Page 15 of Not in a Million Years

I laughed, gathered up the cake stand and tin, and headed for home.

The flat was cool; I’d closed the blinds that morning to keep out the sun. But now I opened them and stepped out onto my balcony, feeling a sense of wonder as I always did at the view of the river sparkling below in the spring sunshine.

And then I thought: Imagine waking up in the morning and looking at the sea. I hadn’t seen the sea for years – one of the downsides of my friends being in couples while I was single was that the rowdy holidays we’d had together in our twenties were a thing of the past. And I hadn’t exactly been up for expensive trips abroad. My fear of flying was part of that, but another part was that, once I’d managed to save enough money for the deposit on my first, frankly grotty flat, I’d felt the need to save more, to upgrade to a slightly nicer apartment and then to the lovely one where I lived now. That need for security, for independence, to prove that I was managing perfectly well without a man in my life, had outweighed any desire I might have had to lie on beaches sipping cocktails.

Of course, Mona had a point: I could do with a rest. But how could Daniel’s company ever possibly be restful? And while lying on a beach sipping a cocktail definitely had its appeal, the idea of Daniel by my side while I was doing it was enough to bring me out in hives.

I fetched my laptop from my desk and perched at the little café table that was all I could squeeze onto the balcony, then googled Alsaya.

This small yet glamorous town offers something for all discerning travellers, I read. From tranquil eco resorts to five-star luxury; vibrant night-life to quirky shopping; relaxed days on the beach to adrenaline-fuelled watersports.

Not to mention the twenty-four-seven company of a man you can’t stand, I thought.

And then I told myself not to be ridiculous. This wasn’t a holiday holiday. It wasn’t like I’d be spending hours lying on the beach with Daniel showing off his naked chest – ridiculously buff from lugging heavy furniture around – on a sunlounger next to me.

Daniel and I would be there for a purpose. We’d be there to find Andy. And once we’d reassured ourselves that he was safe and well, I could come home again and pick up my plans for my weeks off work. Which, admittedly, didn’t amount to a whole lot more than working through the latest season of Married at First Sight Australia, attempting to grow some basil in my window boxes and hopefully going on a few more dates with Claude.

Married at First Sight Australia versus travelling across Europe with Daniel? A clear win for trashy reality telly. Basil versus Daniel? Maybe a nil–nil draw. Claude versus Daniel? Total wipeout.

But still. Andy.

I picked up my phone and dialled his number. Just as it had done the past dozen times – just as it had last night, when my mind had fought sleep and insisted on fretting about Andy – it rang through to voicemail and the automated message told me his mailbox was full. Daniel was right: this was odd. It was out of character. And it was concerning.

I tapped through to WhatsApp and my chat with Daniel, but I didn’t text him – instead, I started a voice call.

His phone rang and rang too, and I thought there’d be no answer from him either. But at last he picked up.

‘Kate? Sorry about that, the circular saw was going and I didn’t hear my phone. Have you heard from him?’

‘Nope. Just tried calling again and no answer.’

‘Right. I had a look at flights and I reckon I’ll leave the day after tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘You won’t have to. I’ll come.’ My words took me by surprise – it was like the decision had been made somewhere between my heart or my instinct and my mouth, and none of them had given my brain a heads-up about what I was going to say.

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously. Let me know what flight you’ll be on, and I’ll buy my ticket.’

‘Great. I’ll text you the details.’

Without a goodbye, he hung up.

I looked at my phone in my hand and noticed I was trembling. What the hell had I let myself in for? An undetermined stretch of time in a foreign country with a man I totally despised, that was what. And it got worse. I looked down from my balcony to the street far below and felt my stomach give a familiar lurch of fear.

I certainly wouldn’t be walking there or catching a bus. This was going to mean getting on an actual aeroplane.

Seven

The day of our departure, although our flight was only due to leave at midday, I was awake at five.

Actually, I hadn’t been conscious of sleeping at all. All night, as soon as I felt myself nodding off, I’d drifted straight into weird dreams, in which the plane disappeared around us and there was only Daniel and me, flailing our arms in the air like swimmers to stay aloft; finding Daniel in a bar, only he morphed into Claude and kissed me passionately; and the old favourite, arriving at the airport to discover I’d forgotten not only my luggage but also my clothes.

Each time, I jerked awake again and lay staring into the darkness, unable to get back to sleep. There wasn’t even any point getting up and baking, as I was leaving too early to drop anything off at St Mungo’s, and I still didn’t know how long we’d be away for.

So at last, scratchy-eyed and cross, I got up and started packing.

Back in the day, I used to travel often for work, and I’d become expert at rapid and space-efficient packing. But work travel was different. This was more like a holiday and I hadn’t been on an actual holiday for the best part of ten years – not abroad anyway. Not anywhere that involved flying at least. I’d need bikinis – and diazepam.

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