Three ~ Judgement

Mum's an event planner, which is the ideal job for her considering she loves planning my life for me. When she's not helping Dad with the marketing aspects of the business, she's organising glamorous parties for anyone who can afford her extortionate fees. I'd only been to one of these events, and after embarrassing the whole family, I hadn't been invited to another.

It had been part of a campaign for a local politician running for Mayor of London, and Mum was more flustered than usual. This wasn't just a wealthy client; this man could end up responsible for our city.

She'd taken me to her favourite designer to have a dress specially made and had ordered a pair of bespoke stilettos from Italy. The outfit probably cost more than our Bentley, but this event was important to Mum, and she wanted it to be perfect.

The fear of messing it up for her followed me around all evening. Alastair accompanied me, but even his calming influence couldn't soothe my nerves, despite his best efforts. Whenever he noticed me faltering in a conversation, he would seamlessly take over and lead it in a new direction that relieved the pressure on me. He was outstanding in social situations, and I often wished I could be more like him.

Towards the end of the night, the politician gave his speech, and I finally allowed myself to relax, leaning against Alastair's shoulder as we listened. When everything began to wrap up, my mood lightened, and I had an extra bounce in my step. I'd done it. I'd got through my first real social event. Mum had created an amazing evening, and everything had gone as she'd hoped.

Then I ruined it all.

As I was heading back through the garden, I stumbled in my handmade Italian stilettos and reached out to steady myself. It happened so quickly, and yet the memory of it was engraved in my mind, allowing me to relive the humiliation time after time.

The woman I'd grabbed was the politician's wife. Her red wine had spilt down the front of her cream satin gown which, according to my mum, did cost more than our Bentley.

After that, I didn't join my mother at any of her events—only family occasions, where the pressure was off. She never explicitly banned me, but it was an unspoken assumption between us.

"I've told you, the colour of that dress didn't suit her at all," Alastair said to me down the phone as we reminisced over that fateful night. "She needed the splash of red. You did her a favour, Rosa."

"I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I'm scarred for life. If Mum makes me go to this wedding, I might have to fake sickness."

I'd been in North Carolina for almost a week, and Mum had been dropping hints about me being invited to the wedding she was planning. It was the reason we were spending the summer in America, and as much as I hated being away from my friends, I hated the idea of a potential social event more.

"You're going to need to get over this fear at some point," Alastair told me. "You can't avoid these things for the rest of your life."

"It's not events in general. Just my mum's. The family name is in the spotlight because she's organised it, so I feel under pressure to appear exactly how my parents want me to appear."

"Just be yourself. And relax. It's not for a while, anyway, is it?"

"No." I sighed. "I've got all summer to worry about it."

He chuckled. "You'll be fine, Rosa. I have full faith in you."

Silence fell, and I trailed my fingers along the balcony's edge as I gazed across the ocean. Alastair was on the other side. All that water separating us.

"Are you going to come and see me?" I asked.

I could already guess the answer, but if I didn't ask then there'd always be that small glimmer of hope in my mind.

"Mm, not sure. I've got so much on at work. Dad's relying on me."

His dad had placed a lot of responsibility on his son by giving him a key role in their company. Alastair took his job seriously, and I loved that about him. Like me, he'd grown up privileged and had enough money to get by without ever having to work. He did work, though, and he worked damned hard.

"Is it nice there? You've only sent me one photo of a beach."

"That's all there is... A beach and a small town, but I've not been there yet."

"Why not? You moan you're so bored all the time, so why haven't you explored more?"

He sounded confused, and I didn't blame him. After avoiding the beach for the last few days, I was desperate for something else to do, but I didn't want to go to town and be disappointed. I explained this to Alastair, and he laughed, telling me I was daft and that it would be impossible to avoid the beach for the rest of summer.

"I want you to go there now and describe everything to me."

I screwed my face, even though he couldn't see me. Not only was I making a conscious effort to stay away from the rude lifeguard, but I was comfy lounging on my balcony and soaking up the afternoon sun.

"Why?"

"Because if I can't see it for myself, I at least want to picture it in my head."

