Chapter Three
Faye
Faye fidgeted on the bench by the port, the hard wood digging into her bum.
She narrowed her eyes at the sudoku page clenched in her fist, trying to focus on the numbers rather than the tumbling terror in her stomach.
The pungent smell of fish did little to help, the scent sticking in her nose as she inhaled.
She cringed. Then, remembering the way she’d left things with Diana last night, she cringed even harder, folding in on herself.
Very smooth.
Carla’s fierce banging on her hotel room had startled her into one of the worst hangovers of her life—and Faye had had a few, not to mention the one where she’d woken up locked inside a takeaway after taking a nap under the table.
She shook her head, trying to distract her brain from playing a montage of the top twenty most embarrassing moments of her life. But the surprise in Diana’s eyes topped them all. She groaned and took a swig from her electrolyte drink.
Not only had Faye aggravated her stoma from all the wine, but she’d also missed her crossing to the island this morning.
Poor Carla had tried her best to get Faye ready in time, but it was difficult to explain to someone she’d just met how she couldn’t simply open the door and leave when an eruption matching Vesuvius threatened her abdomen.
Also quite difficult to explain to attractive women kissing her and running their hands over her hips.
For god’s sake. Nights like that with women like Diana were as rare as unicorn dust. Why couldn’t she just be cool and confident about it?
Because have you seen yourself recently?
Despite the extra care she’d taken matching her eyeshadow to her pink summer playsuit, nothing helped offset the awful bags under her eyes and the pale, pained look on her face.
She felt as though she’d slept under that takeaway table for a week, while a heavy metal band practised in the room above her, smashing drums and screaming.
At least Diana wouldn’t see her like this.
Her fear of what-ifs meant she’d packed her brand-new lingerie.
Some silky, some lacy, all designed to keep her ostomy bag secure and tucked away—but she’d still panicked.
It wasn’t like Faye had never had sex before, or that she didn’t want to.
When Diana pressed her against a wall and put her mouth to good use, there was nothing she wanted more. It was fear of the unknown.
Faye wasn’t sure if she could do the same things she used to.
Even if she could, Diana might be repulsed.
It was silly, really. Diana, and the way she carried herself…
that sexy, well-spoken English accent, the totally pullable short hair, those soft lips…
Why would Diana be interested in her? Admittedly, in the moment, the alcohol had helped Faye overlook that question.
The sobering reality was that she couldn’t plan for some things. No matter how organised she was.
Like last night. Faye groaned. Piss off, brain.
She picked at her cuticles. Where was Carla? She’d disappeared some time ago, chatting and giggling at her phone screen, and Faye hadn’t seen her since. Maybe she’d gone to see Raul.
Lifting her gaze, she took in the sea, the waves rolling and bobbing the boats anchored at the port. Her head ached at the temples, and she took a big gulp of her drink. A fat seagull landed on the concrete next to her, tilting its little head and hopping forward expectantly.
“Sorry, mate,” Faye said. “I haven’t got any fish for you.”
He took one more look at her, head twitching as though expressing his distaste for her life choices, then leapt into the sky. He dove around the port, showboating his large wings before landing on a nearby bin to pull a stale bread bun from inside.
Faye opened her mouth to lecture the bird, knowing the bread would only bloat him and fill his stomach with empty calories, but the earth-shattering rumble of a horn made her cover her ears.
Fucking hell.
When the pain lowered to a bearable level, she aimed her gaze at the perpetrator. A small man with a full head of dark hair stood on the deck of a white catamaran. His face split into a full grin, and he waved at Faye. Some of her frustration dissipated, and she forced herself to wave back.
Then Carla appeared beside her.
Oh. He was waving at her. She ducked her head, heat warming her neck, and considered climbing into the nearby bin to let the birds feast on her instead.
“Here you go, sleepyhead.” Carla handed her a cup of fruit juice and nodded towards the catamaran. “Time to go.”
Faye’s excitement about her trip had long since evaporated, but Carla plucked her up by the elbow and steered her towards the boat, anyway.
