Summer's End Read online

  Marianne wondered if the blush creeping up her cheeks was visible. She hoped not. “Forty-one on Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Emily’s eyes grew a little wider. “Really?” She seemed to have recovered from her earlier slip-up. “Are you having a party?”

  Marianne relaxed back into her chair. “I’m not really one for celebrating anymore.”

  “Oh.” Emily looked at her through squinted eyes.

  “Besides, I’m working.”

  “Are you always working?” Emily placed her empty bottle on the table. “Is it just you here?”

  “I employ two people to clean the rooms and do the dishes, but I manage all the rest.” Not that there was so much to manage. Marianne didn’t feel as if she was running a business. She considered the people who came to stay at the lodge more houseguests than customers. Sometimes, a few days went by without visitors, and that was fine by her as well. She didn’t advertise The Red Lodge on the internet. Everyone who stayed here, arrived either by chance, by word-of-mouth, or because of the flyers she had delivered to a few choice establishments in Bangkok and Chiang Mai.

  “What if someone has a special request?” Emily reached for another bottle of beer, uncapped it with the beer opener tied to the bucket and handed it to Marianne.

  “Like what?” Marianne accepted the beer.

  “A birthday cake delivery.” Emily grinned at her and only now did Marianne notice how her smile dimpled her cheeks.

  “I’m always very upfront with my guests about what’s possible and what’s not.” She placed the cool bottom of the bottle on her thigh. “But if someone wants to celebrate their birthday here, they’re very welcome and I will make some calls.”

  “God, you really are British, aren’t you?” Emily mock-sighed.

  “How can you possibly tell?” Marianne made an extra effort to sound as stiff and posh as possible.

  Emily burst out in a little giggle before a silence fell between them.

  “You must be hungry?” Marianne’s caring instinct kicked in. “Shall I fix us some dinner?”

  “You do the cooking as well?” Emily had drawn up both her legs and slung her arms around them, her chin resting on her knees. She looked ten years younger than her age in that position.

  “You make it sound like a chore.” Marianne stood up. “A full house means six guests, and that’s a rarity. It’s really no trouble.”

  “Do you have a menu?”

  “No.” Marianne was surprised at the sudden harshness that had crept into her voice—it rarely happened that guests had that effect on her. She quickly corrected herself. “Do you have any allergies I should know about?” She recognised her reaction, though. But she knew how to be careful.

  “None. Thanks.” Emily was still looking up at her.

  “Dinner in about an hour?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “There’s no dress code by the way.” She only mentioned it because Emily—even when wet from swimming in the ocean and relaxed with a beer in her hand—looked like the kind of girl who was used to dressing up for dinner.

  “Do you need help?”

  Marianne wasn’t expecting that question.

  “Can you cook?” She felt a smile tug at her lips. The girl is full of surprises.

  “A little. I took some classes back home and a chef with a name so long I can’t possibly remember it taught me how to make a mean curry when I was up north.”

  “If you can chop a vegetable without losing a finger, you’re very welcome in my kitchen.” Cooking was always such a solitary, meditative time for Marianne, but she didn’t mind the intrusion. “I’m just going to freshen up first. Get out of this bikini.”

  “If you must.” Emily winked at her and Marianne felt the blush rise again. She quickly made her way inside and pretended she hadn’t heard.

  Maybe Emily wasn’t the spoiled little brat she had—admittedly—first taken her for. Even so, Marianne made a mental note to make it absolutely clear that her birthday was not an event to be celebrated.

  EMILY

  Had she been flirting with the Lodge owner? What on earth had possessed her? Emily looked at herself in the mirror in her room. She hardly still resembled the girl who had boarded a plane for Singapore three months ago. Her hair was so long and light in colour. The blue of her eyes popped out against the brown of her skin. She’d always believed that, just like her mother, she had no talent for tanning, but look at her now. Persistence really did help. Not always though. She’d tried long enough with Jasper. She had persisted. It still hadn’t worked.

  She looked skinnier as well. Maybe even too skinny, although her mother would certainly not agree with that. What would she do when she got back? Take the position at her father’s company that had been reserved for her since she was born? She hadn’t excelled academically like her two brothers, hadn’t breezed through university like everyone else in the family—even her mother in her day, if she was to be believed.

  Here she stood, three months older but none the wiser. Maybe a real conversation with a non-judgmental stranger was exactly what she needed. Someone far removed from the situation, but with enough knowledge of social pressure and family ties to understand. Marianne seemed to fit that bill quite perfectly.

  And she was younger than her mother—by ten years even. The confirmation hadn’t just come from Marianne announcing the number. It was as if Emily had seen her grow younger before her very eyes. Obviously, something had happened in the woman’s life. Something devastating enough to chase her out of her home country and make her hate her birthday, but Emily had seen her perk up. She had noticed the laughter lines crinkle around her temples, and she’d been amazed at how Marianne’s biceps curved from under the wet sleeve of her t-shirt when she brought the bottle of beer to her mouth.

