The Last Resort(17)

‘Oh, please,’ Scott says. ‘I thought we covered this. It’s not really connected to your brain. It might be measuring your heart rate or something, but don’t be fooled that it’s any more than that.’

‘We don’t know that,’ James says, folding his arms.

‘We actually don’t know anything,’ Lucy agrees.

Tiggy turns away from them and puts her hands on her hips, stares at the path winding to the right up ahead. A narrow track disappears off to the left, to a place she can’t see. She’s too hot already, and this is not her idea of a fun activity to do in the blazing sun. ‘I would love a cocktail and a sunbed right now,’ she mutters. ‘And a big umbrella. And something else to wear. I already feel sweaty. But I am not wearing those shorts and T-shirt they’ve put in the bag.’ She wrinkles her nose in disgust. ‘Do they think I want to dress like I’m part of a cut-price tour group?’ The tracker vibrates again.

‘Take the path to the left,’ a voice whispers in her ear. ‘Tell the others to keep going up to the right.’

She whirls round. ‘What the . . . ? Who said that?’

‘Who said what?’ Giles is at her side now. ‘Oh wait, my tracker just vibrated too.’

Tiggy’s eyes widen, and her heart starts to beat faster. The tracker pings above her ear, making her flinch, like she’s been flicked with an elastic band.

‘Chill out,’ the voice says. ‘It’s a transmitter. What did you think it was?’

She raises a hand to her ear and touches the tracker. She feels calmer now, but she doesn’t know why.

‘We’ve just targeted one of your pressure points. Don’t be alarmed. You’ll get exactly what you’re looking for in just a moment.’

‘Wow,’ she says, turning back to the group. ‘It’s doing some sort of acupressure thing now. Is anyone else getting anything?’

Brenda nods. ‘Mine is kicking in too. I’ve been given some instructions and then there was a little sort of shock, and I feel—’

‘Relaxed?’ Lucy says. ‘Me too. I suppose this is where we all start to get our tailored programmes then?’

The group murmurs its assent. Everyone seems slightly dreamy, or maybe that’s just how she’s seeing them all. She walks away from them now, taking the path to the left, as instructed. It stays level, heads across and inland instead of up and hugging the coastline. ‘You guys should keep going that way,’ she says. She doesn’t bother to wait for Giles, assuming that he’s following behind her and not trailing off with the rest of the group.

She feels hot and slightly shaky, and wonders for a moment if she might have sunstroke. But she hasn’t been exposed to the sun for long enough, has she? She walks for a few more minutes and then stops. Ahead of her, a piece of land has been cut away, recessing down into a dip. There are stone steps and a couple of large white umbrellas. Just visible are the ends of what look like two sunloungers.

She grins. Now this is more like it.

She walks down the steps and the loungers come into full view. Thick, padded beds with cushions and soft blankets folded neatly across the middle. Between them, a round white table, on top of which sits a small tray with two martini glasses. Inside, something pink, topped with white foam. Condensation running down the outsides. In front of the glasses, a bowl of green olives. Underneath the table, an ice bucket with a few bottles of the fancy water from before. Nestled in beside them, a bottle of sun cream.

Laid out neatly on one of the beds is a thin, strappy sundress. Pale yellow with abstract dark flowers. And on the other, a pair of turquoise shorts and a soft white T-shirt. Under each bed is a pair of towelling-covered flip-flops, like the kind you get in spas.

Music is being pumped from somewhere unseen. An old chill-out tune, something that’s always on those Ibiza compilation playlists but no one can ever remember the name of.

She barely notices Giles as he comes down the steps behind her. ‘Babe,’ he says, ‘this is just what we need.’ She feels his hands on her shoulders, and her earlier anger melts away.

Yes, she thinks. This is perfect.





Lucy

Lucy follows behind Giles as far as the top of the steps before she realises that this little scene is meant for two only. ‘Oh, right,’ she says, laughing to herself at the boring cliché that is Tiggy and Giles’s luxury fantasy. ‘Have fun, guys.’ She turns back and heads towards the others, who are still standing in the clearing despite Tiggy’s instructions for them to go on ahead.

Brenda is smiling for the first time since they arrived, and it makes her look younger. That harsh hairstyle is what ages her the most, Lucy thinks. Not to mention the M&S Classic range clothing. She glances around at the rest of the group. Isn’t it interesting how people can come from a similar age bracket and yet look and act so completely different? She’s often thought this about the celebs she’s massacred in her column. They try so hard to stay young that their whole perception of age gets lost. Poor, unsuspecting members of the public have no chance of keeping up, although plenty seem to try it – Botox and fillers, dressing too young for their age. Brenda has managed to do the opposite of this, despite probably having more disposable income than any of them.

Then take James, the kind of man who looks like he’s lucky to remember to clean his teeth every day, never mind using any sort of grooming products. Yet he looks younger than any of them.