Chapter 29
I was the embodiment of Amber. I was wearing the exact same shoes I’d seen her in only days ago.
My neon-yellow toenails peeped out of them just like hers did as I sashayed into the spa.
That was something I’d observed Amber do too; in fact I’d recorded a video of her walking earlier just so I could imitate and practise it.
‘Hi, I have a facial booked for today. Lily Swanson,’ I said to the receptionist as sweetly as possible, all upward lilt at the end of my sentences, just like Amber.
I did have to admit, though, it smelt good in here.
No, not good; it smelt like heaven! Not that I knew what heaven smelt like, but if it had a scent, this would surely be it.
‘Yes, of course,’ the receptionist said in a voice that sounded like the pitter-patter of softly falling raindrops.
‘Welcome to your oasis of relaxation,’ she went on, as if she was welcoming me through the Pearly Gates themselves.
This place was selling Utopia. And not just selling it, but wrapping it up in a warm towel scented with lavender, lemongrass and inner peace and pressing it gently against your very soul.
The lighting was warm and soft, the air smelt of jasmine and dewy grass and everything was draped in crisp white linen and screamed of exorbitant self-care.
Somewhere in the distance, a harp was playing – no, that was bullshit.
There was no harp, but had there been, it would not have surprised me.
Every inch of this place was designed to trick you into believing that the stress of the world outside did not exist. Deadlines .
. . a myth. Bills and bank statements and bumper-to-bumper traffic .
. . not a thing. Your only purpose in life was to sip herbal tea in a big fluffy gown and let someone rub all those pesky little worries away.
It was all a lie, of course it was. But dammit, they were so good at it. So good I was almost starting to believe it, or was I just getting high on the jasmine?
‘Please, have a seat.’ The receptionist gestured to the chairs behind me, the ones that at the flick of a button sprang to life and massaged you while you waited for your actual massage.
Amber was sitting in one looking at her phone, so I made sure to choose the one directly opposite her.
Needing an excuse to talk to her, I picked up the remote for the chair and pressed some of its buttons randomly.
‘Sorry, hi,’ I said, and she immediately looked up. ‘God, I’m so useless at technology. How do you turn this thing on?’ I smiled sweetly and dumbly.
She smiled back. ‘I was confused too, so many buttons. But it’s this one.’ She showed me on hers.
‘Thanks.’ I pressed the button and the chair began to vibrate.
And God, the moment it started kneading my back, tapping on my shoulders and squeezing my calves, I realised just how tense I was.
Had my spine always felt so stiff? Had my shoulders always been fused to my ears like this, and my calves, had they always been so tight?
Shh, let go. Surrender to the relaxation, Lizzy, I thought I heard the chair whisper.
I sank deeper into the soft, plush leather and let my brain melt into a state of utter, blissful, mind-numbing nothingness.
That’s right, just let go, it whispered again, as if it knew I belonged here.
Maybe I did belong here, actually. Maybe this was my destiny. To abandon my responsibilities, shrug off the silly shackles of reality and live out the rest of my days reclined in a chair that seemed to understand me on some deep, dare I say psychic and spiritual level.
You’re doing so well, Lizzy, the chair encouraged me.
I breathed in the jasmine air and listened to the imaginary harp again, and a soft sigh escaped my lips.
My eyelids fluttered shut and my brain continued to power down.
Thoughts no longer reached the conscious part of it, except for one, which seemed to be stubbornly shouting at me.
Ignore it, Lizzy, the chair whispered, but I couldn’t. The thought persisted, continuing to nag at me.
My mission. What was my mission again?
Why was I here?
You’re here to relax, Lizzy, the chair cooed melodically.
Shit! And then the thought broke through the haze and I opened my eyes and sat up. I would not be lulled into submission like this.
Nice try, chair. But I’m on to you, I said in my mind.
‘Amazing, right?’ Amber said. ‘I’m going to get one for my house.’
‘Oh my God, that’s such a good idea. I’m going to get one too,’ I said, putting on the sing-song voice I’d practised, though now that it was coming out of my actual mouth, it made me want to laugh, cringe and cry all at the same time.
And then I did something very deliberate; I crossed my legs pointedly, making sure my shoes caught the overhead lights.
‘Bestie, snap,’ Amber said excitedly, extending her own foot.
‘Wow, no way!’ I stuck my foot out further. Our garish golden sandals glimmered in the soft lighting of the salon.
Amber leaned in, looking suddenly conspiratorial. ‘How uncomfortable are they, though?’
‘Yes!’ I leaned in too. Uncomfortable was an understatement; these shoes felt like they should be in a museum that housed medieval torture devices, right next to the rack. ‘But what do they say about beauty and pain? Besides, I’m literally obsessed with them.’
‘Obsessed,’ she echoed.
‘I’m Lily, by the way,’ I said.
