The Break-Up Clause by Niamh Hargan
Chapter Thirty-Five
Several hours later, Fia is looking around at a metaphorical sea of lawyers in the literal sea.
Upon arrival this morning, everyone got into wetsuits (an ordeal only ever exceeded in indignity by the inevitable process of wrestling out of said wetsuits). Then they split into smaller groups, had a talk about water safety, and practised on their surfboards on the sand, like beached whales. All of that seemed to go on interminably.
Conditions were also, it had to be said, less than ideal. Certainly, it was far from the coldest Fia had ever known an Irish beach to be – and, despite some fairly ominous-looking grey clouds, at least the rain held off. Still, though, it became clear very quickly that this was not going to be surfing like they did it in Summer Bay.
Between the weather, the basic fact of participating in an organized activity, and the forced jollity with lots of people whom she barely knew and would probably never really get to know, the whole thing was more or less a royal flush in terms of stuff Fia could very much live without. It reminded her of precisely why she had hoped never to attend another hen weekend in her life – although of course, it occurred to her then, she’d probably have to attend, and indeed organize, Maeve’s. Why did that make her feel so weird, thinking again about Maeve’s wedding? She wished it didn’t. She wished she could just be wholeheartedly excited about it, as any good sister surely would be.
In any case, having at last reached the main event, now, Fia can’t help but suspect that all the on-land preparation was an utter waste of time. Around her, in the water, the whole scene is chaos. Despite their instructors’ best efforts, most people either have given up altogether, or are being brutally battered about by a combination of the wind, the sea, and their own surfboard.
Only a tiny handful among their group have reached the stage at which this sport seems like it could actually feel unbelievably freeing and fun. One such person catches Fia’s attention after a while: it’s Ryan Sieman, out in the distance, riding the crest of a wave like he was born to do it. His sandy hair, slick with water now, looks five shades darker, his general bearing so easy and undaunted.
Fia doesn’t know how long she stands there watching him, the water up to her hips, her surfboard floating prostrate beside her, before she becomes aware of someone else watching Ryan, too. Or is that it? Watching her watching Ryan – that might be more accurate.
Stationed maybe twenty feet down the shore, half a dozen other bodies in between them, is Benjamin. He looks away in double-quick time once her eyes meet his, and steadfastly tries instead to mount his own surfboard once more. He does his best to catch the next wave that comes, and he really, very nearly, almost does … until he doesn’t. Seconds later, he’s tumbling off balance, emerging from under the water breathless and spluttering.
Fia watches as he spits out a mouthful of sea foam, unable to help the little giggle that comes. There’s no malice in it, though. In fact, some part of her is pretty concerned about that cut on his head. She’s inclined to agree with her mother that the water is no place for him right now, what with the potential for a second injury.
If it were Ryan? That might be fine. There doesn’t seem to be much risk of him, say, hitting debris, knocking himself out with his own board or body parts.
But, as it’s turned out, Benjamin didn’t lie to her. He can make friends, and he can fix tech issues, and he can play baseball. He can swim, and do half a dozen other sports well, and he can whip a cab like nobody she’s ever seen. He is, on top of everything else, probably going to make a pretty good lawyer. He is not a surfer, though.
She watches him try again, and be thwarted again.
Reallynot a surfer.
Thirty minutes later, everyone is mercifully allowed out of the water at last. ZOLA has arranged for burgers, pizza, beers, and hot drinks, all of which are being served out of food trucks on the sand.
Fia does some jumping jacks in her wetsuit to warm herself up and makes conversation about the weather and the food and the Celtic heritages of some of her American and British colleagues. It’s the best part of the day by far, and she wonders why they couldn’t all have done this – just this – in the first place.
She’s jogged a little away from the pack to put her rubbish in the bin when Ryan sidles up to her, ostensibly doing the same thing.
‘How were you so good out there?’ she asks him with a grin, once they’ve dealt with the preliminaries.
He chuckles. ‘I don’t think I’m headed for the World Championships or anything. But I’m down here most weekends. Just good to get the head cleared, you know?’
Fia nods, thinking of her runs in Manhattan. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘So, you disappeared yesterday,’ he begins, after a moment – not a question, just a statement.
‘I’m not actually staying at Garrett Castle,’ she replies. ‘I don’t get loads of time with the parentals these days, so I just thought I’d stay with them, commute for the few days.’
It’s Ryan’s turn, now, to nod in understanding. ‘Yeah, of course. Sure it’s a handy enough drive down the road. Saying that, I’m pretty sure everybody from the Dublin office is taking full advantage of the free bed and board for the weekend. Hard to beat that breakfast.’