  By god. She had been flirting. What should she wear for dinner? She tore herself away from the mirror and rummaged through her backpack. Every single item of her clothing was either severely wrinkled or plain dirty. She fished out a white tank top that had seen brighter days, but at this stage of her trip, it was the best she could come up with. She finished her casual outfit with a pair of skimpy jean shorts. Not that she was trying to dress to impress. The utter foolishness of it.

  Emily found Marianne in the kitchen downstairs. She inadvertently blinked when she walked in. Should women over forty not always wear a bra? Even merely to counter the laws of gravity? Marianne obviously didn’t think so. Maybe she was one of those wild chicks her mother sometimes talked about with a wrinkle of disgust curling under her nose. The ones who burned their bra and regarded them as a symbol of female oppression.

  “Hey,” Marianne greeted her.

  She’d been so absorbed with stealing glances at Marianne’s chest that she hadn’t even taken in the kitchen yet. It looked as if it had been designed by Nigella Lawson herself.

  Emily whistled between her teeth. A cat call the old her would never have dared to utter. Then again, this wolf whistle was only aimed at the stainless steel of the kitchen and the pots and pans suspended from hooks along the walls. “Jesus. I’m not a psychologist, but could there be some overcompensation going on here? You know, like middle-aged men with flashy sports cars?”

  Marianne looked her over. It was hard for Emily to keep her gaze fixed on her face because the chef’s nipples clearly had a life of their own and poked pointedly through the flimsy fabric of the faded The Cure t-shirt she now had on.

  “But no chef’s whites, huh?” Emily couldn’t help herself.

  Marianne flushed bright red. A typical British complexion. Emily knew all about that herself and she instantly felt sorry for her host.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be untoward.” The conservatively raised girl in her—the one she’d been trying to escape the grips of on this trip—bubbled to the surface.

  “My fault entirely,” Marianne said with slightly bowed head. “They’re not usually so… disobedient.”

  They both burst ou
t laughing at the same time. Not just giggles, but loud cackles that served more to release the tension than to mark the comic quality of the situation.

  “What’s cooking?” Emily asked after the waves of laughter had subsided.

  “Pad Thai all right? It’s not very original, but I make my own version and it’s not too shabby.”

  “Sounds wonderful. What can I do?”

  “If you could chop those, that would be wonderful.” Marianne pointed at a bunch of green onions.

  They seemed to have been left there for the sole purpose of audience participation as Marianne visibly had everything else under control. She worked quickly and methodically—like the chefs in professional kitchens on TV—and by the time Emily had sliced the onions the kitchen smelled like the essence of Thai food: fiery peppers, garlic and a delicious mix of spices. Emily suddenly felt quite hungry.

  For the next twenty minutes she watched Marianne assemble the dish. Almost entranced by her graceful movements around the designer kitchen, Emily hardly noticed Marianne’s bra-less state anymore—except when she reached up to grab something from a cabinet above the cooker.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Marianne said, with a smile so bright it stirred something in the pit of Emily’s stomach. Or maybe it was just hunger.

  MARIANNE

  They ate dinner while staring out into the fleeting light of dusk. Marianne loved the time of day—because it was hardly evening yet—when the ocean seemed to disappear and all that remained was the spot she created for herself with candles and discreet lighting.

  “It’s so quiet here,” Emily said. If she was enjoying the food, she hadn’t said so yet, which was terribly un-upper class of her. Marianne suppressed a smile at the thought.

  “That’s why I love it.” She chewed on some noodles while contemplating if she should continue, but then didn’t hesitate. As if, for some reason on this evening, it needed to be said. “It’s the only place where I can find some sort of peace.”

  Marianne could tell Emily didn’t immediately know how to respond to that. She fidgeted with a piece of chicken on her plate and avoided her gaze. When she finally did look up, Marianne was surprised by the intensity in her eyes.

  “I gathered as much.” She put her fork down. “Hey, I’m running from something too.” Emily’s voice had gone soft, barely a whisper against the light breeze sweeping in from the sea. “And if you can’t be at home, this place isn’t half bad.”

  An opening. Marianne took it. “What are you running from?”

  The corners of Emily’s mouth curled into a tight smile, as if she’d been waiting for the question and the right time for it to be asked.

  “A terribly expensive wedding and a subsequent life I stopped being able to imagine, I guess.”

  Marianne couldn’t hold back a grin at being subjected to more dramatic vagueness. “Did you leave him at the altar?”

  “As good as.” She reached for her beer. “It broke my heart as much as it did his, you know. But of course no one could see that. He was my best friend for five years, my life really, and I loved him—I still love him, I always will—but as our wedding day approached, an uneasiness kept building inside of me. First, I brushed it off as nerves because I simply couldn’t stop lying to myself. I’d been doing it for so long by then. And it was so easy with him.” She took a breath before continuing. “But I knew in my heart that it wasn’t right to promise eternity when I couldn’t even face the next day.” Emily fell silent, but Marianne didn’t press her. She was starting to put the pieces together and, oddly, despite the sadness creeping into Emily’s expression, Marianne grew excited about the words she suspected to hear next.

