The Longest Holiday (33 page)

But the house would probably have got to me before long, anyway.

I hated going home right up until a couple of years ago, when Jorge dragged me there for the summer. He’s always loved going down to the keys – used to spend whole seasons with Carmen, her loser boyfriend and Javier, and would come back to Miami all chilled-out and laid-back. Eventually I caved and went with him. Best thing I ever did.

I caught up with Carmen last week. She dropped by to say hi to Jorge and me. She and Eric are still staying with her sister and brother-in-law, but it’s already frying her brain. She asked about Laura, which wasn’t a surprise. She’ll always have it in for her, doesn’t think she’s coming back, reminded me how she’d warned me to keep my distance. I told her to fuck off.

Maybe Laura missed the call. Perhaps I should try her again. I pick up my cell, hitting redial. This time it goes straight through to voicemail, a generic British chick telling me to leave a message. I hang up.

I head into my bedroom then pull my T-shirt over my head and unbutton my shorts before climbing into the bed. I’m too wired to sleep, even though I’ve been up all night.

Why did it go straight through to voicemail the second time? Has she switched off her phone? Didn’t she want to speak to me? I feel edgy and I hate it. No girl has made me feel like this for a long time.

Somehow I manage to get a few hours’ sleep, waking up to call her again, with no luck. I’m almost happy when the evening rolls around and I have to go to work. At least doing something might take my mind off her for a bit.

Why isn’t she answering? Should I be leaving messages? What if she’s angry with me for not calling her sooner? I pick up my phone again and press redial. Once more it goes straight through to voicemail. I clear my throat, waiting for the prompt to speak.

‘Hey, it’s me. Sorry I haven’t called. I lost my phone. Call me back.’

I hang up. Hopefully that will be enough. I grab my keys and lock up, jogging down the steps to my car. Maybe I should have said more. I hate leaving phone messages – never do. But I know she doesn’t like it when I’m too blunt. I’ll call her again later. Actually, I can’t. I keep forgetting the time difference. She’ll be in bed soon, if she’s not already.

Nerves hit me. She’d better not be in bed with him.

I climb into the car and screech away from the curb, angry with myself for being such a wuss.

Ashlee turns up around ten and I’m in a foul mood. I thought I’d be safe from her on a Sunday night. She tries to get my attention. I nudge Liam and nod in her direction. I don’t want to talk to her. Liam takes care of her and I move to the other end of the bar to take some guy’s order.

‘Hey! I was first,’ the girl beside him complains.

I pull away, annoyed with them both, but the guy shrugs and jabs his thumb towards the girl.

‘Two rum and cokes,’ she says.

I nod and grab two glasses. The girl leans further over the bar, exposing more of her cleavage. I glare at her as I place her drinks down and grab her money.

She looks momentarily taken aback, but has recovered by the time I return from the register. ‘Keep the change,’ she purrs, winking at me.

I turn back to the guy without reacting.

A few months ago I might have screwed her. She’s pretty hot, after all. But she’s not Laura. I miss her way too much, goddammit. I’ve got to get a grip.

‘Leonardo!’

I turn to see Ashlee calling me. She’s drunk, I can tell. I consider ignoring her, but I’ve tried that before and she’ll only get nasty.

‘What do you want?’ I ask her irritably.

‘I heard you were back,’ she replies with a smile, completely unaffected.

‘You heard right.’

‘Came to see you last night. Your boss said you didn’t turn up for work.’

‘I had to drive down to the keys.’

‘Is that right? You never did take me there.’ She pouts. ‘Hey, you want to hook up later?’ She raises her eyebrow and I remember that I used to like that flirty look on her, but now I hate it.

‘No,’ I say firmly.

‘I’m just trying to be a friend to you, Leonardo.’

‘Don’t.’

‘Well, if you change your mind—’

‘I won’t,’ I interrupt. ‘Gotta get back.’

She sneers. I take another order.

The bar quietens down around eleven, and that’s when Drew turns up.

‘Hey, buddy.’ I reach across and clasp his hand. ‘What can I get you?’

‘A beer,’ he replies.

‘On the house,’ I say when I come back with it.

‘So, how’s it hanging? You spoken to the lovely Laura yet?’

‘Not yet,’ I confess. ‘I only got my phone back today,’ I remind him unhappily. ‘I’ll try her again tomorrow.’

I told him all about us. Wanted to put a stop to him being so smug every time I mentioned her. As if he would have ever scored with her … He’s out of his mind.

