Page 79 of All Summer Long

Marsh fell silent, clearly expecting Alice to put up more of a battle.

‘Dandy,’ he barked after a pause, rattling off his email address to send the information to.

‘Umm, what’s the weather like over there at the moment?’ Niamh asked, wondering what she should pack.

‘What do you think I am, the goddamn weather channel? Ask Siri!’

And with that, the line went dead, leaving Niamh standing alone in Alice’s kitchen. Fetching Alice’s flashing mobile from the table in the hall, she listened to Marsh’s messages and then pressed delete, hoping like hell that she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

In Nashville, things went from bad to worse for Robinson. Going through the motions wasn’t turning out to be as easy as he’d hoped; every time his cell phone buzzed he hoped against hope to see Alice’s name pop up on the screen, and then the ensuing disappointment each time it wasn’t her was like a hangover that kept on coming back.

It blindsided him; he just hadn’t expected to feel so damn bereft without her. His eyes were drawn to every blonde head, and his unreasonable heart sank every time it wasn’t Alice, even though he knew full well that it wasn’t going to be. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she was harder to get over than he’d bargained on; their summer of temporary love had been so incredibly sweet that he missed it terribly now he was back on the bitter diet of Lena and sheer hard work. Even the sunshine here felt different; harsher, more relentless, unleisurely.

‘Robinson?’

Lena’s voice rang out down the hallway like fingernails down a blackboard, making him bang his head on his pillow and vow to take her front door key back. This wasn’t her house any more. She’d forgone the right to let herself in unannounced when she’d allowed another man to bend her over the breakfast bar.

God, he wished he’d stuck with his plan to rise early and hit the gym. He was no great fan of pumping iron, but he’d take it over an unexpected audience with his ex any day. Maybe if he’d spent less time last night drinking bourbon with the band he’d have stood a better chance of honouring his good intentions. Sitting up, he scrubbed his hands through his hair and wished he was anywhere else but there. Actually, he wished he was somewhere very specific; back in England, wrapped up in bed with Alice in the Airstream.

He threw the quilt back to get up at the precise same moment that Lena flung his bedroom door wide, and for a moment they both froze.

She recovered first, placing her hand on her hip and raising her eyebrows as her eyes travelled slowly down to his naked crotch.

‘Not pleased to see me, honey?’ she drawled.

Robinson yanked the quilt back across and glowered at her.

‘Why are you here?’

She smiled. ‘I thought I’d make you pancakes.’

Wow. The woman was unbelievable.

‘Dressed like that?’

She glanced down at her skin-tight black mini dress and killer high heels.

She shrugged. ‘You always liked me in this dress.’

‘I still like the dress,’ he said, matter-of-fact. ‘It’s you I have the problem with.’

Funnily enough, he found he didn’t even like the dress much any more. It was so Lena’s style, and not at all Alice’s. He tried to picture her in it and found that even in his imagination she’d teamed it with her red rain boots.

Lena’s expression flickered, registering his comment.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready,’ she said, then turned on her spiked heel and closed the door on the room they used to share.

‘You’re still here,’ he observed, deadpan, as he walked into the huge kitchen half an hour later. He’d taken his time in the shower in the vain hope that she’d get the message and leave, but even as he’d let the water course over his body he’d known it was futile. Lena would still be waiting out there if he’d stayed under the jets all day.

She didn’t reply, just slid a plate of pancakes out of the oven and onto the breakfast bar.

‘I’m not hungry,’ he said, pulling out a chair at the dining table and dropping down a safe distance away from her.

Lena looked at the pancakes for a long second, and then picked the plate up with a cloth and carried it over to the dining table.

‘I made them for you, so you could be polite enough to eat them. I’m trying, okay?’

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