‘Amber.’ She smiled at me, and then her eyes drifted upwards and she froze. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she said slowly. ‘Are those the new D in fact, if Amber could bottle her self-confidence and sell it, she would make a fortune. I guess you had to admire her for that.
‘They look so good on you. Like beyond,’ I said.
She pulled out her phone and took a very exaggerated selfie of herself blowing a kiss into the air.
‘I have to get my boyfriend to buy me these. That’s what men are for, right?
’ She laughed and flipped her hair. I laughed too, even though I didn’t think it was very funny.
Buy your own shit, woman! I wanted to yell at her.
And while you’re at it, get your own boyfriend too, preferably one closer to your age and not walking around with first-degree burns and a bald patch.
I was suddenly overcome with a desire to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, especially when an image of Sharaz popped into my head.
How would she feel right now if she saw this: Amber living her best life with her husband at a romantic resort.
But I banished that thought from my head.
I couldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of my professional obligations.
‘Wait, actually – you should just have them,’ I said.
Amber’s eyes widened. ‘No. I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can,’ I insisted, pushing them back towards her.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally. You literally look so hot in them, they belong to you, bestie.’ Did I just say bestie and literally in the same sentence? I was out of control.
Amber hesitated, but only for a second, and then her face lit up. ‘Okay, fine, but only because you insist!’
‘I literally insist.’ I mentally face-palmed.
She pulled me into an excited and very surprising hug.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged me, and she was a stranger.
Was this what peopled did, hugged each other like this so effortlessly?
I tried to keep my body relaxed, but every single one of my instincts was telling me to clam up.
And clearly I’d failed, because when Amber pulled away from me, she kneaded one of my shoulders.
‘You seriously need a massage, girl,’ she said with what looked like genuine concern in her eyes.
‘It’s just . . . I’ve been pretty stressed lately,’ I heard myself say, which was honest, but too honest for my liking. What was happening to me? I could feel something stirring inside me, something unfamiliar and lemongrass-scented.
‘Oh no!’ Her genuine concern continued.
‘I’ve been having some . . . uh . . . confusing feelings, I guess you could say.
’ WHAT. THE. FUCK! Did that really just come out of my mouth?
I hadn’t meant to say it at all. I had not given my mouth permission, and yet the words had just come rolling right out.
And they kept rolling. I blamed the soothing music that was mingling with the gentle sounds of falling water from the large rose-quartz fountain.
I blamed the jasmine; it must have intoxicated me in some strange way, because .
. . ‘My fiancé and I, we’ve been going through some complicated things lately. ’ What the double fuck!
Amber placed both her hands on my shoulders. ‘I totally get it,’ she said.
‘You do?’ I asked, taken aback by what looked like a sincere show of emotion.
‘Love is complicated.’ Her voice had taken on a low, philosophical quality. ‘We crave it like air, but it’s the one thing that can break us apart from the inside. We give our hearts away not knowing if they will ever come back to us, and if they do whether they will be whole or not.’
I stepped back. Literally (the correct time to use this word).
That was profound, and so accurate, and so, so .
. . I’d given my heart away to Cam once, and it had come back broken.
I thought I’d stitched it back together.
Thought I’d fixed it and then packed it away in a box where it could never be touched like that again.
But that conversation at the restaurant had made me realise that maybe it wasn’t as securely packed away as I thought it was.
Amber smiled and her philosophical demeanour was gone. As if she’d just flicked a switch. ‘I know, right. So insightful! I’m thinking of writing my own self-help book.’
‘You should,’ I said, and sort of meant it.
‘How long are you here for?’ she asked.
‘Another week or so.’
‘Great, so let’s totally hang. Bring your fiancé and I’ll bring my boyfriend; we’ll go out on the yacht or something. They can bond, we can have some girl time.’
I nodded. ‘Sounds amazing. Swap numbers?’ We both took out our phones. Honestly, that had been the quickest and easiest it had ever taken me to earn someone’s trust, and all it took was the handing over of a pair of $3,000 sunglasses – well, that and apparently bonding over matters of the heart.
‘Lily, your treatment is ready.’ An angelic-sounding voice floated across the room, and I turned to see a therapist in a radiant white coat standing there backlit by a soft glow.
‘Coming,’ I said.
‘What are you having?’ Amber asked.
I looked over at the therapist; I had no idea what exactly I’d booked.
‘Back and neck massage and an anti-ageing facial,’ she said.
‘Girl! You don’t need that, look at you.’ Amber sounded completely genuine, and for a moment there I was almost touched.
‘You have no idea how much I spend on retinol,’ I said, leaning in as if we were best friends already.
She tapped her forehead just as conspiratorially. ‘Not to mention the Botox.’
I tapped mine right back. ‘For real.’
‘Seriously, though, let’s hang. I’ll call you,’ she said, and pulled me into another hug. Two hugs in one day; that was basically my quota for the whole year.
‘Totally,’ I said, and walked off for the first facial of my entire life.