The Spa Break

Chapter 9

By Sunday morning I’m starting to feel like I truly exist in this blissful spa world. I’m vaguely concerned that I’m becoming a total lush. I’ve even grown used to being handed refreshing drinks after a swim and warm hand towels after a long walk around the hotel’s grounds. It’s so lovely here and I know it’s not the real world, but I am v much appreciating a break from all that.

I’m the first to wake up, so I slip a hotel robe around myself and go to investigate.

I can see Stella’s got her bedroom light on so I knock on her door and potter in. She’s still in bed, her hair wrapped up in a silk scarf on top of her head.

‘Come in.’ She pats the bed and I tuck myself in next to her. ‘I’m just texting Fran.’

‘Oh, let me give you some space then,’ I say.

‘Don’t go!’ she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me back. ‘I’m literally reminding her to add some collagen powder to our next beauty subscription order.’

‘You’re so grown up,’ I point out. ‘Beauty subscriptions, collagen …’

‘I like that those are the things you think make me a grown-up, rather than, I don’t know, a mortgage.’

‘Well, that too,’ I add, burrowing up alongside her. ‘Stell, can I ask you a question?’

‘Always.’

‘When you first met, how did Fran make you feel?’

‘Alive,’ Stella says, instantly. ‘She was like my own personal oxygen source. Not in a creepy I-can’t-breathe-without-you way, but in a headrushy, I-feel-amazing-around-you way. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes.’ I sigh dreamily. ‘So did you just know that she was the one for you?’

‘I’m a bit too pragmatic to believe in The One. I feel like that’s way too much pressure, particularly when you start dating someone. How can we ever know we’ve found “the one” when we haven’t met all the humans on the planet? But I do believe in deep connections and I felt that with Fran. Plus, you know, I fancied her so much I could barely string a sentence together when we first met.’

I laugh at this. ‘You got tongue-tied? I cannot imagine that!’

‘It was so bad. The shite I was spouting, Jessie, I’m genuinely surprised she ever agreed to a second date. Why d’you ask?’

I stretch my legs out under the duvet. ‘Just curious really. I’ve not experienced that before.’

(Until now.)

‘There’s time for all of that still.’ Stella squeezes my hand reassuringly. ‘You definitely seem like you’re in a good place now, Jessie.’

‘I do?’

‘Yes! Very … zesty!’

‘Zesty?’ I laugh.

‘You’ve got this joie de vivre going on and I know it’s amazing here, but it can’t just be this hotel. And obviously my sparkling company.’ She grins. ‘Don’t tell Em I said this, but it does seem to me like you’re maybe starting a new chapter.’

I pretend to gasp. ‘Zodiac Girlie’s finally got you,’ I tease.

‘It has not,’ she insists. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I do, Stell. I think finally kicking Otis out of my flat has made a huge difference too. I feel a lot lighter about that whole thing now, and that’s all thanks to you.’

‘You know how much I love to take credit for things but honestly, that was all you. I just helped you give him that final little shove.’

‘Room for a third?’ Em peers around the door.

Stella and I scooch up so Em can fit in too.

‘Look, we’ve made a little Jessie sandwich,’ Em observes.

‘This reminds me of Sundays when we lived together in the flat at uni,’ I say happily.

‘ Friends re-runs and a fry-up.’ Stella nods.

‘Jessie was always cooking those veggie sausages that smelt revolting,’ Em chips in.

‘Oi!’ I laugh. ‘You managed to eat enough of them.’

‘That’s because Emerald cannot cook for shit,’ Stella points out.

‘I’m actually much better now, guys.’ Em beams proudly. ‘I learned how to make dhal on a yoga retreat in India and I am totally excellent at it.’

‘Isn’t dhal just lentils?’ Stella asks.

Em shakes her head knowingly. ‘There’s so much more to it. You have to cook the spices just right, and make this thing called a tarka . I am going to cook it for you one day, babes. Anyway, I remember that after watching Friends Jess would insist that we all go to the library on Sunday afternoons because she was worried that we weren’t doing enough studying.’

