The Spa Break

Chapter 1

Predictably, I’ve spilt coffee down my shirt already. I only know this because the train is so busy that I’m being pressed up against one of the doors and, in a bid to avoid my face nestling into somebody else’s armpit, I’ve tilted my head down. It’s afforded me a bird’s-eye view of the stain. It’s not even 9am! In my haste to get on this train, I sort of forgot that I’d be travelling at rush hour. At what age will I be able to drink a beverage without spilling some down myself? Not twenty-nine, that’s for sure. The stain, I decide, looks familiar. I stare at it some more and realise that it’s the exact shape of the Sydney Opera House, which is something.

As we pull into the station the horde of commuters become so eager to alight that I’m squished further into the door, legs digging into the hard lines of my suitcase, which I may have overstuffed with books for the trip. Why does rush hour turn people into monsters?

After a tediously long wait, the train doors slide open and I am unceremoniously popped out onto the platform like a slice of hot toast, a tangle of limbs and luggage.

‘Sorry!’ I call, pausing to rub my sore legs as people in suits sidestep my case with varying degrees of irritation across their faces. In hindsight, did I really need to wake up before dawn to catch the first train up to Newcastle? Probably not, but I was way too excited about the next seven days to show any form of restraint.

A spa break! With my two best friends!

Who cares if I’m *checks time* literally hours too early to check in? This is just the start of my great big escape and I intend to make the most of every last second of it.

Positively giddy, I pause to admire the station. I love train stations! (Just me? Probably.) The constant ting of announcements. The clack-clack of wheels on the track. The dramatic architecture. The … pigeons.

‘Bugger off out the way, will you?’ This huff comes from a disgruntled man in pinstripes as he barges past.

‘You will not dampen my spirit!’ I reply exuberantly, although I do also move out of the way, because no one wants to be the moron causing obstructions in the train station.

I roll my shoulders back and make my way, with purpose, to the taxi rank. There’s a snaking queue, which I join, and while I’m there I take the opportunity to appreciate the beautiful building. Grade 1 listed! Opened by Queen Victoria in 1850!

And then I feel something wet land on my shoulder. Did someone just waterbomb me? I look around in shock, my shoulder suddenly very, very wet. No one looks suspicious. And, I look up to see it’s not raining.

But there is a shady-looking pigeon flying overhead and I don’t like the cut of his gib.

On inspection the wet patch is, indeed, bird poo. I glare at the pigeon, who, unbothered by my menacing gaze, has now landed and started to peck at a pile of dried vomit.

Thankfully, the queue moves quickly and I’m soon being beckoned into a shiny blue car by a man in a baseball cap shouting, ‘Alreet, pet’ in my direction.

‘Hello!’ I say cheerily as I slide into the backseat.

‘Just watch that seat,’ he cautions, pointing. ‘My last punters were mortal.’

I follow his gaze to yet another wet patch, this time on the seat next to mine. Today is shaping up to be a total stain-fest.

‘Mortal as in … human beings?’ I’m confused.

‘Totally steaming drunk,’ he explains. ‘I picked them up after they’d gan doon toon.’

‘So that is …’ My eyes track nervously back to the wet patch.

‘Puke,’ he confirms cheerfully. ‘Don’t you worry, pet, I’ve had the bleach on it. Good as new. But still a bit wet so you’d be better staying over that side. I’m Carl. Where are we going today, pet?’

For the briefest moment, I waver. Where am I going? I mean, I know the literal answer to that, it’s a hotel by the coast that Stella has booked. The hotel that I can’t wait to get to, but the one that secretly, somewhere in the back of my head, I’m also a little worried I’m running away to. With everything that’s been going on at home, should I really be escaping right now? Covered, as I am, in both coffee and poo. Surrounded, as I am, by the smell of bleach-soaked vomit. Are these omens?

I shake off those thoughts immediately. Of course not! I need this break and omens aren’t real … are they? No!

‘Hi, Carl, I’m Jess.’ I beam. ‘And we’re off to the Gurnard Cove hotel, please.’

Carl whistles appreciatively. ‘Fancy.’

‘I know!’ I nod enthusiastically. ‘My best friend booked it.’

