Page 52 of High Season

THIRTY-NINE

THE NIGHT OF THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

The terrace was empty, everyone sheltering in the artificially cool air of the house.

Tamara guided Hannah to the steps that led to the lower balcony, where the pool extended a story below the house.

As they passed the water, Hannah thought, briefly, of that day all those weeks ago when she and Josie had stretched out in the sun, their skin glistening and wet, the entire summer seeming to unfurl before them. The promise and the heat.

“What are you doing here?”

Tamara spun round to face her. Her pupils were large, black orbs. She looked angry. Hannah lifted her chin.

“Blake invited me,” she said.

“Blake…?” Tamara frowned, and then shook her head. “No,” she said decisively. “Blake wouldn’t have.”

“Is it so unbelievable that your brother might want me here?”

Tamara snorted, a half laugh.

“Unfortunately not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the alcohol that Hannah had already consumed, telling herself that she needed the liquid courage.

Or perhaps it was all her built-up hopes and disappointments. All the times that Hannah had not felt good enough.

Whatever it was, whatever buried part of herself was surfacing, Hannah was angry.

“You just can’t stand the thought of Blake liking me,” Hannah said. “You think you’re better than me. You think you’re better than everyone.”

Tamara was turning away from Hannah. She looked tired, as if Hannah was something she couldn’t be bothered to deal with.

“Hannah,” she said. “Go home.”

“Why? I’ve got a right to be here.”

“He’s with Cordelia, Hannah.”

“Cordelia isn’t coming. He told her not to come. He told her it’s over—”

Tamara laughed. There was a strange, crazed brightness behind her eyes.

“He doesn’t want you, Hannah,” Tamara said. “You need to realize that. Blake doesn’t want someone like you.”

There it was. No one had ever actually said the words to Hannah before.

Not Evelyn, or Harrison. Not the families of the kids Hannah tutored, or the groups that her parents took on private dive expeditions.

Not her classmates at the school where Hannah fought tooth and nail for her scholarship, or Barnaby, or Blake.

The silent, seething undercurrent to her entire life.

Someone like you . Someone not good enough.

Someone not like us.

That simmer of anger, just beneath the surface, sparked.

Reflexively she reached out, pushing hard against Tamara’s shoulders.

Tamara staggered back. There was a look of shock on her face as her ankle twisted beneath her. Her leg bent at an awkward angle, then gave way as she toppled to the ground.

“Shit, Tamara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Tamara’s face was contorted, screwed up with pain. Her hand went straight to her ankle, tugging off her heels.

“What the hell?” she said.

Hannah moved to help her up, but Tamara jerked away from her.

“Don’t touch me,” she said. “What is wrong with you?”

Hannah was scrabbling for something she could say, something she could do to take it back. Her cheeks flushed hot with shame.

“Hannah?”

Both their heads lifted. Up toward the steps, where Blake stood watching them. Hannah felt something inside her sink.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“Blake—” Hannah started.

“Your fucking girlfriend pushed me,” Tamara cut across.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Hannah.”

His voice was level. Calm.

“Come on,” he said to her. “Let’s go inside.”

“Blake, what the hell?”

“Come on,” he said again. He wasn’t looking at his sister. He was only looking at Hannah.

Mutely, she held out her hand toward his.

They left Tamara out by the pool. Out in the impossible, suffocating heat.