Fourteen ~ Regret

Usually I woke from the sun streaming through the curtains or the sound of Mum pottering around in the kitchen. Sometimes a notification stirred me when I'd forgotten to turn my phone onto silent. However, I wasn't normally jostled awake by someone climbing into bed with me.

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled at Mia. "What time is it?"

"Eight. Go back to sleep."

The confusion at her joining me in bed only caused me to gain more consciousness. Mia shifted her head to find a comfy position on the pillow and pulled the duvet further around her body.

"How did you get in? Where's Austin?"

"Your mom let me in," she replied, her eyes closed. "And I don't know where Austin is."

Sitting up, I abandoned the prospect of sleep and reached across to the bedside table for my hair tie.

"Talk to me," I said after I'd scraped my hair out of my face. "What's wrong? Didn't you go home with Austin?"

She rolled onto her back, drawing the duvet right up to her neck, but didn't open her eyes. Something had happened—or hadn't happened. It was difficult to tell, but Mia was undeniably troubled.

"Yeah," she said. "That was the idea."

"So, what happened?"

She sighed, finally opening her eyes but only to stare upwards at the ceiling. "I don't know. It got very weird, very quick. Maybe we weren't drunk enough... Or maybe I completely misread the situation."

"Did anything happen?"

She shook her head. "No. It's probably never going to happen, either. I guess we'll always have that kind of friendship, but we'll never cross the line."

Nothing happened? They'd been all over each other and Mia's house wasn't that far away—not far enough that they'd sober up en route, anyway.

"Okay... He walked you back, right?"

She nodded and shuffled to sit up, pulling the covers with her. "Yeah. When we were walking back, everything was normal. We were laughing and joking, and he was making suggestive comments. Then we got to my house, and he suddenly toned it all down. I was waiting for him to suggest I invite him in—by making a joke out of it or something—but he never did."

"So why didn't you?" I asked. "Why didn't you invite him in?"

"Because he's usually the suggestive one. I always push him away and he always persists. That's our dynamic. When he stopped being flirty, it really freaked me out."

"Perhaps he was nervous. Or worried you'd say no."

She sighed again and scraped a hand through her hair, the poker straight strands from the previous night now returning to their usual waves.

"I think..." she said, pausing to take a deep breath, "I think if I had invited him in, that would've been it. I wouldn't have asked him in for a chat. Things would have definitely happened, and maybe I'm still nervous about crossing that line."

"Can you talk to him about it?"

I assumed that was a sensible idea. Despite his light-hearted nature, Austin had demonstrated his ability to hold a mature conversation on more than one occasion. Mia looked horrified at my suggestion, though.

"No way. If it ever happens, it'll happen when we're drunk. That way, we'll have an excuse if it's awkward. If you do it sober, it actually means something, you know, rather than just drunken hormones; it suggests feelings."

"Austin puts up a confident front, but if he does like you, he'll be worried about showing it, too. That's the only awkward part about being sober—the acknowledgement that something else is there other than a drunken attraction."

"But I'm not sure he does like me. Maybe the appeal is that I'm off bounds as a friend, and if we slept together he'd lose interest because the chase is over, you know? That's probably what happened last night. We got closer, and it made him realise that everything would change. It's fine flirting on the beach, but when we're alone, it's completely different. It's like, he's not showing off in front of anyone and—"

"Mia. Please. You're over-thinking this. For all you know, Austin might have been too drunk to perform."

"Oh." Her eyes widened. "You think that's why?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? But you both seemed wasted, and can you imagine how awkward that would have been if you'd gone to bed together for the first time and he hadn't been able to get it up?"

She giggled, almost seeming to relax before another frown found its way onto her face. "I've just been reflecting on our conversation the other day, about how we decide our own fate... If I leave it much longer, he might meet someone else and I'll regret never making a move."

I nodded. "They say you regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did."

Mia's mouth curled upwards, and she squeezed my hand. "I love your attitude, Rose. Considering that Carringham seems to be all about opinions and reputations, you've really got your head screwed on."

I offered her a shrewd smile. "I'll come unscrewed again when I go back."

Pursing her lips together, Mia shifted onto her side to face me. "Do you feel like a different person when you're here?"

I mulled it over, the question seeming heavier the more I considered it. I was no longer as resentful as I'd been at the beginning of summer—I'd even go as far as to say I was enjoying it—but did that make me a different person, or was I simply adapting to a new environment?

Whilst being far away from my circle of friends had worried me at first, I now found it refreshing. Social pressures didn't exist here. I could do what I wanted without being judged. Even Brooke, who had tried to stir up something, had confronted me to my face rather than being sneaky about it.

"Difficult to say," I said. "They're different circumstances, different people, different situations. I suppose it's about adapting."