‘It’s basically down to me that you guys got your degrees.’

‘Totally,’ agrees Em. ‘So shall we do classic Sunday vibes today?’

‘Vibes.’ Stella rolls her eyes. ‘But yes. We could even order room service tonight?’

‘I mean, it has been a huge faff getting dressed for dinner these past two nights.’ I grin.

‘I know, so much effort.’ Em laughs. ‘I’m totally game for that. I was thinking about trying out the canyoning course today.’

‘What’s that?’ I yawn.

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugs. ‘Climbing up stuff with ropes? I think there’s water involved?’

‘Hmm. I found paddleboarding a struggle so I’m afraid it’s a pass from me.’

‘But Luke’s leading the course.’ Em winks at me.

I turn to give her a stern look.

‘Why d’you say it like that?’ Stella asks.

My look turns frantic.

‘Because he’s your bro,’ Emerald fibs seamlessly, her angel face belying her ulterior motives. ‘And you were literally saying last night that you want to spend time with him.’

‘Very true,’ Stella conceded. ‘God, I love that we’re finally living in the same place for the first time in years. Will you sign me up, too, Em?’

‘Sure. You coming, Jess?’ She pumps her eyebrows at me.

I glare at her. ‘It all sounds a bit too adventurous. And besides, you guys reminded me about going to the library on a Sunday. There’s one here at Gurnard Cove which I still haven’t checked out—’

‘A travesty!’ Stella warbles in mock dismay.

‘So I’m going to go and curl up with a good book,’ I press on, ignoring her. ‘We’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to get any reading done yet.’

‘That’s because Emerald keeps forcing us to do things,’ Stella points out.

‘Which is very sweet,’ I say, not wanting to offend Em.

‘So Stell and I are canyoning, Jessie’s being a premium geek, and we’ll all reconvene back here for a sofa supper?’

‘Perfect! Except for the geek bit,’ I say, getting up to leave.

‘Wait!’ shouts Em. ‘Quick Zodiac Girlie update before you go.’

I open up the app and show her my Stars in Brief.

Turn your face to the truth .

‘I got “Wealth comes from within”.’ Stella shrugs, while Em nods knowingly.

Oh my god, the library! It is the stuff that dreams are made of. The room is lit by a mahogany glow from well-placed table lamps, the low thrum of silence filling the room. There are cosy reading nooks as far as the eye can see, each with its own sidetable stocked with old-fashioned board games. And the smell! That comforting scent of well-thumbed books plus a serious dose of ar?me de luxury hotel. I breathe in and allow myself a brief fantasy that one day, I’ll be so successful that I will have a library just like this in my own home. Imagine.

As for the actual books, there are so many that I almost don’t know where to start. Almost. Ten minutes in and I’ve flopped happily onto a high-backed leather chair with a tower of tomes balancing on the table next to me.

I take care to be quiet, not wanting to disturb any other bookworms getting their library fix, but it quickly becomes clear that I’m alone in here. I guess most of the guests are out doing more adventurous things, like Em and Stella, or making the most of the beautiful weather, or at the spa.

Well, this feels heavenly to me.

‘Can I offer you a drink?’ A member of staff appears, and I wonder if they’ve been hiding between the bookshelves this entire time.

‘Yes please!’ I reply, opting for a mint tea and settling in to read. I flick through the newspaper first, then get started on a crime novel I’ve been itching to read and then, because my brain wants a little break from all the murdering, I crack open a book on art history, deciding that it would be very cultured of me to expand my mind while at Gurnard Cove.

I’m several chapters in and fully versed on prehistoric cave paintings when I pause for a sip of mint tea and close my eyes, just for a second.

‘Are you asleep?’ comes a voice from outside my subconscious.

‘No!’ I say, jolting myself awake and rubbing my eyes. ‘Well, maybe.’

A woman comes into focus in front of me.

Well, not any old woman. Dita Ortiz, Hollywood superstar.

‘Oh my word,’ I whisper, wondering if I should curtsey or, like, avert my gaze? I get up then, unsure what I’m doing, and immediately sit back down. Shouldn’t she be followed by paparazzi and flashing lights at all times?