  “All throughout planning the wedding, which was to be a momentous occasion for both of our families, I’d fooled myself into believing that the love I felt was enough. That it was based on a solid, deeply-rooted friendship and what could possibly be more important than that?” She shook her head. “But one day I looked at myself in the mirror and asked my reflection how on earth I had become a twenty-four-year-old who didn’t allow herself any passion. I mean, my family’s not very big on passion and I’ve always been taught that getting along well with your partner is so much more valuable and sustainable than that ‘short bout of foolishness’—my mother’s words—at the beginning of a relationship.” Emily’s fingers seemed about to strangle the neck of the bottle she was holding. “That’s when I realised my idea of love had been wrong all along. And that I didn’t want to end up twenty-five years later giving the same advice to my daughter.”

  She took a long gulp from her beer and some of it ran down her chin. She wiped it off with such a sweet, almost child-like gesture.

  “It’s like when you make a puzzle and the last pieces just won’t fit and you cram them in anyway. As if that’s what I’d been doing with my life. Well, one day, they’re going to come loose and nothing clicks anymore.”

  Marianne was amazed by the sudden clarity in Emily’s words and by the eloquence she displayed in explaining something so personal and complex. “Wow.” She didn’t really know if she should speak yet, but the need to acknowledge Emily’s confession as something big and valid and true was too great. “That must have taken a lot of courage.” Marianne had no trouble picturing Emily’s family. She had one just like it of her own.

  “It wasn’t even courage. It was just… need. An undeniable desire for something else.” Emily drew her eyes into slits. Marianne noticed the sparkle of the first tear that gathered in the corner of her eye.

  “I mean… I know what I want, I’ve known all along, really. I just…” She paused. “I just haven’t allowed myself to give in to these feelings ever, which is silly and stupid in so many ways, but I always had Jasper and I thought I always had to give it at least one more try…” She wiped away the lone tear running down her cheek. “And I would never have cheated on him, not on anyone.”

  Poor girl. All of this had been bottled up inside of her for years. For some it was so easy, while others just found it so difficult. Marianne briefly reflected on her own life and how simple love had been before it had become cruel and nearly destroyed her. “Have you ever told anyone about this before?”

  Slowly, Emily shook her head. The tears started streaming rapidly now, painting tracks on her cheeks that reflected in the flicker of the candlelight.

  Marianne moved out of her chair to give Emily a hug.

  EMILY

  Embarrassment was not the right word to describe how Emily felt, it was more a mixture of quiet shame for rambling on like that and an enormous sense of relief. Marianne’s arms around her only acted as more of a catalyst to let her emotions run free—mostly in the shape of tears raining down her cheeks.

  But what was this? Three months of endlessly mulling it over in her head and she still couldn’t say it? Was she that afraid of who she really was? Could she even say the word out loud?

  “I know I’m a complete outsider on this matter.” Marianne’s mouth was very close to Emily’s ear. “But it sounds to me as if you’ve made the right decision.”

  Emily nodded. She knew that much, but that decision was only the beginning. Walking away was hard, but going back and starting anew would be even harder.

  “I’m sorry for blubbering like this,” she managed to say. “Trust me, I’m not usually like this.” She felt a chuckle make its way through Marianne’s muscles.

  “There’s no one here to judge you.”

  This simple remark from Marianne set loose another round of tears, because that’s exactly what it came down to in the end. To be free from any judgement and all the expectations heaped upon her from the day she was born. It was the reason why Emily had hopped on that plane and had flown all those miles.

  “I—” she started. “I like…”

  Marianne’s arms hugged her tighter, as if wanting to squeeze the words out of her.

  “I like girls… women, I mean.” The words tumbled clumsily out of Emily’s mouth. She was on a
beach in Thailand in the company of a woman she barely knew—a kind stranger she had just happened upon—and Emily didn’t know what she had expected to occur the instant she finally dared to say it, but the moment could not have felt more right. She’d reached the end point of her journey and soon she’d be ready—really ready—to go home.

  “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.” Marianne’s grip on her loosened, her hands snaking to Emily’s neck. A ball of fire seemed to come alive underneath Emily’s skin, as if, now that she’d finally said it—confessed her secret to a perfect stranger—she was allowed to feel it too.

  As if she had no choice at all, she stopped thinking and placed her hand on Marianne’s. She snuck her fingers around the woman’s palm and held on for dear life—as if her body was convinced she’d never meet anyone as sympathetic as this again.

  “It’s going to be all right.” Marianne briefly dug her fingers into the flesh of Emily’s shoulders, sending a jolt of lightning through her body, before retreating. She let her hand slip out of Emily’s grasp and kneeled beside her. “Believe me, I’ve been where you are and I know.”

  “W-what?” Emily felt her eyes grow wide.

  “I received my toaster oven a long time ago.”

  Emily pinched her eyebrows together and, confused, repeated, “What?”

  “Silly inside lesbian joke, never mind.” Marianne patted her on the thigh and returned to her seat.

  Clearly Emily was not enough of a lesbian yet to get it.

  “I’ve never…” She felt heat rise from her neck to her cheeks. “You know.”

  “What?” Marianne tilted her head, clearly adamant to not cut Emily any slack with this part of her impromptu confession. “Had a slice of toast before?” Her lips curled into a smile, breaking her face into a kind, gentle expression. The crow’s feet around her eyes crinkled beautifully.