‘Yeah, I know what that means.’
‘We can Skype.’
‘Sure. Because that always ends well,’ I said, then bit my lip. ‘I’m being ridiculous.’
Nick laughed and tickled me under the chin.
‘I get it,’ he said. ‘You were attacked tonight; you’re not okay. But you will be.’
‘What if I won’t? What if I see him again? What if I meet another guy and he …’ I couldn’t fight the tears and my loud sobs revealed that I was actually pretty drunk. We’d knocked back a lot of wine and I hadn’t eaten dinner. ‘I’ve just really enjoyed talking to you.’
‘So let’s keep talking. Technology is a magical thing.’
‘Ha. When it works.’
‘It will work. Please don’t cry. I’ve done such a good job of making you feel better and now I’m gonna leave and me last memory will be of your beautiful little face like this.’ Nick scrunched up his face and pretended to cry like a baby, which did make me chuckle. ‘Yes! Still got it. Actually, I’ve got an idea.’
Nick picked up the mop, his former dancing partner, and grabbed a pair of broken sunglasses that happened to be lying in the empty fruit bowl on the table. I watched, confused, as Nick stood the mop upright. He slipped the sunglasses into the mop’s head, which was level with mine.
‘Ta-da!’ he sang.
I swayed, attempted to steady myself.
‘This is Nick,’ he said, as if he were introducing a friend, an actual human being.
‘That’s a mop.’
‘No, when you take the sunnies off, it’s just a mop. But shh. The mop is very sensitive, he gets sad when he’s just a mop. Because when you put the sunnies on … ta-da! He becomes Nick. And anytime you wanna talk to Nick, he’s here for you. You can tell him anything, everything, nothing. He’ll listen to you.’
‘You’ve actually gone mad.’
‘Come on. Play along with me.’
‘Okay … erm. Hi Nick.’ I waved at the mop.
‘Hullo,’ Nick said, shaking the mop’s head. ‘And now, I’m gonna hide behind the fridge and you’re gonna hold the mop … Okay. Can you see me?’
‘No, you’re behind the fridge.’
‘Wrong. I’m with you.’
‘Oops. Silly me. I forgot you can magically transform into cleaning equipment.’
‘If you put a bow tie around Nick’s neck, he can take you to the ball.’
‘And on the stroke of midnight, I’m guessing Nick turns back into being just a mop again?’
Nick came out of hiding and took me – and the mop – in his arms.
‘I know it’s not ideal,’ he said. ‘We met under strange circumstances, and although what happened to you tonight was horrible, you are possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Ever. And you like Wham! And A-ha. And you live in a house with a swimming pool! But the reality is, I don’t live here. I have to go home. So, if you need me, call me. And if you can’t reach me, talk to our shaggy friend Nick here.’
And that’s when our lips met and I let him kiss me.
The desert sun rose high and fast, making it clear that last night was history: a memory. Its rays fired down onto the tired, dusty pathway that led from the villa to a taxi that would take Nick on his journey back to England. I watched him drive away, the sun burning my bare feet. At my side was the mop, tight within my grip. And I held on tighter. Tighter. For as soon as I let go of that mop, I’d be all alone again.
‘I’m ready,’ I say.
Jim’s eyes are still closed.
‘So am I,’ he says.
‘What for?’
‘You to get out.’
‘But, you’ll wait here, with my things, yeah?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘I’m leaving the mop,’ I decide. ‘I can do this alone.’
As expected, Jim opens his eyes, but only to shoot me a glance that confirms I sound completely crazy. I throw a quick smile his way, straighten my pinafore and my army jacket, smooth down the frizz of my hair one more time. I’m doing this.
‘Welcome to the Mad House,’ I mumble as I ring the doorbell.
Its chime hangs in my ears. My gaze goes up towards the front bedroom where I had – without doubt – seen Nick looking down on me yesterday.
Nick doesn’t live here.
Footsteps sound from afar, and then closer, closer, coming down the stairs. The door opens. It’s him.
‘Nick!’
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he sighs.
My feet, so cold inside my suede sneakers, feel light. I bounce up onto my toes. Nick seems tired, older than he looked on my laptop screen, as if six years have passed rather than six months. Apology is written all over his face, his dimples present, but not from his regular smiles.
‘I told you I would come,’ I say.
‘I didn’t think you actually would, though,’ he says.
‘Why? I did everything else I promised. I went to my friend’s wedding, remember? Even though I heard that George might be there? I promised you I would go, you made me believe I’d be okay, and I am. I’m okay. Why did you think I wouldn’t come?’
‘You didn’t tell me you were coming yesterday.’
‘Because it was supposed to be a surprise. For your birthday!’
‘Come inside,’ Nick says, opening the door wider.
I practically leap through the front porch and skip into the hallway. Falling into his arms, I expect Nick to catch me, to return the embrace. He takes hold of my hands instead, removes them from around his neck, squeezes them and lets go. I’ve never noticed a ring on his left hand before, and thank God, there isn’t one today either.
I want to ask what’s wrong, but I’m afraid.
‘I’m in shock, sweetheart.’
‘Good shock or bad shock? Actually, don’t answer that.’
Framed photographs of the two little girls are arranged across all of the walls: small cherubs sitting on furry white rugs; toothless smiles in green school uniforms. There isn’t a single picture of Nick to be seen. Certainly no wedding photograph; not within my view. Perhaps the little girls are his nieces and this isn’t his house. Except it is.
I’m willing my instincts to be wrong. Please, please, be wrong. Let the children be his nieces, his cousins, his best friend’s kids, anything but his own. Please. I can feel tears waiting in my eyes.
‘Tell me I was mistaken, Nick. Tell me I jumped to conclusions yesterday. And if you tried to call me, I’m sorry, my Dubai number isn’t working here in the UK. I bought a new SIM, but—’
‘Zara, stop. How did you find out where I live?’
‘Easy. Your emails.’
Nick’s face is so blank that I hardly recognise him. His regular laughter lines are invisible, his expressions dull instead of bright. I take my phone out of my army jacket pocket, show him the screenshot of his address printed in small letters below the company logo for Nicholas Consultancy. My eyes catch his and I never thought it possible to witness the blood drain from somebody’s face, but it does, and he gulps, as if he’s swallowing a hard, dry rock.
‘And I knew you worked from home,’ I say. ‘Is this your home?’