Page 32 of Not in a Million Years

‘Carla wanted to get married and settle down, have kids, stuff like that. I didn’t. Not then, and probably – with her anyway – not ever.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just didn’t feel that way about her. And it felt unfair to string her along, so we had a couple of tough conversations and called it a day.’

‘Wow. So marriage and kids aren’t your bag?’

‘I’d love to get married and have kids, with the right person. Guess I’m just not prepared to settle – and no one’s settling with me, so…’ He spread his palms upwards in a shrug.

I blinked in surprise. Daniel wasn’t my cup of tea – wouldn’t be even if I was in the desert dying of thirst – but I’d seen the way all those women had looked at him today. I remembered my friends’ casual mentions of his attractiveness, as if it was common knowledge. Even though I’d barely been able to recall her name, I could remember the adoring way beautiful blonde Carla had gazed at him as she hung on to his arm.

There’d be plenty of women willing to settle for Daniel, I reckoned. Ideally before they found out how infuriating he was, and after they frogmarched him to the nearest barber.

Then I noticed the waiter hovering by our table, and a small queue of people waiting to be seated. I picked up my shot glass and downed the contents, wincing at the strong aniseed flavour, and said, ‘Come on – let’s go.’

Daniel drank his too and we stood up. We walked back to our hotel through the balmy night in near-silence. I didn’t know what Daniel was thinking about, and my own thoughts were a chaotic jumble of Andy, Claude, raki, food and sun. We said a brief goodnight outside our rooms and I fell into bed, only after smearing more aloe vera on my skin.

Its coldness and fragrance brought back the memory of Daniel’s hands in a way that was strangely pleasant and totally unsettling.

Twelve

Whatever miracle the gods of sleep had bestowed upon me the previous night, that night they were clearly off out on the lash somewhere – possibly with the sun god. Because the second I turned out the light, I knew that sleep wasn’t going to come.

I lay in the air-conditioned room between the cool sheets and felt like I was burning up. Every inch of my skin felt tight and sore, so that when I closed my eyes, I could literally picture it peeling off me in sheets and had to switch the light on again to check that it wasn’t. When I applied yet more aloe vera, all I could think about was Daniel’s gentle hands and his concerned, yet slightly appraising, grey eyes – that and the fact that even beautiful Carla hadn’t been good enough for him.

When I forced his face out of my mind, it was replaced by Andy’s, his familiar mocking smile taunting me. Haven’t found me yet, have you? Doesn’t look like you’re trying all that hard, Katie babe, at least not from where I’m standing. Not that I knew where that was.

And then my mind turned to the mission we had scheduled for the morning – the long walk up into the mountains. Daniel would be striding ahead, I was sure, those long, tanned legs in his stupid cargo shorts carrying him effortlessly upwards while I puffed along in his wake, getting hotter and hotter and falling further and further behind.

I’d probably get lost, and then Daniel would have two missing-in-action people to search for instead of just the one.

Damn it.

Questing for something pleasant and soothing to think about, I reached in my brain for Claude. Handsome, successful Claude, who seemed to genuinely fancy me in spite of me almost vomming on his Comme des Garçons trainers. Or did he still? If there was anything guaranteed to change his mind, it was that. Perhaps he’d told all my former team what had happened, and they’d tell other people in the industry and soon I wouldn’t be able to find work at all, and if I did I’d be greeted on my first day with, ‘Oh, aren’t you the woman who spewed all over Claude Anjambé?’ And then they’d laugh and – worst of all – I’d have to laugh too, to prove I was a good sport and didn’t care what people thought of me.

If I was at home, I’d be able to get up and bake, filling my flat with the soothing smell of hot butter and sugar, my mind focusing on whisking egg whites to stiff peaks, crumb-coating, chocolate work or piping perfect buttercream rosettes. But I wasn’t, so I couldn’t.

I could only lie still, focusing on relaxing each bit of my body in turn (knowing that by the time I reached my toes, my forehead would have tensed up again and I’ve have to start over) and hope that eventually I’d get at least a little sleep.

I must have slept at some point during the night. I’d read enough about insomnia to know that people always overestimate the time during a restless night they spend awake. Certainly, when my alarm buzzed at six, I was deeply asleep, even if it felt like it had only been for ten minutes. But I had to get up – Daniel had insisted on an early start to get the long walk out of the way before it got too hot.

It had seemed like a good plan at the time. Now, not so much.

And when I met Daniel at breakfast, even less so.

I turned up a few minutes after our appointed meeting time of seven, having had a shot at erasing the black rings under my eyes with concealer, taming the Brillo pad my hair had morphed into overnight and sticking down the flakes of dead skin that had erupted on my neck, shoulders and legs with factor 50 sunblock.

In contrast, Daniel looked rested and positively glowing with health, tucking into a massive feed of what looked like spicy sausage with fried eggs on top of it, served in an actual frying pan. My mouth watered at the smell, but at the same time, my stomach churned queasily at the idea of so much saturated fat before I’d even got a coffee down me.

‘Morning, Kate,’ he said chirpily, once he’d swallowed a shovel-sized forkful of trans-fatty acid. ‘Sleep well?’

‘No.’ I sat down opposite him and managed not to kiss the waiter who came over to take my order for coffee. ‘What the hell is that you’re eating?’

Daniel took another forkful. There was cheese in there too, I noticed – a melty string of it hung down off his fork. ‘Traditional Turkish breakfast. Unpronounceable, but I showed it on my phone to the guy at the omelette station and they made it for me. Want to try some?’

He held out a laden fork, but I shook my head. ‘It’s way too early for me. I’ll grab some pastries, and then shall we head off?’

Daniel nodded, still troughing away. I drank my coffee and ate my breakfast, looking out at the sun sparkling on the water of the pool and creating rainbows where the sprinklers arced over the green lawn. At last he was done, having mopped the last bits of cheese out of the pan with chunks of bread.

---