"We could FaceTime so you can see it for yourself rather than having to interpret my descriptions—"

"Oh, play along, Rosa." He sighed in exasperation. "Get off your lazy arse and paint a pretty picture for me, yeah?"

Huffing, I hauled myself up from the armchair and headed down the stairs. At the front door, I paused.

"Okay, so I'm standing at my front door..." Perhaps it was a good job this place was sparsely populated; the fewer people to witness me describing a pathway, the better.

Alastair chuckled. "You sound so uncomfortable. It's not like I'm asking for phone sex."

I rolled my eyes. "This would be less awkward if you were."

A brief silence hung between us. Despite our frequent differences, Alastair and I knew each other inside out, which made it easy to predict his next line.

"So..." he said in a low, husky voice. "What are you wearing, baby?"

"Piss off, Alastair. If you want it so bad, I'll happily stand here and describe what shade of green the grass is and what cut of stone they've used for the path."

He laughed. "All right, princess. Walk down to the beach and talk about that instead."

My thoughts strayed to the lifeguard. Maybe he worked shifts; he couldn't sit in that chair all day, every day. It was a job that required intense concentration—despite the lack of people who might drown—so surely it would be necessary to have regular breaks to rest his eyes?

It was stupid to avoid the beach when it was the only good thing going for this place. At least if I went down there while on the phone to Alastair, it would take the pressure off another one-on-one encounter.

When I'd overcome feeling like a fool, I settled into my descriptions and found myself noticing things I hadn't before, like the height of the dunes and the beautiful contrast of the ocean's turquoise highlights against the sand's golden hues.

From where I sat, a flash of red caught my eye. The lifeguard was climbing down from his chair and heading to the back of the beach. I watched, straining my neck as he disappeared behind a dune.

After pushing myself up, I crept towards the shore to get a better view. Sensing my movement, Alastair questioned where I was going, but I hushed him. I wasn't sure if the lifeguard had seen me, but I didn't want to be caught sneaking a peek at where he'd gone.

The other side of the sand dune came into sight, and I spotted a small, cream-coloured hut. With no other obvious exits from the beach, I could only assume the lifeguard had headed inside. Was that where he'd been the day he'd helped me?

"Big news," I said to Alastair. "The beach has a beach hut."

"Ooh. That is big news. I'm excited for you, Rosa. Who knows what other gems your beach might be hiding?"

I scoffed. "Don't raise my hopes. I think it belongs to the lifeguard."

"How about I set you a challenge," Alastair said. "To keep you occupied."

"Like what?" I retreated up the beach in case the lifeguard were to leave the hut and catch me spying.

"I challenge you to go inside that hut one day and have a look around."

It wasn't the kind of challenge that appealed to me, but Alastair and I had always been at different ends of the risk-taking spectrum. From the moment we'd met, he'd been trying to inject precarious excitement into my life.

"I don't know. I don't want to invade his privacy."

"Oh, come on," he said with a laugh. "It's only a hut. Aren't you even a little curious?"

"The guy sits on the beach watching the ocean all day. That hut might be his only sanctuary where he can relax and have time to himself. I'm not going to disrespect that."

"Rosa, he's shown no respect for you. He was a dick right from the start."

I'd told Alastair a toned-down version of the incident, saying I'd lost my balance in a strong current and the lifeguard had helped me out. I hadn't drowned and there was no need to worry him about it. He might have told my mother, then she'd kick off, and it would all be too much drama.

"To be fair, I was stupid for going in the water when the red flag was up. I understand why he was so angry."

"I just think a little exploring might liven up your time there."

"Yes, but I'll explore the town," I said, determined not to budge on my stance. "I'm not snooping. I don't want to make matters worse. Even if he doesn't have respect for me, I'm still going to show him respect."

Alastair chuckled. "You're not in Carringham at the moment, Rosa. You don't have to keep up the etiquette."

"Don't remind me."

He laughed again, but it wasn't a cruel laugh, as though he took pleasure from my misfortune. It was genuine, as if I amused him. I smiled to myself. Alastair could be an awful boyfriend at times—barely a boyfriend at all—but a strong connection still bound us together. I clung onto that, knowing it was the only thing that kept me sane sometimes.