Dita Ortiz has a book tucked under her arm and is giving me a look.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘Would you like this seat?’ I scramble to get up again, remembering how Lycra Leon had been summoned to her suite to provide his regime of doom direct to Dita. That must be it. I’m in her seat. I must move!

‘No, no.’ She chuckles. ‘Please sit.’

I freeze on the spot, still half asleep after dropping off in my pursuit of knowledge, which leaves me in a weird semi-standing pose, hovering above my chair.

‘Sit,’ Dita instructs more firmly.

I do as I’m told. And even though I have no clue as to why Dita Ortiz is engaging little old me in conversation, I pause to take her in. She’s immaculate. Rosebud lips, dark bushy brows and kohl-lined eyes. She looks every inch a natural, if incredibly beautiful, woman in her fifties. Dita’s been a screen siren for decades and I can totally see why.

‘I am alone,’ she says, eyes dancing furtively from left to right. This is not strictly accurate, because another hotel guest is quietly reading in another corner of the room now. And besides, for the life of me I can’t figure out why she’s telling me this. Does Dita think we’re in a spy movie and this is our chance to have a discussion away from the prying eyes of the FBI or similar? I glance around in case there are hidden cameras.

‘But now I find you,’ she says, eyes twinkling. Okay, not a spy movie. She thinks we’re in a romcom. This is a tragic turn of events. Poor Dita Ortiz must be suffering from some kind of syndrome. Maybe she’s acted in so many films that she now believes her entire life is being played out on camera?

She’s looking at me expectantly.

‘Here I am,’ I say, flummoxed.

‘I see your pile of crime books. My favourite. So now we talk.’

She likes crime fiction too?

‘Oh great! Have you read this one? It’s by a not-so-well-known author but really doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.’ I smile, handing over the book. ‘And actually, this one’s great too. The twist at the end? I did not see it coming.’

‘You know the genre,’ Dita says approvingly. ‘I am very keen to star in a crime thriller myself, but I am always cast as the siren.’

This is baffling, because Dita seems like the kind of woman who gets what she wants.

‘You would be amazing as the lead in this one,’ I say, hopping up and pulling another off the shelf.

‘I will read it,’ Dita says. ‘You are very helpful.’

‘Oh, thank you!’

‘I am Spanish and German. A woman of Europe. In Europe, we talk to people, we communicate. In England, no one talks. I got on your tube the other day.’

‘My tube ?’

‘Your underground tube.’

‘Oh! The tube. In London?’ Not my tube, whatever that might be. The idea of Dita Ortiz riding the Piccadilly line is so bizarre I find myself chuckling quietly.

‘Sí, sí. And no one said a thing, to anyone! Even people travelling together spoke in hushed voices. It’s bizarre, no?’

‘Well, I guess …’ I hedge.

‘It is bizarre,’ she insists, and it is very clear that I must agree with her immediately.

‘Yes, sorry about, um, us.’ Why am I apologising to Dita Ortiz on behalf of all British people for our reserved nature? What is happening today?

‘You know …’ Dita says, now beckoning me over to her own corner of the library with her new collection of crime novels. I scramble to pick up all my books, balance the mint tea on top, and hurry after her. ‘I have been here all weekend and not one person, apart from hotel staff, has engaged me in proper conversation. They only want selfies! I do the selfies and hope, maybe this time, some interesting conversation will follow. What is your name?’

‘Jessica,’ I supply dutifully.

‘Jessica,’ she repeats, the J sounding like a Y in her rich Spanish accent. ‘Do you think some interesting conversation has followed?’

‘I’m going for no?’

‘Exactly right,’ she says, wide-eyed, as she folds herself elegantly into a chair and beckons for me to do the same. ‘It’s rude, no?’

‘Well, erm, it might be because you’re so very famous?’ And also a terrifying powerhouse of a woman, I don’t add.

‘It’s rude.’

‘No, yes, sorry, you’re absolutely right.’

Don’t argue with Dita, Jess!