Faye couldn’t admire the boat, which seemed far too large for transporting the two of them.
She couldn’t chat either. As they chugged out of port, she pinned her gaze towards the horizon, the fierce wind and choppy motion of the boat doing little to calm the anxious knots in her stomach.
The bright sunlight made the ache in her skull deepen and pulse.
Once again, she wished for her broken sunglasses.
The boat slapped over the waves, and she leaned over the edge, prepared to vomit. Salty seawater sprayed in her mouth and wet her face. Her stomach surged.
Note to self: never drink wine again.
“Duarte, abranda!” Carla called to the captain, but the wind stole her words.
Footsteps clunked against the deck. More words Faye couldn’t hear. She clung to the railing, trying to keep her insides where they should be. Thankfully, the boat soon slowed. The thuds lessened. But her guts still swirled in circles. If I don’t puke, it’ll be a miracle.
After a few more minutes, with the boat humming along at a steady pace, Carla helped Faye sit. A chill washed over her cheeks, like the colour had been pulled right out of them. Her make-up must be ruined.
“Need these?” Carla asked, producing a pair of sunglasses shaped like pineapples. “You can borrow them.” They weren’t Faye’s style, looking like something David might keep in their dressing-up box, but she wasn’t in a position to be picky.
“Thank you,” she said, breathing with relief as the world darkened around her.
A seagull bombed overhead with a loud caw that sounded an awful lot like laughter.
“You haven’t touched your juice.” Carla lifted her cup. “It will help.”
“What is it?” Certain fruits gave her flare-ups, and after the beating she’d put her body through last night, she had to be careful. Not to mention Duarte’s speedy boat-ride testing her gag reflex.
“Mango. Fresh from the island.”
That should be fine. If only her stomach would stop spinning. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so she sucked on the straw, humming as the smooth liquid slid down her throat.
“Thanks. It’s kind of you to bring me this.” She chanced a look at Carla, relieved that the juice had stayed down. “I’m sorry again for missing the crossing.”
“No more apologising.” Carla wagged a finger, peering at Faye through her enormous sunglasses. “I should have warned you that Raul is a bad influence.” She shrugged, letting out a sigh. “But he does have the best hangover recipe.”
So she had been to see Raul. Interesting.
“What is this face?” Carla asked.
Oops. Faye dropped her eyebrows into a neutral expression, then took another sip of juice. “You two seemed close, that’s all.”
“Eh, nothing serious.” She waved her hand, the sea breeze tickling the loose strands from her ponytail. “He’s still young.”
Faye bristled at that comment. Lukas had said something similar when Molly ghosted her. ‘You’re young, you’ve plenty of time for love.’ As if the future held anything other than empty promises and vague platitudes.
Molly had been the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Their relationship had started online, like the others: fun, flirty, then a couple of dates.
Texting and video calls to shrink the space between Manchester and London.
And for a while, it had worked; Faye could keep her pain hidden.
Then reality hit. Texting became silence.
Calls went unanswered. Eventually, Molly became just another person Faye no longer spoke to, like her school friends.
The worst thing was she couldn’t blame them; she hadn’t been a lot of fun to be around.
But Molly vanishing without a reason hurt.
Faye could only blame herself. There was a pattern. The sicker she got, the more distant people became. Chronic disease scared people.
“Can you see it?” Carla’s voice pulled her back to the hum of the boat. Faye followed the point of her finger to the curve of the island coming into view.
The towering trees, steep cliffs, and golden, sandy beaches gave her an injection of life.
She was nearly there. Sunshine, mindfulness, and—the biggest sway in her agreement to come here—an ecologist’s dream of endemic species.
Noctule bats, shearwaters, and parakeets—animals she hoped she’d be lucky enough to see—stirred new excitement in her veins.
The island promising answers. The island prompting change.
Relief blurred the edges of her nausea. Resetting her life was within reach.
Thank god, she was almost there.
The boat slowed as it docked, and the hot sun beat down on Faye’s back. As soon as she stepped onto land, she let out a huge breath of relief. Solid ground feels great.
