Page 41 of All Summer Long

Oh, she remembered. She just wasn’t certain that particular encounter between herself and Brad even counted, because he’d been so pissed he’d fallen asleep halfway through. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, now or ever.

‘So as long as we avoid those two places, we could maybe spend some time in the house?’ he said. ‘Because much as I’m fond of this old girl –’ he tapped the Airstream wall, ‘– it seems a shame to have all of those unexplored options, don’t you think?’

She did think. It had been one of the thoughts she’d had when they’d bought the manor. It was just going to feel weird being there in that way with anyone else.

‘It’s only as difficult as you make it, baby,’ he said softly, using that trick he seemed to have of looking inside her head.

Alice nodded and curled into his chest, and he stroked her hair until she fell asleep, into mixed-up dreams of her wedding day to Brad, only as she turned she saw Robinson smile at her in the congregation and started to panic. She woke up with a start, her heart racing, tears on her cheeks. The details of the dream left her as she settled back into the circle of his arms, but the unsettled feeling of panic remained.

The tree house was starting to look quite magnificent. It was watertight, and Robinson watched bemused from the kitchen window as Alice’s various eBay purchases and vintage-market buys rolled up the drive and headed out there. When the compost toilet installer’s van rocked up on the last Friday of May, he finally decided that enough was enough. Alice had held back on telling him why she was making such a thorough job of the tree house, but unless she was planning to actually move into it, then there was something he was missing.

‘Alice?’ he said, nodding briefly at the guys busily getting to work a little way from the base of the tree. His ubiquitous disguise of baseball cap and sunglasses served him well, they barely looked his way as he made his way up the winding steps.

‘Wow.’

He stepped inside and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, whistling in admiration as he did a slow three hundred and sixty degree spin to take in all the changes up there.

Alice stood in the doorway to the balcony. ‘You like it?’

The last time Robinson had seen inside the tree house it had been a musty, cobwebbed kind of space. Not any more. Alice’s renovations had given it the air of a cosy log cabin complete with a brass bedstead, low tables, a comfy looking sofa and pretty rugs. It was rustic chic and gorgeous, all pretty soft furnishings and cute curtains that made the place magazine worthy. It was quirky, and somehow it was totally, completely Alice.

‘The squirrels are gonna live well up here, Goldilocks,’ he said.

Alice looked at her boots. ‘It’s squirrel-tight.’

Robinson nodded, looking up at the ceiling. ‘And watertight, and bird-tight. In fact I’d go as far as to say it’s the fanciest tree house I’ve ever been in, Alice.’

She smiled guardedly, and he could see how proud she was of it in her face.

‘Feel like telling me what this is all about yet?’ Robinson deliberately phrased it casually, because for some reason Alice clammed up whenever he’d asked her about her project in the trees.

‘Meet me back here later on?’ she said, cryptic as ever. ‘About seven?’

’Should I bring anything?’

Alice looked at him for a long minute, and then said something that took the breath from his lungs.

‘I’d really like it if you brought your guitar, Robinson.’

He stared at her, and then turned on his heel and left her there.

Alice didn’t know why she was nervous. Robinson had been in Borne for over a month now, she’d grown used to having him around and felt easy in both his company and his arms. They’d talked about so many things. He knew stuff about her past, about her father, that she hadn’t told anyone else, and she knew that he’d fallen from a horse when he was seven and broken both of his arms. He’d seen her cry, she’d made him laugh, and she especially loved to see the look of intense pleasure on his face when he let go of his control in bed. They were close, physically, and on some level close as friends, even though they’d both acknowledged that they were rebounding like a pair of out-of-control frisbees and agreed upfront that theirs could only ever be a brief but glorious holiday romance.

The balcony of the tree house looked every bit as pretty as she’d hoped, the hundreds of tiny solar-powered white fairy lights she’d wound around the rustic struts of the balcony now glowed softly, having basked all day in energy-giving sunshine. Alice herself had enjoyed the warmth too, and her shoulders had turned a warm shade of pink to match the slick of gloss she’d swiped over her lips. It wasn’t the only effort she’d made for the evening; because they’d made this dinner arrangement in advance, it somehow had a more formal, date-like feel than their usual casual meet-ups. She’d dressed accordingly, braiding her hair around her head and digging a lemon sundress out to replace her usual jeans. She ducked inside the tree house and rummaged in the bag she’d brought over from the Airstream, pulling out salt, vinegar and cold prosecco, plus wine glasses to accompany the plates, and cutlery she’d already laid outside on the table. Stepping barefoot back outside onto the deck, she stopped, arrested by the sight of Robinson slowly crossing the lawns, handsome as hell in jeans and an open-necked dark shirt with his guitar slung across his back.

Alice found herself momentarily star struck. Without his guitar, he was just Robinson, the cowboy who’d come to stay. It was easy to disassociate him from his public persona because he didn’t speak of it and she didn’t really know of it, but seeing him coming towards her with his guitar was a stark reminder of who he really was, and where he really belonged.

She ran her suddenly clammy hands down her dress as he made his way up the tree and had managed to gather herself back together when he appeared inside.

‘Something smells good,’ he said, sliding the strap of his guitar over his head and propping it against the wall without reference to it.

‘Fish and chips.’ Alice had nipped down to the village chippy just before he arrived. ‘Thought it was time you tried a proper English dinner.’

Robinson smiled. ‘Maybe one day I’ll return the favour and take you for meat and three,’ he said, making her look at him quizzically as she started to unwrap the food from its paper.

‘Meat and three what?’

Robinson grinned, nostalgic. ‘Ah man, you’d love it. Meat first, so hot chicken or ham, or fried steak maybe, then three of whatever you like piled on the side. I’m a mac’n’cheese, collard greens and heavy on the biscuits kind of guy.’

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