The Best of Friends, Alex Day [feel good books to read .txt] 📗

her drawing room coming to life before my eyes. The stunning view from the terrace, the blue sea dotted with white-sailed yachts, the cloudless sky, the town basking dreamily in the midday sun, its ancient houses clinging to the hillside that plunges down towards the harbour. And all around, the sensuous scent of lavender, basil, and mint suffusing the air. She’s lucky. At least she has that place, that beauty.

And then the picture mutates and it’s not Charlotte in my mind’s eye anymore, but me, climbing the steep steps from the beach, laughing, a flowing white kaftan billowing out around my tanned legs. Dan heaves into view, leaping the treads two at a time, revealing how fit he is. Entering the house, we make our way to the bedroom – to what must be our bedroom, because we proceed there quite naturally together – and as soon as the door is shut Dan pins me to the wall and is kissing me whilst deftly pulling at my clothes, releasing my breasts from my bikini, lifting my dress—

Shock brings me to my senses. The vision fades and recedes and I’m back in the cafe, clearing tables of soiled cutlery and ringing up prices on the till. I can feel myself blushing like a love-struck teenager and have no idea what on earth I’m doing thinking such things.

‘Morning!’

I jump out of my skin at the greeting and my heart hammers against my chest.

It’s Dan.

I’m sure he can read my mind and see what I’ve been dreaming about. My flush deepens.

‘How are you? Enjoying summer?’

‘Oh, sure,’ I reply, fighting hard to regain my composure, forcing the heightened colour to drain from my cheeks. ‘All good and the boys are with their dad so I’m young, free, and single for a while!’ I laugh to show I mean it ironically. ‘Sort of, anyway,’ I add, just in case there’s any doubt.

Dan nods distractedly. ‘I’m jealous,’ he says.

I raise my eyebrows questioningly. ‘Of me?’ I can’t keep the surprise and bewilderment out of my voice. I can’t imagine what about me Dan could possibly be jealous of.

‘Oh no, not you,’ he replies, hastily.

I am suitably crushed, my stupidity revealed.

‘I meant your husband,’ Dan continues. This is equally mystifying. Justin is divorced and single, not to mention being bankrupt – not a condition that usually inspires envy.

‘Oh,’ I gulp, inadequately.

‘Yes,’ Dan muses, seemingly lost in thought. ‘I sometimes wish I’d made more time for my sons, gone off on adventures with them, you know, with nothing but a torch, a bit of tarpaulin and our own wits to guard against the elements, wild camping, sharpening sticks with a penknife, hunting and shooting and fishing …’ His voice trails off as the fantasy grows.

‘Well,’ I stutter, not sure how to respond. ‘I mean, I guess it sounds nice … daring and testing and all that man stuff – but personally I’d say that a luxury villa in Corsica would be a much more preferable option.’

Dan smiles and looks suddenly more relaxed. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he agrees, ‘I’ve provided them with everything money can buy. They want for nothing. I shouldn’t feel guilty. It’s just that … well, Charlotte monopolises them so much, she excludes me all the time – she always has – until I feel that I’m not necessary to their happiness, that all I need to do is provide the money and that’s my job done.’

He looks so sad and woebegone that I can hardly bear it, and I’m also taken aback by these revelations and the confidences they contain. It’s more than he’s ever divulged to me before. Really, Charlotte has no business making him feel bad when he does so much. Earns so much.

‘I think you’re being far too hard on yourself,’ I say. ‘After all, we all have our faults.’ I desperately want to lighten the mood, to make Dan feel better. ‘Me more than most, I’m sure,’ I add, in a feeble attempt to do just this.

Dan smiles, humouring me. ‘I doubt it,’ he laughs. And then, with a voice that exudes finality, ‘enough already with the soul-searching! Charlotte’s ensconced for the duration with the boys in that luxury Corsican villa you mentioned and yours are out of your hair.’ His grin widens. ‘You should enjoy a bit of downtime, cut loose. Do the sort of things two children in the house prevent you from doing.’

I’m silent for a moment, my earlier daydream flashing through my mind again before I manage to banish it once more. Obviously he doesn’t mean to be suggestive, any more than he did when he made the comment about my athleticism when he was mending the tap. Men are like that; they don’t load everything with dual meanings like women do.

But then he obviously does realise that his comment is open to misinterpretation because he hastily adds, ‘As in, play lots of tennis without worrying about getting back to cook the dinner.’

He plops himself into a chair and scans the menu purposefully, for what reason I cannot imagine because he must know if off by heart and always orders the same thing according to what time of day it is. I’m relieved, in any case, for a break from the intensity. But as I wait for him to make his order, my mind wanders again, to his strong and dextrous hands, to his athleticism that belies his age, to that gorgeous crinkly smile that he seems to be bestowing on me more and more frequently these days.

‘Sit down, why don’t you?’ he says, gesturing to the chair opposite his and then around the almost empty cafe. He’s right; it’s really quiet just now but it will fill up soon. Everything is happening a little later during the summer holidays – morning visitors at nine-thirty or ten instead of eight, lunch at two or three instead of one.

I sit.

‘How’s Charlotte getting on over there, anyway?’ I ask.

‘She’s fine,’ Dan replies, shortly. ‘I think they’ve been keeping themselves