Chapter 6
There was a lightness to Lola’s step as she followed the path that skirted the lawn, her attention on the vast sea that was shrouded in darkness beyond the bushes, trees and solar lights that edged the garden.
A bank of clouds clustering on the horizon blocked out the moonlight, and once Lola had passed the garden gate, there was little light apart from a faint silver-grey catching the rippling sea.
The wooden walkway was narrow, cutting across the rocks and jutting over the water into the darkness.
It should have felt eerie, but Lola was relieved to finally be away from the constant attention.
Her sandals were soft and silent against the scuffed wooden boards and she was glad she’d swapped her heels for them at the last minute.
The clouds were drifting, the wind curling in off the sea a welcome respite to the heat inside the villa; even outside on the terrace, it had been a riot of noise and colour, with flaming torches, heaps of food and people everywhere. It was good to breathe easy and take a moment for herself.
Lola stopped. Now the clouds had shifted, a figure was visible sitting at the end of the jetty, a silhouette against the moonlit sky.
The figure turned and muttered ‘shit’, his hand flying to his chest.
‘Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there.’ Lola began to retreat.
‘You needed to escape too?’ The man’s deep voice, with a hint of a Welsh accent, carried towards her.
‘Something like that.’ Lola turned back. ‘Actually, escape is the perfect word. I just needed a bit of time to myself.’
‘I can leave you if you want to be on your own.’
‘No need. Company’s fine if you don’t mind me joining you.
I just had to get away from my friends.’ Lola strolled the short distance to the end of the jetty and sat down next to him.
‘That sounds bloody awful, doesn’t it. They have a tendency to meddle in things – good-naturedly – but my non-existent love life is their focus and I’m so done with that.
’ She silently cursed at having revealed more than she’d meant to.
‘Sorry, you didn’t need to know all that, particularly when we haven’t met properly – I know we were all introduced earlier, but it was hard to remember everyone’s name. I’m Lola.’
‘Rhys.’ He stuck his hand out and she shook it.
‘Ah, you’re a teacher, right? And one of Fabs’s friends from university?’
‘Yes, we met on the first day and hit it off despite coming from very different backgrounds.’ Rhys motioned towards the villa behind them.
‘Yeah, I know, it’s hard to believe some people are lucky enough to live like this.’
‘And to grow up here.’
‘Sheesh.’ Lola sighed. ‘Beats my family’s two-bed cottage in Devon.’
‘Snap. Although ours was a three-bed terrace in Caerphilly.’
Lola laughed. ‘Don’t you go showing off with your posh three bedrooms, now.’
Rhys smiled and it lit up his face. She couldn’t make out the colour of his eyes in the dark, but he was attractive, in a subtle kind of way.
She hadn’t really noticed him earlier, because he’d been quiet, fading into the shadows next to Fabs, who was arrestingly handsome and confident.
And of course there was Gareth, who’d made it blatantly clear he fancied her.
There was another British guy who’d been in-your-face loud and had stolen her attention for all the wrong reasons.
A couple of Fabs’s Italian friends were typically dark and handsome, and she’d noticed, particularly Valentino, who had been far from shy in his full-on approach.
But Rhys was quiet and reserved. He had dark hair, an attractive amount of facial hair and a tall slender build.
He wasn’t a muscle-bound gym-nut like her usual choice. Friend rather than boyfriend material.
‘You grew up in Devon then?’ Rhys asked.
‘Yes, just me and my mum and dad in a cluttered cottage with loads of land. Dad grew his own veg and Mum was creative – she used to upcycle everything, paint badly but passionately and make all my clothes till I was a teenager and rebelled.’
‘Ha! It kinda sounds idyllic,’ Rhys said with amused uncertainty.
‘I suppose it was in many ways.’ Lola flicked away the hair that was stuck to her forehead and tilted her face upwards in the hope of catching a breeze.
‘I had a lot of freedom to roam. We were walking distance from the sea and a drive away from Bude. I loved being down on the beach and spent long days exploring. Even so, I couldn’t wait to get away. ’
‘And you moved to?’
‘London.’
‘You couldn’t really get much different!’
‘That was the point.’ Lola pulled the material of her dress away from the sticky heat of her back. ‘What about you moving away from Wales to, I presume, Bristol?’
‘I couldn’t wait to have some independence.
I’m the youngest of three and longed to have my own space and the freedom to do what I wanted.
