One of the Girls(76)

And yet, when she had first seen Fen on this cliff, she had felt something cleave open in her chest, an expansion, a need, a desire. And she was sure that Fen had felt it too, was feeling it right in this moment.

Robyn’s hand was still beneath Fen’s. She wanted to look down at them and memorise the places where their skin touched – yet she didn’t want to break Fen’s gaze. Their eyes felt locked.

She turned her hand within Fen’s, palm to palm. Felt the slide of their fingers, like roots searching, linking together, enclosing. She squeezed. The answer was clear and bright.

You. I want you.

Robyn didn’t know if she was straight, or gay, or something outside of a box meant for ticking. She only knew, like some deep oceanic roar in her blood, that she wanted this.

She leaned towards Fen, eyes open, never looking away.

Their lips met. She felt the soft give of Fen’s mouth. She tasted of night and stars and pine. Their lips and tongues and mouths moved together in a slow dance, her body alight with desire. This kiss was the warmest, deepest pleasure Robyn had known.

Her fingers moved to the nape of Fen’s neck, feeling the brush of her shorn hair, and lower to the smooth glide of her skin.

The whole world fizzed. Kissing Fen was like sinking beneath the surface of the sea, but instead of it being airless and dark, it was lit with phosphorescence so luminous that she knew she’d never see the world the same way again.





68

Eleanor

Eleanor lay in the bottom of the boat, the vodka bottle half-empty, listening to the wash of water against the hull.

Memories of Sam were swimming close, then pulling away, like the tug of waves – blanketing her, then exposing her. She only wanted the warm memories, yet a current of other images was dragging her towards a darker place: a call from a hospital; her hands gripped to the sides of a plastic chair as she waited; a surgeon removing her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Two words kept surfacing in her thoughts. Human error.

Someone made a mistake.

We all make mistakes! Oh, well! Never mind!

But he was dead. One human error – and Sam was dead.

His life over. Her life over.

She had read every detail of the disciplinary hearing. She’d read that Sam had been given the wrong drug, one that contained penicillin, which he was allergic to. Co-amoxiclav instead of co-trimoxazole. A few letters’ difference. A different blend of chemicals. That was all it took to make his blood vessels leak, his throat constrict, his body tip into anaphylaxis.

Eleanor knew all about this. She’d read the report so often that the staple at the corner had rubbed loose. She knew it was an accident. She’d memorised the name of the senior nurse who’d made the mistake. On a Tuesday afternoon when she’d failed to sleep for the third night in a row, she’d driven to the Royal Bournemouth Hospital, hands trembling on the wheel, her vision swinging. She’d wanted to look the nurse square in the eye and ask, Do you have any idea what you’ve done?

But the nurse no longer worked there. Got a new job, the receptionist had told her cheerfully. Eleanor pushed her fists deep into her pockets. She didn’t ask where or doing what. That was where she had left it, there on that ward. She didn’t want to track her down. What was the point? Sam was gone.

And then, all those months later, she had been sitting in her flat, eating her one-person serving of shepherd’s pie, trying so hard not to ruminate, to move forwards – when that nurse’s name popped right into her inbox.

An invite to a hen weekend.

Four nights in Greece.

Just six of them chosen.

Signed:

Kisses and love from the Maid of Honour,

Bella Rossi





69

Bella

The bottle of ouzo swung in Bella’s hand as she lurched on, the dusty ground hard beneath her bare feet. She was navigating the cliff path by the torch on her phone, boulders and shrubs rearing from the shadows.

She staggered, weaving dangerously close to the edge. The torch’s beam slipped over the cliff, shining through the night, down, down towards the dark mouth of the sea.

‘Careful,’ she said aloud, enunciating both syllables, as if demonstrating to herself that she was perfectly sober. She pulled back her shoulders. Raised her chin. Snatched a breath. Yes, she was fine. Completely competent.

She stalked on, dress riding around her thighs, hair drying in salty tangles. Lexi’s red wrap was trailing from her shoulders, one end dusting the earth.

She was sure telling Lexi about Ana was the right thing. Almost sure. Someone needed to tell her. Ana couldn’t be allowed to get away with it. Then she remembered the way Lexi’s face had crumpled, as if she couldn’t physically support the weight of her shock.

Maybe she shouldn’t have said it quite like that. She’d always been hot-headed. Maybe the right thing would’ve been to pause. To think about the impact of her words. Her big announcement wasn’t about Lexi, she realised, staggering to a halt. It was about proving a point to Ana.

There was something wrong with her. Something broken. She kept hurting the people she loved.

She unscrewed the cap from the ouzo. Brought the bottleneck to her lips. The glass clanked against her teeth as she took a gulp, a dribble spilling down her cheek. She wiped her mouth against the back of her hand, grimacing.

His face loomed suddenly into her thoughts. The large eyes stretched with fear, lips mottled, fighting for breath. She’d been joking with him earlier in the shift, hearing about the accident on his stag do that had landed him in hospital.