One of the Girls(38)
‘Reading on a boat in the morning sunshine? Sounds awful. I’m not envious at all.’ Ana winked.
‘Sure you’ll be okay?’ Lexi asked, wiping the remains of Robyn’s sunscreen into her hands.
‘Course! Now get in the water and leave me in peace.’ She intended it to come out jokily, but Eleanor saw from Lexi’s expression that she’d sounded brusque.
Behind them, Bella cursed as she tried to squeeze her swollen, scorpion-stung foot into a flipper.
‘Babe, I think you’re going to have to go barefoot,’ Fen said.
‘Bloody scorpion!’ she said, flinging the flippers back into the bucket.
‘Okay, ladies. We climb down the ladder, here,’ Yannis announced, taking Lexi by the hand (rather unnecessarily, in Eleanor’s opinion). ‘Is better I pass you flippers when you’re in the water, yes?’ His gaze travelled down her smooth, bikini-clad body. Eleanor didn’t blame him. There was something about beauty – male or female – that would always draw the eye.
Eleanor found her gaze roaming to Lexi’s stomach, looking for the first hint of a bump. It was hard to believe that Eleanor’s future niece or nephew was housed within such a perfect venue. She got a little thrill realising that she knew about the baby before Ed.
‘Wait!’ Bella called. ‘Photo first!’ She rummaged through her beach bag for her phone, then pointed it towards Lexi, who smiled gamely from within her snorkel mask.
‘Now the rest of you!’ Bella said, turning the camera on them.
Ana ducked swiftly out of the shot. Eleanor would have too, had she been quick enough. Who liked a photo in a swimsuit lingering in perpetuity on someone else’s camera roll?
The water frothed and fizzed as the rest of them lowered themselves from the ladder, squealing and splashing as they jostled with fins and masks.
Voices quietened as the hens began putting their faces beneath the water, swimming away from the yacht. A peal of laughter bubbled from Lexi’s snorkel pipe. The water was so clear that Eleanor could see Fen dive beneath the surface in pursuit of a shoal of small fish.
Yannis tidied up the spare fins and masks, humming gently to himself, before disappearing into the galley to begin the food preparations. Alone on deck, Eleanor felt a little cloud of sadness descend.
Still, she had her book for company. Plus, she’d already spied the cool box where she was hoping an alcoholic beverage or two would be chilling.
Removing her sunglasses, she peered at her reflection, smoothing down her hair with her fingers. The boat journey had created frizzy volume in all the wrong places, giving her the appearance of a mushroom. She could really use a blow-dry.
Trips to the hair salon were her one weekly indulgence. She block-booked the last slot every Thursday afternoon for a wash and blow-dry. It wasn’t that she was particularly vain about her hair (although it was her strongest asset: thick dark-auburn hair, which she wore in a smooth bob to her chin). It was because of Reece. He had sleeve tattoos in intriguing, complex patterns, and when his thumbs pressed gently into her temples, she’d feel her body relaxing, releasing. She’d melt into the leather chair, close her eyes and luxuriate in the warmth of his hands against her scalp.
Once, she’d cried. Right there with her head tipped back in a sink of warm water. She’d decided that she’d have to stop visiting the salon after that, but Reece had been very sweet about it and she’d forced herself to return the following week, despite turning around twice on the walk there.
Every Thursday Reece would ask the same question. ‘Off anywhere nice tonight?’ She’d pick one of her favourite answers: Yes, I’m meeting friends for dinner, or I’m going to the cinema with my brother, or even, I’ve got a date tonight. In fact, what Eleanor did every Thursday was return to her empty flat with her good hair, alone. She’d stride into the lounge, pausing in front of Sam’s ashes, which were contained in a black urn with a Dungeons and Dragons sticker in the centre. ‘Got Reece at the salon today,’ she might say, smoothing her freshly styled hair. She’d give a lascivious wink, adding, ‘Did a double condition, didn’t he?’
She could always feel Sam’s laughter in her chest, warm and easy. At first, she’d felt a little self-conscious talking to his ashes, but then it had become part of the routine of her day – telling him what she was doing or asking his opinion. He was like an invisible guide, telling her, EJ! Course you should go out tonight! Do it! Put on those smokin’ jeans I love!
When she had received Bella’s email about the hen weekend, she’d glanced up from her laptop, her gaze resting briefly on Sam’s urn. Then, just as swiftly, she’d looked away.
She hadn’t asked his opinion about whether she should join the hen weekend, because she knew exactly what he would’ve said.
Don’t. Don’t you go.
29
Ana
Ana floated on the shimmering surface, watching a pale-bellied fish dart towards the seabed. After a few seconds, she lifted her face from the water to breathe. She couldn’t get the hang of breathing through a snorkel pipe. She’d never snorkelled before. Never been on a yacht. Never been to Greece. There were, she realised, a lot of things she’d never done.
She pulled the mask onto the top of her head, treading water, trying not to think about how far down the seabed was. Her experience of swimming was limited to her local lido, where she was only ever a few metres from its concrete sides.