‘So today I find you, asleep in front of your book, and I think, here is a woman I will make conversation with. Now, continue.’

Continue? Dita Ortiz wants me to make conversation outside of the realm of crime fiction. Right, let’s think.

I clear my throat. ‘Did you know that the earliest example of figurative art can be traced back to a cave drawing of three pigs in Indonesia?’ I heave open the book and hold up a picture for her to admire.

Dita takes the book from my hand and throws it on the floor.

I gasp. Poor book. I reach to pick it up, give it a reassuring pat and put it back on my stack.

‘No,’ she says. ‘This book, on the other hand, is interesting.’ Then she hands me a hardback with a crude drawing of a penis on the front. ‘It’s all about sex. You will like it.’

I mean, I’m not sure that I will but we have definitely moved beyond the point where I dare to disagree with Dita.

‘Thank you so much,’ I whimper, sliding it to the bottom of my pile for decency’s sake.

Dita is watching me closely, which is unnerving. ‘You know, Yessica, you remind me of my daughter.’

‘I do?’

‘She is also a terrible prude.’

Wow. I can’t decide if I’m captivated by this woman or quite offended.

‘I’m not sure I’m a prude, per se,’ I suggest, clean forgetting about my decision not to disagree with Dita. I look at her now and discover that she is currently taking a small bell out of her handbag. She rings it once. A member of staff arrives immediately.

‘We will drink two Barbadillo Reliquia,’ Dita instructs. They scurry off.

‘This bell comes everywhere with me,’ she explains. ‘I find that no matter where I am in the world, if I ring it, someone will turn up to bring me things.’

I can’t say I’m surprised by this. ‘That sounds … very useful.’

‘Now, where was I? Ah yes, the problem with my daughter Conchita. She did not live up to her full potential.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say. ‘But maybe there’s still time? What is she doing now?’

‘She is dead.’

‘Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Dita. That is tragic.’

‘Well, dead to me,’ Dita concedes as our drinks arrive.

‘Oh. That’s very sad, still.’

‘Well, not really dead to me,’ Dita continues. ‘We see each other very often and I love her fiercely. But her behaviour can be disappointing.’

I suppose it should come as no surprise that a woman who has made a career out of drama is, in fact, deeply dramatic. Dita takes a sip of her drink and I give mine a sniff, unsure what she ordered because I was flummoxed by all the Spanish-sounding words. The liquid is thick, the colour of cinnamon and spice. I take a sniff. Ooh, sherry! Sometimes Mum will suggest a ‘cheeky sherry’ before a game of cards. In fact I’d probably be round at Mum and Dad’s right now if it weren’t for this spa break, or their massive world adventure.

‘Drink,’ Dita orders, and I note she’s already finished hers.

I do as I’m told, trying not to wince at the taste and the time of day. It’s not even lunch! Again!

‘Good. Now, tell me more about your life, Yessica.’

‘Oh, okay! Well, I’m a journalist, sort of,’ I begin. ‘I’ve worked on a regional newspaper in Carpston.’

‘Craps Town?’

‘ Carpston ,’ I try to enunciate. ‘And I’m on holiday with my two best friends. We met at uni and we hardly ever get to see each other now, because we all live in different places. Also Em and Stella have really impressive jobs, which mean they’re both super busy and Em’s always all over the place with her work.’

‘And what is your ambition?’ Dita asks, ringing the bell again.

‘Oof,’ I say, struggling to put the words together.

‘You always dreamed of being a journalist?’ she presses.

‘Well … no, actually. When I was younger I assumed I would work with books somehow. Maybe even owning a bookshop one day.’

‘Ah yes, like in Notting Hill . Very British.’

‘Oh I love that film!’

‘Humph,’ Dita says, tilting her head to one side. She looks displeased. Then, very slowly and with a distinct eyeroll, she says: ‘Yulia Roberts.’

‘Julia Roberts?’ I whisper. ‘You don’t like her?’

‘It is a long story.’ She shrugs.

