Chapter Five

      Sarah woke up and glanced at the digital clock beside the bed – two fifty-seven. Given the blackened sky, it was safe to assume it was still the middle of the night, not two fifty-seven in the afternoon, but she felt as if she could have very well been asleep for an entire day. Her mouth felt as if it had been packed with cotton wool and her arms ached from having them stretched above her for hours. She fumbled with the lamp on the bedside table but gave up after she knocked it over along with what she thought was a stack of books. She searched in the dark for the dressing gown Liam had lent her but she was as successful with that as she was in finding a light. Finally she capitulated, and made her way to the door dressed only in her bra and pants. Liam would be asleep anyway and, even if he wasn’t, it was not as if he hadn’t seen it all before. Granted she was a lot younger and firmer then…

      When she opened the door to the hall, she could finally see. City lights flooded through the glass doors that led to the roof terrace. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, but it was empty except for a carton of orange juice and a few bottles of wine. She got a glass of water, downed it, and filled the cup again before she returned to the living room. She should probably go back to bed to get adjusted to the time change but she wasn’t tired. She needed a book or a television. She looked around the room. Where was the telly? Even she had a telly. She found several remotes and saw speakers in the ceiling, but no television. No food and no telly—this definitely was not civilised living conditions. She reached for the control that looked the most like a television remote. When she pressed the power switch, a large screen dropped from the ceiling and sound filled the room. “Now we are cooking with gas,” Sarah said with a satisfied smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had time to sit and watch telly—no, that was a lie: it was when she was off sick. She had watched every chat show on every station. Good times. That reminded her—she hoped she had set her Sky Plus to record her shows.

      She flipped through the channels, skipping all the news stations. She didn’t need to hear anything else depressing. She settled on an Arabic-speaking soap opera. She had no idea what the people were saying but it was the only thing on that could pass as entertainment. A swarthy man was pleading with a woman. She was wiping away a tear and looking off into the distance. He was a convincing enough actor to capture remorse even through the language barrier. But weren’t all men good at pretending to feel things? It must be encoded somewhere in the Y chromosome. “Don’t believe a word he says. They are all the same,” Sarah muttered to the telly before she turned it off again, and the screen rose into the recess in the ceiling.

      She picked up her glass and went to the patio doors and looked out onto the terrace. A pool on the roof—who did that? New Liam apparently. She slid open the door and sighed as the warm desert air hit her skin. It had cooled off enough to be bearable but was still warm by Scottish standards. It was a revelation to not have to wear at least a jumper in the middle of summer. She looked around. The last thing she wanted was to be caught skinny dipping in Dubai, even if it was a private pool. They were bound to have a law against that and she had used her one “get out of jail free” card on Sam. She leaned over the rail to assess the situation. The building wasn’t overlooked. Satisfied no one could see her, she stripped off her underwear and slipped into the water. It was warmer than she expected, like a lukewarm bath.

      Complete bliss.

      She sighed with contentment as she sank deeper into the water until it splashed high around her shoulders. Now this was the life. If she had a pool on her terrace she would never leave her house, except to get food—a girl had to eat—or better yet, she would just hire someone to bring her meals until osmosis had drawn the last molecule of water from her body, and left her a happy, though dehydrated, wee raisin.

      Suddenly the water lit up, illuminated by dozens of submerged lights casting a pattern of pale golden colour on the bottom of the pool. Before she could stop herself she screamed. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

      “Relax, Sarah. It’s just me,” Liam called from the door. Because he had turned on the outside lights, the shadow of the living room appeared darker, and all she could make out was the outline of his tall form.

      “Geez, you scared me,” she gasped. She took large deep breaths to try to slow her heart rate.

      “They say people that startle easily have a guilty conscience. What has you feeling so guilty, Ms. Campbell?” She could hear his smile in his voice.

      She ignored his question. She sank even deeper into the water and hoped he could not see her clearly. “Did I wake you up? Sorry, I couldn’t find a light… And I may have broken your lamp.’’

      “Honestly? That lamp was very valuable.”

      “Really? I am so sorry. I will replace it.” She would have to add that to the list of bills. Her overdraft hurt again when she thought about it.

      “No, not really, it came with the flat. You broke my heart—the lamp pales in comparison.”

      “Ha!” she scoffed. “Only one of us had a broken heart that summer and it wasn’t you. Nice try though, Liam.”

      “Why do you assume you were the only one hurt?” Liam asked.

      “Um…because you were the one who left. We spent the night together and the next day you left for Cambridge and never looked back. You never answered my calls or emails. You just left. Call me old-fashioned, but when a girl has sex for the first time, she hopes the guy will stick around…I don’t know…at least long enough for the sun to come up.”

      Liam walked out of the shadows and stood by the edge of the pool. For the first time she could see him properly. He was still wearing the same suit he had been that afternoon. “Quit the martyr routine, Sarah. You bailed. It was you who gave up on us. We were supposed to be leaving together. It was going to be you and me but you got scared and begged off. Don’t put that on me.”

      It was the same argument they had earlier; he was not going to give any ground, let alone see anything from her perspective. And as good as she was at verbal sparring, it was difficult to get the upper hand naked, especially when he was making no attempt to conceal his ogling. “Fine. I get it. I had one chance and I blew it. Is that how it works in your world? I made a bad choice, so I am dead to you. Fantastic. What a brilliant way to live your life.” She squirmed and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.

      “At least you are admitting it was a bad choice.”

      “No, that is not what I said.”

      “That is exactly what you said. Are you going to take