One of the Girls(9)
‘Is that them?’ Fen asked, gazing down towards the water.
Robyn saw the two of them wading towards the shore in bikinis and felt a pang of disappointment that they hadn’t waited for her to swim. ‘Yes,’ she answered, watching as Bella doubled over with laughter. She’d always laughed hard and easily, her whole body weakening as if she couldn’t carry the weight of the hilarity and she’d simply collapse onto whoever was nearest. They wrapped towels around their waists, then began climbing the stone steps to the villa, where Bella would start pouring the drinks and the night would begin.
She turned back to Fen. ‘Did you run in the mountains?’
‘I stayed near the cliff line, but there is a trail that takes you right up into the mountains. I’m going to hike it tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘Not much of a pool-lounger. I’ll set off early, while it’s still cool.’
‘That sounds incredible.’
‘Come.’
One word. So simple. An invitation.
‘Oh, I’m not very fit. I’d slow you down.’
She looked at her. ‘I’m in no rush, Robyn.’
She didn’t know what to say, so chose, ‘Okay, then.’
Right there, on the clifftop, Robyn felt the shimmering heat of her old self, still beating.
We arrived on that holiday with baggage.
We packed Grecian sandals and oversized sunglasses, floaty summer dresses and waist-cinching shorts. There were Turkish towels in soft stripes of blush and stone, washbags bulging with shimmering eyeshadows and bronzers and gloss. There were new paperbacks ready to be thumbed, and bottles of sunscreen holding the coconut-scent of summer.
Beneath the holiday trappings were other things, private things, just for ourselves: a sleeve of unlabelled pills tucked into a side pocket; a slim bottle of gin rolled within a towel; a faded photograph of a man with warm eyes slipped inside an envelope.
Oh, and hidden in one of the suitcases, there was a sculpture of the bride. Later we’d see its broken remains carried from the villa – zipped within a clear evidence bag.
6
Ana
Ana checked her phone. No signal. She moved closer to the window, which was set deep into the stone. Still nothing. The absence of those little bars of connectivity made her feel absurdly dislocated. She was a Londoner: unless she was on the Tube there was always a signal.
Must be the thickness of the walls, she decided, pressing her palm to the cold stone. Earlier, while the other hens had raved about the villa’s beauty, she’d kept quiet, finding the cave-like architecture stark, and lacking warmth and colour. Nothing like her two-bed flat, which was filled with artwork, bright cushions, and stacks of books.
The twin room she was sharing with Eleanor was at the back of the villa. She stared out into the growing dusk, following the craggy spine of the mountain. It felt impossibly isolated. No villages. No buildings. No traffic. Only a single dusty track winding towards their villa. A trail of goosebumps travelled down the tops of her arms.
‘Knock knock!’ Lexi called from the open doorway, startling her. ‘Just letting you know we’re going to have drinks on the terrace.’
Ana rubbed her arms, brushing away the goosebumps. ‘Great. I’ve almost finished unpacking,’ she said, returning to her suitcase and removing a jade dress.
‘That’s beautiful. Is it new?’ Lexi asked, entering the room and shutting the door behind her.
Glancing at the closed door, Ana felt a hot prick of panic. It was a familiar sensation, as quick as a reflex. She told herself: The door isn’t locked. You can leave. You are safe. She allowed the thought to settle, then calmly redirected her attention to Lexi’s question. ‘Yes, I treated myself.’ The dress was vintage, picked up from a dress agency she loved. It was second-hand, but still cost more than she’d usually pay, and felt like an extravagance – much like the hen do. Even though they weren’t being charged for the villa, the flights had been expensive and she’d battled with herself over whether to come. She’d spent a lifetime budgeting, checking and rechecking her cash flow so she and Luca wouldn’t be caught out. Even though her work was steady, her income secure, she couldn’t quite shake her practice of frugality.
Do something for yourself for a change, her sister had signed to her when Ana told her about the hen party. You haven’t been on holiday since Luca was born. Let him stay with me for the weekend. We’ll have a movie night and do take-out pizzas and simsim cookies. He could use some Auntie Lenora time.
Ana had considered her sister’s offer, eventually signing a single beat with her fist: Yes.
Yet as the hen drew nearer, her trepidation about the weekend grew. It was more than the expense that worried her.
Far more.
She hung up the dress and returned to her suitcase. Lexi had perched on the bed beside it. Ana blinked. Her passport was open on top. Panic flared in her chest. She’d been vigilant about keeping hold of it at the airport, making sure no one had access to it except her.
‘I can’t believe it’s only four weeks till the wedding,’ Lexi was saying.
Ana reached towards the suitcase, making as if to unpack a beach towel. With a swift but subtle movement, she slid the passport from sight, tucking it into her pocket.
Lexi didn’t seem to have noticed, thank God. She refocused on what Lexi had said. ‘Four weeks. Is that all? How are you feeling?’