Page 104 of One Summer

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, sitting bolt upright. ‘I didn’t even know you were back on the island. I thought you were travelling for work.’

‘I was, but I had to come back.’

‘Had to?’

‘I think we’ve been set up. My nan forced me to come here, but I thought it would just be me,’ he says, as the receptionist comes through the door behind him, holding two glasses of fizz.

‘Here we are,’ she says, handing a glass to each of us. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, you said you wanted a smoothie, didn’t you?’

I look at her and at Caleb, and even though I’m hungover to hell, this moment seems to require alcohol.

‘I think there might have been a mistake,’ Caleb says. ‘There’s two of us.’

‘That’s right,’ she says, breezily. ‘You’ve been treated to “the two-person” experience. We don’t call it the “couples” experience anymore, because not everyone likes that label.’

‘We’re not a couple,’ I say, and a weird look passes Caleb’s face.

‘Exactly,’ she says. ‘Relationships come in all flavours. Are you getting in?’

She looks at Caleb, as if he’s got on her nerves.

He’s already wearing boardshorts and not seeming to know what else to do, he duly climbs into the hot tub, only remembering to pull off his T-shirt when the hem is already wet.

He throws his shirt onto the decking and takes the seat furthest from me.

‘The jacuzzi will stay on for an hour. When it finishes, I’ll take you to your first treatment. Nobody will disturb you, so if you prefer to soak naked, that’s fine.’

We both shake our heads vigorously and decline this invitation.

She leaves the decked area, shutting the door firmly behind her and making a big show of drawing the blinds.

Caleb clears his throat, as if he’s about to say something, but seems to think better of it, leaving me to break the silence.

‘This is awkward,’ I say, grimacing. ‘Your nan has quite the sense of humour.’

‘She does,’ he says. ‘Can we go, do you think?’

‘How are we going to explain it to the receptionist? She’ll think we’ve had a lovers’ tiff. Sorry, a “two-person” tiff.’

He glances around the garden area, presumably to see if there’s a way to escape without having to go back through the reception. Unfortunately, there are only steep cliffs and a glass wall. He seems to be considering it anyway.

‘Maybe we just stick it out,’ I say, imagining him falling into the abyss rather than sitting in a jacuzzi with me for an hour.

‘Okay. I suppose we don’t need to talk,’ he says, draining half of his champagne glass. ‘We can just sit and wait out the time and pretend we’re alone.’

‘Fun,’ I say, leaning back and closing my eyes.

‘About that morning on the beach,’ he says, so quietly that I can barely hear it over the drone of the hot tub. ‘You asked me how I knew what to do.’

‘We don’t need to talk about that,’ I say, trying to sound casual and not even bothering to open my eyes. ‘You knew what to do in a crisis, and thank god, because I went to pieces.’

‘Cool,’ he says.

When I open an eye to check what he’s doing, I see him leaning his head on the side of the tub and gazing out to sea. Why isn’t he closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep, or at least in a meditative state? What’s he thinking about?

The hour of silence is the most excruciating of my life. When the receptionist comes back holding fluffy towels and robes for us, I could almost collapse with gratitude.

Caleb climbs out first and before I can avert my eyes, I catch a glimpse of the terrible scars on his back. What on earth has he been through?

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