The toot of a horn drew her attention to the dirt path cutting up the hillside.
A small buggy with off-road tyres sped towards them, kicking up sand in every direction.
A woman with cherry-red hair waved from behind the wheel.
She crunched over a collection of debris that must have gathered during the storm, almost catapulting herself from her seat.
Faye recognised her from the website—the big smile, curvy body, and bright hair—and nerves surged in her belly again. She wanted to make a good first impression with the two women who ran the course, but already she was late and stinking of last night’s booze.
The buggy skidded to a stop, and the woman hopped out, wearing a yellow-and-white dress and chunky white sandals. “Hey! You must be Faye. I’m sorry about the weather delaying you, but welcome to Sandy Springs.” She held up a hand in greeting. “I’m Ella. Ooh, nice sunglasses.”
“Nice to meet you.” Faye remembered the stupid pineapples on her face but didn’t have it in her to explain. “Thanks.”
Carla linked arms with Duarte as he appeared next to them. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing thick curly chest hair. Carla nodded to Faye. “She’s a good one. Faye is the dog’s bollocks.”
Faye certainly didn’t feel like it today, but she offered her best attempt at a smile. “Thank you. I’d never have made it if it wasn’t for you.”
“We’re going to play poker now,” Duarte said, with a big grin. Carla elbowed him. “I mean… we’re going…fishing.”
“Make sure you check his sleeves, Carla.” Ella winked before turning to grab Faye’s suitcase and lift it into the back of the buggy. She climbed into the driver’s seat. “You can sit up here with me. I won’t bite.”
Faye slid in next to her, catching the scent of aloe vera, and Ella sped off, the wheels spinning and kicking up sand as they raced up the trail.
Over her shoulder, Carla and Duarte grew smaller.
A small ball of sadness tightened in her chest. She’d made a nice bond with Carla, but she was on her own again.
What about Diana?
Pfft. Diana would probably run for the hills when she saw Faye again. Another wave of embarrassment flooded her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t bump into her today; Faye had no idea what to say.
Ella veered off the wooden slats a few times to avoid fallen branches, making the seat vibrate and shudder. Faye’s insides surged, acid tainting her throat. She swallowed it down, gripping the railing.
“Sorry.” Ella shot her a worried glance. “We’ve not managed to clean up the after-effects of the storm yet. Romeo is supposed to be clearing the main path. I’m not sure where he’s gone.”
Not a moment too soon, Ella pulled the buggy to a stop outside a white wooden cabin with blue shutters. Fresh pollen mingled with the salty air, and Faye breathed it in. Pink bougainvillaea twisted up the walls, and purple lavender bloomed in traditional ceramic beds by the door.
“Here’s your home for the next three weeks,” Ella said. “Due to all the disruptions from the storm and the late arrivals, we’re holding the introductions at two in the reception hall. It’s a short walk down the track, by the courtyard. You have a couple of hours to acquaint yourself.”
“Thank you.” Faye tried her best smile. Whatever it took to get inside quicker. She just wanted to lie in the dark for a while with her headphones in.
Ella handed over her suitcase and placed a key in her hand. “If you need anything—and I mean anything—I’m your girl. Just let me know.”
The opening and slamming of a cabin door further up the track made them turn their heads. Feet crunched the gravel, and then the familiar fall of tight blonde curls made Faye’s stomach drop.
The woman looked just like Molly.
Her hangover was playing tricks on her.
She averted her eyes, not wanting to engage with any more strangers today—especially when her insides ached. And definitely not with anyone who mirrored her ex-girlfriend.
“Faye?” The high-pitched voice made her gaze snap upwards.
Her name, wrapped in that familiar London lilt from late-night phone calls, sent a chill racing up her spine.
Molly?
Faye pushed her ridiculous sunglasses up her face to get a better look, squinting under the light. Wide blue eyes stared back at her, and a surge of warring emotions rose in her stomach.
This isn’t happening.
Nausea won out, overpowering the rest. She darted to the purple flora, falling to her knees to spew her guts into the flowerbed.