Chapter One
FRIDAY
It was the weekend of my future sister-in-law’s hen party in Bristol. The day was seasonably humid; the surgery lacked air despite the open sash window. My cobalt scrubs clung to my clammy skin. My backside numb from the day spent sitting on the saddle stool peering into people’s mouths.
Most days, I absolutely loved my job as a dental hygienist. It’s not a career you could afford to be squeamish in. I loved the patients, loved my colleagues, loved being able to help people and to make a difference.
A commotion downstairs in the patient waiting area sounding largely like a heard of elephants in stilettos announced the arrival of my girlfriends.
I peeled off my scrubs, threw on a sun dress and raced down to join them.
Friday afternoon traffic was a pain in any city, but it would be worth it when I was sipping a Cosmo in the Harvey Nichols bar the following day.
My future sister-in-law asked me to be her bridesmaid, despite the fact we weren’t close. English wasn’t her first language, and she tended to translate exactly what she was thinking–Bluntly. Her hobbies included body building and calorie counting, neither of which I was very good at.
I was a girly girl, and an unashamed Dairy Milk lover, and proud of it. But I hoped this weekend would enable us to bond.
‘Ready ladies?’ My spirit soared at the prospect of a weekend in a city full of unexplored bars and shops with eleven other women for company.
‘I was born ready, baby!’ Clara shrieked four octaves higher than necessary.
Clara was the practice manager in the other dental surgery I worked in. I split my shifts between Dental Connections and Appollo Dental Practice, both of which were in Winchester.
Over the last four years, Clara had become a great friend. We had the same messed up sense of humour and we loved the same sports; shopping, sunbathing and of course, our Wednesday Wine Club.
Heidi lurked awkwardly in the doorway with a Bride-to-Be luminous pink sash on and flashing penis earrings. Clara clutched a bottle of Prosecco under her arm and four plastic flutes. Our friend, Ruth, stood between them, looking fabulously understated in jeans and a white bardot top.
Ruth was engaged to one of my childhood best friends, Oliver. We clicked the first time we met. When Oliver left the room, she asked if Oliver and I had ever slept together. Her question caused me to dissolve into belly-clutching fits of laughter.
The answer was a resounding no. The visible relief that swept over her delicate features was endearing. We’ve been firm friends ever since.
The rest of the hens were travelling by train, so it was just the four of us travelling in my little BMW one series, nicknamed Betsy. Betsy was well accustomed to long trips, I spent hours driving around the south coast of England sight-seeing, merely to escape the nothingness at home.
We bundled into the car and set off with Heart Radio pumping out Carly Rae Jepson, “Call Me Maybe”. The girls sang along raucously fuelled by the Prosecco. It felt like a long drive.
Eventually, I pulled into the Hilton Hotel car park, abandoned the car wonkily in the first available space, giving women drivers a bad reputation everywhere. But the cocktails took priority over my conscience.
Inside, the hallway was spacious, airy, and light. It smelt like freedom- for the next two nights, at least.
‘Meet in the bar in fifteen minutes?’ Ruth suggested.
‘Sure.’ I was sharing with Heidi, but thankfully, the room had two double beds. My desire to bond didn’t include spooning after a few too many Cosmos.
The hotel bar was impressively understated with huge red leather couches and gleaming glass coffee tables. The bar itself was long; expensive marble, with high leather stools. Windows spanned from floor to ceiling and the streaming sun illuminated everything it touched.
The evening was still warm and bright. Couples scattered around the room, groups of friends called back and forth across the tables.
Clara and Ruth beat us down and were already ordering from the extensive cocktail menu.
I ordered two Cosmopolitans, one for me and one for Heidi, we joined the rest of the hens who were arriving in dribs and drabs.
The hen party consisted of Clara, Ruth, and five of Heidi’s co-workers from Costa Coffee.
There was a traffic warden called Emma, a nurse called Catherine, who was Emma’s best friend and the daughter of a local politician.
Lastly, there was Ann, a small blonde girl, who was dating one of my brother’s friends.
When everyone had arrived, we strolled the ten-minute walk to Brown’s for dinner, a listed building with high ceilings, fancy chandeliers, and mirrored walls. The modern interior décor contrasted the traditional architecture of the building, yet they complimented each other beautifully.
At the table, the girls integrated seamlessly.
I positioned myself between Clara and Ruth and enjoyed the easy company of my closest friends.