‘Good luck,’ he says, glancing over his shoulder.

My heart sinks as I notice Ashlee catch his attention.

‘Hey, Ashlee,’ he says without any enthusiasm as she walks over to the bar.

‘How’s it going, Drew?’

‘Not bad, not bad.’

I scan the joint, but Liam is wiping down the bar top and there’s no one waiting to be served.

‘Have you managed to cheer him up, yet?’ I hear Ashlee ask Drew in a silky voice which irritates the hell out of me.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he replies, and I flash him a warning look.

‘What happened to that girl?’ Ashlee asks me. ‘The blonde British one you so obviously wanted to screw?’

‘You should quit drinking,’ I say menacingly. ‘Don’t you have to work tomorrow?’ As far as I know she’s still at that clothes shop on Collins Avenue.

‘I always sober up in time,’ she brushes me off. ‘So come on, then. Where’s the girl?’

‘If you don’t—’

‘You talking about Laura?’ Drew interrupts, trying to calm me down.

‘Yeah, that’s the one.’ Ashlee’s eyes dart towards me. I’ve spooked her, but I don’t care.

‘She’s gone back to England, hasn’t she, buddy?’

‘She’s coming back soon,’ I say through clenched teeth. I’m not sure I’m that convincing.

I wake up early, even though I’m tired as hell. I try calling her again. My nerves have been tense all night and they’re even worse now. Voicemail again. I almost throw the phone at the wall, but stop myself just in time, throwing it onto the bed instead. It’s not very satisfying, hearing it thud onto the soft mattress.

I should make a note of her number in case I lose my phone again (or break it). I find a pen and paper, then jot her number down and put the paper in my nightstand drawer. A moment later I get the scrap out again and try to commit the number to memory. I give up and try to go back to sleep.

I lie there for a long time, with scenes playing over in my head. I think about that first time she kissed me, the first time I took her to bed, and I get a hard-on, but then lose it again when I remember she’s not answering her phone.

I can’t believe that I resisted her for so long. I wanted her so much in those early days. She was beautiful with her blonde hair and blue eyes … And those legs! I wanted them wrapped around me from the first moment I laid eyes on her.

But then I got to know her, and I couldn’t get past the idea that she was married. I didn’t want to be like my mother, subject to someone else’s control. Now here I am.

What’s she thinking? I wish I could read her mind. She’s so frickin’ far away.

I huff and get out of bed, then take a shower. I think I’ll go to the beach today.

A week later she’s still not answering. I don’t get it. Carmen is furious. She reckons Laura is trying to tell me that she’s moved on – even Jorge agrees. But I don’t believe it. She doesn’t play games, Laura. It doesn’t suit her. She’d tell me if she was going back to him, I’m sure she would.

She said she loved me. She said she loved me, and I said nothing. I’m really proud of myself.

I can’t face work tonight so I call in sick. I have to get away. I have to feel closer to her somehow, so I’m driving down to Key West.

What if she never calls again?

I’ll keep trying her. She’ll have to turn her phone on again soon. Maybe she’s lost her charger … Nah, she’s got a newer phone than me; she could buy another charger. Still, it would be ironic. Serves me right for being such an idiot.

The house is dark when I pull up, but I know where I’m going and the street lights just about light my way. It still smells of fresh paint, but I can’t make out the colour of the shutters. They’re blue, like her eyes. I’ve been acting like a lovesick fool. If she has gone back to him, I’ll repaint them – if I don’t raze the house to the ground first.

I unlock the house and go straight upstairs to her bedroom. I push the door open, sniffing the air, but there’s no trace of her perfume. I go and grab her pillow, pressing it to my nose like a freak. There. Just there, wafting past my nostrils, like a ghost. I breathe in deeply and then lie on the bed, hugging the pillow. I’m glad I didn’t let her wash the sheets before she left. She liked it when I told her not to, that I wanted to be reminded of her. She smiled and said, ‘Aah,’ and then kissed me.

If Carmen could see me now, she’d commit me to an asylum.

The next day is Saturday and I’m not supposed to be back at work until Monday so I’ve got a full weekend ahead of me. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Probably head out to the Green Parrot tonight, catch up with some locals and sink a few beers, try to cheer myself up.

I go around the house and open all the shutters. It’ll be a pain in the ass to shut them again, but I’m not going to live in the dark for a weekend.

The house is so quiet. It’s weird walking through it, going into Carmen and Loser’s bedroom, Javier’s, Jorge’s … I miss them all, even Eric. Not something I ever thought I’d admit.