Stella, with her kick-ass job in the charity sector, is so well connected that she’s somehow managed to get the three of us a reservation at this insane-looking spa hotel on the coast before it’s even properly open, with a huge discount. The place has its own vineyard for heaven’s sake! It’s all very much not the kind of holiday I would normally be able to afford. Last summer I booked a flat close to the beach at Camber Sands on the South Coast for my ex and me, only for Otis to announce when we got there that he ‘hates sand’. The clue was in the title, I churlishly pointed out to him, but Otis claimed he’d been too busy working to pay attention to our holiday destination beforehand. All to say: our seaside trip was mostly tarmac-based. I’d imagined walking hand in hand along the beach at sunset with the sand beneath our feet. Not sitting in Otis’s car in the car park with the windows firmly shut ‘admiring the view without any of the mess’.

Now that I’ve created a little bit of distance from my ex-boyfriend I can see how ludicrous that all was, and I stifle a giggle at the ridiculousness of Otis.

Honestly, what was I thinking?

‘So, what do you do then, pet?’ Carl asks as he pulls off.

‘I’m a journalist,’ I reply, glad for the nudge to stop thinking of the disaster that was my ex.

‘I’d better watch what I say, then!’ He laughs at his joke. I get this reaction a lot . Mention the word ‘journalist’ and people assume I’ve got my phone already recording, ready to fire off questions and take down their life story. The reality is, my job as digital editor of a small-town newspaper is less about breaking exclusives, celebrity gossip and politicians’ scandals and more about interviewing local farmers about the literal price of milk.

‘I’m sure you’ve got some stories to tell.’ I smile at Carl in the rear-view mirror, resplendent with fluffy dice, and he promptly tells me all of them. I remember enough from the media law course I took to know that I categorically cannot repeat any of it, for fear of being sued for defamation. Suffice to say, hoo boy, does Carl have some good stories.

I’m bobbing along in the back, shouting out a thrilled ‘no way’ and ‘what the heck?’ every now and then as we glide out of the city and across to the coast. It seems Carl has managed to pick up every famous person who has ever set foot in the North East and every single one of them has been indiscreet. I’m obsessed.

‘I had that girl with the croissants in my car just yesterday,’ he says.

‘No!’

‘Aye!’

‘Took her to Gurnard Cove too.’ He smiles at me.

‘Oh my gosh, no ,’ I repeat. ThatGirlWithTheCroissants (literally her exact social media handle) is a massive influencer. Naturally I follow her, along with six hundred thousand other people. She’s the same age as me but she’s got an amazing wardrobe, her own pastry-themed beauty brand and a ginormous following to boot. She also loves croissants and her USP is that there’s usually something croissant-related happening in her posts. We’re talking croissant-shaped earrings, her trademark stacked rings with pastries on them, sometimes she even pulls out a knitted croissant as a prop for photos. I cannot believe I’m going to be staying at the same hotel as she is! I head straight to the group chat.

You will not believe this news …

ThatGirlWithTheCroissants is staying at our hotel!

Em starts tapping back immediately.

I met her once

How didn’t we know this?

What was she like?

Vapid LOL poor thing

Anyway who’s ready for their Saturn Returns Vacation

Stella is typing …

Must we call it that

What’s wrong with spa break

Or, you know, plain old holiday

Em writes:

Don’t be a naysayer Stella, this trip is all about our Saturn Returns baby!

I let out a snort.

‘Y’alreet, pet?’ asks Carl.

‘Sorry,’ I splutter. ‘It’s just one of my best friends is big into astrology and has decided that this trip will be all about our Saturn Return. And I, well, I guess you’d say the other friend and I aren’t big believers in the zodiac.’

‘What’s a Saturn Return when it’s at home?’ asks Carl.

It’s a valid question.

‘Well, Carl,’ I say, adopting a schoolmarm-ish tone. ‘It takes Saturn around twenty-nine years to orbit the sun, which means that every twenty-nine years or so, we experience a major period of change.’ If I sound like I’m reading from a fact book, it’s because Em has been bombarding us with astrological concepts since we met, and grilling us on this particular phenomenon for the past few months. For such a sweet human being, she gets quite cross if we get anything wrong. ‘So your Saturn Return happens when the planet lands in the same place in the sky as it was when you were born. It creates an exact snapshot of the sky on your birth day.’