"Well, I don't think you've adapted. I think this is the real you, and that's why you're so happy. I mean, you've got to go back to London anyway, so why not make the most of here?"

"I am making the most of it."

She shrugged and kicked the duvet off her body, suggesting she was ready to get up and face the world again. "Okay. I'm just saying that this is your one chance to live your life the way you've always wanted. You should bear that in mind."

I frowned, not entirely sure what she meant. Instead of expanding on her point, Mia suggested we grab breakfast together. It niggled away at me, though, and I couldn't help feeling like she was trying to tell me something more significant.

~~~

When Alastair and I FaceTimed after lunch, I was amused to find him hungover. After breakfast with Mia, I'd showered, dressed and read on my balcony. For the morning after a night out, I felt remarkably fresh.

"It's so unfair that I'm the ill one," Alastair said with a groan.

Wrapped in his duvet, his washed-out face exuded sadness and his messy blonde hair suggested he'd not moved from bed all day. Considering how seriously Alastair took his appearance, he must have been suffering a lot. It was also a sign of vulnerability, helping me feel closer to him despite the distance. Needless to say, he didn't show vulnerability often.

"Was it a good evening, though?"

"It was okay. It would have been better with you there."

"It doesn't sound like I could've handled it," I said.

"I wish you were here." He pouted, lowering his eyes. "Our hangover days are the best."

"Except I'm normally the ill one and you look after me. I might be a crap nurse for all you know."

"I doubt that," he said. "You're great at everything else, especially looking after me."

I smiled at his gentle acknowledgement. It was easy to forget the good parts of our relationship sometimes, or easy to focus entirely on them at other times. I cared for Alastair, and I tried to show that as much as possible. Despite the recent difficulties, he looked after me when I needed it, too, providing a shoulder to cry on when upset and standing by my side to share more positive moments.

The thoughts filled me with both happiness and sadness: happiness because perhaps there was hope that things could work out for the better, but sadness because those special moments also drew attention to how lacking our relationship could be.

"Tell me about the party last night," he said. "Any drama?"

I laughed, ready to tell him that drama wasn't as rife over here, but I stopped myself. As it happened, Mia and Austin—and Brooke—were providing their fair share of it. Careful not to give away too many details through fear of betraying Mia's trust in me, I brought Alastair up to speed and listened as he echoed the same opinions I'd expressed earlier that day.

Although making a valiant effort at conversation, with each passing minute I noticed him becoming increasingly tired. When I said I'd head down to the beach to let him rest, he asked if I ever got bored with it.

"It's the sea," I replied with a shrug. "I like looking at it. There are no beaches in London."

"Is it getting busier? You must be hitting tourist season now?"

"Well, sort of..." I said. "You get the odd few families wandering onto it, but the main touristy areas are further up shore. I think most people either assume this beach is a private one or that it's too far away to be worth visiting. There are no shops or anything nearby... No bars or restaurants."

Alastair frowned. "If nobody uses it, why is the lifeguard constantly there?"

I shrugged, because it was a question I still couldn't answer. "I guess he just takes it very seriously, or maybe he's only paid to watch over that stretch."

With that mystery all but solved, we said our goodbyes, during which Alastair made another comment about missing me. Although warming to hear, I couldn't help wondering if he was just extra emotional because of the hangover. In an effort not to obsess about it too much, I did exactly what I'd told him: I set off for the beach.

~~~

Dark clouds hung low in the sky as I strolled across the sand. Usually a trip to the beach was a good excuse to sunbathe, but with no sun and the air becoming ever chillier, I couldn't work out what prevented me from turning around. Perhaps it was a habit. Or a new level of boredom.

Nevertheless, I settled down at the back of the beach between two dunes. The mounds of sand sheltered me from the breeze, to the extent that I stopped noticing it altogether. Deeply engrossed in my book, I failed to spot the black ink leaking across the sky and the powerful wind kicking up dust, until a large drop of water fell onto the page.

Looking up, I clocked Brent descending the steps of his chair. Another heavy raindrop drew my attention back to the book, and I quickly closed it from fear of ruining the pages. As I scrambled to my feet, Brent passed me.

"Do you wanna wait it out in here?" He nodded towards the hut. "It'll probably pass."

I glanced at the house, at least two hundred metres away, and decided that I—and my book—would likely get drenched if I made a dash for it. Not to mention I didn't fancy navigating those lethal steps in a storm. With the rain now falling steadily, I took up Brent's offer, trusting him when he said it'd pass.

Just as he opened the door, though, a bright flash of lightning lit up the ominous sky, accompanied seconds later by a deep roll of thunder. Swallowing, I stepped inside the hut, and Brent slid the lock across.

~~~

Thank you for reading :) xx

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