I pulled my phone out of my cream Mulberry clutch to take some pictures, relieved to see I had no messages or missed calls.
Not that I expected any. Rob barely ever texted unless it was to remind me to put out the bins.
After dinner we bar-hopped around Bristol. The city was buzzing with that epic Friday feeling. We found ourselves in a nightclub called Melandras. The bass resonated through the club. Cheap drinks ensured many limbs were loose enough to congregate on the dance floor.
Clara shouted in my ear, but with bodies everywhere, pushing, jostling, I couldn’t hear a thing. The air was stifling. Ruth lost a shoe. Heidi propped up the bar drinking tequila with her work colleagues. Emma lap danced on a table with Catherine egging her on.
By two in the morning my feet were killing me.
I signalled Clara towards the exit, and she grabbed Ruth and her one shoe and dragged her reluctantly out with us.
I typed a message on the WhatsApp group to the others, telling them we were heading back to the hotel, assuming they’d follow us back in their own time.
Back at the Hilton, we were surprised to see the barman still serving drinks. A group of twenty lads congregated at the opulent bar, their contagious laughter rippled through to the reception area.
‘One for the road?’ Ruth suggested.
‘Abso-freaking-lutely.’ Clara fist pumped the air.
We ordered a bottle of Chardonnay and the three of us spread out on two of the red couches. The hens trekked into the bar in twos and threes.
The lads began to mingle with some of our hens, an unavoidable eventuality at this hour of the night, given the combination of high spirits, low inhibitions, and copious amounts of alcohol.
I kicked off my six-inch black lace peep toes, the cold tiles a welcome relief to my burning soles.
As I quietly admired my claret-coloured toenails, engrossed in my own thoughts, tiny hairs pricked on the nape of my neck.
A sensation of being watched seeped under my skin and streaked across my spine.
My head snapped to the left. The previously vacant space next to me was now occupied by a man I hadn’t seen coming. Literally.
It happened as innocently and unintentionally as that.
My life changed in that moment forever.
Even as he sat, his height was obvious. His build was slim and athletically toned. Fair skin and red hair set him apart from a crowd. High cheekbones and a chiselled jaw line provided exceptional bone structure.
Curious eyes swept across me; they were the colour of the Caribbean Ocean. A person could drown in them. They exuded an intelligent, knowing depth, as though he could see straight into my soul, and glimpse my every secret.
‘I hope you don’t mine me sitting here.’ His low Irish lull lit up my insides.
I was instantaneously drawn to him, in a way that I’d never been drawn to anyone. ‘No.’
When his lips curled into a grin, I noticed his upper right central incisor slightly overlapped his left. A perfect imperfection.
The attraction was not only instant, but from the way his dilating pupils bore into mine, it appeared to be mutual.
My heart rate doubled. His mere proximity stole the oxygen from my lungs.
The air vibrated between us.
Déjà vu devoured me.
It was so much more than the way he looked; it was the overwhelming sense of familiarity radiating from his every pore. Tiny fragments of my previously untouched heart sizzled and sparked to life.
‘You look nice, you must be married,’ were the first awkward words that tumbled out.
‘I am, surely.’ I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed with his reply.
‘I’m in safe hands then.’ I held up my left hand, showing him the wedding band I wore like a coat of armour.
‘You couldn’t be in better hands.’ His innuendo set my pulse racing.
I pressed my thighs together and changed the subject. ‘Fabulous accent.’
‘You’re the one with the accent,’ he said, with another flash of that bright grin.
Those startling twin pools burnt through my skin, setting my sleepy insides alight. I was under no illusion. He could clearly see way past the platinum armour I wore, the shield on my finger. This could only lead to trouble. Yet I couldn’t tear myself away.
‘What part of Ireland are you from?’ I attempted to negotiate a safe topic of conversation.
‘County Mayo.’
‘I’ve never heard of it.’ My ignorance was embarrassing.
‘It’s between Galway and Sligo. It’s the best county in Ireland.’ He winked and took a sip from his pint.
‘I have a friend in Galway. Great city, I loved it. Like a mini-Edinburgh with the cobbled streets and pubs.’
‘You live in Edinburgh?’ His eyebrows burrowed together questioningly.
‘Not anymore. The weather got me in the end.’ I looked down at my tanned arms and legs and shrugged my shoulders. I was just back from ten days holiday in San Francisco with my mother. Escapism was a means of survival at this stage.