After our call ended, I stayed on the beach. Describing everything had given me a newfound appreciation for its beauty, and I suspected that had perhaps been Alastair's intention. It didn't make the summer any easier, but it made me realise it could be a lot worse.

As I stared out to sea, a shadow plunged me into the shade, protecting me from the warmth of the midday sun. Looking up, I saw the lifeguard and hurried to my feet.

"Here," he said, holding out a pair of sunglasses. "You left these the other day."

"Oh." I took them from him and turned them around in my hands. "I didn't realise I'd lost them..."

The boy's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "You didn't realise you lost them?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my cool and hide my growing embarrassment. He probably knew I'd been avoiding the beach if he'd been hanging onto my sunglasses all this time.

"Well, I have a lot," I said, deciding to use that as a logical excuse.

"But they're Ray-Bans. How can you forget about a pair of Ray-Bans?"

I shrugged. "I have other pairs at home, so I suppose I didn't notice which ones were missing."

His eyes trailed down my body. Folding my arms, I shifted on the spot, uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

"I can't tell if you're serious or if it's the British sense of humour," he said.

Funnily enough, I couldn't tell if he was being serious, either. Why was he finding it so hard to grasp the concept of me owning multiple pairs of sunglasses?

"I'm serious. I mean, you're a lifeguard. You must get through tons of them, right?"

"Ray-Bans are damn expensive. If I ever owned a pair, I sure as hell wouldn't let them out of my sight."

I frowned, not appreciating his attitude towards me again. "I'm sorry for being so careless."

We glared at one another for a few moments. Despite avoiding the beach, part of me had assumed the lifeguard and I had just got off on the wrong foot due to my stupidity. I'd hoped that once we got chatting, things would improve, and we'd at least be civil, if not friendly. Something about me repulsed him, though, and I couldn't quite work out what.

"You have a real problem with saying thank you," he said. "I save your life, I look after your glasses, and yet you don't give a shit."

Heat crept to my cheeks. It wasn't that I didn't want to thank him for the sunglasses; the opportunity just hadn't arisen since he'd instead taken to interrogating me on my collection of eyewear. I desperately wanted to thank him for saving me, but the more time that passed, and the more he insulted me, the harder it became. I started to worry that my gratitude wouldn't appear genuine, or that he'd throw it back in my face.

"You've got me all wrong," I said.

Before I could launch into a speech about misconceptions and how we'd got off to a bad start, he interrupted me.

"I don't see what there is to get wrong. You're here on some extravagant vacation, and you're so rich that you can afford a huge beach-side house and don't notice when a pair of expensive sunglasses goes missing. You're used to getting your own way, which is why you're so defensive. And you don't think it's necessary to thank someone because you take everything for granted. People like you have no concept of reality."

Each sentence hit me with more force than the last, brutal bullets fired from a gun of judgement. My blood boiled, yet I somehow felt cold. A few of his assumptions might be close to the truth, but he had no right to judge me when I hadn't made a single judgement of him.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and took a deep breath to calm my rising anger.

"You know nothing about me," I said, "but you've already decided what kind of person I am, and I've not got time for people who judge others without bothering to find out what their lives are actually like."

"Feel free to prove me wrong," he said, equally coolly, "but you can't judge a person without at least knowing something about them which causes you to form that judgement."

Breathe in... And out. In... And out.

It took every ounce of self-control to hold back from letting loose and telling this guy exactly what I thought of his shitty attitude. To keep myself restrained, I had to walk away from the situation.

"Thanks for the glasses," I said, more to prove a point than anything else, before heading towards the stone steps.

It had progressed beyond stubbornness and pride. It was no longer about saying thank you. Why should I make an effort with someone who could be so judgemental?

He was wrong about one thing in particular; I barely ever got my own way. My parents often kept me on a tight leash, hence the crazy parties whenever I met up with my friends and my fervent desire to remain queen of my social circle—because that was the only time I enjoyed power and respect.

Perhaps I didn't have a concept of reality, but that wasn't from my doing. My life wasn't normal by most people's standards, and I realised that. It was normal for me, though. It was my reality, and I was trapped there—both metaphorically in my London life, and physically right now in America.

Land of the free? How ironic.

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Thank you for reading :) xx

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