‘No idea,’ I said. ‘And screw him, anyway. He’s lost the right to know my travel plans. So on reflection, no. I won’t let him know about Carol. I don’t even want to say his name again.’

Patrick slowed to read the menu of a rib shack. ‘That’s the spirit,’ he intoned. And then, ‘I’m not actually that hungry, are you?’

I shook my head. ‘I ate nearly all of that sliced meat they put out at lunch,’ I said. ‘I’m good.’

The sun had lowered enough that the temperature had dropped significantly, and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to try and warm up.

‘Oof,’ I said. ‘It’s chilly now, isn’t it?’

‘Actually yeah. I think Bianca should be ready and waiting for us by now though. Shall we head?’

‘Good idea,’ I said.

Patrick rifled in his tote bag and pulled out a jumper.

‘Guess who had the good sense to come prepared?’ he said, holding it out to me.

‘Smart arse,’ I grinned, accepting it. ‘Who packs a jumper for the beach?’

‘It was cold on the way home yesterday!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m a quick learner!’

I pulled on the smooth navy wool he’d given me.

‘How do I look?’ I asked, rolling up the sleeves.

‘Oddly sexy,’ he replied, clutching his hand to his heart like he was outraged by the suggestion.

‘Sexy!’ I squealed. ‘Ewwww!’

His face fell serious. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It suits you.’

I picked up my bag and crossed it over my body, awkward at the suggestion of ‘sexy’.

‘You sure you don’t want it?’ I said.

‘Nah. Car is just up there.’

I could see the limo up in the distance, the headlights on to help guide us. Darkness was falling quickly.

‘Here,’ Patrick said, as we reached the rickety old steps we’d taken down. ‘Let me help you.’

He threaded his hand through mine, leading the way and holding on tightly to make sure I didn’t slip. I liked being looked after – to be looked after by him. His grip was firm and reassuring.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said. ‘It’s okay.’

I followed him.

‘Thanks,’ I said, as we reached the top. He stood, pausing for a moment, backlit by the car headlights so that he had a glow around his messy, sandy hair. He’d let go of my hand because we were already back on solid ground, but he took it again to guide me to the car door, opening it and squeezing lightly.

‘Thanks,’ I said, squeezing back, and we only let go so that he could climb in behind me.

19

He called Mona Lisa the next morning, over coffee on the balcony.