One of the Girls(58)

Eleanor stabbed the knife into the remaining flesh of the watermelon, feeling the release as it split apart.





50

Bella

Bella strode out onto the terrace. What was with that slap on the knuckles? Eleanor was as mad as a box of frogs. Was that gin she’d caught on her breath? Did she fuel up before breakfast?

The comment about Lexi’s pity invite had been a spiteful retaliation. She was always bitchy on a hangover. Eleanor would probably spit in her breakfast now.

At the far edge of the terrace, Lexi was lying on her yoga mat, arms at her sides, eyes closed. And people claim yoga is exercise! Best Lexi absorbed all the good vibes while she could.

Bella’s blood simmered with anger on behalf of her best friend. Ana had better keep away from her today, else Bella would be in danger of igniting.

She perched on the terrace wall then, glancing down at the sheer drop onto rock, quickly stood again. Jesus, that vertical fall-away was enough to make anyone nauseous, hangover or not.

She could really use a coffee. Eleanor had the pot on the stove, but she didn’t fancy returning to the kitchen to grovel. No, she’d hang around out here, wait for Lexi to finish yoga, then task her with fetching the coffee.

The stone was already beginning to warm underfoot. There was barely a breeze and the air buzzed with insects. In the cove, a pile of driftwood was stacked for tonight’s beach fire. Beyond, the sea shimmered, glistening scales wavering beneath a wide, clear sky. Fen’s lone figure glided, arms cutting through the crystal-clear water. She made it look effortless.

Despite the blue sky, Bella felt a dark mood rolling closer like a thunder cloud. She was still hurt that Fen had bailed on them last night – and let Bella know by text! She could either dwell on the situation, stirring up her own mood until it was darker and spikier, and then confront Fen the moment she swam in, or, Bella thought, experimenting with drawing a calming breath deep into her diaphragm, she could let it go. She could be one of those good, generous people who accepted everyone was human and flawed and made mistakes. Rather than confronting Fen, Bella would go down to the shore and join her for a swim. Yes! That’s what she’d do. They needed some time together, just the two of them. See? That’s how you turn a thunder mood into sunshine!

She trotted back into the villa to change. Jesus, the smell of that coffee, she thought, passing through the kitchen. It was all she could do not to elbow Eleanor aside and glug the scalding liquid straight from the pot. But no, a swim first. Coffee would be her reward.

In the bathroom, she unhooked her damp bikini from the door handle. As she peeled off her dress and wriggled from her underwear, she caught her reflection in the mirror. At first her gaze skated over the planes of her face, checking her hair, her tan, her lipstick, but when she looked closer, she could see the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She blinked, trying to widen them. Maybe she needed more mascara. Or perhaps she should get some of those lash extensions. She fluttered her lashes again, wondering if that would help.

But it wasn’t her eyelashes, or the shadows, that were the problem. It was what lay deeper. Her eyes looked flat, dull.

She moved closer, looking right at herself. A voice inside her, quiet and firm, asked: Who are you?

She swallowed, finding herself desperate to turn, look away.

She was due on tomorrow. That’s what this was. Not a hangover thunder cloud, but a premenstrual hormone hurricane. Had to be. She tried to pull her gaze away, yet even while one part of her brain was intent on dismissing the question, brushing it aside, the other part, somewhere deeper – maybe not even in her brain, but somewhere in her body – was asking her to stay still, to look at herself, to see.

Eyes burning, she faced herself.

Bella felt the sting of tears as her vision began to blur. Images flashed across her thoughts: the squeak of plimsolls along a corridor; the shrill ring of a ward alarm; wide, panicked eyes; mottled lips; a hand clutching a throat.

She blinked. The tears fell onto her cheeks, plump and heavy.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, Bella found herself sobbing.





51

Fen

Fen cut through the water in a front crawl. She kicked hard, breath even and regular.

Nearing the shore, she slowed, lifting her head. Water dripped from her chin as she set her gaze on the salt-white villa high on the clifftop. There. That’s where it happened. Nico pinning her to the terrace wall, his insults hot in her ear. She held her gaze steady. Refused to look away.

Last night she’d faced him. Literally stood in front of him and called him out on what he’d done. This morning, she’d woken feeling physically wrung out, as if her skin were bruised, tender. Yet there was also another sensation emerging from somewhere deeper: one of quiet strength, which had nothing to do with how quickly she could tear through the water.

Reaching the shelf of tiny white pebbles, she lowered her feet and waded towards the shore, shaking the sea from her hair.

At her feet, she reached for a piece of gnarled driftwood, tinder-dry. Turning it through her fingers, she lifted the wood to her face, breathed in. Earth and salt and wood. She tossed it on the growing pile ready for tonight’s beach fire, then turned towards the villa.

Bella was descending the steps in a bikini and sunglasses, waving at her. Guilt wormed into her chest. She shouldn’t have deserted Bella and the others at the taverna, but she hadn’t had the capacity to return to the table, explain.