘Tigs . . .’
She ignores him. She picks up the martini glass and tips the pink drink down her throat. It’s sharp, strong. But it’s just what she needs. She picks up the other glass and does the same. Then she lets out a long, slow breath of satisfaction. Smacking her lips together exaggeratedly at the end.
Giles is looking at her with an expression of fear and panic. His shock emboldens her. Just enough.
‘I’m going back to the others,’ she says, trying hard to keep her voice level. ‘Don’t bother following me.’ As she walks away, she turns back to him one last time. Her voice shaking, she says, ‘I despise you, Giles. Right now, I wish you were dead.’
She makes it up the path, past the small clearing and over the other side of the hill before she bursts into tears. Huge, hot tears of pain and humiliation.
What an idiot she’s been.
There’s a small beep in her ear from the tracker. Presumably that signifies the end of her request. What a waste of time that was. She should have wished for something just for her. Giles has probably done that. He didn’t even say what his wish was. So much for collaborating. The utterly selfish shit.
‘Babe!’ She hears the pleading in his voice from behind her. He’s not close, he hasn’t run to grab her. He can’t be bothered, can he? She ignores him.
She sighs. Wipes away her tears. Smooths her hair back. She’s finally got herself together, when she hears the scream.
Brenda
She hadn’t even noticed the others leaving. Just sitting there, leaning against a rock, the sun on her face. The soothing voice of the narrator coming in through the earpiece from her tracker. Bliss. Goodness knows how they do it, but the sound seems to be coming in through both ears. Some sort of audio trickery, but not something she’s complaining about. She moves now only to stretch her legs.