I am desperate for Dita to spill the tea on whatever kicked off between her and Julia. ‘Did she get a part you wanted?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Did she say something about you in the press, then?’ I ask.

‘She probably talks about me plenty, many people do. No, this is about Yulia and Hugh.’

‘Hugh Grant ?’ I squeak. But just when I’m about to press for more details, Dita cuts me off.

‘So, continue. Why don’t you own a bookshop if this is your dream?’

‘Well, it just hasn’t been that simple. I suppose the problem is that I needed a stable job when I finished uni for various reasons – mostly I wanted to be close to my parents – and I knew that if I moved back to Carpston I might be able to save enough money for a mortgage by the time I turned thirty if I really worked at it. And when I got home there was an internship going.’

‘At this Craps Town newspaper?’

‘ Carpston , yes. And I worked my way up the ladder there. I do still get my book fix by volunteering at the local charity bookshop, and I once tried to persuade my annoying editor to let me review books for the paper, but that’s another story. It’s funny, I have thought more about owning a bookshop these past few days than I have in ages.’

Dita considers this, then says: ‘And you have a partner at home?’

I shake my head and pull a face. ‘There’s an ex-boyfriend. He’s only just moved out of my flat even though we broke up months ago.’

At least, I hope he’s moved out.

‘Tsk.’

‘I know, it’s ridiculous. My friend Em says I have terrible taste in men.’

‘She is right?’

‘Looking back, none of them have been great.’

‘You go for the wrong type?’

‘I thought I went for the right type! I guess I gravitate towards sensible men with good prospects. But that doesn’t seem to be working out for me. I’m actually thinking about cleansing men from my life for a while, just like Gurnard Cove’s whole life cleanse ethos. You know, just give myself a break. Hit refresh and all that.’

Dita starts to laugh and it soon becomes clear that she can’t stop. The next thing I know she’s howling with laughter. I’m not sure why, but I wait patiently for her to stop, necking my second sherry in the interim.

‘Aye, aye, aye.’ She chuckles. ‘What nonsense. You know, Yessica, I once fell into the same trap as you.’

‘You did?’ And also, what trap?

‘In my twenties, I seemed to bounce from one bad decision to another when it came to lovers. What felt right at the time was wrong. You know when your judgement is clouded by passion?’

She looks expectantly at me, and I have to explain that I have never dated anyone in a cloud of passion. ‘I’ve never felt like that before.’

‘This is so tragically sad for you.’ Dita frowns. ‘A woman needs passion, Yessica.’

I think about Luke and then mentally slap myself about the chops.

‘But weren’t you saying that passion was the problem in your twenties?’

‘I thought it was! So I stopped dating. I was in the middle of one of my hot girl summers, in Paris on location, and I did not date one single person. Not even Clooney and especially not DiCaprio.’

I gasp again. Today’s trip to the library is way juicier than I thought it would be.

‘Instead, I replaced sex with painting.’

‘That doesn’t sound so bad. Isn’t painting meant to be very therapeutic?’

‘Yessica, I sucked at painting. I spent a whole summer in Paris cooped up in my apartment, painting very bad pictures of bowls of fruit. What a waste! My body was the best it had ever been and I squandered it.’

‘It sounds like you’re being very hard on yourself,’ I suggest.

‘No. Want to hear the worst of it? I got arrested!’

‘For painting?’

‘Yes! Well, sort of. I started stealing the paints, Yessica, and I got caught. Thankfully I was able to charm the police and I only spent an hour or so in the cell. Now, do you understand my cautionary tale?’

‘Absolutely.’ I nod, totally engrossed. ‘Do not steal.’

‘No!’ Dita cackles. ‘Not that. Do not ever cleanse passion from your life. It is essential, like breathing. Without it, you will end up the owner of many bad paintings and a criminal record, Yessica. I was trying to find passion in the painting, but it was not enough. And then I tried to find passion in stealing. But I should have just enjoyed the passion I already had, inside me. I should not have denied it to myself. For myself.’

‘Wow,’ I reply. ‘That’s very wise. Thank you for the advice.’

