Page 42 of Not in a Million Years

I opened the door wider. I was going to have to let him in, and I’d realised that the towel I’d grabbed in my haste was a small one, barely long enough to cover my modesty and unfortunately not wide enough to wrap all the way round myself.

Basically, my naked arse was sticking out the back, like Andy’s no doubt would in his hospital gown. Damn Daniel’s unerring ability to make me feel at a disadvantage – and my ability to put myself at one.

‘I walked into town and checked out the local supermarket, then had a swim and a shower,’ he said. ‘I thought we could have a drink on your balcony, then decide where to go for dinner. But if you’d rather leave it, or come next door when you’re ready…’

The offer was tempting. I could send him and his Provence rosé and salty snacks packing, and spend the evening on my own. But then, in the morning, he’d still be there and so would I. And the morning after that, and however many more mornings it took before smiley Hakan and Mistress Whiplash and their colleagues at the hospital declared Andy fit to travel – or Daniel and I fell out so badly that one of us couldn’t stand it any longer and decamped home.

‘You may as well come in,’ I said ungraciously, edging aside while taking care to keep my back to the wall. ‘Take a seat out there.’

I waved him ahead and followed him through the bedroom, waiting until I could see he was safely installed on the balcony before reversing back towards the bathroom.

‘You know they do have normal-sized towels, as well as those tiny ones,’ he said, with a faux-helpful smile. ‘Bathrobes, too. All the mod cons.’

‘Thank you for sharing that helpful intel. I believe Condé Nast Traveller are looking for reviewers,’ I snapped.

‘It’s not just the hotel I can review. I’d give your arse at least five stars.’

Fuming, I shot backwards into the bathroom, locking the door and dropping the inadequate towel to the floor.

I took my time in the shower, washing my hair and shaving my legs, cursing the fact that the short notice we’d given ourselves of our trip hadn’t afforded me the time to get every bit of me waxed, have gel polish put on my finger- and toenails and – crucially – book in to have the roots of my hair tinted. I smoothed scented body lotion on my skin, paying particular attention to the burned bits. My shoulders were a total war zone, coated in flaking skin and peppered with freckles. My legs weren’t much better – still tomato-red from mid-thigh down and bone-white above that. Wearily, I slapped on some make-up, smoothing concealer over my nose and cheeks where yet more freckles had appeared, seemingly while I slept.

Then I hung up my towel and stepped out of the bathroom, almost colliding with Daniel.

‘Jesus Christ! What are you doing?’

‘Sorry. They brought your water.’ He held it up, two bottles in each hand. I noticed his eyes begin to travel down my body, then snap back to my face. ‘You smell nice.’

I ducked back into the bathroom and pulled the door closed.

‘I’d appreciate it if you could wait outside while I get dressed,’ I said. ‘Unless you were planning to offer to fasten my bra strap or something?’

‘I’m sure you can manage that yourself.’

I heard his footsteps retreating across the stone floor. Then he said something else I couldn’t quite catch, because his words were drowned out by the swish of the door to the balcony sliding open. I dressed hastily, pulling on jeans, although it was too hot for them, and a vest top, although it exposed my flaking shoulders. I slipped my feet into ballet pumps, hoping a bit of fresh air would help the now scabbed-over blisters to heal.

Then I gave my reflection in the mirror a long, hard stare.

‘A sight for sore eyes,’ I told it. ‘As in, anyone looking at you would be instantly struck down by a nasty case of conjunctivitis.’

I stepped out onto the balcony, just as Daniel was easing the cork out of the wine he’d brought.

‘What did you say?’ I asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, you did. Just now, when you were going outside. I didn’t quite catch it.’

He smiled. ‘Never mind.’

‘Look, just tell me.’

‘If you insist. I only said I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t wear a bra. No sane person would.’

He said it quite casually, pouring wine into the two glasses he’d put on the table next to the coffee mug full of pistachios and the saucer he’d put out for the shells. I found myself sitting down and taking a swallow of wine, but I didn’t raise my glass to him.

‘Look, Daniel,’ I said, ‘I don’t appreciate pervy, non-compliments from you. I don’t need you to come round here and serve us drinks on the balcony like we’re on holiday. I especially don’t want you wandering round my room when I’m half naked, or in the shower.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Okaay. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just being friendly.’

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