even like the spotlight she lived under back home, where folks brightened the stage so they could spot any false moves. Any mistakes. Any weakness.
No; this was pure, honest interest, the kind that made you feel interesting. And she wasn’t used to it at all.
“I… well,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I’m having a baby.”
She didn’t have to see him to know he’d faltered or hear him to realise he was shocked. There was a slight pause before he said, “Wow. That’s amazing. Wow. Congratulations!”
“Thanks,” she said, even though she didn’t feel like being congratulated. She hadn’t really achieved anything. In fact, she’d failed her kid already, falling pregnant by a man like Daniel.
But that was a negative thought, and she had decided to avoid those. Positivity was better for the baby.
“Are you staying at the house?” Samir asked. “Like you used to? Is your family here?”
“Yes, and no. I mean, I’m at the beach house, but no-one’s here. Oh, Dad died, actually. Ages ago. I don’t know how much you remember him.” They’d only been here six weeks, after all. A single summer holiday, during which her parents spent their time getting wasted, as always, and Laura had watched her little sister, as always.
And yet, it had been nothing like always. All because of Samir Bianchi.
“Oh, shit,” he said. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”
“Eh. His liver. Not like it was a surprise.” She hesitated, slightly guilty about her own dispassionate tone. “It shook Mum up, though. She’s sober now.”
“Huh.” There was a short pause that threatened to be awkward. Then Samir said, “So is she still an insufferable cow, or was that just the alcohol?”
Laura shouldn’t have laughed. If she were a good, respectful, sensitive daughter, she wouldn’t have laughed. But she hadn’t been good, respectful, or sensitive for a long time, so she practically pissed herself.
“Oh my God,” she wheezed, when she could finally catch her breath. “Jesus. You’re so unbelievable.”
“I’m just asking the question on everybody’s mind, angel.”
“No-one else is here, Samir.”
“My mind, then. Whatever.” She could hear that old, infectious grin in his voice, charming as ever. God, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognised him—even in the dark, even when all he’d done was grunt and swear and be fallen on. Surely, she should’ve known him. Surely, she should’ve known her first kiss, her first love, her first everything. The only person who’d ever made her understand the phrase best friend.
But it had been a while, and she wasn’t the person she used to be. He probably wasn’t either. And yet, he seemed so painfully familiar.
“Both my parents died,” he said, “if we’re doing a family roll-call. Car crash.”
“Oh, my God. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
He snorted. “Either you’ve forgotten everything about my parents, or you’re lying through your teeth.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her lips twitching. “I’m being respectful of the dead.”
“Don’t bother. I’m actually out here celebrating.”
“What?!”
“Well, it was five years ago today. And I was feeling especially belligerent, so I came out to brood. You know how my mother hated brooding.”
“Oh, yes,” she said solemnly, as if she couldn’t hear the teasing in his voice. “I remember.” Because really, his mother had hated everything. Anything. Whatever her children did, she’d disapproved of.
The worst thing about Samir’s parents—worse than the cruelty, the manipulation, the toxicity—was the fact that Samir had loved them. Unlike Laura, he didn’t see his parents as pathetic fuck-ups. He wanted to please them.
But they would never be pleased.
So if he really was out here to celebrate… well, maybe she should be horrified, but really, she was glad. She hoped that he finally hated their guts. It was the very least they deserved.
“How’s your brother?” she asked, just to say something.
“Hassan? Boring. Married. He and his husband are in the RAF, can you believe that? They’re stationed in the Falklands.”
“Really? Military?” She wrinkled her nose. Samir’s twin had been, if possible, even wilder than him.
“Yeah; he says it helps with his temper. The order keeps him calm. “
“What keeps you calm?”
“Frequent masturbation,” he said dryly.
It was a totally Samir thing to say. It was the sort of statement that had made her half-terrified, half-intrigued when they’d met as fifteen-year-olds. She’d never known anyone so casually outrageous, someone who said whatever came into his head and only wanted to make other people smile. But now, for some reason, the sharp honesty didn’t make her giggle. It made her swallow, hard, and clear her throat, and fidget awkwardly in the sand.
He must have