‘I can see that you are not taking it on board,’ Dita says, watching me. ‘But one day, you will realise that life should be full, and rich. It should be about encouraging experiences, not denying yourself. Sí?’

‘Sí.’ I nod obediently. ‘Absolutely, yes.’

‘Good.’ Dita also nods. ‘Now we are friends and we will go to lunch.’

‘And that is how I ended up having Sunday lunch with a Hollywood superstar,’ I tell Em and Stella later as they perch, agog, on the edge of a wooden bench in the sauna.

‘Stuff like this never happens to us!’ Stella gawps. ‘Well, except you, Em. You’re always hanging out with celebrities. Didn’t you say something about a pop star the other day?’

‘Yes, you know Tina, the K-pop star? She’s asked me to design her jewellery for her next world tour. But Dita Ortiz? She’s acting royalty,’ Em says, eyes wide. ‘It’s so exciting, Jessie! What did she eat? How does she maintain those cheekbones? And what is it really like at the Oscars?’

‘Funnily enough I did not get round to asking about her specific cheekbone regime.’ I chuckle, shifting on the boiling hot bench. ‘But she ordered grilled fish and steamed vegetables, which was not on the menu, and then spent a long time telling me about how annoying billionaires are, as if I could totally relate. She thinks Bezos’s yacht is tacky.’

‘Oh my god, this is too good.’ Stella leans in.

We’re all sweating now. When I got back from lunch I found the girls semi-paralysed on the sofas after canyoning. ‘Everything hurts!’ wailed Em. ‘I can’t chuffing move,’ said Stella. Not wanting them to develop an injury after all the scrambling around, I messaged Santi, my concierge, for advice. That’s just how I roll these days. She suggested some time in the sauna would help to soothe their tired muscles, so here we are, like three jacket potatoes in a microwave.

‘So you two are, like, besties now?’ Em asks.

‘Ha ha! Besties is a stretch but Dita did announce that we’re friends and I definitely wasn’t in a position to argue. It’s mad, isn’t it?’

‘You’ll be jetting off to Hollywood next,’ says Stella before mopping her brow. ‘Look at me, disgustingly sweaty but a lot less achy, thanks to you, Jess. You’re always so good at looking after us.’

‘Isn’t she?’ Em pats me with a hot hand. ‘Our ’lil mum, always reminding us to hydrate after a night out.’

‘And checking we get home safe,’ Stella adds.

‘Remember when we lived together and you’d insist that we brush our teeth and remove at least some of our make-up before bed?’

‘And then make us breakfast the next day.’

‘And don’t forget the vitamins!’

‘Oh yes, the vitamins!’ Stella is beaming now. ‘I especially like it when you remind us to take our vitamin D through the winter months. It makes me feel loved.’

‘I know, what would you do without me?’ I grin. It’s all true but I can’t help but feel like I’ve become a smidge, well, boring. Having lunch with a woman who has been proposed to on a Gulfstream twice, by two separate people, confirmed what I already knew before I came on this trip. It’s high time I started enjoying life. Spending the whole lunch listening to mind-blowing stories and coming up with very few of my own in riposte was definitely motivating.

But also, when did I become the mother of the group?

‘Oh Jessie! You look sad, please don’t be sad. We’re only teasing you just the tiniest bit and your nurturing nature is one of the most beautiful things about you.’

Suddenly I have two sticky pairs of arms around me. Then Stella grabs my cheeks and peers into my face.

‘Emerald, you’ve upset Jess,’ she says crossly.

‘I have not! You started it,’ Em retorts.

‘Did not.’

‘There will be no fighting at this luxury spa hotel,’ I insist.

‘I personally love that you look after us, Jess. I would not be without your messages about vitamins.’

‘Absolutely,’ Em agrees, pulling her beachy blonde waves up into a wet bun on the top of her head.

‘You still look sad.’ Stella still has my face in her hands so the whole interrogation feels a bit intense. Plus my cheeks are squished forward so my voice comes out funny.

‘I’b jus won-er-ib,’ I say.

Stella lets go of my face and motions for me to continue.

