Page 23 of Not in a Million Years

I ate quickly, moved the tray back indoors, and fetched my phone and headphones. I quickly updated the Girlfriends’ Club with the news that we’d arrived safely, but there had been no sign of Andy yet. Then I flicked through to TikTok and watched Andy’s video again, the Madonna soundtrack loud in my ears.

The beach where my friend had stood to record it could be the very same one I could barely make out in the darkness beyond the hotel gardens. Tomorrow, I might feel the same sand between my toes he had felt. For all I knew, he might have slept in the very same room where I was sleeping.

Or he might not. The town wasn’t large, but when I’d researched our accommodation, I’d seen dozens of hotels. Andy could have been – or could still be – in any one of them. Or he could be somewhere else entirely – the website where Daniel had found the location of the yacht could have been inaccurate or out of date. And, of course, there were the other possibilities, the ones I didn’t want to think about…

‘Where the hell are you, Andy?’ I asked the room aloud. ‘And where – and who – the hell is Ash?’

A flash of movement below caught my eye, and I almost dropped my phone off the balcony. In the pool beneath me, a figure was slicing through the bright water, swimming strongly. I could see the muscles in his back and arms moving smoothly with each stroke, the fabric of his shorts billowing around his legs, his water-dark hair slick as an otter’s over his head.

Daniel.

All at once, I felt exhausted by the prospect of the days that lay ahead. I gulped the rest of my wine, cleaned my teeth and went to bed. But when I closed my eyes, I could still see Daniel’s body in the pool, the length and strength of his limbs, the stream of bubbles coming from his lips, his back covered only by a thin skin of water. And the gentle pressure of the sheet on my hand reminded me of his palm resting over it on the plane, warm and comforting when I’d been afraid.

Ten

To my amazement, I slept brilliantly that night. I woke beneath the meringue-like softness of the white duvet to dazzling sunshine and the sound of birdsong drifting through my open window, and for a second I wondered if I’d actually died and – by some miracle – ended up in heaven.

But I quickly remembered where I was, who was there with me and why we were here.

Quickly, I got up and showered, pulling on shorts and a T-shirt. I peered anxiously at my hair in the mirror and saw that although my roots were beginning to show, they hadn’t yet entered disaster territory. I debated going make-up free but couldn’t quite face that prospect, so slapped on a bit of CC cream and some mascara. I spent a frustrating few minutes figuring out the unfamiliar coffee machine, which eventually obliged with a double espresso.

And then I opened my balcony door – silently, almost stealthily – and stepped out into the morning sunshine.

At last, I could properly see the sea, stretching away beyond the pool and the gardens, impossibly blue. Dozens of boats were moored near the shoreline and, in the distance, I could see the huge white bulk of a yacht. I wondered if it was Rhapsody, the one Daniel had found online that had led us here. I wondered whether Andy was looking out over the same view, somewhere close by. I wondered how on earth we were going to go about finding him.

And then I jumped out of my skin, sending a tidal wave of coffee down my top, as I heard Daniel’s voice, so close I could almost have touched him, if it weren’t for the whitewashed wall between us.

‘Morning, Kate. Sleep well?’

How the hell did he know I was out here? My stealth door-opening clearly hadn’t gone according to plan – just as well I wasn’t planning a career pivot to the Secret Service any time soon.

‘Coffee smells good,’ Daniel went on. ‘I couldn’t manage to figure out the machine.’

Smugly, glad he couldn’t see that I was not so much drinking it as wearing it, I said, ‘It’s easy. You just put the pod in, then press the button and hold it. It’s so simple it’s practically counter-intuitive.’

‘Right. I’ll give that a go. Clearly I need caffeine in order to make coffee.’

I rolled my eyes at his feeble joke, then realised he couldn’t see me.

I propped my elbows on the warm stone of the balustrade, thinking about taking a photo of the view to send to Claude. But then I saw that Daniel was leaning on his balcony wall too, gazing towards the sea.

‘Did you enjoy your swim last night?’ Might as well let him know he wasn’t the only one doing a bit of spying.

‘Sure did. The water’s lovely. See you in fifteen minutes?’

‘Right.’ I caught myself remembering seeing him swimming the previous night – how his body had glided through the water as if it was his natural element – and forced down a surge of resentment – as well as forcing the image of his wet, naked torso firmly to the back of my mind.

Don’t be ridiculous, Kate, I scolded myself. The man’s allowed to swim, right? Do you expect him to do it in full evening dress or something?

I decided not to bother waiting for him. I might as well head down for breakfast on my own, check out the lie of the land and find a table – as soon as I’d changed into a top that wasn’t covered in coffee.

I slipped my feet into flip-flops, perched my sunglasses on top of my head and tucked my key card into the pocket of my shorts, then made my way downstairs to the main building, where we’d been told breakfast was served. By the time Daniel arrived, I was seated at a table overlooking the swimming pool, a plate of fresh cherries and watermelon in front of me.

Daniel was evidently straight out of the shower. He smelled of the same citrussy shower gel I’d found in my own bathroom, and his hair curled damply over the neckline of his T-shirt. (Why don’t you go to a bloody barber? I thought. Instead of slobbing around like some 1990s raver way past his sell-by date?) And he clearly hadn’t bothered to shave – the designer stubble I’d noticed when we’d met for coffee a couple of days before was now looking more like an attempted beard.

‘There you are.’ He flashed a smile at me, and I felt myself smiling back, against my will and better judgement. ‘Food first, then a plan? Is that all you’re having?’

I ate my last cherry, placing the pit on the plate along with the others, their stalks and a small heap of watermelon seeds. Fleetingly, I remembered the rhyme my granny had taught me for counting cherry stones to predict your future husband’s occupation: Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.

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