Seven Days of Us by Francesca Hornak

Author:Francesca Hornak
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2017-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

Jesse

ROOM 17, THE HARBOUR HOTEL, BLAKENHAM, 11:55 P.M.

• • •

It had been a bad birthday. Worse, even, than Christmas Day. Jesse had gone for a bleak run in the morning, half hoping to encounter George. In the afternoon he’d taken a cab to a celebrated town named Cromer, and wandered for an hour checking his e-mail every time he got signal. Still nothing from Andrew. He’d gone to an empty café on the pier and ordered a mug of black tea (what was with the milky tea here?) and a rigid scone, too hungry to forgo refined carbs. Afterward, he’d stood for ages on a shingle beach, watching gulls dive-bomb the charcoal sea. Then he’d sat through a terrible Christmas blockbuster, where he and a shady-looking man in a parka had been the only people in the movie theater. When he’d first arrived in Norfolk, the Regal Cinema would have tickled him, with its tiny screens and commercials for local fish and chip shops. But now, the way everything looked about thirty years old was depressing. He hadn’t taken his camera out of its bag. There didn’t seem to be any point.

Back in the Harbour Hotel, he began to pack. His train didn’t leave until mid-morning tomorrow, but he needed to do something practical. All day he’d toyed with going back to Weyfield. But what would he say if they deigned to open the door? “Oh, hi! I’m your uncouth American bastard, showing up uninvited!” Except—if he didn’t go—what then? Was he really going to quit, fly home, and pretend like the whole trip never happened? Chalk it up to experience: “The lousiest vacation of my life”? And to think he’d pictured himself making a breakout documentary about his journey. He’d barely filmed anything the entire time he’d been here, just a couple of shots of the beach. His camera had been a dead weight, following him around while exactly nothing happened. Nothing except George. And that made him feel kind of gross, looking back. The guy was engaged—the whole thing was sordid, not Jesse’s style. At least it hadn’t gone further than kissing. He e-mailed Dana: “No cell signal, Skype me ASAP.” That should appeal to her sense of drama. It was just midnight, meaning Andrew’s weekly restaurant review would be online. Jesse slumped on the bed, unsure if he even wanted to read it, and clicked on The World’s website. The headline for Andrew’s new column was up on its homepage.

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