Chapter Eighty-Seven
Eighty-Seven
Treat
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, sitting bolt upright. ‘I didn’t even know you were back on the island. I thought you were travelling for work.’
‘I was, but I had to come back.’
‘Had to?’
‘I think we’ve been set up. My nan forced me to come here, but I thought it would just be me,’ he says, as the receptionist comes through the door behind him, holding two glasses of fizz.
‘Here we are,’ she says, handing a glass to each of us. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you said you wanted a smoothie, didn’t you?’
I look at her and at Caleb, and even though I’m hungover to hell, this moment seems to require alcohol.
‘I think there might have been a mistake,’ Caleb says. ‘There’s two of us.’
‘That’s right,’ she says, breezily. ‘You’ve been treated to “the two-person” experience. We don’t call it the “couples” experience anymore, because not everyone likes that label.’
‘We’re not a couple,’ I say, and a weird look passes Caleb’s face.
‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘Relationships come in all flavours. Are you getting in?’
She looks at Caleb, as if he’s got on her nerves.
He’s already wearing boardshorts and not seeming to know what else to do, he duly climbs into the hot tub, only remembering to pull off his T-shirt when the hem is already wet.
He throws his shirt onto the decking and takes the seat furthest from me.
‘The jacuzzi will stay on for an hour. When it finishes, I’ll take you to your first treatment. Nobody will disturb you, so if you prefer to soak naked, that’s fine.’
We both shake our heads vigorously and decline this invitation.
She leaves the decked area, shutting the door firmly behind her and making a big show of drawing the blinds.
Caleb clears his throat, as if he’s about to say something, but seems to think better of it, leaving me to break the silence.
‘This is awkward,’ I say, grimacing. ‘Your nan has quite the sense of humour.’
‘She does,’ he says. ‘Can we go, do you think?’
‘How are we going to explain it to the receptionist? She’ll think we’ve had a lovers’ tiff. Sorry, a “two-person” tiff.’
He glances around the garden area, presumably to see if there’s a way to escape without having to go back through the reception. Unfortunately, there are only steep cliffs and a glass wall. He seems to be considering it anyway.
‘Maybe we just stick it out,’ I say, imagining him falling into the abyss rather than sitting in a jacuzzi with me for an hour.
‘Okay. I suppose we don’t need to talk,’ he says, draining half of his champagne glass. ‘We can just sit and wait out the time and pretend we’re alone.’
‘Fun,’ I say, leaning back and closing my eyes.
‘About that morning on the beach,’ he says, so quietly that I can barely hear it over the drone of the hot tub. ‘You asked me how I knew what to do.’
‘We don’t need to talk about that,’ I say, trying to sound casual and not even bothering to open my eyes. ‘You knew what to do in a crisis, and thank god, because I went to pieces.’
‘Cool,’ he says.
When I open an eye to check what he’s doing, I see him leaning his head on the side of the tub and gazing out to sea. Why isn’t he closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep, or at least in a meditative state? What’s he thinking about?
The hour of silence is the most excruciating of my life. When the receptionist comes back holding fluffy towels and robes for us, I could almost collapse with gratitude.
Caleb climbs out first and before I can avert my eyes, I catch a glimpse of the terrible scars on his back. What on earth has he been through?
The receptionist motions to the changing hut.
‘Dry off and then change into the paper pants on the table. You’ll be together in the same room, but there are painted screens that can be moved, if you prefer your privacy.’
‘Paper pants?’ Caleb says, with a disbelieving smile.
‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘Most people prefer them, since they don’t want their own underwear getting dirty.’
‘Hang on, we’re not having spray tans, are we?’ I say. ‘I thought this was the detox package?’
‘No spray tans. We end with a full body massage, but the first treatment is a wrap and then you get clean in the rainforest shower. Basically, a normal shower but outside and very cold.’
‘A wrap? What does that entail?’ Caleb asks suspiciously, seemingly not bothered by the idea of a cold, outdoor shower.
‘It’s nothing to worry about. We’ll take your measurements, wrap you in our special mud-soaked bandages and bind you in clingfilm.’
‘Are you serious?’ Caleb asks, eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them.
‘Yes. You’ll have over-sized shell suits on top, to keep you warm and really get the mud working its magic. As I said, you’ll be in the same room, so you can chat. And I’ll bring a jug of cucumber water in case you’re thirsty.’
Oh god, if I thought the hot tub was excruciating, this will be infinitely worse.
‘When you say you’ll “take our measurements”, what does that mean?’ I ask.
‘We have tape measures, so we’ll do before and afters for hips, waist, chest and thighs.’
‘Why?’ Caleb asks, aghast.
‘It’s an inch-loss wrap,’ the girl says, hesitantly. ‘We document how many inches you’ve lost once we unwrap you.’
‘Nope,’ Caleb says, firmly. ‘I’m out.’
‘You don’t want the treatment?’ the girl asks, sounding surprised. ‘It’s really very relaxing. Why don’t you give it a go? Don’t prejudge it before you’ve tried. You don’t have to be measured… if you’re sensitive about that.’
It’s quite obvious that he’s offended her, and I stifle a smile to see the muted hostility between them.
‘Can we have something else instead of the wrap?’ I say, hoping for something that will put us in separate rooms.
‘I’m afraid not because it’s been paid for, and the mud bandages are already warmed up. Won’t you even try it?’
‘I’d rather go back in the hot tub,’ Caleb says desperately, looking down at his fingers which are deeply pruned. ‘I don’t really fancy the idea of mummification.’
‘I’m going to stay,’ I say, surprising myself. ‘Purely for the comedy value. It sounds terrible, but I’m intrigued, and Betty must have booked this for a reason. She’ll ask how it went. I don’t want to disappoint her. Do you?’
Caleb looks momentarily conflicted, before sighing. ‘No. Bloody hell, my nan is a pain in the arse.’
‘She says the same about you,’ I say, and for the first time since we got here, the stiff awkwardness between us softens.
The receptionist beams, clearly relieved that she’s won the point. ‘Fabulous. Get changed into the paper pants and robes and I’ll wait out here.’
She ushers us into the changing hut, and we turn so that we’re back to back while we step into the deeply unflattering paper pants, which look like giant nappies.
‘I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,’ Caleb huffs.
‘It’s not every day you get to be mummified for free,’ I say. ‘Opportunity has come knocking.’
I quickly put on my robe and when I turn around, Caleb is already wearing his, so I don’t get treated to a view of him in the paper pants, which is a shame.
Outside, the receptionist is still there.
‘Follow me and we’ll do the measuring.’
‘No measuring,’ Caleb insists, putting up his hand.
‘Are you sure?’ the woman says. ‘You don’t want to know your before and after numbers?’
‘Nope,’ I say. ‘We’re just here for the fancy dirt.’
‘And the shell suits,’ Caleb adds, which makes her smile.
‘Okay, get ready to be squeezed like a stress ball,’ she says. ‘The bandages really dig into your organs, which is how you know it’s working.’
‘Sounds amazing,’ Caleb says. ‘Who wouldn’t want that in a spa treatment?’
‘Worth every minute of discomfort,’ the girl says. ‘Believe me. You’ll feel like a new man afterwards, and your buttocks will be like cherry tomatoes.’