“I wasn’t thinking anything!” I cut her off brightly. “Nothing!”
“Good.” She smiles again, showing perfect teeth. “It’s lovely you’ve come back. Lots of good memories, I hope?”
“Yes, loads.”
“It was an awesome summer.” She sips her coffee. “That was the year Big Bill was out here. Did you know him?”
“Yes, I knew Big Bill.” I unbend a little. “And Pinky.”
“And the two Neds? They got arrested one night when I was here,” she says, grinning. “They were thrown into jail, and Dad had to bail them out.”
“I heard about that.” I sit up, suddenly enjoying this conversation. “Did you hear about the fishing boat sinking?”
“God, yeah.” She nods. “Dad told me about it. What with the fire, it was, like, the year of disasters. Even poor Ben got the flu. He was really ill.”
What did she say? The flu?
“The flu?” I echo, in a strangled voice. “Ben?”
“It was awful.” She draws her brown feet up onto her chair. “I got quite worried about him. He was delirious. I had to nurse him through the night. I sang him Joni Mitchell songs.” She laughs.
My brain is whirring in a panic. It was Sarah who nursed him through the flu. Sarah who sang to him.
And he thinks it was me.
And that was the moment he “knew he loved me.” He told a whole audience so.
“Right!” I say, trying to sound relaxed. “Wow. Well done, you.” I swallow. “But no point dwelling on the past, eh? So, er … how many guests do you have at the moment?”
I want to get off this topic fast, before Ben comes back. But Sarah ignores me.
“He said the funniest things while he was delirious,” she reminisces. “He wanted to go flying. I was like, ‘Ben, you’re ill! Lie down!’ Then he said I was his guardian angel. He kept saying it, over and over. I was his guardian angel.”
“Who’s your guardian angel?” Ben’s voice greets us. He appears on the veranda, holding a glass. “Your dad’s taken a call, by the way. Who’s your guardian angel?” he repeats.
My stomach is churning. I have to stop this conversation right now.
“Look at that olive tree!” I say shrilly, but both Ben and Sarah ignore me.
“Don’t you remember, Ben?” Sarah laughs easily, throwing back her head. “When you had the flu and I nursed you through the night? You said I was your guardian angel. Nurse Sarah.” She pokes him teasingly with her foot. “Remember Nurse Sarah? Remember the Joni Mitchell songs?”
Ben seems almost frozen. He glances sharply at me, then back at Sarah, then at me again. His brow is riven with confusion.
“But … but … you nursed me, Lottie.”
My cheeks have flamed red. I don’t know what to say. Why did I take the credit for nursing him, why?
“Lottie?” Sarah says in surprise. “But she wasn’t even there! It was me, and I’m getting the Brownie points, thank you! I’m the one who sat up and mopped your brow till dawn. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that,” she adds, mock reproachfully.
“I haven’t forgotten,” says Ben, his voice suddenly intense. “Jesus! Of course I haven’t forgotten! I’ve remembered that night all my life. But I remembered wrong. I thought it was …” He looks accusingly at me.
I’m prickling all over. I have to speak. Everyone’s waiting.
“Maybe I got confused.” I swallow hard. “With … another time.”
“What other time?” demands Ben. “I only had the flu once. And now it turns out you didn’t nurse me, Sarah did. Which I find confusing.” His voice is hard and unforgiving.
“I’m sorry.” Sarah looks from face to face, as though she’s picked up on the tense vibe between us. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is!” Ben puts his fist to his head. “Don’t you realize? You saved me. You were my guardian angel, Sarah. This changes—” He stops himself.
I stare at him in indignation. This changes what? I was his guardian angel till three minutes ago. You can’t just switch guardian angels because you feel like it.
“Not that again!” Sarah shakes her head, smiling. “I told you,” she adds to me, as though trying to lighten the atmosphere. “He said all kinds of crazy stuff about angels and all sorts. Anyway.” She clearly wants to get off the subject herself. “So. What do you guys do for a living?”
Ben glares at me, then takes a slug of whiskey. “I make paper,” he begins.
As he’s explaining about his paper company, I sip my tepid coffee, trembling a little. I can’t believe my stupid white lie came out. But neither can I believe how seriously Ben is taking it. For God’s sake. Who cares who nursed whom? I’m so distracted, I tune right out of the conversation, then wake up when I hear the words “move abroad” from Ben. Is he talking about France?
“Me too! I’ll probably sail around the Caribbean for a while,” Sarah is saying. “Do a bit of teaching to make money. See how it goes.”
“That’s what I want to do too.” Ben is nodding vigorously. “Sailing’s my passion. If there’s one thing I want to do in the next two years, it’s spend more time on my boat.”
“Have you ever sailed the Atlantic?”
“I want to.” Ben’s eyes light up. “I want to get a crew together. You in?”
“Definitely! And then a season sailing in the Caribbean?”
“It’s a plan!”
“Settled.” They high-five each other, laughing. “Do you sail?” adds Sarah politely to me.
“Not really.” I’m staring at Ben, seething. He’s never mentioned sailing the Atlantic to me. And how’s that going to fit in with buying a French farmhouse? And what’s all that matey high-fiving about? I want to address all of this straightaway, but I can’t in front of Sarah.
I suddenly wish we’d never come back here. Arthur was right. Don’t revisit.
“So you’re selling up?” I say to Sarah.
“Yeah.” Sarah nods. “It’s a shame, but the party’s over. The hostel took away our business. They’re buying the land. They’ll build more units.”
“Bastards!” says Ben angrily.
“I guess.” She shrugs, sanguine. “To be honest, business was never that great after the fire. I don’t know how Dad has limped on for so long.”
“The fire was terrible,” I chime in, glad to move on to a subject I can talk about. I’m hoping someone will mention the way I brilliantly took command and saved lots of lives, but all Sarah says is, “Yeah, what a drama.”
“It was a faulty cooker or something, wasn’t it?” says Ben.
“Oh no.” Sarah shakes her head, and her earrings make little chinking noises. “That’s what they thought at first. But then they worked out it was someone’s candles. You know, in a bedroom. Scented candles.” She glances at her watch. “I must get my casserole out. Excuse me.”
As she disappears, Ben takes a sip of Scotch, then he glances at me and his expression changes.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns. “Lottie? Are you OK?”
No, I’m not OK. The truth is so hideous, I can hardly contemplate it.
“It was me,” I whisper at last, feeling sick.
“What do you mean, it was you?” He looks blank.
“I always had scented candles in my bedroom!” I whisper savagely. “Remember? All my candles? I must have left them alight. No one else had scented candles. The fire was my fault!”
I’m so shocked and distraught, tears are starting to my eyes. My great moment of triumph … It’s all turned to dust. I wasn’t the heroine of the hour. I was the thoughtless, stupid villain.
I’m waiting for Ben to throw his arms around me, or exclaim, or ask me more questions, or something. Instead, he looks uninterested.
“Well, it was a long time ago,” he says at last. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”