Fia just smiles in response, and there’s a second’s pause before Ryan continues.
‘If you wanted a place to kip after the dinner thing tomorrow night …’ he offers then, and of course Fia hears what he is actually proposing loud and clear.
As has been very well established, she would normally be happy to take him up on his invitation. It’s just that, this year, she has had her family to occupy some of her time and energy during the Summer Summit. Her family and … other people. It occurs to her that perhaps what she needs in her life, at this juncture, is not to add yet one more element, one more complication.
But then, hasn’t that always been the best thing about Ryan Sieman? He has always been so wonderfully uncomplicated. He might, in fact, be precisely what she needs in her life right now.
If there is a part of Fia that is hesitant – that is maybe just slightly less enthused than she would ideally like to be, that instinctively makes a certain comparison in her mind – she pushes all those thoughts away. Stupid. Because it’s not, she reminds herself, like she actually has two choices here. She’s not a Regency lady, confronted with a pair of competing suitors. What she has is one reliable friend-with-benefits who wants to temporarily renew the benefits, plus, one … well, one Benjamin.
Benjamin, who only very recently stopped actively hating her guts; Benjamin, who might still be pining for his college girlfriend; Benjamin, who really should have no influence whatsoever on the way she lives her life.
So, Fia looks up at Ryan, letting her eyes widen a little, letting a half-smile play about her lips.
It has been a while since she has been in a nightclub, and she has begun to think she mightn’t mind never being in one again. In years gone by, however, she has frequently seen other girls on dance floors, essentially gyrating in essentially underwear, and she has only ever hoped that they personally found this activity to be lots of fun. Because, in Fia’s experience, there is absolutely no need to go to such efforts merely to attract the attention of the average heterosexual man. The basics work like a charm.
‘That sounds good,’ she says, a little coyly, and Ryan smiles back now, getting the message.
‘Well, I’ll look forward to it,’ he replies, and then he gestures up past the sand dune, towards the car park. ‘I’m just going to run and grab my phone from the car here, but I’ll see you in a minute?’
He’s looking at her hopefully, and she feels a little flash of fondness for him as she nods her agreement.
She makes her way back to the rest of their group, and as she gets closer, she sees Benjamin striding across to meet her. Even the visual contrast between him and Ryan is suddenly so striking to her, Ryan’s fair complexion the antithesis of Benjamin’s dark eyes and dark hair.
Again, Fia catches herself, berates herself slightly. It is pointless, making this an exercise in comparison.
Once Benjamin arrives within talking distance, the two of them just look at each other for a moment, greetings exchanged wordlessly.
With a jerk of his head (Fia is silently relieved to see no blood gushing from his wound), Benjamin gestures to Ryan’s retreating back, already well in the distance.
‘So … that’s your guy, is it?’ Benjamin asks, almost idly, as if it’s not much to him one way or another.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ she replies, and she lets her own gaze travel out towards the shore. ‘You were keeping a good eye on him out there, anyway.’
Benjamin grimaces in such a way as to pooh-pooh the very idea. He can’t seem to quite bring himself to deny it out loud, though. Maybe, Fia decides then and there, she can let herself do a little bit of comparison – have a little fun with this.
‘He was very good, wasn’t he?’ she continues wickedly. Needling Benjamin just seems, as it has always seemed, to come so very naturally. ‘Sort of majestic, you might say.’
Benjamin doesn’t fire back a riposte, as she imagined he would, though. Instead, irritation or some adjacent emotion is written all over his face. It makes Fia feel briefly … unsettled.
But, no. Her mind flashes back to this morning, when he was the one making her squirm, all too delighted with himself as he took in every detail of her bedroom. This is just what they do to one another, she reminds herself. It’s the game they play.
‘Oh, look, Benjamin,’ she continues, letting her gaze drift, gesturing with her hand. ‘It’s one of your friends. A whole load of them, in fact.’
Fifty feet away, a cluster of seagulls have arrived and are squawking around some sort of prize on the sand. A forgotten slice of pizza, potentially.
This time, Benjamin bites back a laugh.
‘Wow. Two out of ten for sensitivity, Fia,’ he says, and she can tell he’s doing his best to keep his tone serious. ‘Imagine you had suffered a trauma, and you were far from home, and then you were forced to re-confront that trauma …’
‘Well, it’s interesting you should put it that way. How do you think I feel every day you’re bunked into the corner of my office?’
He actually does laugh then, pulling a stupid face at her, and Fia does nothing to hide her own smirk.
See? she thinks to herself. This is just the game.