‘Riiiiight,’ says Carl. ‘So …?’

‘So, many people see their Saturn Return as an astrological coming of age, Carl. According to my friend Em, the three of us should all be expecting big things because we’re all twenty-nine.’

‘Big things, eh?’

‘Yes.’ I nod sagely. ‘We’re talking milestones, break-ups, make-ups, big career decisions, unexpected shake-ups. You name it, it could happen. If you believe in all that, obvs. Me and Stella don’t, but Em is insisting that this week away will be in celebration of our Saturn Return and if it means that the three of us get to spend some much-needed time together, then I’m more than happy to go along with it.’

‘Three best friends spending seven days in a posh hotel during an astrological coming of age?’ Carl whistles. ‘Sounds like things could get interesting.’

I’ll be honest, aside from spending time with my favourites, the thing I’m most interested in is spa-ing the heck out of this break. Swimming, massages, you name it, I’m doing it. Well, sort of. I read on the website that they offer colonic irrigations but, much as I admire good digestive health, I do draw the line at having a tube stuck up my butt in the name of it.

Another message from Em (who no doubt will be all over the colonics) flashes up on my phone.

So excited to see you both later!

I’m on my way! In a cab now.

OMG yes Jessie!

I had a work thing this morning so plan to fly up later

Em, short for Emerald, was born into a family with obnoxious amounts of cash and my absolute favourite thing about her is that she’s managed not to be totally silly because of it. A former wild child, Em had been kicked out of countless boarding schools by the time we met at uni. Now she’s entered her businesswoman era (Em is one hundred per cent the kind of person who has eras) and has launched an incredibly successful jewellery line. Or ‘selling gold trinkets to poshos’, as Stella calls it.

The three of us have been best mates since first year and I love them immensely. What I don’t love is that Stella, Em and I scattered ourselves across the country after graduation. Sometimes I find myself longing so hard to live in the same place as they do that my heart starts hurting and I worry that I’ve given myself some kind of cardiac problem. Alas, Stella is in London being important and Em has one of those glamorous careers that involves a lot of jet-setting, so she’s never in the same place for more than five minutes. Meanwhile, I moved back to little old Carpston where I could be close to my folks and maybe even afford a house one day.

Stella is typing …

Just got on a train, shouldn’t be too long.

Em is typing …

OK babes see you there.

Sending you both links to the app I was telling you about …

Download asap please!

We can’t go on a Saturn Return break without a guide from the zodiac.

Imagine LOL disaster!

‘Wow, she’s like a dog with a bone,’ I mutter as I open up the app store on something called Zodiac Girlie. Oh dear. I can practically hear Stella tutting as she sees the name of Em’s app of choice. Tutting and also firing out a whole heap of expletives. Stella takes a zero-hostages approach to life and salty language is her calling card.

Zodiac Girlie promises daily horoscopes and astrological advice. Sounds … acceptable? They also have a ‘no bs’ policy which suits me just fine. Dutifully I type in my name, date of birth, time of birth (pretty sure Dad said I was born just after midnight) and away we go. Immediately I get a notification, which apparently sums up what the stars think I can expect from today in brief. In journalism, we call very short stories News in Brief, or NIBS for short, so I guess this is like my Stars in Brief.

A window opens, climb through it.

Hmm. Not sure Carl would appreciate me scrambling through the window here in the back of his alarmingly fast sports car. We’re travelling at speed, after all. Still, I open it as low as I can without my long brown hair whipping itself into a frenzy and breathe.

First thing to note: it smells much better outside this vehicle. Yesterday’s sick and bleach have mingled with Carl’s aftershave and I’d been getting a bit of a headache. Secondly: I am nailing this Saturn Return already! Em will be thrilled that I have already achieved today’s astrological goal and also, who knew it would be so simple? Third thing to note: the view.

THE VIEW!

‘I can see the sea!’ I squawk excitedly until I remember that I’m a grown-ass woman.

‘Not far now,’ Carl calls back.

I feel another swell of excitement as we drive around through a pretty coastal town where bunting has been strung up around the town square.

‘Ooh, a bookshop,’ I coo. ‘This place looks cute!’

