Page 43 of Not in a Million Years

‘That’s the whole bloody point.’ I prised open a nutshell with what the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Pistachios would consider unnecessary force. ‘We’re not friends, are we? Come on. We’re civil to each other when we’re with the rest of the group because we never wanted to cause ructions. I’m glad we never have. And we’ve managed to be civil to each other while we’ve been here, and that’s fine too. But believe me, if I didn’t have to be here with you, I wouldn’t be. If it wasn’t for Andy needing us, I’d be gone. And for that matter, I don’t appreciate you signing me up to stay here as long as it takes.’

He shrugged and sipped his wine. The sun was setting behind me, and golden light illuminated the planes and angles of his face, reflecting off his sunglasses and making his expression unreadable. On the balustrade of the next-door balcony, I could see his swimming shorts hung out to dry, and I was reminded again of how his body had looked with the turquoise water of the pool sliding over it like a caress.

‘Fine, Kate,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for assuming you’d want to stay – it seemed like the right thing to do. And forgive me for thinking, since we’re stuck here for the duration, we might as well make an effort to be pleasant to each other. I don’t mind what we do when we get back home, but spending however many weeks sniping and point-scoring just strikes me as a whole lot of effort for zero reward.’

‘Fine. We’re staying – that decision’s made, thanks to you. But making like we’re bessie mates strikes me as a whole lot of effort for zero reward.’

‘I don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘Back when we were friends, I found it kind of rewarding. I got the impression you did, too.’

‘More fool me.’ I knocked back some more wine and ate another nut. ‘That was a long time ago. We’ve all moved on. Especially Andy – and thank God for that.’

‘Yeah, Andy. I take it you want to go and visit him tomorrow?’

‘Of course. Now he’s out of danger, he’ll be going out of his mind with boredom. I thought we could sort out a new phone for him, maybe take him some – I don’t know, magazines. Grapes. Flowers. Shit like that.’

‘Fill your boots, Florence Nightingale.’ He stood up. ‘I’m off to get some food. I’ll meet you down in reception at four tomorrow afternoon and we can go to the hospital. Unless you’d prefer to get the bus there on your own?’

‘I…’ I hesitated.

If this had been a game of chess, Daniel would have just made a move that meant me having to sacrifice my queen to avoid checkmate. Of course I could get the bus to the hospital. But I didn’t know where the bus stop was, and I didn’t feel confident in my ability to navigate public transport that worked in a language I didn’t understand. I could get a taxi, but that would mean explaining to Andy why I’d come alone and cause him unnecessary distress in his fragile state. Daniel had me over a barrel and he knew it.

‘Four sounds good. Thank you for offering to drive. And for the wine and stuff, obviously.’

‘You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy it.’

He pushed open the balcony door and disappeared into my bedroom. Seconds later, I heard the door to the corridor open and close, and after a minute or so I saw him emerge into the garden and set off round the pool, out onto the road leading to town.

Fine, I told him silently in my head. Fuck you. Hope you have a fun evening feeding your dinner to the local cats.

And then I thought, He’ll have a whole lot more fun doing that than you’ll have eating nuts and drinking wine on your own, smart arse.

It was true, of course. Without Daniel, I was on my own, adrift. I could go into town myself and find somewhere to eat. But the idea of bumping into him while I was there was excruciating, and the prospect of being chatted up by random men thinking that I, as a woman out alone, was fair game was even worse. And, I realised, without Daniel, it wouldn’t be the same. Cats wouldn’t come to me and demand to share my dinner. I’d have no one to talk to. I’d be lonely.

So it looked like I’d just signed myself up not only for an indeterminate stay but also for a string of solo dinners in my room. Go me.

You made your bed, Kate, I told myself. So lie on it. It’s not for much longer.

I moved inside and sat on the sofa, eating pistachio nuts, drinking and scrolling idly through my phone, just like a billy no mates or a desperate single woman, which at that point I supposed I was.

By ten o’clock, I was in bed, alone, waiting hopelessly for sleep to come.

Sixteen

I spent a predictably restless night plagued by guilt about the hurtful way I’d spoken to Daniel and doubts about how we were to get through the next however long, co-existing here but not speaking. But every now and then the guilt would fade and be replaced by righteous indignation – he’d had no right to comment on my body like that, or hang about outside the bathroom while I was in the shower, or assume that I’d be willing to stay here with him – never mind all the stuff he’d done before, years ago, which had wrecked our friendship.

If we ended up spending a couple of miserable weeks here, not talking, that would be on him. I’d just have to deal with it.

At last, just as dawn light was beginning to trickle through the gap in the curtains, I fell asleep, only to jerk awake again what felt like five minutes later but was actually four hours. I was conscious of a sense of misgiving – of something having gone wrong – and then I remembered what had happened and lay staring at the ceiling for a bit, all the feelings of remorse and anger returning.

But I couldn’t lie there for long. My wine-and-pistachios dinner had left me ravenously hungry and even more thirsty, and breakfast would be over in half an hour.

I sprang out of bed, necked one of the bottles of water Daniel had taken in for me the previous night and checked my sunburn. The angry red was fading to pink now, and the worst of the peeling looked to be over. I couldn’t hope for a tan – I never tanned. I’d just have to keep slathering on the sunblock and hope I hadn’t given myself a malignant melanoma.

I dressed quickly and opened my door, feeling the heat of the morning blast my face. As I hurried towards the dining room, I felt a knot of apprehension forming in my stomach.

What if Daniel was there, calmly stuffing his face with eggs and sausage and drinking coffee? Was I supposed to join him, or say good morning but sit at a table on my own, or blank him, or what?

But there was no sign of him. I ate slowly, sipping my way through three cups of coffee, until at last the staff clearing up around me made me realise I’d outstayed my welcome. It was ten o’clock – six hours until I was due to meet Daniel to drive to the hospital.

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