Not that I ever craved city living, but I wanted excitement and that student lifestyle.
’ He sighed as if remembering those good times.
He glanced at her. ‘I presume that’s how you know Mirabel, then, from London? ’
‘Yeah, we work together.’
‘You’re in the music biz too?’
Lola nodded. ‘A PR manager at the same record label.’
‘Until Mirabel permanently moves out here.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ Lola wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m trying to forget she’s leaving. I’m going to miss her so much.’
‘It’s an exciting time for her and Fabs.’
‘It certainly is.’ Lola stared at the dark shimmering sea, the only light coming from the moon and the lights glinting across the bay where the island curved.
Mirabel was starting a whole new chapter, on an adventure with the love of her life, and what a place to live.
Lola had barely seen any of it yet, but Sardinia promised a laid-back lifestyle of white-sand beaches and sun-kissed living.
She wasn’t jealous – well, no more than any normal person would be – but she did feel as if she was losing out on more than her friend moving away.
Perhaps it shone a light on Lola’s own life.
She’d never experienced the kind of loving and supportive relationship Mirabel had with Fabs; she’d never been in love with someone she’d considered to be her best friend.
What Mirabel had found was what Lola had missed out on – being loved for who she was.
The silence dragged. The heat was oppressive, but it was a little fresher by the water. The only sound was the slap of the sea against the jetty and the distant music from the party dancing on the night air. Laughter cut through the stillness.
Rhys cleared his throat. ‘What you said before about your friends meddling, it’s happened before?’
‘Oh yes, with disastrous consequences.’ She rested back on her hands, leaning on the sand-scuffed boards, and appraised him. ‘You mean you haven’t heard the story about what I got up to at the wedding I went to earlier this year that I will never live down?’
‘No, can’t say I have.’
‘Well, that’s refreshing.’
‘Are you going to tell me?’
Lola laughed. ‘Oh, you actually want to know!’
‘Um, yes. You can’t tease me about a story you’re never going to live down, then not give me the juicy details.’
‘It’s pretty gross, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Now you’ve managed to intrigue me even more.’
Lola crossed her legs and leaned her elbows on her knees.
Salt spray dampened her skin. ‘My friends, who are all determined to find me a guy, sort of set me up with another poor sod of a singleton at this wedding and we spent most of the day together because we were the only two without plus-ones. We chatted, we drank – a lot – and flirted. Our friends encouraged both the drinking and flirting and it was safe to say we both fancied each other. So, um, later that night, way after the first dance but before the bride and groom were waved off, we took ourselves to a quiet spot outside and made out.’
‘Okay.’ In the moonlight, Lola caught Rhys’s frown. ‘Sounds like an unsurprising outcome.’
‘Yeah, it was all good up till that point. What you have to remember is that I was very drunk and I’d done a lot of travelling to get to the wedding, so it was a mortifying combination of travel sickness and drinking too much after eating food that was way too rich.
Because I was sick on him right after kissing him.
’ Lola put her face in her hands. ‘Actually, kissing him was what made me sick.’
‘Oh, wow, that is bad.’
‘It got worse.’
‘What on earth could be worse than that?’
‘I’m glad you’re finding this amusing.’ She pursed her lips, but her own rising giggles made her realise that it was funny as well as mortifying.
‘Me being sick made him sick and he puked on my shoes. Let me tell you, diamanté heels with the contents of a three-course dinner all over them is not a good look. Neither is a pale grey suit and white shirt after I’d been drinking red wine.
We had the look of horror movie characters nailed.
He was annoyed, like out-of-his mind incensed – he’d invited me up to his room to, um, continue somewhere a little more private when I puked.
If you’re not aware of what the biggest turn-off is, then someone inviting you to “come up to my room for a bit of nookie” followed by being sick on them is it. ’
Rhys reined back a laugh. ‘And he was really sick because you were sick?’
‘Yup, we could have been stuck in a hellish loop of being sick for eternity, but he staggered off, turning the air blue in between retching – I really hope I’m not making you queasy.’
‘Nope, I’m good – as long as talking about it isn’t going to make you puke all over me?’ He leaned away and grinned.
‘No risk of that, I promise.’ She found herself smiling. ‘I’ve paced myself drinking-wise and the drive from the airport wasn’t too long.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ He folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. ‘So he stormed off covered in sick. What did you do?’