Back at the river site people were deflating their whales and unicorns, folding towels and gathering empty beer cans and plastic cups. Some were moving in the direction of the tents and caravans, some were taking stuff back to their cars and some were heading to the main field where a band was already playing. The euphoria from the jump had me chatting ceaselessly on the walk back from the pool, which had been a nice, steady, manageable gradient as Jimmy and I had fallen back from his group of friends. Once we’d packed the van ready for a quick getaway at the end of the night, and changed into evening attire (Jimmy doing it amid a cascade of glitter and bad words about his brother), we walked over to the main area, where it was set up more like a traditional English festival in a field. The only difference was it was warm and dry, and you didn’t have to wear wellingtons and a see-through rain poncho that you’d picked up at a pound store. And Alexa Chung wasn’t going to walk past and make you feel unworthy, fashion-wise.
Caravans serving food and drinks dotted the perimeter of the field and once we had a couple of beers each, we found a spot towards the back of the field and faced the stage. I didn’t know any of the bands but I enjoyed the music and loved being under the stars with a huge bunch of friendly, welcoming people. Jimmy’s group swelled as the night grew. Everyone knew someone who knew someone, and people came and went throughout the night. A handful of beautiful girls flirted with Jimmy. He had all the time in the world for them. But it became apparent that he had more for me. He kept checking if I was all right, if I had a drink, if I could see the band, if I liked the music and making sure I wasn’t getting tired. It was a heady feeling to have someone be so attentive.
Jimmy drank all night but he didn’t get messy, just sparklier and, if possible, more smiley. He was one of those rare people who become chilled-out and happy with drinking rather than boisterous and obnoxious. It was the kind of drunk I aspired to be. Although I was pushing thirty, so maybe I should have been aiming for self-restraint rather than being a cheerful inebriate.
‘I think I’d like to cultivate my personality without alcohol,’ I said to Jimmy as we walked back from a caravan that served beer in bendy plastic cups. ‘You know there are some people who are really cool and they don’t drink? Like Michelle Obama. I bet she’s cool without drinking. I think I’m only cool with liquor.’ I hiccuped and spilt beer down my leg. ‘I’ll start tomorrow.’
‘I think you’re cool all the time,’ Jimmy said as he threw an arm around my shoulder.
We walked back to where Jimmy’s gang of friends had been but the crowds had moved, so we stood at the edge of the masses and listened to the music. I was enthralled by a band with a bouncing frontman playing from a guitar made of an old petrol can, and an African woman who sang like an angel and could high-kick her leg up to her forehead. They were obviously an SA favourite because the crowd went crazy. Halfway through the night I stopped drinking. The portable toilets were disgusting and I was frightened a snake might bite my vagina if I went in the bushes like everyone else. Around 11 p.m. a DJ took to the stage. Laser lights streaked out over the crowd and everyone was jumping up with their hands in the air trying to break the beams of coloured light. Jimmy and I jumped up and down in time to the music laughing and falling over each other. He broke a few beams and I got nowhere near. When a pink beam pulsed above my head Jimmy grabbed me by the hips and lifted me up. I broke the beam with both arms and a whoop. He lowered me down, but kept his arms around my waist and looked at me intensely. Then his lips were on mine.
My sensible side, who’d clearly not been in attendance when I was visiting the beer vans, and who was sitting soberly on a straight-backed chair in her Mary Janes, spoke up.
You can’t do this. You have a boyfriend. You owe it to Pete to either work it out or extract yourselves from each other’s lives like grown-ups before you go around kissing hot guys who have been so kind and have the nicest family and a fucking bitch of a dog.
I allowed the kiss to continue a bit longer, hoping my wicked side would turn up, but she didn’t. She was probably at the front of the stage doing yard glasses with her cleavage out.
I pulled away from Jimmy.
‘I’ve been wanting to do that since—’
‘Oh please don’t say “since we first met”!’ I laughed kindly.
‘No, you had a boyfriend. And I thought you were uptight and a bit crazy.’ He grinned. His arms were still round my waist. The heat from his hands warmed my skin where my top didn’t quite reach the waistband of my denim shorts.
‘I still have a boyfriend.’
‘And you’re still crazy.’
We stood in each other’s arms while people leapt about around us.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, looking up at him. ‘I can’t do this. Not when Pete and I are . . .’ I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. I didn’t know what Pete and I were. We hadn’t broken up (yet), but we weren’t exactly a happy couple either. I needed to be sure we were officially over before I did anything with anybody else. ‘I’ve got some stuff to sort out before I can . . .’ I shrugged. ‘You know . . .’