‘This is where I live,’ Carl says proudly.

‘What a nice place to call home,’ I reply.

‘Aye, it’s not too shabby. The local pub has a great whisky selection, too.’

‘My friends have banned me from drinking whisky,’ I confess. ‘Em says it makes me lairy.’

Carl laughs at this, turning the car onto a coastal road. Fields roll by to our left and on our right, the sea. It is stunning. Shards of sunlight light up the ocean and I’m so busy staring that I almost miss the very chic and understated sign for Gurnard Cove. We turn onto a quiet road lined by trees and then I spot it. An imposing country house built of white stone, flanked by enormous stone lions, stands majestic at the end of a sweeping drive. Before it, a large circular pond with a fountain in the middle. It’s the sort of home that would not go amiss in a Jane Austen novel.

I gasp.

‘Aye, I know,’ says Carl.

As we pull up two members of staff emerge out of nowhere and the next thing I know, my suitcase has been taken care of, I’ve been offered a hot towel ‘after the journey’ and I’m waving goodbye to dear old Carl.

Grand entrance. Marble floor. The smell of luxury and citrus in the air. As I step inside, it quickly becomes clear that things are a lot less Austen in here, and a lot more Le Corbusier. Shout-out to my architecture girlies!

There’s ultra-modern furniture at every turn. And no reception desk because, I learn, guests have their own dedicated concierge service to cater for each and every whim. Imagine! I try to keep my mouth closed as I’m shown through the main atrium, wondering if it’s high time I develop some whims of my own.

‘Welcome to Gurnard Cove,’ says the smiling woman who is currently walking me towards a large seating area filled with low tables and artfully arranged hardbacks. She’s dressed in a stylish linen trouser suit and motions for me to sit on a sofa made from – best guess – cotton candy. I blink and there’s a delicate cup of fresh herbal tea in my hand.

Ooh.

‘Our ethos here is simple,’ my guide tells me serenely. ‘We’re here to help you unplug from the outside world. To cleanse. To connect mind, body, soul. There’s plenty to keep you busy while you’re with us. A private stretch of coastline. Our kitchen garden, orchard and vineyard are all available to stroll through and sample. Maybe you’d like to take root in the woodland, or realign in our state-of-the-art gym …’

‘Wow, there’s a lot to take on board.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘We’re here to facilitate. My name is Santi and I’m here whenever you need me. If you follow this link,’ she seamlessly produces an iPad with a QR code, ‘we can get you set up on the hotel’s WhatsApp. Each day we’ll tell you what’s going on and can book you into any activities you’d like. And if there’s something else you’d like to try, please don’t hesitate to call me.’

‘Thank you!’ I manage.

‘Your room isn’t quite ready just yet,’ Santi explains. I look at my phone. Still three hours until official check-in. ‘But perhaps you’d like to enjoy the gardens, or sit by our outdoor pool with a cocktail?’

Now that sounds up my street, I think gleefully.

‘Pool please!’

I’m trying not to walk around with my mouth remaining wide open, but it’s difficult. We move outside to a terraced area studded by huge black trellis structures, which frame a stunning view out to the sea beyond. The architecture’s amazing , the old building in stark contrast to the modern glass and timber one which stretches out to the right.

‘That’s the spa,’ Santi says, following my gaze. ‘You’ll be staying in one of our spa suites, which are beyond the spa. Breakfasts and dinners are back in the original building. But for now, our outdoor pool.’

I trot along after her, down some steps, drawing closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. There, built right into the edge of the cliff, is an infinity pool which knocks the breath right out of me. Oh my days, it is beautiful! You can swim right up to the edge! And it looks like I’ve got it all to myself.

‘It’s heated so even on cool days, of which we get many, you can enjoy a swim,’ says Santi. She motions towards the sunloungers, each positioned with a view out across the coast, and I wonder if I should pinch myself to check this is actually happening. Everywhere is so luxurious! I’ve only been here for a matter of minutes but already, I can feel my shoulders relax. I listen to the seagulls call out in the distance. The gentle sound of waves crashing below. The glisten of the sea on this gorgeously sunny day.

And that’s when I spot something – some one – even more beautiful than the sea view.

It turns out that I’m not alone at this pool after all.