Mainlander. Will Smith

before the end of the summer holidays. They were about to start the last year of their respective sixth forms, where they were each deemed the coolest and most attractive of their peers. Rob had shown Emma the broken-down St Lawrence farmhouse he wished to buy one day and restore for her. She suddenly felt restricted, as though her life was being mapped out for her without her consultation, so her response was less than exuberant. Rob was hurt, declaring her ungrateful.

      ‘Ungrateful? For you telling me how my life’s going to be? There’s a whole world out there, Rob! It’s nice to have options.’

      ‘Options on houses, or options on guys?’

      ‘Both. This is all too much.’

      She convinced herself that the split was for the best, which was easier than admitting she might have overreacted. She knew it would sting to be dropped off by her mother on the first day of term, rather than by Rob in his open-top white VW Beetle. She would no longer feel like the unofficial Princess of the Island, and would need to control the agenda when news of their break-up rippled through the common rooms. The sting had the added barb that on the first day of term it was her best friend Sally getting out of his car at the school gates. Sally, whose gawkiness threw her own elegance into even greater relief, Sally, who only got her cast-offs, Sally, to whom boys talked so that they got to talk to herself. Sally had explained that she’d started dating Rob only after Emma had dumped him, in fact just days before term started. When Emma’s anger had increased, she had become defensive, citing Emma’s proclamation that she was unfazed at the demise of what had been a golden coupling, and her declaration that she could ‘do better than Rob’. After weeks of antipathy, Sally had admitted at a tearful café summit that she should have told Emma that Rob had asked her out, but she hadn’t known how to go about it: she’d felt awkward and guilty, paranoid that it wouldn’t last, and was scared of jinxing it. Emma and she had made up, unsure as to how the new power shift would affect their worlds but still best friends because, at their age, these things seemed cast in stone.

      Over their final year at school Sally’s status and confidence grew until she had become the cool beauty everyone wished to associate with, while Emma seemed to lose her bloom and momentum. Her bitterness and confusion seeped out, and her face hardened. Her eyes seemed permanently narrowed, which gave her the intimidating look of someone predisposed to disapproval.

      She became aware that the short-term boyfriends she acquired thereafter were facsimiles of Rob. She wasn’t sure whether she went for yachting alphas because she wanted Rob or simply to outdo Sally. They treated her badly, perhaps encouraged by her own lack of self-esteem. The only exception had been Dave Le Gresley, who had begged her to maintain a cross-Channel relationship when she had set off for the TEFL training college, even promising to follow her round the world if she went through with her travel plans. Dave had been too doting and would do anything for her. By then she had known only how to come second.

      And here she was, still coming second.

      Rob was on the phone when she came out of the bathroom.

      ‘Christophe, Louise on the front desk, she’s got to go … No, not because she’s Scouse, I don’t have a problem with that, but my wife will … Yeah, you know. Cheers.’

      He raised his newspaper and immediately made another call. ‘Rick, it’s Rob. How’s tricks? … Great, I want five thousand worth of Acorn … Because they’re going to replace the BBC micros in schools … Yeah, not just in the Island, across the UK … And a company called Exotech … Mainly copper … I want fifteen thousand of that … I don’t care how much it is, it’s going to go up … Because it’s in electrical wiring. Trust me, the amount I’ve spunked away having that farmhouse rewired, not to mention the bloody kitchens here, means I know what I’m talking about … Good, speak soon.’

      He hung up and began making notes in his Filofax, while she sat on the bed and combed her wet hair. Provoked by his silence and knowing time was short, she opened her mouth to resume their argument, then closed it. A lump in her throat had choked her off. There was only one sensible way their affair could end: lifelong silence between them. If she pushed him now that would be it. She hated herself for accepting the little he could give, but she needed it.

      She hid behind her hair. ‘You should get some monogrammed towelling robes.’

      ‘That’s all phase-three stuff, icing on the cake. We’ll scare the working classes off first, then go upmarket. Robes cost more than towels and one in five gets nicked. More, if it’s Scousers staying.’

      ‘How’s the restaurant doing?’

      ‘Not great. Refurb overran so playing catch-up from opening mid-season. Bar’s doing well, and at least Sammy Dee hasn’t come back. Had a major fight with Dad over that, but times change. Who wants to see some fat dick with a perm and a velvet jacket singing out-of-tune Sinatra in front of some tinsel?’

      ‘The guests presumably. Some of them come back year after year to see him.’

      ‘They’ll be dead soon, and until then they can stay at the Victor Hugo or Golden Dunes or one of the other morgues. I’m looking at the next generation, and they want something different. The Royal Barge have that guy who does Eagles covers – at least that’s only ten years behind. Right, done.’

      Rob put down his Filofax as Emma switched on the hairdryer.

      ‘You need better hairdryers too. This always takes ages.’

      ‘They’re all new.’

      ‘They’re no good.’

      ‘No more upgrades till I’ve paid off a chunk of the refit bill. Need people to tuck into those surf-and-turfs. Such a good mark-up on lobsters. I’d start pulling ahead a damn sight quicker if that’s all they ate.’

      ‘You were just buying and selling in tens of thousands! You can afford some decent bloody hairdryers.’

      ‘I need those tens of thousands to keep afloat.’

      ‘Women need a decent hairdryer.’

      ‘Are you complaining about the facilities in the free fuck-pad?’

      ‘I’d be complaining if I was paying.’

      ‘The old dears we get are happy to spend half the morning drying their blue rinses, and it gives their husbands time to lie on the bed and stare at the walls.’

      ‘You’ve got to invest in your business.’

      ‘I am investing in my business – too fucking much, as it happens. Can we not talk about this? It’s stressing me out.’

      Emma switched off the hairdryer. ‘I give up. I’ll let it dry on the way.’

      Rob reached for her hand. ‘Em, what we’re doing, it’s okay, you know. We’re just working through a bit of unfinished business.’

      ‘You’re tagging this on to when we were together before.’

      ‘Yes. It’s part of what happened then.’

      ‘As opposed to now.’

      ‘Now is different. We’re in different places.’

      ‘Do you think I’m a slut?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘I’ve slept with more people in this Island than you have. I mean, you’ve been with me and Sally. That’s it, isn’t it?’

      ‘Are you trying to make me feel inadequate? What’s your point?’

      ‘I’m a girl you sleep with but don’t marry.’

      ‘I can’t marry you because I’m already married. So are you.’

      She crawled across the bed and draped her arms round his neck. ‘I’m sorry … I don’t know what I’m saying today.’

      ‘If it’s too much, we can cool it …’

      ‘It’s not too much.