The laser lights illuminated Jimmy’s face in pulses: pink then dark, green then dark, purple then dark. In the flashes of light I could see his disappointment. It was an intoxicating turn-on.
‘I understand,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I . . .’ He looked down at me, his hands still on my waist. ‘I really like you.’ He smiled. ‘But you know that.’
I put my head against his chest and his arms folded across my back. He let out a sigh.
‘Can we hang out tomorrow?’ I said. ‘Before you go to work?’
Jimmy took a moment to answer. ‘Sure,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll take you to my hangover place – it serves the best Bloody Marys and burgers.’
‘That sounds perfect,’ I said, genuinely gutted that in two more days I’d be on a plane flying away from Jimmy and Cape Town.
Jimmy’s arms tightened across my back as though he’d read my thoughts.
The music stopped soon after and by midnight everyone had made their way back to the van in various states of sunburn and sobriety. We piled in with damp towels and swimsuits, dusty feet and missing flip-flops, empty beer cans and bags of rubbish (South Africans were very environmentally aware), and drove back along the dark highway to town. It was 3 a.m. when we pulled up outside Diego and Ian’s and everyone was asleep except the driver and me. It took a while to wake Jimmy; he’d had much more to drink than I’d thought, and when I finally managed to get him inside we found Flora waiting at the front door. She trotted ahead of me as I guided Jimmy down the stairs to his bedroom and oversaw the removal of his shoes, shorts and T-shirt, which all came off with another gust of glitter, and the tucking of him into bed in just his boxers.
‘Stay,’ Jimmy said, patting the empty side of the bed. ‘ ’S too late to get an Uber home by yourself.’
‘OK,’ I said, looking around for something to wear.
‘Wear one of my shirts.’ He flapped his arm in the direction of his pile of clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing,’ he mumbled.
‘Who?’ I asked, crossing past the bottom of the bed towards his wardrobe.
‘Pete. He doesn’t deserve you. You should be with someone who appreciates how kind you are. And who sees how much you love your sister and your niece and nephew.’
I stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at Jimmy. He lay on his back with his eyes shut, a half-smile on his lips.
‘You should be with someone who likes eighties glam rock and mixes a mean margarita and can play the piano and knows how to make an origami Yoda and has really nice toes.’
‘Should I really?’ I said with a smile, thinking that I’d really like to see the origami Yoda.
‘Just a suggestion.’ Jimmy rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. ‘Juuuuuust a suggestion.’
I rummaged through the bottom of Jimmy’s wardrobe, found a clean-ish looking T-shirt and pair of boxers and went to the bathroom to wash the suntan lotion off my face and swish toothpaste round my mouth. When I came back Jimmy was asleep, snoring softly. I went to lift the sheets and climb in but Flora hopped up on the bed, curled into a ball of snowy fuzz on the empty side and fixed me with a defiant, black-eyed glare.
‘Fine,’ I whispered. ‘You win.’
I grabbed a pillow and blanket from the hall cupboard, walked across the room and lay down on Oscar the Couch. Once comfy, I opened Instagram. I flicked through Giselle’s photos, feeling a sense of loss at the images of Pete on rock faces, beaming at the camera. He’d developed a deep tan and it hurt to see how happy he looked. I moved to Goat’s feed and scrolled through. Goat had more shots of himself, strategically framed to show a particular watch, or backpack-water-pouch, or climbing shoe, but there were still a handful with Pete and Giselle. As I scrolled through, one he’d posted that evening caught my eye. It was of Goat standing at the edge of a bonfire, obviously giving a speech to the gathered muscled, tanned, kitesurfing, shark-disregarding weirdos. I zoomed in to the background and my heart sank. There, illuminated by the bonfire’s glow, sat Giselle and Pete. Kissing.
I’d recognise those pineapple board shorts anywhere. I’d bought them for him but he’d always been too embarrassed to wear them, preferring his navy ones with the white piping down the side. I zoomed in with my fingertips. Pete’s hand was at the back of Giselle’s slender neck, her hair in braids again. She had a hand on his knee. It was such an intimate pose. They looked like a couple in love.
Even though I’d known it was pretty much over between Pete and me, I covered my face with my hands and wept, trying not to wake Jimmy with my sobs. After a moment I felt something wet and cold touch my hand. Flora stood, looking at me, her black eyes shining. She cocked her head to the side, making her puffball ears bounce, then hopped up and nestled into the curve of my body.