I end up in the bathroom, which doesn’t have a window. It still gives me the creeps, even all these years later. I stare at the bathtub and shudder, then go out and close the door behind me.

Even if I did put in new bathrooms, I’m never going to like that room.

Why am I even talking about new bathrooms? I’m not turning this place into a guest house, that’s an insane idea.

I go outside and drag the couch down from the porch to the yard, or garden as Laura liked to call it. I smile to myself. She’s a funny little thing. So cute with her British accent. I liked the way she said ‘offie’. Hell, I liked the way she said everything. I slump down and put my feet up on the rock, wishing I had her here now so I could pull her up onto my lap. I loved the way she needed protecting one minute and was so fiercely independent the next. I miss her warmth.

I take a cigar out of its case and light up, but after a few puffs I’m not enjoying it, so I put it out.

Damn, she was angry when she came home that time to find those chicks here. I laugh out loud and then quickly check the street to make sure no one heard me. I shake my head and lean back, remembering with amusement the way she thumped my chest. Woah, that hurt. But what came afterwards … I sigh. Then I pull out my phone and try her again. Voicemail. I decide to leave a message:

‘Hey, it’s me. Don’t know why you haven’t called me back. I’m in Key West. House reminds me of you. Call me.’

I hang up and feel utterly miserable.

The kitchen is a joke. Really. It’s been in this state for over three decades. If I replace it – and the bathroom, yes, the bathroom – it doesn’t mean I have to open a guest house, does it? Maybe I’ll look into that today. How much do kitchens cost?

A lot, as it turns out. More than my savings, but … well, my father’s cigar stash must be worth a bit …

That evening I go to Duval Street and talk to an old pal working in one of the cigar shops. I’ve known Herman for years – a permanently sunburned old guy who should have retired a decade ago. I head out back with him before I risk getting his opinion.

‘Cuban cigars? Real Cuban cigars?’

‘Yeah, none of this “made with Cuban tobacco seeds grown in the Dominican”. They’re the real deal, almost thirty years old.’

‘Whoa. I’ve got a guy in Miami who would love this shit.’

Obviously what I’m doing is illegal, but I’ve been illegally stashing them for years. Cuban cigars are still embargoed in America.

‘Can you get a price from him?’

‘You got any samples?’

I pull out my cigar case and hand a couple over. He puts one to his nose and sniffs.

‘Man,’ he murmurs, inhaling deeply before getting back to business. ‘Okay, I can give him a call, put you in touch—’

‘No, no,’ I quickly interrupt. ‘I don’t want to meet him, don’t want anything to do with him. No disrespect,’ I add, ‘I know he’s your friend. Can you broker the deal?’

He ponders this for mere seconds. ‘I’d need a cut.’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ll do it for twenty per cent.’

‘Ten.’

‘Fifteen.’

‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’ He shakes my hand and smiles to himself.

A week later I have more cash in my hands than I’ve ever had in my lifetime. I could buy a new car, I could go out and get wasted … What do I do? I go and buy a kitchen. I’m telling you, she really has got to me.

Jorge and Carmen come down the next weekend. I still haven’t heard from Laura and it’s like having an itch I can’t scratch. I think about her constantly. Without Jorge and Carmen to take my mind off her, I think I’d go mad.

‘I cannot believe you sold all your cigars!’ Jorge exclaims with amazement.

‘They weren’t tasting so good anymore, anyway,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’ Carmen asks.

‘I don’t know, nothing tastes good right now.’

She gives me a long look.

‘What?’ I ask with a frown.

‘You know, Alejandro’s taste buds went funny when he was depressed.’

I stare at her.

‘You’re not depressed, are you, Leo?’ She narrows her eyes at me.

‘I’ve felt better,’ I reply offhandedly, ‘but I’m not going to kill myself in a bathtub, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Funnily enough, my words don’t cheer her up.

Jorge turns out to be surprisingly good at DIY. We drink a few beers and tear out the kitchen, while Carmen goes to buy paint for the inside of the house. Eric’s in Miami, working. It’s good to have her here by herself; she’s always more chilled when he’s not around. Seeing her busy, helping out, checking up on me – it reminds me of her old self, when she first came into Alejandro’s life and sorted him out. Thought she was Wonder Woman back then. Couldn’t save him in the end, though. After his death, she thinks I looked after her, but it was the other way around. Not sure she can save me this time. Only one person can do that.