One of the Girls(50)

Ana knew exactly who Ed was, so she must have planned this – purposefully befriending Lexi; avoiding situations where she’d see Ed, like the engagement drinks; ensuring she was invited on the hen weekend.

Her lip began to twitch as she thought about how Ana had used her, too: the lovely shopping trip to the Old Town; Ana helping her choose a new handbag; her interest in Eleanor’s sculpting; the evening chats over a drink. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She’d let herself believe that Ana liked her, that they were friends.

Fool.





41

Robyn

Robyn glanced again at the entrance to the taverna. Still no sign of Fen. There was something off about Fen tonight – she seemed on edge, preoccupied, nothing like the relaxed, buoyant company she’d been at the swimming hole earlier in the day.

She waited to see who was exiting the taverna, but it was only the waitress returning with a tray of drinks for another table.

Robyn pressed her fingertips against her temples, moving them in slow circles. She had a banging headache.

‘You okay?’ Lexi asked from across the table.

‘Too much sun, I think.’ The pinkened skin on her shoulders and chest was radiating heat beneath her cotton top.

‘Have you had enough water?’

‘Probably not. I’ll get another jug for the table.’ The waitress was busy with the adjacent table, so Robyn went inside the taverna.

It was quiet and cool away from the hum of chatter. Yes, she’d just stand here for a moment and enjoy the silence and air-conditioning. A faint pulse of nausea was beginning to churn in her stomach. She wanted to return to the villa, take some painkillers, and fall into bed – but she’d feel guilty abandoning Lexi on their one night out.

Right now, though, she needed water. She was probably dehydrated. Where was the waiter? She made her way towards the kitchen, following the exposed stone wall. Music was playing faintly from the direction of the kitchen. Beyond it, she heard a woman’s voice: low, strained.

She followed the corridor, passing a fire exit and stack of empty crates.

She halted.

Fen was standing near the entrance to the kitchen, facing the waiter who’d been serving them. His white shirt sleeves were pushed up and he had a stack of dirty plates balanced along a tanned forearm.

Her expression was steely, a fixed groove in her brow. Her feet were planted wide, head jutting forwards, tendons in her neck exposed.

In Fen’s hand, something flashed silver.





42

Fen

Fen could feel the knife in her grip, the cool metal handle, the blade still close to her thigh. ‘Seven years ago I came for dinner here.’ Her voice trembled with a barely contained rage.

‘Is a long time ago. Popular taverna, yes? So many tourists.’ He smiled uncertainly. ‘I hope you had a good holiday.’

‘Let me jog your memory,’ she said, blood pulsing in her fingertips. ‘I had long blonde hair back then. Was wearing a denim miniskirt. I was here with my aunt. She spoke to your father; he said you and your sister would take me to some clubs, show me around the island. We went to Club Carlos together. Danced. Drank. Your sister left early, so you offered to drop me back at my aunt’s villa. It’s at the end of the island, on the clifftop.’

His smile slipped. ‘Look, I can’t remember—’

‘No! You don’t get to erase what you did.’ Fen’s eyes blazed as she leaned closer.

There was nowhere for him to turn. He was standing with his back pressed to the wall, eyes shifting from Fen’s face to the hand holding the knife. She’d not raised it. Not threatened him. It simply waited at her side, a silent reminder of who had the power. This time.

‘You dropped me home and I thanked you. You said you could use a beer – one for the road. You went out onto the terrace and I fetched us both beers. But that wasn’t what you really wanted.’ Fen’s voice was gravelly, raw with emotion, as she continued. ‘You drank your beer, then took mine out of my hands and shoved me back against the wall. Kissed me roughly.’

Nico said, ‘It’s a long time ago. I don’t rem—’

‘I told you to stop! I told you I was attracted to women, not men. Instead of understanding, stepping back – you pinned me to the wall. You put your body in front of mine so there was nowhere for me to go. If I’d leaned back, even by a few inches, I’d have gone over the edge. And you knew that.’

Fen drew herself closer, the blade of the knife grazing her thigh.

‘You stood there, arms on either side of me like a barrier, your face right up in mine. You said, I don’t want you. No one will ever want you. Men won’t sleep with you because you’re fat. Worthless. You disgust me.’

The plates balancing on Nico’s forearm clinked as his hand trembled.

‘Now tell me you don’t fucking remember!’

‘I’m sorry, okay?’ His voice was high, urgent. ‘It was wrong, what I did. Yes? I’m sorry. I was just a boy.’

How many times had men got away with things under the label of being just a boy?

She lifted the knife, felt his eyes following it. There was an oily sheen of sweat lining his forehead. She could hear his breath, shallow and fast. ‘Yes,’ she said, slowly placing the knife on the top of his stacked plates. ‘And I was just a girl.’