‘Thanks,’ I say, massaging my cheeks. ‘I’m just wondering when this happened. Was I always like this?’

Stella and Emerald exchange looks.

‘What?’

‘Well,’ begins Stella carefully, ‘you definitely seemed more laissez-faire in first year.’

Em nods. ‘Yeah. We just put it down to your course, and how in second year things got much harder, work wise, so we figured you wanted to buckle down.’

‘You started coming out less and staying in more, and all power to you. You did bloody well. And that seems about the time that you also started being our little mother hen, gathering us in and taking us under your wing.’

‘Yes! I definitely felt like the sloppier I got, the more measured you were.’

‘You weren’t sloppy, Em,’ I say, defensive on her behalf.

‘Jessie, I once had a three-way with two members of university staff. And it was, like, mid-morning. After a lecture. We weren’t even drunk or high.’

Stella snorts at this memory.

‘See!’ I say. ‘This is exactly what I mean. You guys always have amazing stories to tell and I have nothing.’

‘But babes, we are different personalities, right? You’re just not a three-way kind of gal. You like—’

‘Mediocre sex with melancholy greengrocers?’ Stella butts in.

‘I was going to say stability ,’ Em says pointedly. ‘That’s just who you are, Jessie. And to be honest, the three-way was kind of lame. Just an awful lot of waiting around tbh. I would not recommend.’

I laugh at this, while a bead of sweat rolls down my forehead. ‘Well, not anymore, guys. I really feel like I’m ready to make some changes.’

‘Get it, girl,’ says Em.

‘How come?’ Stella asks.

‘Well, my parents have sold the family home for a start.’

‘What?’ screeches Em.

‘This is major news!’ Stella whistles. ‘Pandy love that place.’

I chuckle fondly at her nickname for my parents, Pamela and Andy.

‘Why are you only just telling us?’

‘Em, we’ve been here two days and we have not stopped talking. There’s been a lot to cover! Anyway, wait until you hear this,’ I say. ‘They’ve sold up and gone on a grown-up gap year, so they’re travelling the world for the next twelve months. Apparently, my Auntie Trish had got them both worried about sniper’s alley—’

‘Wait, what’s sniper’s alley?’ Em interjects.

‘Dad says that Auntie Trish has been in a total tizz about their age. Apparently, she told Mum that now they’re in their mid-sixties, they’re all basically sitting ducks, just waiting to be shot down by some horrific medical condition or other.’

‘Jeez.’ Stella exhales.

‘Pandy are in great health but it obviously spooked Mum. The next thing I know there’s a For Sale sign outside the house and they’d booked first-class flights to Australia.’

‘First class!’ Stella whistles. ‘Love that for them.’

‘I know. Dad was thrilled because where I grew up has become the trendy part of town since “back in his day”, so they did really well on the sale. I’m so pleased for them. They worked so hard all their lives for me and James. They deserve this.’

Em’s face darkens and Stella looks decidedly awkward at the mention of my errant older brother, who had a huge falling-out with Mum and Dad years ago. They were estranged for a long while and when he cut all ties, Mum took it particularly badly. It was all pretty awful, and one of the main reasons I moved back to Carpston after uni was to be there for them.

‘How is James?’ asks Stella.

‘Oh fine. A bit less of a crap son now, he’s been getting in touch with the folks more. Them going away just proves that Mum and Dad are in really good places now. The other day they sent me a picture of Dad snuggling this cute little marsupial in Western Aus and it literally looked like it was smiling.’

‘Good for Pandy. It must have been tough for you though, Jessie. Saying goodbye to the family home and your folks all in one go.’

My chin wobbles the tiniest bit, because it was tough and it all happened so quickly. One minute I was going round to theirs for our weekly Sunday sherry and the next, they were off.

‘I miss them like crazy but the fact that they’re doing this fills me with so much joy.’

‘All the more reason to enjoy this adventure of ours.’ Em grins.

‘Can we do that by getting out of this sauna?’ Stella puffs. ‘It’s been hours.’

‘It’s been ten minutes, babes,’ Em says, rolling her eyes.