One of the Girls(60)

‘We’ve not long finished breakfast. Anyway, I’m taking care of that. You’ve been working too hard on this trip. If you do one more thing in the kitchen, I’m going to have to start paying you. Please, come. There’s no wind and it’ll be gorgeous and calm.’

A bee thrummed in the bougainvillea that trailed over the wall, a fragrant scent lifting in the heat.

‘Yes. Fine.’

Pleased, Lexi took a damp tea towel from the pile and smoothed it over the line. It would be nice for her and Eleanor to spend time together – she worried she’d been neglecting her this weekend. Plus, it would give her a chance to talk about Ed. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from Eleanor. Reassurance? To hear Ed was besotted with her? She just knew she needed something.

Eleanor turned, staring over her shoulder. Lexi followed the direction of her gaze and saw Ana returning from her walk. She was looking uncertainly between Lexi and Eleanor.

‘Nice stroll?’ Lexi asked.

‘I went up the cliff path to get a signal so I could call Luca.’

‘You must be missing him.’

‘Can’t say it’s mutual,’ Ana said as she reached them, positioning herself in the shade. ‘He was desperate to get me off the phone so he could get to the skate park.’

‘Lexi and I are taking the boat out,’ Eleanor said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘It’ll be a nice chance for us to talk.’

Ana’s eyes darted across Eleanor’s face. There was a light sheen of sweat across her forehead. ‘Great,’ she said, smiling tightly.

It was strange being the bride-to-be on a hen weekend, Lexi thought. Whenever she entered a room, it felt like everyone was polishing their smile, ready to tell her what a wonderful weekend they were having. ‘Is everything okay?’

A fly buzzed in the still air, the scent of warming stone lifting from the villa walls. A gecko watched from the shade, eyes like black glass beads.

Ana looked at Eleanor. ‘Couldn’t be better.’





When we first arrived at the villa and caught sight of the blue rowing boat pulled up on the shore, it seemed so gorgeously quaint, evocative of the perfect Greek holiday we were anticipating.

Strange how that same boat now evokes different memories. The sound of frantic splashing and the panicked scratch of fingernails clawing at the hull. The hot-eyed sting of tears, oars gripped in fists. The scrape of wood against pebbles as two pairs of hands dragged it up the beach in the dark.





54

Eleanor

The blue rowing boat waited on the shore, varnished oars tucked at its sides.

‘Ready?’ Lexi said, gripping the boat, a casual straw hat keeping the sun from her eyes. A light breeze lifted the hem of her summer dress.

On the count of three, they heaved it towards the shore, the hull dragging across the pebbles. ‘Not sure lugging boats while pregnant is on the recommended list,’ Eleanor said.

‘Probably not,’ Lexi said, breathless. ‘There!’ She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

Eleanor wore long shorts, the cotton darkening as she waded into the shallows, and a plain white T-shirt and a cotton hat. She probably looked like she’d dressed for summer camp. She held the boat steady while Lexi climbed in, hooking the hem of her dress in one hand and swinging a leg over the side.

Eleanor followed, clunking her knee on an oar and stumbling in, causing the boat to rock chaotically.

‘Sorry, there aren’t any life jackets,’ Lexi said, picking up the oars. She’d searched the villa on Eleanor’s behalf. ‘Are you okay being out on the water?’

‘It’s fine. I’m not intending to fall in.’

Eleanor didn’t want to go rowing. It wasn’t because she was afraid she couldn’t swim. It was the space: too small. Couldn’t get off. Far too intense to be sitting opposite someone with nowhere to go. She’d have preferred to be the one rowing; at least it would give her hands something to do. She never knew where to put her hands when she talked. How did other people not think about them? Hers were like these two drunken idiots who kept lurching with over-exaggerated movements. She was forever thinking: My hands! Look what they’re doing now! And then she’d lose the thread of the conversation.

She shoved them under her thighs. There.

‘The last time I rowed was when I was a teenager,’ Lexi said, dipping the oars into the water, propelling them forwards. ‘Bella, Robyn and I would rent these little wooden motorboats and take them downriver, packs of cigarettes stuffed in our bags. We’d cut the engine and drift into the reeds. We’d lie there and smoke and drink and look at the clouds.’

Eleanor felt the boat glide across the surface, picturing the three of them in their teens. She envied Lexi, having that bond. Friends who journeyed with you throughout all the stages of your life.

‘Once, we couldn’t restart the engine,’ Lexi continued, ‘so we had to row back. It took us two hours to get upriver. The owner yelled at us for going too far and running down the petrol tank. Bella insisted the engine was faulty and demanded our money back. When the owner refused, she told him exactly what he could do with his boat – and that was the end of our summer on the river!’

Eleanor knew she should respond by laughing or smiling, but she felt no cheer towards Bella.